Chapter 23

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"WHAT? Instructor Muhamed is dead?" Upon hearing this news, all the guerrillas immediately stood up.

Back at the base, they received new weapons and food supplies. With these supplies, they could finally launch a major operation. The old Eifeld rifles could be discarded, and the Soviet AKM assault rifles were a good choice. They also had mortars and heavy machine guns, which would boost their confidence in battle.

All of this was thanks to the instructor. Instructor Muhamed led them to victory after victory. This time, he drove a truck to lure the Soviets away while they prepared dinner at the base, waiting for him to return and eat with them. However, they waited all night and got nothing. The next morning, they waited until noon, when Durani and Hamdi returned with this bad news.

Khwaja felt a surge of anger. He saw Durani's red eyes and trembling voice as he reported, knowing it must be true. The truck had fallen off a cliff, and no one could be saved.

"Captain, let's attack that outpost and avenge the instructor!" Durani said to Khwaja.

There were two main outposts nearby. They had already taken one, and if they could take this one, their guerrilla area would expand, connecting with other guerrilla groups to form a vast guerrilla zone.

However, this outpost was much larger, with a full Soviet company stationed there. The Soviets valued this outpost highly, as it was the northern gate to Jalalabad. If they took it, the guerrillas could easily emerge from the mountains and attack Jalalabad.

The company was heavily armed, and they only had about twenty people, making it impossible to take the outpost.

"Captain, let's avenge the instructor!" Hamdi also said, "The instructor sacrificed himself to protect us. Even if we all die in battle, we must avenge him!"

"Right, we Pashtuns have no cowards!" another person shouted.

"Let's avenge the instructor!" Everyone picked up their weapons, looking at Khwaja, waiting for his orders.

Khwaja felt a surge of blood to his head. He picked up his sniper rifle and said, "Let's go, we'll fight the Soviets and avenge the instructor!"

"Avenging the instructor!" Everyone picked up their weapons, and Durani carried the newly captured heavy machine gun as they walked out.

After a few steps, they stopped.

On the hill ahead, a man stood. His head was wrapped in a white cloth, with blood seeping through. He looked pale, with bloodshot eyes, and his steps were unsteady, covered in mud.

"Instructor!" Durani shouted, hardly believing his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Muhamed asked.

"Instructor, we're going to avenge you," Hamdi said.

"Revenge?" Muhamed said, "I'm not dead yet, get back!"

Muhamed's voice was loud, and the guerrillas, hearing his order and seeing him unharmed, finally relaxed. "Yes, Instructor."

"May the great Allah protect you, Instructor. Under your leadership, we have achieved many victories. Now, please allow me to formally transfer the command of this guerrilla group to you. We will follow your orders completely, including me, Khwaja Audia."

Muhamed nodded. The guerrilla group finally accepted his command, a good start.

"We will fight bravely until we drive the Soviets out of our land," Khwaja said. "Instructor, please give your orders."

"Rest for now," Muhamed said. "We've captured many weapons. Let our members get familiar with them. We'll have a short rest."

Rest? Khwaja looked at Muhamed, his mouth moving, wanting to say something about continuing the fight, but he didn't.

Since the instructor gave the order, there must be a reason.

"Hamdi," Muhamed called again. "Come here, I have a special mission for you."

Hamdi was called over, and Muhamed whispered something to him. Hamdi's body trembled, then he returned to normal, accepted the mission, and hurriedly left the base.

Watching Hamdi leave, Khwaja was even more confused, not understanding what Muhamed was doing.

"We've made great gains this time," Muhamed said to everyone. "We've captured Soviet AKM assault rifles, DShKM heavy machine guns, and 82mm mortars. Now, we need to train to use these weapons proficiently. Weapons are our life. You will learn how to use the heavy machine gun as an anti-aircraft gun to easily shoot down Soviet helicopters, and the 82mm mortars, which are effective in attacking Soviet strongholds."

Muhamed looked at the guerrillas. Their combat skills were low, and many could only shoot. Their accuracy was poor. Although Khwaja was a sniper, his SVD sniper rifle was not fully utilized.

Muhamed reached out and took an AKM rifle from a guerrilla.

"Click." Muhamed pulled the bolt, loading a bullet. He looked around at the guerrillas and said, "The gun is our life. We must achieve the state of being one with the gun."

"Wow, wow." At that moment, a crow flew overhead.

Under the watchful eyes of the guerrillas, Muhamed held the rifle with his left hand and skillfully pulled the trigger with his right, without aiming. The trigger was pulled.

"Bang." A bullet flew out, and the crow fell from the sky.

The accuracy was amazing! The guerrillas all cheered, "Instructor, that's awesome!"

Even if they held their breath and focused, they couldn't shoot down a flying crow so easily. They could only hit a stationary target.

Now, Muhamed made it look so effortless. The ordinary AKM rifle in his hands was used like a magic wand. Even Khwaja, with his SVD sniper rifle, couldn't match this.

Before, Muhamed won them over with his superior command and noble character. Now, he won their respect with his tactical skills.

For a special forces soldier from the future, this level of precision shooting was basic. In Muhamed's former unit, everyone could do it, like shooting a beer bottle thrown into the air with a rifle, blindfolded.

The gun is everyone's life. Without being one with the gun, one cannot survive on the battlefield.

"Sniping is precise calculation," Muhamed said to Khwaja. "Sniping is not just about the eyes but the brain. Khwaja, you have excellent sniping talent. During this time, I will train you to master more sniping skills."

"Yes," Khwaja answered almost without hesitation.

Muhamed completely won over the guerrilla group, including the captain. He intended to turn this group of twenty into a elite special operations team.

Training was intense. After seeing Muhamed's shooting skills, everyone wanted to reach his level. Only strict training could make them excellent soldiers.

Khwaja trained even harder. Under Muhamed's guidance, he learned that sniping was an art, not just shooting. How to find a suitable sniping point, how to hide, how to retreat, how to camouflage, how to consider wind, sunlight, and even atmospheric conditions. Before, he could only ensure hitting targets 300 meters away. Now, even at 800 meters or 1000 meters, he was confident.

The DShKM heavy machine gun was a powerful weapon for the guerrillas. It could be carried by two guerrillas when disassembled. When set up on a tripod, it became a deadly weapon. Durani proudly became the machine gunner. Although he couldn't use live ammunition, he practiced aiming every day, especially how to use the sights to target the sky.

In the following days, more young men from nearby villages joined. Muhamed selected over twenty excellent young men, expanding the guerrilla group to over fifty.

Their strength was growing. Every guerrilla was determined. This time, they would launch a major operation!

The sun beat down on the land, and even the wind from the valley was hot. The summer in the Afghan mountains was unbearably hot.

A bearded Afghan youth ran quickly on the mountain road, sweat streaming down his face, his robe soaked. He didn't dare to stop, running as fast as he could.

Finally, out of breath, he reached the valley. A voice from above coldly shouted, "Stop, who are you?"

"It's me, Hamdi," Hamdi said, looking at the guard with an AKM rifle. This was a new face, someone he hadn't seen in the guerrilla group before. "I have urgent intelligence to see Instructor Muhamed."