Chapter 1115 Ai Rong

Back in the wasteland, the smoke has not cleared, but the battle has been decided. Among Bane's thousands of people, more than 2,000 backbone forces are retreating, and the black servants who have lost their command are running around. Thousands of corpses were left on the battlefield, but the Aurora Legion was powerless to pursue them, so they could only clean up the battlefield.

'Dongshuang' disappeared directly in front of Zhou Qingfeng's eyes. Although Ma Keshi next to him felt strange, he didn't say anything. Zhou Qingfeng let him go after the remnant enemy, and the leader of the mutants was overjoyed immediately, he let out a shout with a machine gun on his shoulder, and charged forward with his subordinates.

The power armor is already broken, it's hard to imagine that there was a timid, scared girl who fainted at the sight of blood, and she had to develop a second personality in order to survive. Zhou Qingfeng stood beside the armored body in a daze for a long time—the world is so vast, and there are very few people who can understand him.

"Fuck, I was a good-for-nothing who couldn't even find a job back then. I'm afraid of being fucked!" Zhou Qingfeng didn't want to look at that power armor anymore, at most he just asked people to pack it up.

Walking alone on the battlefield, Zhou Qingfeng slowly walked back to the area under his control. Xiang Ming led his team to clean up the battlefield. Seeing Zhou Qingfeng appearing, he finally let go of his heart—the wealth and lives of more than 200,000 people depended on this big boss, but this big boss ran to the battlefield to mess around.

Hateful!

Before seeing Zhou Qingfeng, Xiang Ming held back his words, and even wanted to scold him severely. But when the exhausted Zhou Qingfeng really appeared, everyone was in awe of him, and no one wanted to blame him.

It is legendary that Ben's thousands of people came to kill them, but they were defeated by Uncle Zhou like cutting melons and vegetables. You must know that he did not use any high-tech weapons, airships, propeller fighters, transport planes converted into attack planes, all equipment seemed to be a joke.

Other forces have already been beaten to the ground by Ben En, but they are ashamed when they meet Zhou Qingfeng. This victory gave the Chinese in Angola great confidence. Especially when they learned that 'Dongshuang' was finished, it caused even more joy.

It's just that others cheered, but Zhou Qingfeng himself was full of loneliness. When he walked to the bridge where the dead bodies were hung, many people were about to bring down the electric poles. He immediately said in a deep voice, "Stop first, and find a cameraman to take pictures of these dead bodies."

Someone persuaded: "These corpses died too badly, they don't look good. It's better to put them down and fix them before taking pictures."

"Miserable? Don't be afraid of a miserable death in war." Zhou Qingfeng's words are unshakable, "If we can establish a Chinese country in Africa one day, we must show a few photos. Tell future generations not to think that everything is wrong. It’s for nothing, some people died miserably in order to build a country.”

"Yes, take pictures." Xiang Ming also expressed his support, "Not only do we need to take pictures, but we also need to hold funerals for these martyrs.

Big funeral. "

If you say you want to hold a funeral, you really want to hold a grand and solemn memorial service. The momentum must be large, the scene must be large, and it must be full of sorrow and glory. Anyone in Luanda who is not on the job must participate, and try their best to give the martyrs the greatest honor.

After the photo was taken, the body was put down. Wash off the dirt with clean water, cover up the wound as much as possible, and even change the corpse into clean clothes.

There is no ready-made coffin, so we can only find a few wooden boards and simply nail it on. The corpse was placed there, and Zhou Qingfeng personally carried the coffin back to the city. In the external publicity, these martyrs who were tortured to death died in order to resist the brutal Bane forces.

The news of the memorial service was spread on the radio, and the farewell crowd gradually gathered on the way back from carrying the coffin. The compatriots who got the news rushed over one after another and stood on both sides. There are no white flowers, no mourning, only the solemn and mourning atmosphere, which is depressing and moving.

At this moment, there are thousands of Chinese in Luanda, thousands of expeditionary death squads, and thousands of white women waiting to be transferred, and tens of thousands of blacks are the most numerous.

Satin, who was imprisoned not long ago, was also asked to see him off. When receiving this order, Sardin and other black people undergoing reform dared not say anything on the face, but they all complained in their hearts—wasn’t it just a few people who died? Where in Africa now, when will no one die?

If you die, just bury it, or even throw it into the wilderness, how easy it is! Now what do you want us to do to see you off? Want to hold a memorial service? Want to commemorate? What is going on in the heads of these Chinese people? I really can't figure it out!

With full of complaints, Satin was rushed to set up the memorial service. It’s not enough if you don’t work hard, and there are guards watching. If you don’t do it well, you will be criticized at least, and you will be locked in a small dark room if you are serious.

There are no wreaths, no pines and cypresses, and even white paper can't be found temporarily. People can only find wooden boards and engrave a pair of elegiac couplets to express their hearts. The form can be simple, but mourning is not random. Just as Sardin was busy rushing to work, the scene of the memorial service began to gather crowds one after another.

"Wow, why are there so many people gathered here?" Sadin was building a wooden platform with a hammer in his hand. He looked around the temporarily selected venue, very puzzled? This is just a relatively wide street, nothing special in terms of location.

There were a lot of rubbish and ruins that had not been cleaned up on the street, and the people who came here moved these obstacles by themselves. Everyone is silent, only the energy of hard work.

This silent scene made Satin dare not speak casually, but he saw that the usually fierce discipline also turned into a sad face, as sad as if he had been hungry for three days and three nights without eating.

Slowly, after Sardin built the wooden platform, several heavy cannons were pulled over near the venue. Really heavy artillery! And there is no blank ammunition, so just load live ammunition, or full charge. The rumbling of the cannons and the thunderous impact on the ground made Sardin and other black people tremble in fright, and they didn't know what to do?

Soon amidst the sound of cannons, a slow-paced team appeared in the distance, with a simple coffin carried by everyone in front of them, and hundreds of people sending them off behind. Satin watched them advance at a very slow pace, and it took more than half an hour to walk a short distance of a few hundred meters.

On both sides of the road and in the meeting place, there were gradually crying sounds, and many elders were crying. Satin bravely asked the guard, "Why are you crying? Is your army commander dead?"

"Nonsense, our regiment commander is alive and well, and he is the one who bears the coffin in front of him. It is our good brothers who died. They died for us, and we are very sad." The words of the discipline sounded very clear, but Satin listened I still don't understand.

It's not that the leader is dead, but you are crying like this? Sardin didn't understand even more. What he didn't understand was how the death of a soldier could cause such a commotion? The various forces in Africa have never engaged in such a big battle for the death of an insignificant person.

But under the rhythmic sound of cannons and footsteps, the coffin-carrying team had already arrived under the wooden platform. One after another, people stepped forward to bow to the martyrs in the coffin. This atmosphere of reverence, sadness, and remembrance reaches its climax.

Seeing countless people stepping forward to pay high respects to the dead, the black people standing nearby were all in a daze.

Satin dreamed that one day he could sit on a high platform and feel the respect and awe of others. Although he really didn't understand what a few corpses were worth bowing to, this did not prevent him from being part of the atmosphere of the scene—if he accepts How good would it be if I was the one who bowed?

No, no, I don't want to be dead and receive such homage!

But..., if he can be remembered by so many people after death, can be loved by thousands of people, and even the big man who commands a million people and controls thousands of miles of territory can personally carry the coffin, it seems not bad!

Substituting this point, Satin suddenly trembled in his body, and a feeling he had never felt before poured into his brain. A tingling pleasure rushed straight from the tailbone to the top of the sky, as if he was already dead, accepting the worship of everyone as if his soul had left his body.

I am also a small person. If I can be admired like this, it seems that my life has not been in vain. Such a life should be recorded in history! Such a life is great!

Satin burst into tears suddenly. When the tears flowed, the guard beside him saw that he was wiping them with his hands, and asked inexplicably, "Satin, why are you crying?"

Satin couldn't explain clearly either, he just said with tears in his heart, "I suddenly felt that it would be nice if I could die like this. But I'm a black man, why did I cry?"