The final day of the schedule arrived, and everyone rose early.

According to the GPS, the *Cristo* was currently positioned just outside Mozambique’s exclusive economic zone, 210 nautical miles from the Maputo Province coastline.

Early in the morning, Deng Shiyang approached Sernechevich and told him, “I need you to sail the ship into Mozambique’s exclusive economic zone and stop four nautical miles from the coast.” He paused, then added, “Remember, we must arrive before midnight tonight.”

“I understand,” Sernechevich replied, his expression slightly uneasy.

After spending time at sea together, Deng Shiyang had realized that Sernechevich was a timid opportunist and this Slavic captain wasn’t fully on their side. He had no doubt that once the mercenaries left the *Cristo*, Sernechevich would likely abandon them in Swaziland and sail off.

“We’ll be risking our lives tonight, so there’s something I need to confirm with you.” Deng’s tone turned serious.

Seemingly sensing something, Sernechevich’s face became equally stern.

“Ivan,” Deng Shiyang rarely addressed him by name, “are you on our side?”

A hint of panic flashed across Sernechevich’s face, but he quickly composed himself and forced a smile. “Mr. Deylek, please don’t joke like that.”

“Feel free to take my words as a joke if you like,” Deng Shiyang replied. “You know what we’re about to do, and I think you also have an idea of the power our employer holds.” He paused, then added in an advisory tone, “This ship and its cargo are worth a lot, and the whole plan has cost even more. If someone’s cowardice causes it to fail, you can’t imagine how terrible the consequences will be.”

Sernechevich’s smile froze, and Deng Shiyang patted him on the shoulder before turning and leaving the cabin without a backward glance.

After lunch, the ship’s cabin was bustling as everyone prepared for the operation.

Mark opened over twenty crates of .223-caliber rounds, and nearly a hundred African soldiers squatted on the floor, loading magazines until they had filled all 2,000 of them; the machine gunners recovered the empty links that were knocked out by test firing a few days ago, gathered around several boxes of .223 caliber and .308 caliber rifle bullets, and reused the loader to load bullets on the empty chain links.

Semler issued each rifleman ten magazines, then instructed them to pack an additional 300 loose rounds in their backpack straps for resupply during combat.

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“Your gear can carry eleven spare magazines. Use the extra space to store empty mags,” he emphasized. “We’re about to assault a well-guarded fortress. Once the battle begins, it’ll be like an old Western shootout. Losing magazines is inevitable, but it’s your duty to minimize those losses.”

Moving to the crates of grenades, Semler pulled out an M26 fragmentation grenade and said, “This South African grenade is a bit different from the RGD-5s you’ve used before, but it’s operated in much the same way.” Pointing to a short pin that secured the safety lever, he explained, “Remove this transport pin, pull the safety pin, and throw it.”

“Grenades are useful in assaults,” Deng Shiyang added, coming over and pulling grenades from the crate, removing the transport pins before putting them into his saddlebag and magazine pouch. “Everyone except the machine gunners should carry as many as possible. The hooks on the side of your triple-magazine pouches are designed for hanging grenades.”

Inspired by his example, the African soldiers crammed their bags full of grenades, packing their saddlebags until they bulged humorously.

Preparations continued until dusk, and Deng Shiyang specially ordered the kitchen to prepare a sumptuous dinner. Beef and potato stew, buttered toast, unlimited fried sausages and ham, canned fruit, and cold beer—a meal far more extravagant than typical cargo ship fare. Yet the atmosphere was heavy, and most ate and drank in silence.

Deng Shiyang and the five other white mercenaries huddled in a corner of the cabin, repeatedly going over the details of the operation with maps and satellite photos. They were well aware of the risks; if they couldn’t catch their target off guard, their fifty lightly armed soldiers would stand little chance against has one company of presidential guards.

If it came down to direct combat, hoping for a helicopter rescue under heavy fire was unrealistic. If the situation deteriorated that far, they’d have to make a last stand within the presidential palace, fighting to the death or until they ran out of ammunition. The mercenaries had an unspoken pact: if anyone were gravely injured and unable to fight, a comrade would take them down swiftly, sparing them from capture or a slow, painful death.

At 10 p.m., equipment and supplies were loaded onto the helicopters: in addition to a large number of .308 machine gun ammunition belts loaded and placed in nylon bags, there were also several boxes of rockets, hand grenades and 40mm grenades. Alongside ammunition, they carried breaching tools: large bolt cutters, circular saws, firefighting axes, sledgehammers, and portable welding torches. Deng Shiyang and Mark carefully armed the fuses on the mortars shell and loaded them onto the helicopters, securing them with ropes.

Just past midnight, it was time to depart.

Deng Shiyang, Semler, Mark, and Du Preez led forty-eight soldiers to the helicopters under the watchful gaze of the others. There were no rousing speeches or tearful goodbyes—just only two rows of figures of different heights, silent figures with their weapons, boarding the choppers, like a scene from a somber silent film.

Once everyone was on board, the quiet was broken by the roar of the “Hippo”helicopters engines. Two black shadows lifted off from the *Cristo*’s deck, heading east.

Watching the helicopters disappear into the night sky, Keith pulled out a satellite phone and dialed a number. When the call connected, he simply said into the receiver, “'Arc Light' has departed.”