Chapter 7: They Were Caught in the Morning, and Rescued by Us at Night

Zhang Liang and his companion pressed themselves against either side of the gap in the factory’s outer wall, quickly scanning the scene within. The two patrolling guards were still chatting a dozen meters away. By the distant bonfire, where three men had been eating, only two remained; the third had returned inside the factory.

Zhang Liang signaled to Zhen Ye, who, upon seeing the gesture, began moving without a sound. Two minutes later, a faint tap came through Zhang Liang’s earpiece. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired six shots at the two sentries.

A pair to the chest, one to the face—neither militant had a chance to feel pain before leaving this world.

On the other side, as Zhang Liang opened fire, Zhen Ye, who had already circled around, struck as well, swiftly dispatching the men by the fire.

They could not risk leaving these men behind and sneaking into the factory. If something went wrong, they might easily find themselves trapped inside.

“Perimeter clear, preparing to enter,” Zhen Ye whispered into his comm as he moved quickly toward the open door, Zhang Liang close behind. With the aid of thermal imaging, they had a rough sense of everyone’s positions, a tremendous advantage.

After silently advancing a short distance, a militant suddenly emerged from a side room. Zhang Liang and Zhen Ye, having caught his movement first, ducked into a corridor corner. The corridor had many rooms and glass panes on either side. They worried that firing their weapons would make too much noise, so as the man reached the corner, Zhen Ye lunged forward, jamming his left hand into the trigger guard of the AK the man carried to prevent an instinctive shot.

At the same time, his right hand clamped over the man’s mouth. Zhang Liang’s tactical knife flashed coldly, and the man felt a stab to his chest before darkness overtook him.

They gently dragged the body aside and checked their tactical tablet before continuing.

“Be advised, thermal imaging will soon be lost—be careful,” Wan Xiaoling warned after checking the drone’s battery. Military drones were useful, but not omnipotent; especially limited by their battery life—a flaw of all small UAVs. If circumstances allowed, a medium or large UAV would have made things much simpler.

Besides, thermal imaging had limited ability to see through walls. If the factory hadn’t been riddled with holes, they wouldn’t have been able to locate anyone inside.

“Understood,” Zhang Liang replied quietly as he advanced, weapon ready. This was within their expectations.

Before the drone lost signal entirely, the two took one last look at the marked enemy positions, especially the location of the hostages.

After Zhen Ye dealt with another militant who’d gotten up for the restroom, the pair reached the area where the hostages were held. Crouching behind a machine, Zhang Liang studied the civilians huddled together, bound and terrified—especially the two Chinese nationals.

Seeing them alive was a relief. Moments ago, they’d passed a room where a beheaded body had testified grimly to the stakes.

Seven militants remained—four chatting near the hostages, the others likely resting in another room.

Zhen Ye motioned to Zhang Liang, then moved alone toward the room.

But luck was not on his side. Before he could act, someone suddenly stepped out from the room—

A burst of gunfire. Caught off guard, Zhen Ye fired first, quickly dropping the man, but not before his finger squeezed the trigger in return.

The sudden clamor of gunshots sent the hostages into panicked screams, and the terrorists were jolted awake.

“B2, B1 has engaged—repeat, B1 has engaged!” Wan Xiaoling’s voice crackled.

Zhang Liang was already firing, cutting down two of the militants who rushed to investigate.

The other two, coming under attack, muttered in alarm and dove behind cover, spraying bullets in Zhang Liang’s direction.

“B2 has engaged,” Zhang Liang reported as he ducked for cover and swapped magazines.

“Damn, you okay?” he called.

“When has a man ever said he wasn’t?” Zhen Ye replied, pulling a grenade, flicking off the safety, and tossing it through the window into the noisy room.

A hush, then chaos erupted anew. One disheveled man burst from the door, only to meet a hail of bullets.

The grenade detonated with a thunderous roar as Zhen Ye raced over. He fired more shots at the prone bodies for good measure, then circled around to flank.

“I’m going for the rear,” he said.

“Hurry up, I’m still hungry from dinner,” Zhang Liang quipped, shifting position and firing off a few shots to draw attention.

It was their own unorthodox way of communicating in combat—according to their commander, both were a bit unhinged.

Screams continued from the hostages, but fortunately, the two IS fighters were too busy to pay them any mind. Otherwise, a burst of gunfire would have silenced the lot.

“Chinese are so—no, so clever,” Zhang Liang thought, glancing over to see the two Chinese workers crouched behind a pillar, making themselves as small as possible. He couldn’t help but give them silent praise.

Zhen Ye flanked the two militants still firing desperately at Zhang Liang, raising his weapon for a precise burst. Blood spattered as one fell; the other, seeing his companion drop, panicked, but before he could turn his weapon, Zhang Liang and Zhen Ye opened up together, emptying their magazines into him.

No need to ask—the result was tragic.

“Command, all militants eliminated,” Zhen Ye reported, glancing at Zhang Liang, who was already moving to calm the hostages.

“Copy that. Evacuate immediately,” Wan Xiaoling replied coolly, having seen the outcome through their helmet cams. A dozen untrained civilians were never going to be a match for these two.

“Don’t be afraid, we’re from the Chinese Embassy,” Zhen Ye reassured the trembling civilians, borrowing the embassy’s name to settle their nerves.

Some locals didn’t understand Chinese or English, but the two Chinese workers spoke some Arabic and quickly translated. The group soon regained composure.

“Are our military attachés abroad really this formidable?” the two Chinese workers wondered, stealing glances at the heavily armed men leading them to the vehicles outside, a sense of pride swelling in their hearts.

Indeed, it took real Chinese mettle to pull this off. If they’d relied on the government troops, they’d have been dead and buried by next year.

Thus, the hostages, kidnapped at eight in the morning and lost in despair, were returned to Baghdad by bus just after eleven at night.

Before reaching the city, Zhen Ye slipped off the bus and into a waiting jeep.

When the bus was discovered by government forces, the two operatives had already vanished into the night.

“You’re writing the after-action report,” Zhang Liang declared.

“Why me?!” Zhen Ye protested, aghast—he hated paperwork.

“You’re the one who got spotted first!”

“How was I supposed to know he’d pop out like that?”

“Doesn’t matter—you’re writing it.”

Zhang Liang shrugged. He’d never liked homework in school; the thought of writing a report was even less appealing.

Some things never change.