Bob and His Son

Little Bob Buruo fiddled with his butterfly knife, looking anxious.

The cell phone on the table was buzzing.

The first major thing he did after taking over his father's business went wrong, which annoyed and embarrassed him. What annoyed him even more was that his father called at this very moment.

The content of the phone call is self-evident.

Anyway, I wasn't asking him if he had eaten breakfast on time.

He took a deep breath, waved for the people in the room to leave, and then pressed the answer button.

Good morning, Father.

Little Bob tried to make his voice sound as light and cheerful as possible.

The Buruo Family has an inextricable connection with military affairs and war.

In China terms, they come from a family of generals. Little Bob's grandfather was one of the founders of the France Foreign Legion, and his father, Big Bob, retired to become a mercenary after distinguishing himself in the Foreign Legion. This was not the beginning of his downfall, but rather the continuation of his legend.

While serving in the Foreign Legion, Big Bob fought for the interests of the Fr*nce -Fr*nce; as a mercenary, he fought for the same interests, but also for himself.

He became a guest of Africa warlords, training their armies, and subsequently came to realize the unfounded folly of these black rulers, and conceived the idea of replacing them.

He launched more than a dozen coups in various Africa countries, most of which were successful, and some failed, but usually the failures could not be attributed to his personal abilities.

For example, the most famous failure was caused by the then -United States president bypassing Congress and directly ordering the military to send C-130 transport planes to airdrop pro-American mercenaries into Congo, completely humiliating Mr. Big Bob who knew nothing about it.

Aside from this heartbreaking failure, his Africa campaign was a great success, killing more than four heads of state from Africa countries. He sometimes supported royalists, sometimes the opposition, sometimes overthrown governments, and sometimes protected them. His fickle stance was merely a facade, because from beginning to end he only supported the interests of Fr*nce, and France. The interests of France were the guiding principle of his actions.

His final and most glorious success made him the de facto ruler of Comora. He then retired, cleaned his name, and started a legitimate business until ten years ago when he returned to his homeland, Fr*nce, and spent his retirement in a house on the outskirts of Paris.

Africa nations have slowly forgotten this white demon who brought terror and Shadow, but in fact, Big Bob never went away, or even left.

Even from Paris, his hawk-like gaze remained fixed on the land of Africa. The dark web he had cultivated and built since the 1960s still shrouded the country and land where he had cast countless Shadow until recently, when his business and career were gradually handed over to his son, Little Bob.

As old age approaches, even the legendary king of mercenaries cannot escape his ultimate fate.

His early experiences left countless scars on his body, and this aging war hyena once again smelled the scent of death—his own death.

Barring unforeseen circumstances, he will eventually die from his old wounds, peacefully leaving this world surrounded by his loved ones in a Paris hospital.

His family will weep, and Western newspapers will sadly announce the end of an era, lamenting the passing of France's most famous mercenary.

These objective and impartial media figures will say with regret that the death of Big Bob Buruo brought an end to the dark yet romantic era of mercenaries in Africa from the 1960s to the 1990s.

As for what he did in Africa, it was summarized in vague terms as "coups" and "wars".

Only Africa who still remember him and that history will applaud, grit their teeth, curse and hate him—hate that this white man tarnished the nation's history, hate that he directly and indirectly harmed countless Africa... But who cares about the opinions of Black Africa?

But an accident still happened.

Perhaps it was an accident, but Big Bob believed it was destiny.

Initially, it was the Fr*nce governments that took the initiative to contact him and hint at things. These cunning government officials were vague, but Big Bob's decades-long network and connections in Africa had already uncovered everything he wanted to know—and then he felt absurdity, disbelief, followed by joy, and even euphoria.

He, Bob Buruo, spent his early years traversing Africa, experiencing countless battles large and small, launching more than a dozen coups, and controlling a country. He encountered countless dangers and lost countless comrades, yet he was never the one to suffer defeat or death; he lived on.

He discovered this very thing when he was nearing the end of his life.

The location where that insane secret was hidden was none other than Comora, which he controlled.

Therefore, he firmly believed that he was the chosen one.

His life will not end here, but will continue! This is the arrangement of fate!

To this end, he did not hesitate to use Comora as bait, cooperating with the Fr*nce governments to stage a grand drama that deceived the world. This was because the puppet king of Comora was unwilling to relinquish the sacred royal tomb, and because there was also a royal tomb in Gambia. Both tombs had to be excavated in order to seize the secret that could drive the world mad—yes, such an opportunity should rightfully belong to Big Bob Buruo!

The current situation has given him an excellent opportunity.

The France government is uncertain about what's inside the tomb, unlike Big Bob, who has worked in Comora for decades and has thoroughly researched royal records and historical remnants. Moreover, Fr*nce dare not make any major moves openly, lest they attract the attention and vigilance of the other four permanent members of the UN Security Council. They can only place their bets on Big Bob, hoping that this old friend will continue to serve Fr*nce's interests.

But Big Bob didn't think that way.

This gift, bestowed by fate, rightfully belongs to him alone!

No human being could resist such a temptation.

To break free from the destiny of death and prolong the life that should have ended.

He, Big Bob Buruo, will be reborn!

To this end, he used almost all his wealth and connections, focusing most of his energy on the gambling table, and dispatched his son with the most elite forces to Comora to carry out the plan.

The plan is going very smoothly.

Until last night.

That's why he called his son.

Is there something you should tell me?

Big Bob's voice was old and peaceful, but to Little Bob it carried an irresistible air of authority.

Little Bob took a deep breath and said, "Father, I'm sorry, there was a slight mishap, but we've obtained the most important treasure and are about to begin the second phase of the plan..."

"--Where are you now?"

"At the Royal Palace in Comora, Father."

The next moment, Big Bob's furious voice rang out from the phone. "Why are you still there? Throw a few mortar shells into the France embassy right now, then get back to Gambia and prepare to excavate the Great Ruins!"

Little Bob has grown up and is now quite independent. He's a grown man in his forties, and his father still treats him like a dog, which naturally makes him very unhappy. He's now the person in charge of the Buruo Family business.

"But Father, things aren't over yet," he retorted. "We haven't captured King Comora yet, and besides, aren't we planning to use China people to frame Gambia?"

"But where are all those China people you arrested? Are you still planning to hide it from me? Don't you realize the seriousness of the situation?!"

Big Bob roared into the phone, "Do I have to remind you? The guards at the King's Mausoleum! Nearly eighty employees and over two hundred local militants! Were attacked by heavy artillery fire last night! And then! They! Gone! The! F***ing! Gone! Not a single one alive, not even a single body!"

"There were no signs of large-scale relocation! Only a camp reduced to ruins remained! Tanks blown to smithereens! And a 30-centimeter-thick iron gate with two footprints! 30 centimeters!"

The old man was panting on the phone, his angry rant like a storm, leaving Little Bob speechless with fear.

"Then let me ask you, if I give you eight hundred men, can you do it?"

"Think about the information they reported to you before the MIA."

"The sentry was killed silently."

"The heavily guarded royal tomb was infiltrated silently."

"Our well-trained employees are being slaughtered one by one!"

Big Bob raised his voice. "Why aren't you running away? Why are you still staying in Comora? Do you think it's safe there? Do you think it's harder to infiltrate the palace than the royal tomb? Do you want to meet that enemy there, whose identity we still don't know?"

The old France's roar nearly shattered the phone.

"--Do you think the enemy we're facing is just a bunch of mortals?"

That's the only important point.

After he shouted those words, the father and son fell silent.

No one spoke.

After a long while, Big Bob's voice finally rang out.

"My son, you've seen that thing, and you should know what it means."

Little Bob swallowed hard.

He was blinded by his own involvement, and only after his father's reminder did he realize the seriousness of the problem.

Although he had previously taken it seriously, he hadn't considered it from this perspective, still thinking it was an elite and powerful enemy.

He whispered, "Yes, Father... this world is not as ordinary as we think."

"Then you know what to do."

"Yes, Father, I will leave immediately, right now."

"Be careful, my son, my precious treasure, I'm counting on you."

"I understand, Father, I love you."

After hanging up the phone, Little Bob took a deep breath and looked at the briefcase in the room. It was a nuclear-grade lead-sealed case that kept that mysterious and fascinating object out of reach.

He reached the door, opened it, and his subordinate waiting outside said, "Sir?"

"Make arrangements. We need to leave secretly, just in case. No convoy, but order a convoy to leave in twenty minutes as bait to test if anyone is following us."

"Adrian, go and pick up that China man, bring him here, and knock him out if necessary."

As for us...

A glint of light flashed in Little Bob's eyes. "Bernard, Thomas is stationed at the police station now, right? Call him and have him prepare the convoy."

"There's a secret underground passage in the palace. We'll leave through that passage and then walk to the police station to get in the car."

"Auguste, do you know where the entrance to the secret passage is? Take some men to check it out and clear the way for us."

His trusted men all obeyed and left, while the remaining two stayed to protect Little Bob.

"Sir," one of them asked, "Do we still need to bring that China man with us?"

A hint of annoyance flashed across Little Bob's face.

The decision to bring Kang Jinzhu into the fold originated from one... no, two accidents.

First, they overestimated the competence of the Black soldiers and workers, who turned out to be even less reliable than the France. The Black people recruited and captured to excavate the tomb were lazy and rushed, and they used excessive amounts of explosives, almost ruining the project and bringing the excavation work to a complete standstill.

Because Bob and his son were colluding with the Fr*nce and had their own agenda, they didn't want the government to get too involved in the matter. So they secretly contacted people back home and used their connections to find a reliable engineer with extensive experience in blasting, and had him take a private jet overnight.

Another unexpected event occurred.

The day before his departure, the France people's inherent passion for freedom led the engineer to don a yellow vest, becoming a beautiful sight at the Arc de Triomphe, and participating in the fervent peace movement.

Then he was arrested.

When Little Bob heard this, he was furious. For the same reason, he didn't dare to ask the government to bail him out, so he had to conscript men in Comora. Luckily, he found out that there was a local engineering company there.

As a result, everyone at Kang Jinzhu's company was arrested.

Later, considering that these China people would see things they shouldn't have after excavating the ruins and would certainly die anyway, since they were going to be silenced anyway, why not make use of them?

The original plan was to fire a few mortars at the France embassy, which would give the government a legitimate reason to send troops in a fit of rage and deal with Gambia. But since China people were coming to take their place, there was no need to harm their own compatriots.

Then that accident happened.

The mausoleum camp was completely wiped out, and the China people imprisoned inside also disappeared.

Thinking of this, Little Bob even more frustrated.

"There's no other way; we still need him," he said. "He's just an ordinary China man. Apart from his son far away in China, no one will really want to come and save him. There won't be any trouble."

Meanwhile, in the secret passage leading to the outside world, two furtive figures were slowly approaching.

The deputy listened to the sounds coming from outside the sewers and said to the leader, "There seems to be no one in the palace, sir. Have all the troops been deployed to the streets?"

"Quiet."

They moved forward silently until they came to a dusty, dilapidated house, where they slowly pushed open the sliding door and cautiously stepped inside.

The next moment, the door was pushed open.

Mercenaries faced each other, white men and Asian men, their colleagues exchanging bewildered glances.

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PS1: First update, 4000 words! Chapter 2 will probably be before midnight!