King Of War: Starting with Arms Dealer

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Joe Ga stood at the entrance of the diving training camp early in the morning.

He had signed a contract with the camp's commanding officer, carrying cash for a deal: the camp would assist Joe Ga and his team with their training and the screening of mercenaries over the next 20 days.

The total cost was $350,000, a high price that included many additional services, such as the full return of all vacationing instructors and medical teams to the camp, and access to all camp facilities for Joe Ga and his team.

There was also a special instructor to assist Joe Ga in establishing a screening process which couldn't be completely based on the standards of combat diving training.

Combat diving was, after all, an elective specifically designed for special forces; if recruits were immediately subject to the highest standards, the die-hards willing to throw their lives away for money could indeed end up dead!

Joe Ga had seen the training regimen proposed by the instructors. He didn't understand it, but he felt it was formidable and began to worry that he himself might not be able to withstand it.

However, there's a saying: "The tiger falls but the frame remains upright." Joe Ga thought that, as the boss, even if he fell a bit short, he had to hang in there to the end.

He wasn't at the level where he could handle everything just by sitting in an office. Many things required hands-on attention, so there was no room for laziness.

Joe Ga, through a combination of personal effort and serendipity, had leveraged Colonel Ka's bequest into a $200 million arms deal and two extremely valuable mining operations.

If things went smoothly with the delivery in Burundi, after deducting all expenses, he should have about $8,000 to $9,000 in cash remaining, which he needed to support the establishment of a 600-person squad. He also had to displace drug traffickers and secure a safe zone before he was eligible to approach the African Union Development Bank with an investment plan for a loan.

Were it not for Colonel Ka's bequest, this would be a typical loss-making proposition.

Therefore, Joe Ga needed to invest more effort in himself, enabling him to shoulder greater responsibilities, because investing in oneself was never a losing proposition.

Joe Ga stood with his men on the open ground in front of the training camp's gate, his back to a large whiteboard filled with squares marked with numbers, each accompanied by an envelope containing return travel expenses.

Around 11 a.m., two buses waiting at the dock brought dozens of individuals to the camp.

Joe Ga carefully counted the arrivals and found there were actually 64 people—one more than the 63 Eric had mentioned.

But he didn't mind; the plan had changed. The office-based resume review and salary determination approach had been discarded. The high-intensity training and selection process would weed out any impostors.

Seeing Joe Ga and his team dressed in training uniforms and lined up waiting, the variously dressed recruits exchanged glances before naturally forming lines.

Among them, some appeared rebellious, some tired and silent, some overly excited, and some were aloof and impassive...

Except for one redneck lad who seemed ill at ease and was shoved and kicked into line by a big bald man, the rest behaved professionally. A simple formation revealed that military habits still lingered in them.

This was a promising sign—Joe Ga didn't need slippery war dogs who lived by odd jobs; he needed loyal, hard-fighting long-term workers.

After waiting a few minutes, Joe Ga stepped forward and said loudly, "I'm glad you're all here for the interview.

Regrettably, there might be a change in the interview content, and you may find the next few days quite painful."

Pointing to the activity whiteboard behind him, Joe Ga announced, "If anyone wants to quit, these envelopes have $1,000 inside them. You can take one and leave by boat, perhaps enjoy a trip to Rome or Milan before heading home."

Entrance tests were the norm at PMC companies, and Eric's handpicked soldiers didn't show any reluctance to advance, though a few exchanged looks before a big-bearded Eastern European man raised his hand and said loudly, "Sir, what do we stand to gain if we pass?"

Joe Ga glanced at Big Beard, nodded, and replied, "I know you all came here for money, so I'll tell you upfront.

Once you pass the selection, P·B Company will take care of your logistics in Africa, and you can earn an annual salary of $50,000 plus a $500 per day combat mission allowance..."

Seeing some unrest in the ranks, Joe Ga laughed and gestured for calm, adding, "Let me finish. Alternatively, you can forgo the combat mission allowance and choose a $100,000 annual salary.

Of course, I won't buy you insurance, but you'll also be exempt from taxes.

If you're injured in the line of duty, P·B Defense will cover your medical costs, and if injury leads to disability or death, you can take $50,000 in compensation back home.

To my knowledge, this is one of the best benefit packages in the mercenary trade, and all you have to do is follow my orders.

Any other questions?"

Compared to the salary standards set by Eric, Joe Ga had raised the bar by about 20%.

Yet, his decision wasn't made on a whim. It was justified since, by raising the selection standards, the pool of remaining mercenaries wouldn't be large, and it was only fair to offer a slightly higher compensation to the true elites.

In Joe Ga's mind, if they were truly elite, it wasn't necessary to have 50 people; forty or even thirty would suffice.

As long as we can gather 4 to 6 strong assault teams, that would be completely sufficient for Joe Ga's plan.

The high remuneration proposed by Joe Ga stunned everyone, an annual salary of 100,000 US dollars tax-free, plus medical insurance. This was better than the treatment offered by the vast majority of PMC companies in the world.

Reality is not a novel; 100,000 US dollars is a high salary that is enough to put one's all into it in any country.

Compared to what these people originally earned in the military, this was already a world of difference.

Amid the buzz of discussion, 'Hemostatic Forceps' with two scars on his face suddenly raised his hand and said loudly, "Sir, if the interview must include Combat Diving Training, don't you think the salary you're offering is a bit low?

Only the most top-notch special forces require their members to pass Combat Diving Training.

If we prove ourselves to be among the very best, shouldn't we get more?"

Joe Galla held back Dorian, who was about to scold the dissenter. He nodded to 'Hemostatic Forceps' and then smiled and said, "You're right, the very best soldiers should have the best treatment.

But you're mistaken about one thing: we are a defense company, our main task isn't to chase terrorists full of hostility all over the world.

And as you said yourself, only the very top soldiers can pass the Combat Diving Training; you might be excellent, but there's probably still a significant gap from the top.

I'm not a fool, and a fool wouldn't spend money on plane tickets for you to come and make a fool of yourselves."

Saying this, Joe Ga looked at the complex expressions on everyone's faces, extended his hand pointing to the training camp behind him, and said, "This is where your interview takes place, your willingness to come represents trust in our company, so the Combat Diving Training is an added perk.

The training here is worth 15,000 US dollars per person, once you pass the selection in the first three days, you can choose whether to participate in the Combat Diving Training.

If you pass the training and earn the diver's badge, I will make a note of it by your name.

As long as you prove your loyalty and work capacity in later operations, there's great potential for your salary to increase."

After finishing, Joe Ga gave the group some time to digest the information, then looking at 'Hemostatic Forceps' with an odd expression, he said with a smile, "You are very confident and seem very ambitious; I like people like you.

Give yourself some time and give me some time too; I need to understand you on a deeper level to decide whether to offer you higher compensation.

Is that a reasonable proposition?"

'Hemostatic Forceps', hearing this, nodded solemnly and said, "Very reasonable!"

Actually, everyone present understood that PMC companies' demand for so-called elites is not as high as the outside world imagines, and the real elites entering the market are not that many.

Because apart from the part doing the dirty work, most PMCs are involved in security services, patrolling with guns, escorting resources, maintaining public order; that's the bulk of their job. Even if you're SAS, doing the same job, why would the company pay you extra?

We're all earning our keep with firearms. To get more, you need to prove your ability, then strive for more challenging tasks, and after succeeding, show that you can create more value. Only then do you have the right to discuss a raise.

Here's the simplest example: if a position requires a hundred artillery strikes to be taken down, but you lead a small team to capture it stealthily, then you have proven your value.

Because a 155 mm howitzer shell costs the same as a Wuling Hongguang car, if you can complete a task that would otherwise cost the boss the equivalent of a hundred Wuling Hongguang cars, you should receive a higher salary.

That's the value of top-tier mercenaries and why Americans are so keen on using them.

Because even if their salaries are high, compared to costly armaments and the pension and public opinion pressures of regular military casualties, it is still cheaper.

Watching everyone nod in agreement, Joe Ga clapped his hands loudly and said, "If none of you have objections, come and collect your numbers from the whiteboard behind me.

For now, I'm not interested in your names or code names, because only those who stay are our own. It makes no sense to waste my brain cells on the ones who get eliminated.

Get moving, after picking up your number, go in and settle your luggage, then head to the canteen for a good meal.

According to the instructors here, you're not going to have an easy time over the next three days.

I'm not stingy, but I'm worried you won't be able to eat anything by then."

The words of Joe Ga brought about a burst of laughter, then 'Hemostatic Forceps' took the lead, walking up to Joe Ga. After hesitating for a moment, he gave a standard military salute, then strode over to the whiteboard. He picked up the number tag with the number one marked on it, which was attached to an envelope with Velcro.

New Manchui dragged 'Potato' Tony and 'Vanguard' Sanderson to the front, and after a clumsy salute, they glanced over Joe Ga and the others beside him, nodded in greeting, then quickly grabbed numbers 2, 3, and 4.

Joe Ga was quite interested to see a compatriot emerge from the group, but now was not the time for greetings...