Eu, o Rei dos Mercenários

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“I am the wanderer who forever walks alone toward the distant horizon; you are my woman amid the boundless sea of humanity, on every cold night in a foreign land…”

An ancient Mercedes L-series truck crept cautiously along the highway outside Baghdad. Xu Wei’s “Hometown” echoed through the cab while the driver, A-Guan, gripped the steering wheel and howled along in a hoarse, duck-like voice, looking as exhilarated as a mating husky fresh from a night out in Wenzhou.

In the passenger seat, Song Heping was fiddling with a Beretta 92F pistol.

His partner, Old Yao, had shoved the gun into his hands before they left, telling him to use it for self-defense.

Most pistols were not particularly complicated.

He removed the magazine with ease and glanced at the rounds inside. After making sure there was no sand or other debris, he pulled back the slide to inspect the chamber and bolt, then reminded the driver, “A-Guan, this is a red zone. Don’t get so caught up in singing that you forget to watch the road. If you see anything suspicious, turn around and run…”

It was 9:20 a.m. on September 17, 2003, five months after the American military’s Operation Iraqi Freedom had ended.

Baghdad was a chaotic mess, both inside the capital and beyond it. The smoke of gunpowder hung everywhere in the air, tinged with the stench of blood. Every breath tasted of death.

Although the Americans had long since announced to the world that their military operation had ended in complete success, the gunfire in Baghdad had never stopped.