Chapter 54

PS: Thank you to the two good friends, "Toilet Pose" and "Dragon Clan Mage Warrior," for your generous support! Thank you to "Northwest Wind" for the positive review, and to all my good friends for your votes of support!

In response to the questions in the book review section, the author is an atheist. This book is purely a war story, a tale of a great nation's rise, and has nothing to do with any religious sect.

When the arm hit by the bullet began to fester, the inflammation had already started. Muhammad was running a fever while in Jalalabad, but he persisted in fighting. He knew he couldn't fall; if he did, Osama wouldn't be able to survive, and his cause would come to an end.

Muhammad finally couldn't hold on any longer. He fell off the horse, his body burning hot, and his consciousness began to fade. He only felt himself being lifted back onto the horse, the rhythmic jolts, and then he knew nothing.

Later, after an unknown period of unconsciousness, Muhammad felt cool towels being placed on his forehead, and small sips of millet porridge being fed to him, like a refreshing spring, flowing into his stomach, making him feel very comfortable. Each time he was fed, a tissue would wipe away the excess porridge from the corner of his mouth. Such care could only come from a woman.

Slowly, Muhammad opened his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he saw a foreign girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, large and long-lashed, her long hair cascading like a waterfall. She wore a tank top, and the two mounds inside were full and firm, her skin smooth, her figure excellent. This was a sexy and adorable girl, and she was feeding him, her eyes full of concern.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Muhammad asked.

Seeing Muhammad open his eyes, the girl was delighted, her eyes sparkling with joy. Hearing Muhammad's question, she immediately answered, "My name is Lillith. I'm a Red Cross volunteer and a doctor. I performed surgery on your wound and gave you intravenous fluids for three days. Your fever has finally subsided. Today is the seventh day since you fell unconscious."

A Red Cross volunteer? Muhammad looked at Lillith again. She was a Western girl, radiating youth and vitality, full of charm. Unlike the local Afghan women, she was fresh and beautiful, youthful and attractive.

"Are you from America?" Muhammad asked. "Why did you come to Afghanistan as a volunteer?"

"The Red Cross aims to provide humanitarian protection and assistance to victims of war and armed violence. Now, Afghanistan is experiencing ongoing conflict, and this is where humanitarian aid is most needed, so I came here," Lillith said.

"But I am part of the Afghan guerrillas. What you're doing could put you in danger," Muhammad said.

The Red Cross has its principles, such as providing humanitarian aid in conflict zones without interfering in the fighting. This is why both sides of the conflict tolerate the presence of the Red Cross.

Of course, this is just on the surface. The people of the Red Cross are also human, with their own sense of right and wrong. Now, the Soviet war is completely illegal, and everyone except the Warsaw Pact countries stands with Afghanistan.

This girl, coming here to save him, could anger the Soviets. If the Soviets found out, it would be very troublesome.

"In my eyes, you are just a patient. A doctor's mission to save a patient is a sacred duty given by God," Lillith said.

Looking into Lillith's eyes, full of belief and determination, Muhammad softly said, "No matter what, thank you for saving my life."

"You are a patient and need more rest," Lillith said. "I'll go out now."

Watching the girl's graceful back, Muhammad knew things weren't that simple. He saw admiration and joy in her eyes. Could this girl have fallen for him?

Muhammad touched his beard, which was no longer as handsome as before. He should shave it off.

"Sir, you have finally woken up," said Khwaja and Durrani as they walked over after Lillith left.

"Have the Soviets made any moves these past few days?" Muhammad asked.

"They have been posting wanted notices in Jalalabad, listing you as the top suspect," Khwaja said. "But there has been no significant activity, and no signs of a sweep towards our area."

Hearing Khwaja's words, Muhammad frowned. The Soviets knew he possessed so many secrets, yet they remained so calm, not sweeping the mountains. This was very suspicious.

"Send more scouts to monitor the Soviets' movements," Muhammad said. "The Soviet counterattack will be very fierce."

This current calm was just the prelude to a storm. Muhammad had a very bad feeling.

"Thank God, sir, you have finally woken up," said a cheerful voice as Osama appeared at the door, an RPG on his shoulder.

After arriving, Osama, like the other guerrillas, began training, mastering the use of various weapons. Upon hearing that Muhammad had woken up, he immediately rushed over.

"I will not meet the great God until the liberation of Afghanistan is complete. I will continue to fight with all of you until we drive out all the Soviets!" Muhammad said.

...

The Afghan autumn is short and cold. This is the place closest to the sky, yet the farthest from heaven.

The cold wind blew across the wilderness and the mountains. Even in the sheltered valleys, it was bitterly cold, and this was only autumn.

Muhammad's body had fully recovered. He stood in the valley, watching the guerrillas training on the hillside. The cold wind blew their robes and even their beards, but their faces were resolute and determined.

"The TOW missile needs to continue aiming at the target after firing," Muhammad said, watching the guerrillas operate the portable TOW missile. "It's semi-active infrared guidance, so just aim at the target. If it were a Soviet missile, you'd need to use a control stick."

American missile technology was advanced, and Muhammad was very satisfied to have it.

As he spoke, Muhammad saw two people approaching from the mountain pass, one of them a girl in jeans and a white shirt, radiating charm.

"Lillith, you haven't left yet?" Muhammad asked.

"These past few days, I've been visiting nearby villages, helping those in need. Many villagers need food, and I plan to return to the International Red Cross to request assistance," Lillith said.

Afghanistan's land is barren, and food is already scarce. Now, with the war, many fields are abandoned, and food is even more scarce. This winter would be very difficult.

"Thank you, Lillith," Muhammad said.

As he spoke, Muhammad suddenly frowned and perked up his ears.

"Quick, protect the villagers and retreat to the mountains!" Muhammad said.

In the distance, a rumbling sound, like thunder, could be heard.

Then, from the mountain pass, came the sound of a horn. The Soviet planes were coming again!

Several guerrillas mounted their horses and rode towards the surrounding villages. The last time the Soviets attacked a village, no one survived. Since then, Muhammad had made plans to immediately retreat to safe caves if the Soviets attacked.

Following the prearranged plan, the guerrillas galloped away, and the remaining people rushed back to the caves, carrying Stinger missiles.

Unlike the last time, when they were helpless against the Soviet planes in the sky, now they had American-supplied Stinger missiles, which could bring down the planes!

The rumbling sound quickly approached, and two black dots grew larger, finally becoming two fighter jets.

Still T-8s! Muhammad's eyes blazed with anger. These two T-8s were loaded with ammunition, clearly coming to bomb again.

These planes must not be allowed to bomb the villages again! If the Soviets' plan succeeded, the villagers would panic, flee, or turn to the Soviets.

From their position, the two planes were heading this way. Muhammad gritted his teeth. Take them down!

The cost would be high. This was the guerrillas' base. Once they opened fire, the Soviets would know their location, and they would have to move quickly.

Muhammad ran quickly to the hilltop, where a hidden 12.7mm M1938 DshKM heavy machine gun with a tripod and an anti-aircraft sight was located.

When Muhammad arrived, Durrani was already seated at another machine gun on the other hilltop. Durrani was now a skilled machine gunner.

The two machine guns could form a crossfire to block the approaching planes.

The Soviet planes were rapidly approaching, the red stars under their wings clearly visible.

Muhammad felt his heart pounding, not because it was his first time in battle, but because, in his memory, there were no records of Su-25s being shot down in the Afghan war.

These were sturdy planes. To improve survivability, they were equipped with titanium armor, and even the control stick was connected to the wing surfaces by sturdy steel beams. Ordinary bullets were ineffective against them, and even Stingers found it difficult to bring them down.

This was why Muhammad had chosen to enter Jalalabad and kill the pilots last time. The planes were too sturdy.

Now, there was no other choice.

Several guerrillas carrying Stinger missiles were also hiding in suitable positions, ready to attack the planes at any moment.

Muhammad's eyes were fixed on the fighter jets in the sky, the gun barrel following the planes' movements. He was completely focused, not noticing that a girl had fearlessly climbed the hill.

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