Chapter 38

PS: Thank you to the three good friends, "Surviving Cockroach," "Sometimes Flowers Bloom and Wither," and "Unfixed Leaf," for your generous rewards! Thank you all for your support and votes! Thank you, dear readers, for your love for this book! Regarding the female lead, I can only say, please continue to read, as there are more mysteries to come.

Muhammad clenched his fists and slowly turned around. He saw a middle-aged American standing there, holding a pistol.

This is Pakistan, a country under the rule of law. Apart from the military and police, ordinary people are not allowed to possess firearms. Yet, this American was actually holding a gun here!

The owner of this bar is not a Pakistani, but an American! And their relationship must be quite special! Muhammad looked at the gun pointing at him, which was about three meters away. At this distance, it would be very difficult for him to grab the gun, while the American could easily pull the trigger and kill him.

But, would this American dare to shoot him? This is Pakistan!

Muhammad sneered and pointed to his chest: "My heart is here. If you have the guts, shoot me!"

As he spoke, Muhammad moved forward.

Sure enough, the owner took two steps back, maintaining a distance from Muhammad.

"Shoot! You don't dare to fight the Soviets, so you're showing off here!" Muhammad continued: "With your little tricks, you think you can fight me? I've killed enough Soviets to fill a reinforced company."

Muhammad took a few more steps forward, and the owner continued to retreat until he reached the bar, with no place to go.

Muhammad's chest pressed against the gun, and he grabbed the barrel, saying, "Shoot."

The American did not move, so Muhammad snatched the gun, separated the magazine from the barrel, and threw them to the ground. His body exuded a fierce aura.

Muhammad turned around and left the bar with the girl.

The girl clung to Muhammad's arm, her body still trembling. It wasn't until they left the bar that she subconsciously tried to let go, but she was too drunk to walk steadily.

"Where is your home? I'll take you home," Muhammad said.

"Over there," the girl pointed to a street corner, where there was a mosque.

"No, it's here," the girl turned her finger and pointed to the guesthouse where Muhammad was staying.

Thus, Muhammad realized that the girl was indeed drunk. Beer had a strong aftertaste, and her eyes were so dazed that she didn't know where her home was.

If he didn't have his past memories, the best thing for Muhammad to do would be to hand her over to the police. But now, he knew that wasn't a good idea, and he wasn't too constrained by gender norms.

He brought the girl back to his place, laid her on the bed, and sat on a chair nearby. Despite sleeping all day, he still hadn't rested enough. Now, lying on the chair, Muhammad quickly fell asleep.

He slept soundly until he heard the sound of water from the bathroom. He woke up and saw that he was covered with a blanket, and the girl had gone to the bathroom.

"Click." At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Muhammad turned his head. Through his sleepy eyes, he saw a naked body walk out of the bathroom.

Indeed, it was naked, with a well-defined figure, and two soft mounds on her chest, with water droplets slowly sliding down.

Her wet hair was disheveled, and when she saw Muhammad staring at her through her hair, she clearly felt embarrassed.

At that moment, Muhammad felt a stirring in his lower body, but he quickly suppressed his desire and said, "You're awake?"

"Yes, I took a shower and feel much better," Aisha said. "Thank you for helping me twice. I can repay you in any way."

The girl's intentions were clear. Muhammad threw the blanket he was covering himself with to her: "Put it on, be careful not to catch a cold."

The blanket perfectly covered the girl's chest. She skillfully wrapped it around herself and tied it.

Her chest was high, and her buttocks were firm, making her even more alluring.

"How did you end up in an American-owned bar?" Muhammad asked. Actually, he was just asking casually, as the situation was awkward, and he wanted to change the topic.

He was very intelligent but lacked emotional intelligence. In his previous life, Muhammad had married a female officer through a matchmaker, and they had married before dating. He was either training or on exercises, and he spent very little time with his wife.

Hearing Muhammad's words, Aisha's attractive eyes filled with tears: "I am not Pakistani; I am from Afghanistan. My hometown is in Kandahar. My father owned a factory, and my mother taught at a middle school in Kandahar. Later, the Soviets came, and the factory was destroyed in the war. My father was injured, and we fled here. Shortly after arriving, my father passed away, leaving only my mother and me. My mother fell ill with grief and was admitted to a hospital here."

Aisha had a unique aura, not typical of an ordinary Afghan civilian. She was dressed fashionably and sensually, but she was very proud, and her eyes exuded the elegance of the upper class.

If she were an ordinary Afghan girl, she would never have taken a shower at Muhammad's place. Water was scarce in Afghanistan, and some people never bathed in their entire lives.

Of course, taking a shower here might have another purpose, such as to seduce him.

Aisha stood in front of Muhammad: "After coming here, I was fortunate to find a job at the Peshawar Radio Station, earning some salary. However, the salary was not enough to cover my mother's hospital expenses, so I had to take on part-time jobs. My colleagues at the radio station introduced me to these Americans. I would get tips for drinking with them, but these Americans wanted me to sleep with them."

Aisha's body trembled, and tears fell from her eyes to her bare feet. She continued, "You said you killed Soviets, so you are a hero to the Afghan people. I admire heroes, and I really like you."

After speaking, Aisha gently untied the blanket, which fell to the ground, exposing her body to Muhammad again.

"At this moment, I am yours. Hold me tight, my love," Aisha said emotionally, wrapping her arms around Muhammad's neck, her firm chest pressing against his.

Muhammad felt a surge of blood, and all his desires were instantly released.

Two strong arms wrapped around Aisha, lifting her off the ground and throwing her onto the bed. Muhammad quickly began to take off his clothes.

"Ring, ring, ring." At that moment, the phone on the table rang.

Muhammad instantly regained his composure, picked up the phone, and heard the voice of the chief of staff: "Muhammad, come to headquarters immediately."

"Yes," Muhammad stood at attention and answered solemnly.

Putting down the phone, he looked at Aisha on the bed and said, "Aisha, it's already light outside. You can rest a bit more and then go to work."

"No, I want to be with you. I want to go and kill the Soviets to avenge my father!" Aisha said.

Muhammad shook his head and quickly left without waiting for Aisha to speak again.

The cool morning breeze blew on Muhammad's head, and his mind became crystal clear. This Aisha was like a piece of chewing gum, sticking to him. Do Afghan girls have such bold and proactive behavior?

At headquarters, Muhammad met the serious-faced chief of staff, Musharraf.

"Muhammad, your achievements in Afghanistan have caught the attention of American friends. The CIA representative in Peshawar wants to meet you and discuss providing aid to the guerrillas. This is an opportunity," Musharraf said.

Muhammad nodded, looking at Musharraf with gratitude.

Smart people don't need many words. Asking the Americans for Stinger missiles was almost impossible. Originally, Muhammad had no chance to directly communicate with the Americans, but now he had an opportunity. He had to seize this opportunity and convince the Americans to provide him with this weapon!

The weapons provided by the Americans were all delivered through the CIA. If he could connect with the CIA, it would mean that the guerrillas he led would have a steady supply of weapons in the future!

Muhammad sat upright, looking straight ahead, until he heard footsteps from outside.

"Bob, welcome," Musharraf stood up and greeted him at the door.

"You're too serious here. Next time, let's meet in a more relaxed and pleasant place," Bob laughed heartily. "Actually, my bar is quite nice."

As he spoke, Bob walked in and saw Muhammad standing behind Musharraf.

At the same time, Muhammad saw Bob and was instantly surprised: "Why is it you?"

"Second Lieutenant Muhammad, do you know Mr. Bob?" Musharraf was also very surprised.

Muhammad felt awkward inside. He knew Bob, from last night. At that time, the American in front of him was holding a gun, and Muhammad had used his chest to press against the gun, forcing the American to the bar, snatching the gun, and then dismantling it and throwing it away before leaving.

The owner of the bar, who allowed the Americans to act recklessly, turned out to be the CIA representative in Peshawar?

That makes sense. Only the CIA representative would dare to carry a weapon in Peshawar and use it. The current Pakistan relies on American support to have the confidence to fight the Soviets.

Oh no, he had offended this guy. It would be even harder to get weapons from him now.