Chapter 100

Inside the cave, several oil lamps were burning. In the middle of the lamps was a makeshift bed, and on the bed, a person was lying face down. Clenching a damp towel tightly in his mouth, Faisal's sweat dripped continuously from his forehead. A man in a white robe was busy with a scalpel and forceps, extracting shrapnel from Faisal's back. As time passed, he removed all the shrapnel and began to clean the wounds. Without anesthesia, this was almost a form of torture for the patient. Faisal's veins bulged on his arms, but he still controlled his upper body to remain still, making it easier for the doctor to clean the wounds. Finally, the cleaning was done, and the doctor began to stitch the wounds. Faisal felt an unprecedented drowsiness and slowly fell asleep. The surgery was finally over, and the man in the white robe re-bandaged the wounds before coming out. Outside, the night air was fresh. Seeing the man in the white robe come out, Muhammad immediately asked, "Doctor Khalid, how is Faisal?" "No problem, the wounds have been treated. This Faisal is incredibly strong," Khalid said. "He refused to use anesthesia to avoid any damage to his body." He brought a medical kit and the medicine provided by the service camp, which was enough for the surgery. However, Faisal, having heard from someone that anesthesia could damage the nerves, especially for a full-body operation, insisted on not using it and endured the pain. "Hmm," Muhammad said. "Doctor Khalid, you must be tired. Go and rest." The surgery lasted over four hours, all performed by Khalid alone. Muhammad even regretted not bringing Lillith, who could have been an assistant. Looking at the stars in the sky, Muhammad sat quietly. The sky in Afghanistan was so clear, and the evening breeze carried a fresh scent of earth. It was rare to have such peace and tranquility during the war. Footsteps approached, and Muhammad looked up to see Osama. Osama sat down next to Muhammad and gazed at the sky, saying, "This place is truly captivating, much more beautiful than the sky in Riyadh." Osama came from a wealthy Saudi family and was worth over a hundred million dollars. Yet, he appeared on the battlefield, fighting a war that was not originally his. "Osama, do you miss home?" Muhammad asked. "Yes," Osama replied. "Abdullah is already six years old. He must have grown a lot in the years I've been away." Early marriage is common in the Muslim world. Osama married at seventeen, and his eldest son, Abdullah, was born a year later. "The Soviets invaded Afghanistan, which is an invasion of our entire Muslim world," Muhammad said. "We will drive the Soviets out!" After speaking, Muhammad looked at Osama and said, "Osama, the two men we met today, Abd and Farabi, are already soldiers in the government army. That's impressive." Muhammad's words were full of meaning. "They came with me from Saudi Arabia," Osama said. "To make it easier to operate in Afghanistan, I arranged Afghan identities for them. Those greedy officials can fabricate your family history for money, but they joined the government army after I joined the guerrillas. Dana's appearance made me realize the importance of having our own people inside. When the government army was recruiting, they joined." The service camp was Osama's organization, which later became Al-Qaeda. Now that Muhammad had met Osama, he naturally wanted to make this organization a part of his own and guide it away from its old path. "The service camp plays a significant role in Afghanistan," Muhammad said, trying to guide the conversation. "The service camp now has about twenty people, scattered in various places," Osama said. "They mainly provide assistance. Our guerrillas have American support, which is better than what I can provide. However, if you need anything, I can offer all my resources." Osama spoke seriously, "I have a few companies in Saudi Arabia and Western countries, with a total asset of over a hundred million dollars. If needed, I can easily withdraw a few million in liquid funds. I'm even willing to sell my companies to buy weapons for our guerrillas." "Brother, that's your property," Muhammad patted Osama's shoulder and said. "We can't use your property to arm our guerrillas. The spoils of war and American aid are already enough." Muhammad spoke casually. The service camp was still in its early stages, with only twenty people, and it had no significant influence yet. As long as Osama followed him, the service camp would eventually be his, so there was no need to be too anxious. Muhammad had completely put this matter aside. The night breeze blew, and everything around was silent, with only the sound of the wind. ... "Faisal, your body hasn't fully recovered. You need to rest more," Muhammad said to Faisal, who had just come out of the cave. Several days had passed, and Faisal, who had been in the cave, finally couldn't stay inside any longer. His face was pale from not seeing the sun for days. "I'm fine. I haven't touched a gun for days, and it's really frustrating," Faisal said. "I've been holding you back. If not for me, we could have fought a few more battles." In the past few days, significant changes had occurred outside. The government army had pretended to search the mountains twice and then retreated. They left the Panjshir Valley, leaving only a small garrison. The two Soviet units pursuing the guerrillas in other provinces had also completed their search and returned to Bagram Air Base. If not for Faisal, Muhammad could have escorted the Soviets out and inflicted more casualties. Now, Muhammad and his group of about ten people had to stay and guard Faisal. This made Faisal feel like a burden to Muhammad, and he wanted to recover as soon as possible. "Faisal, remember, we fight to preserve ourselves and destroy the enemy," Muhammad said. "If we can't preserve ourselves, how can we destroy the enemy?" This was the essence of guerrilla warfare. When the enemy is strong, one must not fight head-on but retreat, which is not shameful. Faisal listened thoughtfully. Since meeting Muhammad, Faisal's trust and admiration for him had grown, even surpassing his respect for Masood. "Masood is returning," Muhammad said. "Once the Soviets leave, we can continue ambushing their supply convoys. That's when the guerrillas can truly show their strength." As he spoke, a group of people was seen approaching through the winding, rugged mountain path. The guerrilla sentry had already made contact with them. They're back! Our group is back! Faisal straightened his back, despite the pain, and walked towards them. Masood and a tall man were walking together, followed by an excited Durani. The two guerrilla groups had alternated between splitting up to lead the Soviets around the mountains and joining forces to ambush smaller Soviet units. The battles had been exhilarating, and Durani, commanding the Jalalabad guerrillas, had felt a great sense of satisfaction. However, no matter how many victories they had, none could compare to the instructor, who had used an anti-aircraft gun to kill the Soviet division commander! The news spread throughout Afghanistan, and the instructor's name became known to all the guerrillas. This was why the mysterious man had found their guerrilla group and come to meet the instructor. When Muhammad appeared before them, everyone was excited. "Thank the Almighty Allah for guiding our guerrillas to victory again," Muhammad's voice clearly reached everyone's ears. "We will achieve victory after victory until we drive the Soviets out of our land! Long live great Afghanistan!" "Long live!" Everyone cheered together. Muhammad looked at the unfamiliar man, who placed his right hand on his chest and saluted Muhammad respectfully, saying, "Mr. Muhammad, hearing that you killed the Soviet division commander, the Islamic Union of Afghan Mujahideen is very pleased. They have sent me to express their condolences. My name is Rabbani." The Islamic Union of Afghan Mujahideen! Hearing this name, Muhammad felt a headache. All the northern armed forces and various guerrilla groups were affiliated with this union, including the Jalalabad guerrillas he led, which joined the Islamic Association of Afghanistan, a branch of the Islamic Union of Afghan Mujahideen. The headquarters of this organization was in Peshawar, and American aid also started from Peshawar. Therefore, to obtain aid, various guerrilla groups joined this organization. Fortunately, it was a loose alliance that did not interfere with internal affairs but provided assistance, such as sending Muhammad as an instructor after applying to Pakistan. Muhammad was not fond of this organization, which felt like a sword hanging over his head. Although the man before him was saluting him, his tone had a sense of superiority. (To be continued)