Chapter 12

From the body of a Soviet soldier on the ground, Muhamed took a hat and put it on his own head, discarding the old rag to the side. Then, he got into the KAMAZ, and with a strong strike of the butt of his gun, he smashed the bulletproof glass in front of him, which was already wobbling, creating a hole. The broken glass shards fell to the ground.

Although the glass was bulletproof and could stop bullets, it would not remain intact after being hit; it could shatter at any moment. Now, with a strong push from the butt of the gun, the glass shattered all over the floor.

Muhamed only cleared a small area of the glass in front of him so he could see the road ahead. The glass on the other side was still full of cracks, making it impossible to see anything.

"Quick, get in the car!" Muhamed said to the guerrillas behind him.

Now, time was precious.

The guerrillas scrambled into the truck, most of them sitting in the back, under a camouflage green military canvas. They crawled inside, and from the outside, nothing could be seen.

At this moment, they did not have time to check what cargo was in the truck. The engine roared, and then the KAMAS started moving.

Muhamed tightly gripped the steering wheel, stepped hard on the gas, and the engine roared. Then, he eased off the gas and pushed the gearshift forward with his right hand.

"Click, clatter." The transmission made a joyful sound, and the gear engaged.

"You didn't press the clutch?" Khwaja, sitting in the passenger seat, asked.

Khwaja naturally could not miss this battle. After the failed sniping, he ran with his gun and finally got into the truck just before it started moving.

Ten men were left on the battlefield to clean up and collect the spoils. The other twenty or so men got into the truck. This time, they were going to raid the outpost.

This was a crucial step in Muhamed's plan. Their main goal was to attack the outpost, but before that, they had to attack this convoy.

Moreover, hijacking a truck from the convoy was the most important part, as it would allow them to easily break into the outpost!

Khwaja would never miss such a battle. Now, sitting in the passenger seat, he watched Muhamed's actions with curiosity.

As the engine roared, and during the roar, a new gear was engaged. Again, without pressing the clutch?

Muhamed did not answer Khwaja's question but asked in return, "Can you drive a truck?"

If he knew someone else could drive, Muhamed would not have volunteered. After all, this position was the most vulnerable to bullets, and the bulletproof glass in front of him was already broken, making it hard to see the road.

Many of these guerrillas were from mountain tribes and had never been to a city. They were skilled at handling horses and donkeys, but driving a truck was something many of them could not do.

To his surprise, Khwaja could.

In response to Muhamed's question, Khwaja said, "In the past, I worked at a factory in Jalalabad. There were trucks there, and I secretly drove them."

A factory? Muhamed felt a bit nostalgic upon hearing this.

In fact, before the war in Afghanistan, some basic industries had been established. Although the country had only recently connected with the rest of the world, it had become civilized and open. If it had continued to develop, it might have become a wealthy industrial nation.

Unfortunately, the Soviet invasion plunged Afghanistan into war. After the Soviets left, the war continued. In the future, the Taliban seized power, and people thought the country would return to a normal path. However, the Taliban abandoned all their previous promises and tried to establish a fundamentalist state. Women had to wear veils when going out and could not speak to unfamiliar men. All the efforts to connect with modern society were in vain.

Although he had only fought two battles, Muhamed felt he had integrated into this era and this country. Since he had come here, could he let Afghanistan repeat its old path?

No, absolutely not!

The road ahead of Muhamed became clear again, and it stretched far, far away.

"Do we still need to keep it a secret?" Khwaja asked again.

Muhamed heard him clearly; he had not yet answered the previous question.

"It's simple, practice makes perfect," Muhamed said. "When we get back, I'll teach you."

Shifting gears without using the clutch and coordinating the gas pedal is a skill many professional truck drivers in a major Eastern country know. Muhamed had learned this technique during his previous training.

The engine continued to roar, and the KAMAS got closer to the outpost.

Through the broken glass, Muhamed saw the outpost ahead, situated on a high ground by the road, with a clear view of the surroundings. Around the outpost were three machine gun positions, providing perfect protection. If guerrillas attacked, they would be under a rain of machine gun fire from any direction.

The outpost definitely had a generator, and above it was a large searchlight.

Although they could approach the outpost quietly with the truck, the guerrillas were not well-trained and had not been assigned specific targets. If they continued like this, there would still be casualties.

What to do?

Seeing the roadblock ahead, Muhamed slowed down the truck.

This truck was a Soviet supply truck, so almost without Muhamed saying anything, two soldiers from the outpost came out to remove the roadblock.

"Quick, have the platoon leader gather the troops and go to the mountains ahead to rescue our convoy. It has been surrounded by a group of guerrillas," Muhamed said, leaning out of the window. His hat was stained with blood, and the blood on the window made it clear he had narrowly escaped death.

Muhamed's words were fluent and urgent. The two soldiers did not hesitate; after removing the roadblock, they ran back to the outpost.

In fact, they had heard two distant explosions, but without orders, they could not move from the outpost.

Now, hearing Muhamed's words, a loud whistle sounded from the outpost, and all the soldiers ran to the open ground.

They gathered first, and the platoon leader gave a brief speech. Then, they would board the two cars at the outpost and quickly go to provide support.

Seeing the soldiers busily gathering, Muhamed smiled and stepped on the gas.

"Vroom, vroom." The KAMAS rushed forward like a madman. The Soviet soldiers, confused, saw the truck spitting fire.

Wherever the fire went, there were cries of death.

Fire spewed from both the front cab and the back of the truck.

"They are guerrillas! Kill them!" The platoon leader, hiding behind a fuel drum, saw the people in the back of the truck. Their attire was clearly not their own but that of the local people.

These guerrillas had pretended to be their own to launch a surprise attack! This made the platoon leader very angry. The open ground was already filled with bodies, nearly twenty men lying in pools of blood, then being run over by the despicable KAMAS.

The platoon leader's words seemed to draw the guerrillas' attention. As he ducked, he heard the sound of bullets hitting the fuel drum, sparks flying everywhere.

"Screech." The car finally stopped, the door opened, and Muhamed jumped out first, holding an AKM, rushing towards the nearest machine gun position.

Due to the gathering whistle, the machine gunner had also run over to receive orders, leaving the position temporarily unoccupied.

This machine gun was the greatest threat to the guerrillas.

A Soviet soldier was also running towards the position, clearly knowing that using the machine gun to deal with the guerrillas was the best choice.

"Rat-tat-tat." Muhamed's AKM spat a stream of fire, and the Soviet soldier in front of him fell to the ground.

In two quick steps, Muhamed jumped into the machine gun position.

M1938 DShKM heavy machine gun! Muhamed was immediately captivated by it.

Although this heavy machine gun had been around since World War II, it was sturdy and reliable. The 12.7mm caliber bullets could penetrate the weak armor of a BMP infantry fighting vehicle. When the tripod was raised, it could also be used as an anti-aircraft weapon. Although it could not penetrate the armor of a Mi-24, hitting its vital parts could still bring it down.

This machine gun remained in service in Russia even after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

The only drawback was its weight.

Behind Muhamed, Durani closely followed and jumped into the machine gun position.

"Quick, move this machine gun over there," Muhamed said.

Durani understood and, together with Muhamed, lifted the machine gun.

As Muhamed turned the gun, he saw a stream of fire coming from another machine gun position.

They were firing at the guerrillas. One guerrilla, unable to dodge in time, was hit.

A 12.7mm bullet created a large hole in the body, and the guerrilla fell to the ground without even a scream.

"Damn it, I'll kill you!" Muhamed shouted, pulling the trigger. His heavy machine gun spat a stream of fire.

Durani, holding the ammunition belt, did not understand what the instructor was saying. It was neither Russian nor Pashto but sounded like a language from an Eastern country.

Muhamed had just used a national curse.

In a moment of urgency, Muhamed used the most fluent words he knew. As he spoke, bullets rained down on the machine gun position.

Instantly, the people on the other side seemed to be electrocuted, their bodies shaking, blood splattering onto the cold machine gun, and they fell on the ground.

PS: Thank you to reader heavensailer for the support! Thank you to all my friends for your votes and support!

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