Chapter 14

Holding the PPK machine gun, the soldier kept moving his position, firing bursts of bullets. From the top of the guard post, he had a commanding view of everything below.

The sentry, who was supposed to join the assembly below, moved slowly and, as a result, the battle had already begun before he could get down.

Enraged, the sentry ran back to the post and started firing the machine gun.

When the post was first established, it was indeed meant to supplement the firepower next to the searchlight. However, due to the lack of heavy machine guns, only the PPK machine gun was placed here.

This machine gun, developed from the AKM assault rifle with a heavier and longer barrel, was essentially a heavy-barreled automatic rifle.

It had a circular drum magazine that could hold 75 rounds, so he tried to use more three-round bursts to conserve ammunition.

Although he was alone, the only way to climb up here was from the entrance directly below. As long as he kept the entrance clear of guerrillas, he would be safe. This spot was a blind spot from below, allowing him to fire down calmly while the weapons below, including the heavy machine guns, couldn't reach him.

If he could hold out for half an hour, their helicopter would arrive, and then these guerrillas would be wiped out.

As the most forward outpost, it was always at risk of guerrilla attacks. Despite the heavy casualties below, the sentry remained calm.

However, when he saw a man carrying a mortar tube running towards the machine gun position, he became alarmed. If he were hit by a mortar, it would be dangerous.

But seeing only two people, the sentry relaxed. Operating a mortar wasn't something two people could do, and these guerrillas clearly didn't know how to use it.

A burst of bullets took down one of them, and the sentry turned his gun to deal with threats from other directions.

Unexpectedly, a minute later, a peculiar whistling sound appeared in the sky, distinct among the continuous gunfire.

He stopped firing and looked around. Then, he saw a flash of light, and the explosion deafened him.

The shell successfully hit the post. The projectile struck the ground, the fuse ignited, and the explosives detonated, sending shrapnel flying. Despite being three meters away from the impact, the sentry was still hit.

The searchlight above shattered, and blood started to seep from several spots on his body. The sentry felt intense pain, took a step back, and then fell.

Half of his body was exposed, and he fell from the high post.

"Sir, we hit it!" Hermann shouted excitedly.

Hermann saw clearly that after the shell flew over, the post was engulfed in flames, and the sentry was blasted off. Even with such a rudimentary mortar, it was incredibly effective!

Hit? At this moment, Muhammad's ringing in his ears was just starting to subside. Seeing Hermann stand up happily, he was still dazed. It seemed that firing the mortar was like the Seven Injuries Fist, hurting oneself before hurting the enemy. He wouldn't do it again.

Muhammad stood up and saw the other guerrillas also standing up, raising their weapons in celebration of their victory.

At the cost of two guerrillas, they had captured the outpost and eliminated thirty Soviets. From any angle, this was a complete victory.

Unlike the last time, when they barely won against the tank and were almost just observers, this time, they had relied on their own skills to take down this seemingly impossible outpost.

When news of this battle spread, all the guerrillas in Afghanistan would be proud of them!

All of this was thanks to the Pakistani instructor! Everyone was elated, and even Khwaja looked at Muhammad with admiration.

"Clear the battlefield, load the supplies from the post onto the truck, and let's go," Muhammad shouted.

"Yes," everyone replied, including Khwaja, who also said "yes" without hesitation.

Muhammad didn't notice these details, acting as he usually did when leaving a mission.

He walked a few steps to Durani's body, feeling heavy-hearted.

No matter what, Durani was the first person Muhammad met in this world, his first comrade, his first brother.

Who knew that after less than ten days, this comrade would be gone.

Muhammad looked at Durani's body and silently prayed, "May Allah bless you in the next world."

As he was thinking, he saw Durani's body seem to move.

A corpse moving? A zombie?

On closer inspection, Durani's back was slightly rising and falling. He hadn't been clear before; this guy wasn't dead, and his breathing was steady.

Moreover, there were no signs of bleeding. In the gunfire, he must have lain down early, unharmed.

Thinking of his earlier worry, Muhammad couldn't help but kick Durani's butt. "If you're not dead, get up quickly."

With Muhammad's kick, Durani's butt twitched, and he rolled over and sat up.

Covered in dirt, with a scratch on his face from hitting a rock when he fell, but his main body parts were intact.

"Sir, I tripped, but I managed to throw the mortar to you. Did it work well?" Durani asked.

Hearing Durani's words, Muhammad's temper, which he had as an instructor, returned. "You idiot, a mortar isn't just a tube. It needs a base and a stand. You only gave me the tube, almost deafening me! I'll deal with you when we get back!"

Saying that, Muhammad looked around at the guerrillas, who were happily loading the post's supplies onto the truck.

There were no stockpiled weapons, just what the sentries carried. The three heavy machine guns from the three machine gun positions were a good haul. There was also plenty of ammunition, and everyone carried heavy boxes without feeling the strain.

The guerrillas had no armory or logistics support, relying on weapons smuggled through the rugged mountains from Pakistan, a route often bombed by the Soviets. So, they mostly relied on capturing weapons in battle.

They fought and ran, rarely having the chance to clear the battlefield, so they were always short of weapons and ammunition. This time, capturing the post, everyone saw so much ammunition for the first time, and they were overjoyed.

Besides ammunition, the food and even the canteens left by the Soviets were also taken, as if they were looting a house.

Muhammad didn't have time to check what was in the Kamaz, but knowing there was a mortar was a significant gain.

In less than ten minutes, they had loaded all the useful items from the post onto the truck. Then, Muhammad started the truck and drove away.

When the Soviets arrived, they found only bodies and an empty post.

Thinking of this, Khwaja, sitting in the passenger seat, couldn't help but whistle.

Looking at Khwaja, Muhammad asked while driving, "Captain, how do you think this operation went?"

"Very well, Muhammad. You are an expert in guerrilla warfare and proficient with various weapons," Khwaja said. "Before meeting you, our unit was almost out of ammunition and supplies. The attack on the Soviet tank was out of necessity. I never expected such a successful battle under your command. May the Almighty Allah bless our Afghan guerrillas to be invincible!"

Hearing Khwaja attribute the victory to the Almighty, Muhammad secretly scoffed but said, "I am a Pakistani instructor with the rank of lieutenant. I hope to receive full cooperation from this guerrilla unit, to grow stronger and ultimately drive the Soviets out of Afghanistan."

Muhammad's meaning was clear: he needed real command of the guerrilla unit, and even Khwaja would have to follow his orders.

After all, as a lieutenant, commanding a few hundred people was normal. This guerrilla unit had only thirty people, and his capabilities were more than enough.

Hearing this, Khwaja hesitated. After all, he had built this unit from scratch. Now, he was being asked to hand over command to a brother from Pakistan, which he was reluctant to do.

Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix; this principle held true everywhere.

Muhammad, with a glance, knew Khwaja's thoughts and couldn't help but mock him internally.

Suddenly, his expression turned serious.

In the rearview mirror, he saw a bright spot in the blue sky!

Did the Soviets have so many Hind helicopters? How could a Hind arrive so quickly after they just captured the post?

There was no other choice but to speed up. Muhammad pressed the accelerator, and the Kamaz surged forward, faster and more bumpy. PS: Thanks to the friend who donated in the toilet! Thanks to everyone for your support and votes!

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