"Hey, are you deaf? Do you understand what I'm saying? Certificates. The gendarmerie sergeant rubbed his chubby fingers at Julian.

The back seat of the car opened by the door on Julian's side, and an Italian gendarme slowly climbed out of the car, standing beside the car with a gun holster on his waist, with a disapproving expression, staring at the "North African" in front of him.

Julien's appearance had changed completely, he was a native of the French South, with slightly curly black hair, beautiful dark brown eyes, and it was said that his ancestors were of Spanish ancestry, but he looked more like a Greek.

Julian's emaciated countenance, with a conspicuous hooked nose, his once smooth cheeks were now covered with a tousled beard, his skin tanned by the scorching sun, and every pore and wrinkle of his face was covered with gray-white dust, a gift from the great Sahara to every traveler.

The French now wore a poor gray Arabic robe, sandals woven with leather strips, a dirty blue-gray turban wrapped around their heads, and a coarse cloth jacket worn by the locals on their shoulders, a symmetrical biecutory that could be easily placed on the saddle and camel's back, and was generally used to store food and personal sundries.

After some careful disguise, at first glance it looks like an ordinary Papar civilian.

"Oh, I understand, sir, papers... Of course I have documents. Frightened and frightened, Julian hurriedly rummaged through his coat, then took out a crumpled piece of cardboard and handed it to the gendarmerie sergeant.

It didn't take much effort for Julian to get this official ID card issued by the Italian colonies, and you can get everything you want from the Italian officials as long as you pay a starting price.

"Hassan. Doriani. Jusel? The sergeant of the gendarmerie looked at the dirty piece of paper, which, like most identity documents at the time, had only a record of names and places of origin, and no photographs were posted.

In the thirties and forties of the twentieth century, there were very few photo columns on ordinary identity documents, and even many military identity documents did not need to post photos, thus giving countries a big loophole to exploit if they needed to fake their identities.

"Yes, sir." Julian speaks Italian fluently.

"It looks fine, it has the official seal of the local police station on it." The gendarmerie sergeant handed the document to his colleague in the passenger seat.

"From Zavia? You've run quite a distance. The gendarmerie sergeant leaned against the window and questioned Julian.

"I heard that there is a need for workers here, so I thought I would come and see if I could get a job that would make a lot of money, sir." Julian replied respectfully.

"Looks like you're a good mix, you're Italian?" The gendarmerie sergeant asked Julian with a look of arrogance, because no matter how disguised he was, the subtle differences in appearance could not be hidden.

However, the gendarmerie sergeant did not find anything suspicious about this, Italy has colonized Africa for decades, and I don't know how many poor Italians have come to this land to try their luck, and many of them are like the man in front of them, and eventually completely Arabized and integrated into the local tribes, and of course more often end up in desperation and become beggars, liars and professional thieves.

"I was born in Zavia, my father is Italian and my mother is a local." Julian replied with a nod of his head. This is the identity that the liaison arranged for him, so that once he encounters the current situation, he can explain his western face very well.

"Fabrizzo, go up and search for this guy." The gendarmerie sergeant took the ID card back from the co-pilot's hand, then turned his face to the gendarme standing next to the car and ordered.

"Hey, head, why me again, this guy stinks like a pile of pig manure." The gendarme complained as he waved his arms, emphasizing his displeasure with rich body language.

"Don't force me to say it a second time, go see if this guy has any prohibited items on him." The gendarmerie sergeant directly rejected the opinion of his subordinates.

"Alright, sir. Now, you filthy fellow, be honest with me and stand over there. The gendarmes reluctantly stepped forward and shoved Julian hard.

In the next second, the gendarme's head suddenly exploded in front of everyone's eyes, and the hot blood mixed with the medullary fluid in the skull, wrapped in a mess of brain tissue, immediately splattered out, and sprinkled Julian's head and face.

Everyone, including Julian, was stunned by what was happening so fast that they didn't even know what was going on.

"Hey, what the hell did you bastard do!" The gendarmerie sergeant pushed the door hard and jumped out of the car, scrambling to pull his pistol out of his holster and point it at Julian, whose face was covered in blood and who now looked like a demon crawling out of hell.

The Frenchman had not yet recovered from the terrible experience he had just had, and although he had been in the army and had shot and killed people with his own hands, it was the first time in his life to see a man's head smashed at such a close distance.

So the Frenchman looked at the sergeant of the Italian gendarmerie with blank eyes, as if he did not understand the other party's words at all.

"O God, O God, merciful Lord." The gendarme corporal in the co-pilot ran to the corpse, and was then frightened by the tragic image of the corpse, and the corporal screamed like a woman, and spun around the corpse in a circle.

"What did you do to my men, raise your hands up so I can see clearly, you bastard." The gendarmerie sergeant recognized that the man in front of him had done a trick, but he didn't know what the other party had done, and he didn't hear the gunshots at all at the time of the incident.

"Shoot, Sergeant, shoot, he's a wizard, it's evil African witchcraft." The gendarmerie corporal screamed.

"Shut up, Masmigliano, I'll figure everything out, you go over and handcuff this guy right now." The gendarmerie sergeant shouted a command.

"Kill the two remaining gendarmes, and now we can't let the target fall into the hands of the Italians." The robed man in the duo watching from the rooftop in the distance ordered.

"No problem, that's why I love this job." The sniper gently pulled the trigger, and the bullet passed through the metal silencer, and the sound of the gun was a little muffled.

"Good, hit the head, very beautiful." At this time, they are only three hundred meters away from the target, and the accuracy of shooting can be fully guaranteed.

"The rest of the one wants to run away and kill him." The robed man calmly ordered.

The gendarmerie corporal watched his boss fall in front of him, and at the same time heard a faint explosion in his ears, and at this time he finally understood that this was not witchcraft at all, but someone was shooting at them with a gun, and he immediately realized that he might be the next target of the mysterious gunman, and the gendarmerie corporal quickly turned around and ran quickly towards the car.

But before he could run two paces away, his figure suddenly staggered, and then his legs went limp forward and threw himself on the ground, and soon a large pool of blood flowed from under the gendarme's body, and the pool of blood slowly spread and stained a large area of hot asphalt red.

Julian did not react until the last gendarme fell to the ground and died, only to look around and find that he was alone in the street. Looking at the three horrible corpses of Italian gendarmes in front of him, he knew that he had encountered another huge problem.

Julian didn't know who the gunman who killed them was, but it was clear that this man should be on his side, because if the other side hadn't made a timely move, the important documents he was carrying might have fallen into the hands of the Italians, and the hopes that countless comrades and comrades-in-arms pinned on him might have been in vain.

After settling down, Julian felt that he should leave this ghost place immediately, who knows if the locals who escaped will report to the Italian authorities, these few killed are not ordinary policemen, but the famous Italian military police, Mussolini's most trusted and relied on elite troops, they will never let go of their direct presence of the party. Julian didn't bother to clean up the mess on his face, he covered his face with the hem of his turban and rushed into a narrow alley on the side of the street.

"What a clever guy, although the previous reaction was a bit unbearable." The robed man lowered his binoculars.

"What are we going to do now, Target Three hasn't appeared yet." The sniper retracted his rifle and removed the muzzle from the muzzle.

"Let's get out of here first, in which case we have to use the preparatory plan." The man in the robe picked up the cloth bag on one side and handed it to the sniper.

"The Italians will not react very quickly, and we have plenty of time to act between the time we receive the report and the time when we mobilize our troops to search for it." The man in the robe put the binoculars in the cloth bag.

"Don't worry, I just saw that the people in Group C have followed, as long as you help this man evade the Italians, the third target will find himself at that time. Have you figured out where to go on vacation after this mission? The long-distance runner patted the sniper's arm.

"Wherever you go, as long as it's cooler than here." The sniper replied with a smile.

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