Ch.411Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

## After Crossing the Border

About four hours after crossing the border, we arrived at a small city called Kalia Hun under the cover of darkness.

Camilla raised her head and surveyed her surroundings.

“…”

Buildings constructed of layered grayish-brown bricks, common in the Middle East. Above the streets, pedestrian vehicles and cars mingled together.

A small city spread out beyond dust-covered windows. The sound of tires rolling over sand and gravel. Arriving through the navy-blue darkness, Camilla faced warehouses at the entrance.

Meanwhile, radio chatter came from the driver’s seat.

Frederick, who had been pressing the softly glowing keyboard, put the radio to his ear and muttered something. Though it was a foreign language she had never learned, it wasn’t difficult to understand.

“…It’s me, Dmitrie. I’ve arrived at the warehouse you recommended. Before going in, I just want to confirm—they definitely have the goods, right? Hmm… Then there shouldn’t be any problems.”

The warehouse they reached through the pre-dawn twilight.

As the SUV, with its headlights off, stopped after passing several warehouses, people approached. Frederick turned off the engine and went to meet them.

Camilla presumed the welcoming party were soldiers. She used the term “presumed” because in this region, military uniforms weren’t worn exclusively by the army.

When one of the local soldiers gestured, a group of soldiers appeared from a distant warehouse.

The local men in military uniforms exchanged friendly greetings with the foreign man in a suit, and after finishing his greetings, Frederick also exchanged brief pleasantries with another group of soldiers.

“Hmm…”

Even to Camilla, the soldiers who emerged from the warehouse were clearly not ordinary people.

Unlike the crude uniforms worn by the local soldiers, their uniforms were superior in both camouflage pattern and craftsmanship. Above all, they were of a different ethnicity.

Among the dark-skinned locals, the fair-skinned foreigners stood out prominently.

As her blue eyes examined the soldiers presumed to be foreign military, she suddenly noticed a symbol.

A patch attached to the right upper arm of the uniform. A laurel wreath drawn on a yellow background. An eagle soaring toward the sky.

Though she was seeing this symbol for the first time, she had a rough idea of what it represented.

After all, a similar organization existed in her homeland.

Peacekeeping forces.

The laurel wreath and eagle within the yellow circle were emblems symbolizing the peacekeeping forces in this area.

## Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

The local soldiers guided us to the warehouse.

What I witnessed there were mountains of weapons.

“…”

As I looked up to see how high they were stacked, I saw magical lamps hanging from the ceiling.

The piles of rifles rose imposingly, nearly touching the warehouse ceiling. There were about eight such peaks.

After confirming the enormous quantity, I turned to the local soldiers.

“Exactly how many are there?”

The government army officers in woodland-like uniforms whispered among themselves before relaying their answer through an interpreter.

“About 2,000 rifles, they say.”

Enough to arm an entire battalion.

“Have you prepared the items I mentioned?”

“Of course.”

“Good, very good.”

As I slowly examined the guns and ammunition piled in the warehouse, Camilla, who had been following quietly behind, was shocked at the sight of the enormous arsenal.

The woman who had appeared wearing a robe and captured everyone’s attention was now startled by the weapons, jumping up and down as she ran to me.

“What are all these weapons for…! And who are those soldiers?!”

“What do you think?”

I answered with a grin.

“They’re Christmas presents for Hassan.”

*

It’s easy to obtain weapons in a civil war zone. Weapons are so abundant that you can get them anywhere as long as you pay.

But to supply weapons to the Group 3 warlord, the common items flooding the market weren’t sufficient. The quantity was inadequate, the performance poor, and above all, the unit price was expensive.

Such crude items wouldn’t win Sheikh Nasir al-Hassan’s favor. So what should I bring him?

High-performance military weapons.

Preferably in ample quantity, and at a low price.

However, getting good items at a cheap price was nearly impossible. Even Camilla, who knew nothing about black market deals, questioned whether it was really possible to obtain military weapons at bargain prices.

But I did it.

“Bebut anti-tank missiles. Produced in ’68, donated by the Kiyen Imperial Army in ’85.”

Swoosh! As the cloth was removed, boxy weapon crates appeared through the rising dust.

The local soldiers skillfully opened the boxes. Inside were the Kiyen Imperial Army’s anti-tank missiles that I had often seen in military intelligence reports on enemy weapons.

“Missile weight 11.5kg. Warhead weight 1.8kg. Including the launcher, a total of 27.5kg. Later models exceed 30kg and are carried on vehicles, but this weight is light enough for infantry regiments to easily operate.”

I stroked the dust-covered launch tube while listening to the government army’s explanation.

A Bebut anti-tank missile produced in ’68 would be an early model. Including the mount and sighting device, it weighed 27.5kg.

It used a wire-guided system, making it inferior to the Imperial Army’s next-generation anti-tank missiles with semi-automatic magical wave guidance, or the Abas Army’s anti-tank missiles that could track targets with built-in tracking magic without separate operation.

It was heavy, slow in flight, and less convenient as it was released before tracking magic or magical wave guidance systems appeared.

But two advantages outweighed all these disadvantages.

Price and power.

“Thanks to this, we were able to completely pulverize a totem that a rebel shaman was dragging around. Not just the totem, but the shaman controlling it from behind was also turned to dust.”

The government army officer, who appeared quite old, proudly recounted his war story with a grin.

He pointed to the anti-tank missiles stacked in the warehouse and proposed a deal.

“We have the sighting devices, mounts, bodies, and missiles in storage. However, you’ll need to purchase the missiles separately. But if you buy six, we’ll give you two missiles as a service.”

I nodded and handed over the money bag.

“I’ll take them all.”

And so I bought all the government army’s anti-tank missiles stored in the warehouse.

Of course, that wasn’t all I purchased.

“These are all the firearms stored in this warehouse. We have plenty of parts for maintenance and replacement.”

“Let’s make a deal right away.”

I bought 2,000 rifles from the neighboring country’s government army’s arsenal.

The mountain of weapons consisted of rifles held by the local garrison. Among them were factory-ordered supplies and captured items from rebels.

While Camilla stared at the mountains of guns and ammunition with a dumbfounded expression, I shook hands warmly with the government army officer against the backdrop of weapons.

“Wow… You’re quite the big spender!”

“Do you have more than what’s here? Firearms, I mean.”

“Of course we do.”

“Are they military-grade?”

“Yes, they are.”

All the firearms piled in the warehouse were either worn out or crude. This was natural since they were weapons destined for second-line combat units and rebels.

Such worn and crude firearms were already abundant in Hassan’s warlord group. Nevertheless, I purchased 2,000 rifles.

The reason was simple.

“Aren’t the ones in this warehouse used by rear units, local police, or rebels? Show me the real goods.”

“…Isn’t this enough?”

Most of the firearms confiscated by government forces in civil war zones are recirculated through the black market. They sell weapons to the black market for side income, as they can’t fight rebels for pocket change.

Weapons that flow into the black market this way usually end up in the hands of rebels and warlords again, and most government officials know that the weapons they sell will fall into enemy hands.

However, they don’t care because money is far more important.

“If you leave them here, the warlords will take them anyway, so just give them to me. In return, show me your warehouse. I’ll take all the items here as a condition.”

I bribed the neighboring country’s government army officers to establish a route for obtaining military firearms.

Not the cheap rifles seen on the market, but quality military supplies produced in factories with systematic processes.

The arsenal had everything—rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, ammunition… even heavy weapons.

The neighboring country’s regular army’s arsenal was full of Kiyen Imperial Army weapons.

Some were donated by the Imperial Ministry of Defense, and some were produced in factories built in their capital with purchased licenses. The sources were diverse.

I bought all those weapons.

“I’ll take them all.”

“All of this?”

“Yes. All of it.”

With those words and the bundle of money I handed over, a massive operation began to move the entire warehouse.

The sight of soldiers carrying armfuls of guns onto trucks and ammunition being moved by the crate was truly impressive. Camilla, who had been staring blankly at this, approached me with a bewildered voice.

“How did you even know they were selling such weapons here…?”

“I didn’t come here after tracking down sellers.”

“Then?”

I wiggled the radio on my finger and replied.

“I asked them to sell to me.”

*

In the global black market, you can find everything from Western anti-tank missiles to Soviet SA-7 portable anti-aircraft missiles, but unfortunately, finding missiles in this region’s black market was nearly impossible.

However, “nearly impossible” also means it’s not completely impossible.

A few days ago, I contacted Leonie to explore ways to obtain weapons.

“I need a route to acquire military weapons.”

-‘What kind of weapons?’

“Anti-tank weapons that can handle armored vehicles and tanks. Not domestically produced weapons, but preferably from sellers with ample quantities.”

-‘Soldiers would be perfect for such sellers.’

Leonie immediately sent me a list of government army officials’ names. It was a compilation of individuals in neighboring countries who were engaged in, or likely to engage in, illegal arms deals.

After obtaining the list, I sought ways to contact government army officials in neighboring countries through informants.

The social affairs director of the Matap news agency, Dmitrie.

-‘What? You want to buy weapons from government army guys? Are you crazy?’

“Yes.”

-‘This guy is really nuts. What exactly are you trying to buy?’

“Missiles.”

-‘You’ve really lost it. Missiles are…’

The network of the former Imperial major news agency reporter, current social affairs director of Matap news agency, was impressive.

He was the most well-connected press informant I knew, and his acquaintances extended to war correspondents and special correspondents roaming the Moritani continent.

“Whether it’s missiles, mortars, or machine guns, I don’t care. I need to find someone who can sell military weapons. The higher-ranking, the better.”

-‘Hey, do you think I’m a private detective? Is this some kind of employment agency where you call and I find people for you?’

“So, do you know anyone or not?”

-‘…Give me an hour. My junior is in Kumana or Amshasa now. He has connections with government forces and international coalition forces. It might be early morning, so he might not answer the phone, just wait a bit.’

The special correspondent Dmitrie introduced gave me contact information for the international coalition forces’ officer corps.

They were a deployed unit conducting peacekeeping activities near the border, so they were close to officers who had a tight grip on that area.

I approached them and expressed my intention to purchase weapons.

“…Weapons?”

“Yes. Weapons.”

“No, that’s not possible! These weapons were captured from rebels. According to regulations, rebel equipment must be handed over to local government forces…”

Of course, it wasn’t easy.

The international coalition representatives insisted that according to regulations, rebel weapons must be submitted to the local government.

“Government forces? Do you really trust those people?”

I smiled and persuaded the officials.

“Try giving them weapons from here all you want. Where do you think all those weapons will end up?”

“Firearms handed over to government forces are all destroyed.”

“Oh please, you’ve been here for years and still don’t know how this place works? Destroyed? Government forces wouldn’t destroy firearms even if you beat them to death. They’d just sell them back to the black market.”

It was true.

The international coalition forces confiscated the weapons, but the warehouses were guarded by hungry local soldiers. They could sell the weapons in the warehouse to the black market anytime for a juicy side income. And they did.

Eventually, weapons confiscated by the international coalition forces would go back to the rebels through government forces and brokers.

Then the coalition forces would conduct military operations against rebels disrupting security, confiscate weapons, hand them over to government forces again… It was a never-ending cycle in the civil war zone.

I exploited precisely this point.

“Even if you give guns to the government guys, they’ll be back in rebel hands by tomorrow morning. The government forces will get credit, pocket the money, and lie back comfortably, but what about you? Are you going to have another shootout with the rebels tomorrow?”

“…”

“Instead, hand them over to me. I’ll scrape them all up and throw them across the border into the desert. I’ll pay you well.”

Even the international coalition officials knew well enough that entrusting weapon warehouses to hungry soldiers would lead to trouble. They also knew that weapons confiscated today would be back in rebel hands tomorrow.

“…You’re sure they won’t end up in rebel hands?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll scrape up all these guns and throw them across the border.”

Incidentally, international coalition officials also generally fall into the category of hungry soldiers.

Originally, well-fed and prosperous advanced countries don’t participate in peacekeeping forces or international coalition forces. Even UN peacekeeping forces are mostly composed of third-world armies.

So coaxing the impoverished coalition officials wasn’t particularly difficult.

“I… trust you’ll keep your promise.”

“Thank you. You’ve made a good decision.”

The judgment was careful, and the decision was swift.

I bought rebel weapons from the international coalition officials. Then, with the help of military intelligence officers stationed in neighboring countries, I leaked information to regional government units.

Government officials who received the news came storming in, but,

“Don’t you also find it uncomfortable for weapons to end up in rebel hands?”

“Hmm… That’s true.”

“Why not just throw them out? Why keep garbage that smells and attracts insects in your house?”

I even coaxed them and got to see the government forces’ weapon warehouses.

Piercing through the thick darkness, I crossed the border and returned to Hassan’s territory by noon, crossing the border again.

With weapons.

“These are anti-tank missiles used by the Kiyen Imperial Army. There are rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, heavy machine guns, and even mortars.”

“…”

Weapons were spread all over the front yard of Hassan’s warlord headquarters.

The weapons were too numerous and heavy to bring in an SUV, but fortunately, I had an excellent pack mule.

“Haaack! Haaack!”

“Stop panting and fly faster. What kind of witch on a broomstick is slower than a car?”

“H-how can I gain speed when I’m flying with missiles attached…?!”

Camilla crossed the sky with anti-tank missiles and heavy weapons of enormous weight attached to her broomstick. It was truly an express delivery service rivaling EMS.

Although the speed was slow, it was sufficient to fly alongside a vehicle moving at 60 km/h. However, Camilla kept panting as if it was strenuous, reminiscent of the camels I had seen in the desert.

She carries loads well, and even has two humps.

So is Camilla a camel?

“…”

It’s a silly thought, but whatever. As long as she could move the items on time, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that I had brought sample weapons to show.

And that selling them was my job.

“Let’s see.”

I handed a document to the leader of Hassan’s warlord group, who was carefully examining the weapons.

It was an analysis report on the government forces’ outpost, analyzed by Royal Intelligence Department senior analysts Larry, Pippin, and Charnoi.

“Government forces have settled in the border area managed by the Al Bas tribe. It’s a mechanized unit with over 30 armored vehicles.”

“…I know that too. Are there tanks?”

“I’m not sure about that. But what difference does it make if there are no tanks?”

I implied, “You can’t even handle armored vehicles.”

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Group 3 warlords did not possess anti-tank weapons. This was good news for government forces with armored vehicles, but tragic for me who needed to support the warlords.

I pointed to the outpost in the photo and asked Nasir.

“Can you handle these guys?”

“Hmm…”

“It would be difficult without anti-tank weapons. The armored vehicles were developed by the Empire for urban warfare, so rifle bullets won’t even dent them.”

So currently, the warlord cannot defeat government forces with armored vehicles no matter how hard they try.

Here, I presented my deal.

“If you promise to help with this project, I’ll give you everything from these rifles to anti-tank missiles. Ammunition included, of course.”

“Where is the warehouse storing these items?”

“Across the border. Within walking distance, so you can go get them yourselves.”

Of course, simply providing weapons isn’t enough to win Nasir’s favor. While anti-tank missiles are hard to come by, they’re not enough compensation for jumping into the conflict between Asen and Sanya at great risk.

I understood his feelings well. So I added conditions.

“What’s the point of just looking at the weapons? You should try them out.”

“…Sounds like you’re suggesting actual combat.”

“Are you not going to try them? A good opportunity has just arrived.”

“A good opportunity?”

“Look at this.”

Nasir received a photo. It showed the face of a local middle-aged man.

The leader of Hassan’s warlord group recognized the man in the photo at a glance.

“It’s Hakim. Sanya’s executive in charge of communications.”

Shahir bin Adnani al-Hakim. A key executive of Group 2 warlords.

Currently, he handles communications and diplomacy with external organizations, but in the past, al-Hakim had caused conflicts in Hassan’s territory. So he’s the best target to win Sheikh Nasir al-Hassan’s favor.

Of course, I plan to kill this guy regardless of whether Nasir is satisfied. Since he’s in contact with the Kiyen Empire, I don’t know when another opportunity will arise if I don’t eliminate him now.

I pointed to the photo and added an explanation.

“He’s currently in Hassan warlord territory.”

“Hakim is in our land?”

“He was difficult to find because he was operating covertly in the border area. Our side had only been speculating about al-Hakim’s whereabouts, but we were lucky enough to track him down this time.”

“When you say border, you mean Sanya’s territory.”

“Specifically, he’s in the triangular area where government-controlled territory, Sanya tribe’s territory, and Hassan’s territory meet. It’s a place where you can cross into any territory by car and hide anywhere.”

I proposed eliminating al-Hakim while test-firing the anti-tank missiles.

And,

“Bring the ammunition!”

“!!يلا, يلا, يلا(Hurry, hurry, hurry!!)”

I succeeded.

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ !!!!

A missile trailing red flashes and gray smoke collided with the vehicle.

The vehicle hit by the missile that crossed the air soared high into the sky before crashing onto the gravel road of the desert.

After attacking Sanya warlord’s executive with Hassan warlord’s combatants, I searched the charred body in the completely destroyed vehicle. The intelligence report mentioned that his lower molar had been filled with lead, and when I pulled out the lower jaw of the body in the back seat, there was indeed a molar filled with lead.

When al-Hakim’s death was confirmed, Nasir and other Hassan officials were greatly pleased.

Whether it was because the weapon’s performance was definitively proven, or because a competing warlord’s executive had died. Probably both.

Anyway, all’s well that ends well.

“You’ve seen the demonstration?”

“I’ve seen it well. Yes. When can you start supplying weapons?”

“Starting today is possible. I’ll let you know the intermediary, and you just need to pick them up from the warehouse.”

“Thank you. Now, shall we talk about the price?”

I had my final negotiation with Sheikh Nasir al-Hassan.

It wasn’t really a negotiation. Nasir’s heart was already inclined toward me.

So the conversation was just about adjusting some interests and coordinating schedules.

“As I mentioned before, I’ll take information and cooperation as payment.”

“I promise to help you on Hassan’s honor.”

In exchange for weapons, capital, and information support, Nasir promised full support.

I shook hands with him and concluded the brief but intense negotiation.

“Thank you.”

It was the moment the intermediate goal of the operation was achieved.

*

Leaving the tired pack mule (British-made) at the lodging, I went to find the leader of the Al Bas tribe.

“Use this for military funds.”

I handed a money bag to the leader of the Al Bas tribe. It was a money bag filled with foreign currency.

It was essentially a gift from the Military Intelligence Agency to the Hassan warlord. Although Hassan also funds themselves through their own revenue sources, this amount corresponds to half the taxes the warlord collects in a year. This means it’s quite a large sum from the warlord’s perspective.

“I accept with gratitude.”

The warlord’s accountant, Nayan al-Bas, happily accepted the military funds.

He seemed to have vaguely noticed that I was not a war correspondent but a foreign intelligence agent, but since his beloved cousin and Hassan’s leader had sent a message to treat me as an important person.

He seemed to have decided to brush off the fact that a foreign spy had deceived him.

“I find myself indebted to you again, Asud.”

“Not at all. I’m the one who should be grateful. But when you say ‘again’…?”

“I owed you my son’s life before.”

Hearing Nayan’s words, I nodded with an “Ah.”

So that’s what it was. The robbery incident. It seems Nayan was also aware that I had bought time for Farid to survive.

Actually, rather than thinking about saving Farid, I was buying time for Camilla to escape far away, but that was fine. How could a father see anything else when his cherished son had dipped his toes in the Jordan River and returned?

“Rest comfortably. I will provide you with the best accommodations here.”

“Thank you.”

After making an appointment to meet Farid next time, I left Nayan’s office.

It was time to move quickly, as I needed to submit a final report to the Military Intelligence Agency, call for support troops, and check things before the full-scale operation.

As I was crossing the corridor with quick steps,

“Excuse me.”

Someone’s seductive voice caught my ankle.

I turned my head to confirm the identity of the person. Near Nayan’s office, on the terrace. A local woman standing with her back to the grayish-brown city spoke to me.

Due to the backlight, her face was shadowy, but I could easily recognize the woman’s identity.

The cape and cloak covering her entire head and upper body were not garments just anyone could wear.

The hooded cape and cloak symbolized something simple.

“…Do you perhaps need a shaman?”

A shaman from the Moritani continent was speaking to me.