Chapter 4: An Unusual Aftermath

"Are these guys insane?!"

As he ran, Zhong Rong could hardly believe what was happening. Shooting a journalist on camera? What kind of normal person would do something like that?

The rapid crackle of gunfire echoed behind them. The armed men chasing them, seeing the group attempt to flee, didn’t hesitate for a second before opening fire.

At a corner in the alley, Zhang Liang grabbed the other two, pulling them to safety. A bullet grazed Kong Bailing’s back, sparking against the wall with a burst of light.

“TAR-21 assault rifle,” Zhang Liang murmured. He had noticed the model as soon as the gunmen appeared, though he hadn’t expected these maniacs to actually aim at the journalists.

It was an Israeli-made bullpup rifle, exported by Israel Weapon Industries (IWI) and adopted by the Israeli military in 2006, much like the M4A1 as a standard service weapon. It fired 5.56x45mm rounds, was 725mm in length, weighed 3.27kg unloaded, had a muzzle velocity of 910 meters per second, and a maximum rate of fire of 900 rounds per minute.

Typically, the Picatinny rail came fitted with an ITL MARS red dot sight and an integrated laser/infrared pointer system. If needed, an M203 40mm grenade launcher could be attached underneath. However, as with all bullpup designs, the biggest flaw was the ejection port’s proximity to the shooter’s face. Quick shouldering maneuvers could obstruct the port—an issue never fully resolved.

Zhang Liang wasn’t one to leave his life to chance. Once their pursuers closed to within fifty meters, he drew his P226 and flicked off the safety.

“Wait for me at the next corner,” he signaled to Zhong Rong and Kong Bailing. After they hurried off, Zhang Liang listened intently to the distance between them and the attackers.

Fifty meters. Forty. Thirty. Twenty...

Suddenly, Zhang Liang darted out from cover. The two gunmen chasing him paused in surprise, just as he fired several shots in quick succession.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

They likely hadn’t expected the journalist to be armed, let alone to fight back. But that moment’s hesitation was fatal. Since they wore body armor, Zhang Liang aimed for exposed areas—the face and neck.

His hand was steady, and his pistol reliable. With the muted thuds of bullets striking flesh, the two gunmen collapsed instantly.

Zhang Liang quickly grabbed a TAR-21 from the ground, retrieved two magazines, and left the scene without a moment’s delay.

The unusual gunfire soon drew the attention of other militants. Shouts rang out as more of them rushed over. Upon discovering their comrades’ bodies, fury drove them to begin searching for the attacker.

By then, Zhang Liang had already rejoined the other two, leading them through the maze of alleys, hiding wherever they could. He had no desire to engage in a firefight unless absolutely necessary—a single bullet could mean the end.

He just needed to buy a little time. The Lebanese patrols nearby would not let these attackers run rampant for long, especially not the so-called “guerrillas.”

Because Zhong Rong and Kong Bailing had spent years reporting from war zones, they were in decent shape. Glancing at the weapon in Zhang Liang’s hands, neither of them foolishly asked any questions.

After all, he was officially sent to protect them, and legally armed. Their attackers were firing without restraint—did they expect him not to fire back?

Their biggest problem was that this town, lying on the frontlines of the Lebanese-Israeli conflict for years, was sparsely populated and small, leaving little room to hide.

Zhang Liang considered ducking into one of the local homes, but the chaos outside had long since numbed the residents. Doors were locked tight, barricaded from within.

“Damn it.”

Soon, the three, unfamiliar with the area, found themselves back on the town’s main road.

The footsteps of their pursuers were now clearly audible. With no other choice, Zhang Liang led the group across the street, hoping to find refuge on the other side.

“Zhong!” a low voice called from their right. In the shadow of a building, John and a bloodied cameraman waved them over.

Having witnessed these gunmen execute a journalist, everyone else had abandoned any notion of relying on their press credentials. With most cameras destroyed, when their assailants dashed into the alley, the survivors used the opportunity to scatter and hide.

“Let’s go,” Zhang Liang urged, and they hurried over. John and his companion had arrived first and probably knew the area better.

Just as the group slipped into the sheltering shadows, several gunmen burst from the alley.

“Shh.” Zhang Liang gestured for silence, and the five quietly retreated deeper into the building.

More militants converged nearby. Their losses had enraged them, and following their leader’s orders, they surged into the right side of the town, determined to kill the one responsible.

John led the group through a series of twists and turns, soon bringing them close to their hotel. But they dared not enter—the lobby was being ransacked by two armed men.

Worse still, it seemed the attackers had anticipated their return. Over a dozen gunmen were closing in from all directions.

“Is there a way out?” Zhang Liang asked, frowning and cursing the Lebanese border patrol for their sluggish response.

“No. That alley is a dead end. We’d have to go through the hotel and out the other side,” replied the white cameraman, a gash bleeding on his head.

Suddenly, bullets tore through the air from afar. Instinctively, Zhang Liang yanked everyone to the ground—a gunman had spotted them and opened fire.

“Fall back!” With no other option, Zhang Liang crawled with the group into the dead-end alley, directing them to hide further in while he covered the entrance.

He quickly leaned out and shot the gunman who had followed, but more enemies were coming.

“Two and a half magazines left. About fifteen on the other side. Excellent—odds are in my favor!” Zhang Liang readied himself for a desperate fight.

Just then, the roar of engines sounded from the far side of town, followed by a fierce exchange of gunfire.

The Lebanese forces had finally arrived!

The militants realized their numbers were no match. If they didn’t retreat now, they’d be trapped. With a final burst of gunfire at the alley entrance, they retreated in frustration.

Pressed against the wall, Zhang Liang exhaled in relief. He turned to speak, but caught sight of the indicator lights of several cameras switched on.

Other journalists, hiding on the hotel’s second floor, had recorded everything.

Zhang Liang frowned. It was dark, with no streetlights, and they were some distance away, so his face probably hadn’t been caught. But his shooting of the “unknown” militants had likely been filmed.

This wouldn’t do. Despite the lack of insignia, anyone with sense knew these were regular Israeli soldiers. If the footage got out, Mossad would surely intervene.

He wasn’t afraid, but the aftermath could get messy. So...

His eyes flashed with decision. Just as Zhong Rong and John moved to emerge, having heard the commotion and knowing rescue had arrived, Zhang Liang shouted suddenly:

“Baka!”

He covered his face and bolted.

The others stared, dumbfounded, at the man disappearing into the night, then noticed the cameras as well.

“John?” Zhong Rong placed a hand on John’s shoulder. He didn’t say much, but his meaning was clear.

“Don’t worry,” John and the cameraman nodded. After all, Zhang Liang had helped them, and they too were furious at Israel’s audacity. A small favor was the least they could do.

Ten minutes later, after changing clothes and disposing of his weapon, Zhang Liang calmly rejoined the journalist group now under Lebanese protection.