dkrc Chapter 111 Old Soldiers Never Die
Chapter 111 Old Soldiers Never Die
Chapter 111 Old Soldiers Never Die
The room was very simply furnished: a huge floor-to-ceiling window, a cabinet, a bed, and that was all.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a gaunt figure sitting in a wheelchair.
He was a listless old man, his head slumped to one side, glistening saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth. His gray-blue eyes, though open, were like a stagnant pool, staring blankly out the window.
Samuel Fuller, the brigadier general who once dominated the battlefield, knelt in front of his wheelchair.
I took a bowl of oatmeal porridge from the cupboard, prepared it, and carefully scooped up a spoonful with a spoon, bringing it to the old man's lips.
"Open your mouth, Barney. It's vanilla today, your favorite."
His voice was so gentle, like he was coaxing a baby, which seemed completely out of place with his tough-guy face.
The elderly man in the wheelchair showed no reaction; even his swallowing instinct seemed sluggish. Porridge dripped from the corner of his mouth and onto his bib.
Samuel took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the corners of his mouth clean, then picked up the spoon again.
"He was my savior," the old general said to Qin Han while feeding him. "In 1944, on our last mission over the Nu River, those damned Zero fighters were as numerous as flies."
"Our P-40 was riddled with bullets, so we had to parachute and ended up in the jungles of Myanmar."
The spoon gently touched the rim of the bowl, making a crisp sound.
"For three whole days, we crawled through the mud, drank rainwater, and ate raw snake meat."
"We were discovered by the Japanese. A bullet was aimed at my head. Barney pushed me away."
The old general put down his bowl, pointed to a bullet wound on the back of Barney's neck, then unbuttoned his clothes and took off his shirt.
Qin Han's pupils suddenly contracted.
His back was covered with crisscrossing scars, resembling ugly centipedes.
On the left scapula, there is also a dent, a permanent mark left by a large-caliber rifle bullet.
"I was lucky." Samuel buttoned up his shirt again and turned to face Qin Han. "But God didn't favor him. The bullet shattered his spine, shrapnel severed his nerves, and he suffered a severe concussion."
"Since that day, for thirty years, he hasn't said a word."
"At least, he's still alive," Qin Han whispered, trying to comfort the old man in front of him.
"Yes, still alive." Samuel gave a bitter laugh. "Like a ghost."
He walked behind the wheelchair and pushed Barney around so the sun wouldn't shine directly on his face.
"Speak, young man. What did Bill send you to me for?"
Qin Han stepped forward and tucked the blanket that had slipped off Barney. He then recounted the story of the "Qinglan Society" and Fred's speculation about the "Japanese Gang."
"Just last night, at an open-air restaurant on Waikiki Beach—if I hadn't reacted quickly, I would have been a corpse."
As he listened to his account, Samuel's calm face gradually contorted into a grimace.
"No wonder you brought your weapon with you." He glanced at Qin Han's waist. "I knew it! Those sons of bitches wouldn't behave!"
The old general gritted his teeth in hatred: "That megalomaniac MacArthur! That show-off bastard!"
"Back in Tokyo, he should have sent all those zaibatsu to the gallows! Instead of keeping them like pets for some damned strategic balance!"
He grew angrier as he spoke, pacing back and forth in the cramped room like an enraged lion.
"Pearl Harbor now—humph! A whole bunch of high-ranking officials sitting in the Seventh Fleet headquarters have long forgotten how much blood was shed here thirty years ago!"
"They took political donations from Iwasaki Heavy Industries, drank sake sent by the Japanese, and treated their father's killer as their godfather!"
"This is a disgrace! A disgrace to the United States of America!"
Samuel stopped abruptly, staring intently at Qin Han: "So, the shooting in the newspapers this morning was aimed at you?"
"That's right." Qin Han nodded.
Samuel laughed in fury, his eyes flashing with a chilling glint of ferocity: "How dare you touch my friends on my turf! I'm going to take care of this!"
The two walked out of the house and returned to the front hall of the welfare home. They went into a mailroom and found a field telephone used by the military.
"Listen, kid. As for that Qinglan Society you mentioned, and all that political maneuvering in Washington, I'm just a retired veteran. I don't have the brains or the authority to get involved."
"But in the future, if you have any concrete plans that require my help, I will definitely help you, even if it's not for a single cent!"
"As for now—" Samuel grabbed the microphone and turned the dial: "It's a piece of cake to help you find the Japanese rats hiding on this island."
"On this island, there is absolutely no one my 'children' cannot find."
Looking at the murderous old man, Qin Han felt much more at ease.
"General, this won't be a wasted effort." He glanced around the dilapidated welfare home: "That's a Japanese zaibatsu. If I can really take down one of them, the soup that comes out will be enough to fund you to build the best nursing home in all of America."
Samuel paused for a moment, holding the phone, and gave Qin Han a deep look, his eyes showing more approval.
"What? You trying to bribe me, kid?" he joked.
"No, this is called sharing the spoils of war," Qin Han said with a smile, adopting the generous demeanor of a "big boss."
Samuel burst into hearty laughter: "That little rascal Bill was right about you! You're just my type!"
Just then, the call connected, and he yelled into the receiver, "Pick up Old Dog! Tell him to bring his work kit and get to the Veterans' Bar right now! Tell them there's a big job tonight!"
As night fell, the Pacific breeze carried away the daytime heat, but it couldn't dispel the increasingly enthusiastic atmosphere on Waikiki Beach.
A makeshift wooden stage has been temporarily erected on the beach in front of the Hilton Hotel.
There were no dazzling lights or complicated sound equipment, only a few high-powered spotlights that illuminated the stage.
Despite the lack of any publicity, the news that "Elvis Presley is going to hold a concert on the beach" spread like wildfire throughout Honolulu in a single day.
Countless tourists crowded the beach, their eyes fixed on that lone bar stool.
In the temporary tent backstage, Elvis Presley wore a white open-collar shirt and a bright floral wreath around his neck.
He gripped the guitar tightly, his palms sweating profusely.
"Qin—is this really going to work?"
Elvis peered through the gaps in the tent at the dense crowd outside: "So many people—and outdoors—ten thousand!"
"There's no 'what if.' Elvis, look at them." Qin Han pointed to the expectant faces outside: "They've been waiting for far too long."
Last night's gunfire couldn't scare me, and tonight's darkness can't dim your brilliance. Remember, this is your home turf.
.
"As for those rats hiding in the shadows—" A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he patted the bulge at his waist: "Leave them to me."
Elvis took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and seemed to be searching for that long-lost rhythm.
A few seconds later, when he opened his eyes again, the fear in his blue-gray eyes had finally dissipated: "Those assassins are yours, brother."
He picked up his guitar and strode out of the tent.
"Wow-!!!"
When that familiar figure appeared under the spotlight, the entire beach instantly erupted in cheers!
Screams and cheers swept in like a tsunami.
Elvis stood in front of the microphone, gently strumming the guitar strings. The clear sound of the guitar traveled through the speakers to the beach, drowning out all the noise.
"Wisemensay, onlyfoolsrushin.. .
'
The restless crowd instantly quieted down, leaving only the sound of waves crashing on the beach, intertwined with the tender singing.
Qin Han, wearing a flashy Hawaiian shirt, blended into the crowded throng.
Elvis, who wasn't in the stands, scanned those enraptured faces with his radar-like gaze.
Scattered around him were a dozen or so seemingly insignificant middle-aged people.
Some were dressed as hotel cleaning staff, some as vendors selling cold drinks, and others looked like drunk tourists, slumped under the coconut trees on the outskirts.
These are the "children" Samuel referred to.
A group of seasoned veterans transferred from the Seventh Fleet barracks.
"The one in the black jacket at three o'clock."
A whisper came through the miniature radio in his ear. The old general was sitting on the balcony of the second floor of the hotel, holding a military telescope, looking down and controlling the overall situation.
"He wasn't looking at the stage; he was constantly observing the security arrangements around him. His left hand remained in his pocket the entire time, never taking it out."
Qin Han quietly squeezed through the crowd and looked in the direction of three o'clock.
He was a short, stocky Asian man wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his shoulders, looking around as if searching for something.
Just as Elvis was singing the climax of the chorus and the crowd erupted in cheers, a waiter carrying a tray suddenly slipped and crashed heavily into him.
"Hey! Watch where you're going!"
The waiter—an old soldier missing a finger—cursed and slammed the tray in his hand onto the man's chest with a loud thud.
In that instant, his mutilated hand precisely grabbed the man's wrist, which was tucked into his pocket, and twisted it sharply.
"Crack." A faint sound of bone breaking was drowned out by the singing.
The man's face turned deathly pale instantly. Just as he was about to scream, another large hand covered his mouth, and at the same time, a sharp ice spike silently pressed against his lower back.
"Shh—listen to the music, don't talk," the old soldier whispered in his ear.
At the same time, two burly men disguised as tourists quickly surrounded him, one on each side, and dragged him into the dark palm grove as if supporting a drunken friend.
"There was more than one person sent. At nine o'clock, there was the couple, and at six o'clock, there was the long-haired man carrying a guitar case."
"The person the couple gave me. That long-haired man—he's very close to you."
Qin Han listened to the old general's command and a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
He tilted his head back and took a sip of beer, his gaze locking onto the long-haired man.
With long, flowing hair, he looked like a wandering singer, but he was wearing a pair of tactical boots that were easy to use for generating power.
Moreover, the guitar case had a rather strange shape, with an unnatural droop at the bottom.
At this moment, Elvis on stage switched to a fast song, "Jailhouse Rock," and the powerful rhythm brought the atmosphere to its peak.
The long-haired man seemed to realize that something was wrong with his companion and reached for the zipper of his guitar bag behind him.
He couldn't wait any longer and prepared to launch a surprise attack!
The moment his fingers touched the zipper, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
"Hey bro, need a light?"
The long-haired man shuddered and instinctively reached out to block.
But Qin Han was faster than him!
His fingers instantly gripped his Jianjing acupoint, and his thumb pressed down forcefully.
A piercing, tingling sensation instantly spread across half of the long-haired man's body, causing his ready-to-go movements to freeze momentarily.
Immediately afterwards, Qin Han took a step forward and suddenly raised his knee, slamming it hard into his lower abdomen.
"Ugh!" The long-haired man let out a muffled groan, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets. Qin Han then took the opportunity to put his arm around his neck, making them look like two enthusiastic fans embracing each other.
"Don't move." The cold barrel of the gun was pressed against the long-haired man's ribs: "This python has a large caliber. If you fire one shot, half of your body will rot away."
The long-haired man was also a ruthless character. Enduring the excruciating pain, he pulled a dagger from his waist with his right hand, attempting a final struggle.
Qin Han's right hand, holding the gun, remained still, while his left hand, palm facing out, swiftly sliced across the wrist pulse point.
The dagger slipped from its hand, and before it could even hit the ground, Qin Han flicked it with his toe, and a passing "drunkard" caught it steadily and casually put it into his pocket.
"take away."
Two veterans who had been waiting nearby immediately stepped in, flanking the long-haired man from both sides. With a stun gun blast, the long-haired man instantly went limp.
"Cleanup complete." Samuel's voice came through the earpiece. "Four in total, a standard tactical squad. These Japanese really went all out."
The singing on stage gradually subsided. Elvis was covered in sweat, but his smile was incredibly bright.
Looking at the enthusiastic faces below the stage and listening to the thunderous applause, his eyes welled up with tears.
He knew that he had come back to life.
"Thank you! Thank you all!" Elvis bowed deeply to the audience, then picked up the microphone, his gaze piercing through the crowd to find the figure standing in the shadows on the outskirts.
"I'd like to dedicate this next song to a special friend."
"He told me that as long as there is music in your heart, anywhere can be a stage. He helped me find my way home in the darkness."
The guitar sounded again, this time, it was the heartbreakingly tender "Blue Hawaii".
"Nightandyou, andblueHawaii..."
The melodious tune echoed in the night sky, and the sea breeze rustled through the coconut palms.
Qin Han leaned against a coconut tree, holding a bottle of beer that was already warm in his hand, and looked at the radiant man on the stage with a slight smile on his lips.
"Mission accomplished."
He said softly into the microphone, "It's time to interrogate these rats who were captured alive."
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