Chapter 36

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Peshawar is the capital of the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province in western Pakistan, also known as "Bir Chauk." It is located on the west bank of the Bara River, a tributary of the Kabul River, to the east of the Khyber Pass. Its strategic location has made it a trade route between Central Asia and South Asia since ancient times.

"Peshawar" in ancient Sanskrit means "City of Flowers," and it is a beautiful city. Unfortunately, it has lost much of its former beauty.

After the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, countless Afghan refugees flooded into Pakistan through the border. As the nearest city, Peshawar was filled with Afghan refugees. Pakistan, with open arms, accommodated all the refugees and also became the base for resistance against the Soviet invasion.

These refugees, having lost their homes and harboring deep hatred towards the Soviets, could be trained into determined fighters. The Americans were very willing to do this, and the CIA's main task was now in Peshawar.

At the same time, some Afghan politicians were discussing how to counterattack and defeat the Soviets here.

When Muhammad crossed the rugged mountain path and returned to Peshawar, it was already late at night. Sitting in a military jeep, Muhammad returned to the military headquarters, intending to rest on a chair outside and report in the morning.

However, when Muhammad arrived at the headquarters, the chief of staff was already waiting for him. When Muhammad reported his identity at the guard post, the chief of staff had already woken up.

"Muhammad, welcome back. I am Musharraf, the new chief of staff," Musharraf said to Muhammad. "We sent twenty instructors, and you are the last one to return."

Musharraf? Muhammad looked at the new chief of staff, feeling a sense of familiarity but unable to recall why.

"Recently, the Soviets suffered a heavy blow; all twelve of their Mi-8 helicopters at the base were destroyed," Musharraf said. "Muhammad, you did a great job."

No wonder he was treated so warmly; it was because he knew about his achievement! Muhammad said, "Sir, it was the Afghan guerrillas who did the work; I just led them."

"Muhammad, you are the best among all the instructors," Musharraf said. "You have been promoted to First Warrant Officer."

First Warrant Officer? Muhammad couldn't help but laugh bitterly in his heart. The Pakistani soldier he had become was just an ordinary soldier.

Before entering Afghanistan, he was only a sergeant. Now, he was promoted directly to First Warrant Officer, which was the rank of an instructor.

"You will be sent to the Jalozai refugee camp to help train qualified fighters," Musharraf said. "This is a need for the resistance against the Soviet invaders and for Afghanistan."

I will be sent to the Jalozai refugee camp? To select and train guerrillas? No! Muhammad immediately rejected the task in his heart when he heard Musharraf's words.

"Sir, I am not here to report back. I am here to request a mission," Muhammad said. "The Afghan guerrillas need me. I will return to Afghanistan to fight alongside them. I am here to request weapons support."

Musharraf had already taken out the appointment letter. Hearing Muhammad's words, he was taken aback. "First Warrant Officer Muhammad, you are requesting to return to Afghanistan?"

Going to Afghanistan is very dangerous, with the constant threat of death. This is Afghanistan's war, and Pakistan is only reluctantly involved. Pakistan currently has no specific need to cross the border to fight. In the military, although there is deep hatred for the Soviets, they do not want to fight in Afghanistan, as it means sacrifice.

The Muhammad in front of him was willing to go back and fight!

"Sir, the Afghan guerrillas are not well-trained, and their tactical skills are low. If I don't return, they might be wiped out by the Soviets. The fighters trained in the refugee camps are far inferior to the local guerrillas who have already taken up arms," Muhammad said. "I want to fight alongside them until we drive out the Soviet invaders!"

Musharraf was moved. He put down the appointment letter and said, "Muhammad, are you not afraid of sacrifice?"

"I am afraid," Muhammad said. "The Soviets invaded Afghanistan to gain a southern passage and to suppress our country. If they fully control Afghanistan, our country will never have peace. Helping Afghanistan is helping our country. As a soldier, I have no choice but to do my duty."

This soldier was not an ordinary soldier. His political insight was profound, seeing through the situation clearly and speaking candidly. No one is fearless, and such a soldier fit Musharraf's character.

"Now, you are a Second Lieutenant," Musharraf said. "I will request Islamabad to grant you the rank of Second Lieutenant. Tell me, what weapons do you need?"

Faced with such a brave warrior, Musharraf was very appreciative. He promoted Muhammad directly to Second Lieutenant, bypassing the rank of Senior Warrant Officer. This was also a form of comfort, as he could become a martyr at any time.

Muhammad was not excited about the rank. He had already dedicated his career to Afghanistan. He looked at Musharraf and said, "Sir, I need Stinger portable anti-aircraft missiles and TOW anti-tank missiles."

Hearing Muhammad's words, Musharraf was clearly taken aback. "What? Stinger anti-aircraft missiles?"

Musharraf had never heard of them, and neither had Pakistani soldiers. At this time, the Stinger anti-aircraft missile had just entered service with the U.S. military.

In 1971, the U.S. Army chose the "Redeye II" as the future portable anti-aircraft missile, designated as the FIM-92. In March 1972, the "Redeye II" was named "Stinger," the second generation of portable anti-aircraft missiles in the U.S. After several years of technical issues, all problems were resolved by 1976, and in 1978, General Dynamics was approved to produce it. By this year, the first U.S. unit equipped with this missile had combat capability.

In the future, the Afghan guerrillas would not receive these effective anti-aircraft missiles in large numbers until 1986 to combat Soviet attack helicopters. Most of the Mi-8 losses began from that time.

Now, facing the significant threat of Soviet Mi-8s, Muhammad urgently needed these weapons. He couldn't wait any longer.

The Americans were very generous to Afghanistan at this time, providing unconditional aid to fight the Soviets, giving whatever was requested. In the future, when the Americans entered Afghanistan, they found that the biggest threat they faced was the weapons they had once provided to Afghanistan, a stark irony.

"Yes, that's right, Sir. With these weapons, the Afghan guerrillas will have a chance to breathe. The Soviet Mi-8s have been circling over our heads, and we have been at a disadvantage," Muhammad said.

"I will convey this to the Americans," Musharraf said. "Muhammad, this will require approval from the higher-ups in the U.S., so it might take a few days."

Leaving the headquarters, Muhammad continued to think. He had forgotten the history of the Stinger. It was still early, and would the Americans agree? It would be difficult. What would he take back? He would have to continue the arduous fight with empty hands.

The Americans must agree! Even if he had to write to the President of the United States! Muhammad made up his mind.

The sky was turning light, and the streets of Peshawar were bustling with people.

Although there was no official count, at least ten thousand Afghan refugees had entered Peshawar. Although they were housed in refugee camps, water and food were not enough.

So, as soon as it was light, these refugees flooded the streets, hoping to find work. Looking at the ragged men, Muhammad felt a pang of pain in his heart. Politicians start wars for their own interests, but the true victims are these ordinary civilians.

They watched Muhammad pass by, not as if he were looking for work, but with hopeful eyes.

Muhammad had to lower his head, unable to meet their eyes, and hurried past. The military guesthouse was two blocks away, and he was staying there temporarily.

Wearing a blue strapless top, a white cloak, and tight jeans, with high heels, she was dressed in a completely Western style. Her long hair framed deep-set eyes and a high nose, the face of a Central Asian girl, a local.

She carried a handbag that swung as she walked, and she was in a hurry, heading to the bus stop to catch the early bus.

As she passed a group of Afghans, one of the men stood up and slowly followed her.

The girl did not notice. She was still rushing, and the bus was about to arrive.

Her steps quickened, and her high heels clicked on the ground.

Suddenly, her hand slipped, and the handbag flew out. Looking up, she saw an Afghan man snatch her bag and run off.

"Help! Someone stole my bag!" the girl shouted loudly, very anxious, and chased after him. After a few steps, her foot twisted, and she sprained her ankle.

Just as the thief was about to disappear around the corner, a tall man blocked the street.