Chapter 29: Two Master Strategists

"The target's approximate location has been confirmed. Prepare for action."

"We will first investigate the main pharmacies where 'The Boss' sources his stock to see where this batch of troglitazone entered the market."

"..."

Upon hearing Milton issue his orders, Luz felt completely dazed.

No, could the general location of the evidence really be pinpointed just by looking at the price discrepancies in the ledger?

He, of course, had no idea that Milton’s deduction was based on future knowledge; all he felt was a profound sense of awe toward his colleague.

"Assemble in the garage. Let’s get our gear ready."

Milton, knowing the value of time, didn't waste words and began issuing instructions to his two teammates: "I'll be using the FN FAL. Brandon, switch to the Type 81. Luz, use the Type 56. Everyone takes a TEC-9 as a sidearm. If you want to carry anything else, feel free, as long as it doesn't hinder the operation."

"Each person carries one combat load of ammunition."

"Bring all throwing weapons. Both of you, put on your body armor immediately."

The atmosphere in the room turned solemn, and both men instinctively entered a state of mobilization and combat readiness.

Because time was tight, and Milton feared the black-market arms dealers might sell them out, he chose to exchange points for supplies before they had fully established their footing.

To ensure true fire superiority, Milton specifically exchanged for four drum magazines for the FN FAL—three loaded with standard M80 ball ammunition, and one loaded with M993 tungsten-core armor-piercing rounds to deal with any extreme situations.

Likewise, to handle potential night combat, Milton stuffed ten tracer rounds into every drum.

Since the FN FAL didn't have an official military drum magazine—only civilian, unofficial models—exchanging for them cost a significant amount of red points, especially since these were large 100-round drums.

The FN FAL was a precision semi-auto weapon, but Milton intended to use it as a light machine gun for the time being, even if it caused irreversible wear to the rifle.

He never wanted to be pinned down by superior firepower again.

After swapping out the gear and getting a set of body armor for Luz, 40,000 of the 70,000 red points he held were gone in an instant.

Fortunately, exchanging for ammunition only required regular points.

"Two assault rifles, one 'light machine gun,' standard submachine guns, various grenades... this level of firepower," Milton calculated the gear they were carrying, "This firepower... it’s definitely enough, though not exactly overkill."

There was no help for it; his "insufficient firepower phobia" hadn't disappeared just because he had transmigrated.

"Then I'll exchange for an M203 under-barrel grenade launcher! Mount it under the FN FAL; whoever stands in my way gets blown to pieces!" Milton gritted his teeth and spent another 20,000 red points. "Exchange for all six available 40mm M381 high-explosive grenades!"

After the exchange, only a little over 10,000 red points remained.

But Milton felt a sudden sense of security.

***

Soon, the three arrived at their newly purchased garage, which housed three vehicles: Milton’s SR5, Brandon’s Chevrolet Caprice, and Luz’s motorcycle.

"Check your gear before we head out. Don't rush these last few minutes." Milton led the two to their new garage and dragged the equipment out from the back of his pickup.

When the pile of gear was revealed, Luz’s eyes went wide.

Tactical helmets, heavy body armor, assault rifles with attachments, various tactical tools!

"This..." Luz’s hands were trembling. "Even the Army Special Forces don't have gear this good, do they?"

In this place, rather than buying expensive gear for their subordinates, most leaders would rather let them die and pay the death benefits.

Human lives were worth far less than equipment.

Milton inspected his own gear and said, "As long as it saves your life, no amount of money is too much. If you have any questions, speak up before we leave. I’m not playing politics with you; if you have concerns, say them. Trying to be a hero will only get us all killed."

But as the two looked at the pile of gear—which could buy their lives countless times over—they couldn't think of anything they were missing.

Following a boss like this, they were truly willing to risk their lives.

Brandon shook his head and said, "In terms of equipment, my imagination really isn't good enough... though there is a problem with our pharmacy."

Milton pushed the grenade launcher aside, loaded a grenade into it, and asked, "What problem?"

"The medicine supply might only last another three or four days... If we can't supply the drugs by then, losing a source of income is one thing, but the worst part is that someone might take the risk of selling us out for a bounty."

After cleanly eliminating the killers from the Fan Kang gang, there were very few people who would dare to do such a thing, but that didn't mean they could ignore the risk.

Milton noted this information and nodded. "Understood, but that's not something we need to solve right now. We'll talk about it when we get back. Anything else?"

Both shook their heads. "No."

"Good." Milton watched them put on their body armor and nodded. "Now, let’s talk about your compensation."

Compensation?

In a place where money was more important than life, being able to eat, draw a salary, and use such high-quality gear was already a miracle. As for the money? The boss would surely pay them whatever he saw fit.

"Boss, you just handle that however you think is best!"

"Honestly... I feel a bit shameless even talking about money with you."

Milton shook his head. "No, there must be rules. Since we have few people now, splitting money by feeling is fine. But we will inevitably grow into a larger team, and new people will join, so there must be written rules, or internal conflict will be inevitable."

"First, the team must take 20% of all income, regardless of the source or amount, as operating expenses. The team needs to pay salaries, buy intelligence, and do many other things; we must have stable funding."

The two nodded, showing no objection, and even a hint of gratitude and emotion appeared in their eyes.

***

Forget 20%; even if they were only allowed to keep 20%, he would still be a good boss!

Milton continued, "For temporary missions that require field combat, after deducting the team's share, we divide the rest into shares. For example, if there are 3 of us, the spoils will be divided into 4 shares: I take two, and you each take one."

"If there are 10 people, it will be divided into 11 shares: I take two, and everyone else takes one. Is that clear?"

"If someone is killed in action, I will provide a lump sum of 5 years' salary to the deceased's family as a pension."

Actually, these were the standard rules of the trade; Milton was just repeating them.

After speaking, Milton looked at the two.

He saw that Brandon and Luz were struck dumb, their expressions dark and unreadable. They didn't agree immediately, and he didn't know what they were thinking.

Did they think their share was too small?

Milton frowned, sounding dissatisfied. "If you have any objections to the division, say it now. I don't want my team to have conflicts over money."

Luz shook his head in a daze. "No... I was just thinking about how dangerous the mission we're about to carry out is, and I was wondering how I should write my will. But Boss, don't worry. Even if a shell—no, even if an atomic bomb comes our way, I will definitely stand in front of you!"

Brandon also looked solemn, gripping his rifle tightly. "I can't guarantee anything else, but I can guarantee that before you die, I will be the one to die first! If I die, just make sure my money goes to my family."

Milton paused. So, they didn't think the pay was too low—they thought they were getting too much and figured the upcoming mission was a suicide run?

Could this little bit of money really buy their lives?

These two fools; they were being exploited like this and still thought it was worth it!

A sudden pang of guilt for swindling fools pricked at Milton's heart. He forced his voice to be stern. "Cut the crap. If you have no problems, get in the car. You two sit in the back. Don't roll down the windows, and stay hidden."

As he spoke, Milton placed most of his gear, including his heavy body armor, under the passenger seat.

Brandon reminded him, "Boss, aren't you wearing your heavy body armor?"

Milton touched the soft bulletproof vest hidden beneath his worn-out clothes and shook his head. "We’re going to investigate, not start a war. Wearing that makes us too much of a target; it will attract unnecessary attention."

"You two observe the surroundings from the car. I’ll keep the walkie-talkie on. If anything goes wrong, be ready to cover me at any moment."

After giving the final instructions, Milton turned the ignition, pressed the gas pedal, and drove the Chevrolet Caprice out of the garage, heading toward the church in the center of Malakan Town.