Chapter 1302 - 422: I Want to Become Cuba’s Biggest Clickbaiter (Part 3)

Chapter 1302: Chapter 422: I Want to Become Cuba’s Biggest Clickbaiter (Part 3)

Someone defied the odds and ran inside the vehicle, opened the compartment, and upon seeing the heap of brains, screamed like a little girl and fainted.

Seeing the solid evidence, the routed soldiers’ fury was tinged with mournful indignation.

"Why? Why would they do this?"

"We’re fighting at the front, and they’re killing us from the back!"

"These Europeans are truly scum!"

They tossed their guns to the ground, dejected and crestfallen, even more so than after their initial defeat. Some even squatted down and cried with their heads in their hands.

Originally, Havana’s army had no legitimacy in battle. It was all for money, but they barely saw a penny each month. Now, their last bit of spirit was utterly crushed.

At this moment, the wheelchair stood up and addressed the group of soldiers on the brink of collapse.

"Brothers, Europeans don’t see us as human, but we mustn’t forget our own humanity. No matter what, we are still alive, aren’t we?"

He patted his chest and said,

"From now on, follow me. I promise no one will dare to bully you again, and no one will dare to target your brains."

Since orders were issued with such generous rewards, he had to put on a good show to boost his score.

Determined to become Cuba’s biggest influencer!

Make it big and strong, and achieve glory again!

"Who are you? Why should I listen to you?"

The only corporal among the soldiers glanced at the wheelchair.

He hadn’t mentioned any names, but now it was a different matter. In his eyes, the wheelchair was just an ordinary straggler.

"Why?"

The wheelchair dropped the nice-guy act he had been putting on to encourage others; lest he forget, he had just cracked a lieutenant’s skull with his own hands.

His eyes showed a cruel glint, his whole body exuded a murderous aura, as he pulled out a handgun from his waist, chambered a round, and fired two shots at the corporal.

The bullets flew past the corporal’s scalp, nearly frightening him to the point of wetting himself.

"What the hell are you doing!"

"Do you think you have any options other than following me?"

The wheelchair glared fiercely at the routed soldiers in front of him.

"Without me leading the way, do you even know where to go? Don’t forget, those Horizon Mercenaries are nearby. If you don’t want to die without knowing why, obediently follow me."

His presence immediately overwhelmed these dejected and powerless soldiers, who were already without any sense of direction, and as failures, were certainly incapable of competing with the wheelchair.

What these groups lacked most was a core leader. As long as someone stepped up at this moment, the others would quickly fall in line if they didn’t want to die or had no other options.

The corporal who had just been frightened to death was still shaken.

"Where are you planning to take us?"

"First, retreat to Havana Province, find supplies, and regroup. Meanwhile, heal the wounds on your bodies."

The wheelchair continued to position himself as the leader of this group of straggling soldiers.

"You all, go check which of the vehicles here are still running. Also, search for any useful items. Meanwhile, take the brains from this truck and toss them out. It’s ominous looking."

People are people; brains are brains. They’re two different things.

Besides, the stragglers don’t even know whose brains those are. They only empathized due to the similarity but having genuine emotional attachment would be excessive.

"Move quickly, don’t stand around stupidly. If you want to survive, you better listen to me!"

Under the wheelchair’s urging, the straggling soldiers finally started to move, albeit slowly.

The infiltration team never intended for these Cubans to keep their vehicles; they merely took some medical prosthetics, guns, and a few trucks, leaving the rest at the site.

For the stragglers, these items amounted to a significant wealth. After a brief period of laziness, everyone realized they had come into a small fortune and gained some motivation, even beginning to look at the wheelchair differently.

Most importantly, aside from inventorying supplies, the wheelchair didn’t stop anyone from stashing things in their pockets.

If it were the former Cuban officers, they would have surely made them empty their pockets and sent them off with scraps.

By contrast, the resistance towards the wheelchair becoming the main leader diminished considerably.

Though it was merely that the wheelchair had no interest in those items.

Task items that couldn’t be taken back were no different from scrap iron, and stuffing them in a backpack was just a waste of space.

After tidying up for half an hour or more, the straggler group finally upgraded from bird rifles to cannons, shakily driving the Europeans’ cars towards Havana Province.

Along the way, quite a few soldiers who fled from the front lines saw this unit and, as if finding a pillar of support, swarmed towards it.

Thus, they picked up recruits as they went along, and by the time they reached Guines in Havana Province, they had become a group of several hundred straggling soldiers.

This place is less than a hundred kilometers away from Cuba’s former capital, Havana.

And at this moment, in Havana, West Fire Grass received an invitation from Cuba’s core interest circle.

An invitation from Hell.