Chapter 63

The range of the dagger pistol is not high, and it is very difficult to aim. One must get close to have enough accuracy. Kryshevich kept his eyes on James, who was only interested in eating, while slowly crawling forward. As long as he got within ten meters, he could take out this Afghan guerrilla and open the way forward for his side.

Leave some for me, damn it! How could you eat both chicken legs? Kryshevich cursed the glutton in his heart as he crawled.

Suddenly, James, who was eating, lifted his head and looked around. When he looked in Kryshevich's direction, Kryshevich immediately lowered his head. Had he been spotted?

Boiling water, plucking feathers, roasting, and eating, James had already spent over two hours. Seeing the sun setting in the west, James knew he couldn't delay any longer. After dark, it would be hard to find the way.

After eating until he was half full, James wrapped the leftover chicken in his clothes, not caring that the greasy meat would dirty his clothes. He poured the water from his helmet onto the fire to extinguish it, then mounted his horse.

Watching the figure riding away, Kryshevich wished he could rush forward immediately. The distance between them was only fifteen meters! If he could get five meters closer, he could take out this guy with the silenced dagger pistol at ten meters. Now, he could only watch as the guy rode off with half a roasted chicken.

"Follow him!" a voice came from behind.

It was almost dark, and tracking at night would be even more difficult. Gorky knew they had no choice but to follow quickly.

The Afghan guerrilla, though on horseback, did not dare ride too fast in the heavy snow. The Soviet soldiers could follow him at a steady pace.

James didn't know that so many Soviets were following him. His greed had let the guerrillas get ahead. He had planned to follow their footprints, but as it got dark, it started snowing again. In the reflection of the snow, the surroundings turned into an endless expanse of white, and he couldn't see the tracks. James became anxious.

The guerrillas wouldn't stay in the Wakhan Corridor forever. After a while, they would head into the mountains to the south. Seeing no more footprints ahead and a mountain path to the left, James immediately turned his horse and followed the path.

Actually, James knew that waiting here was the best choice. Khvajah would send people to search for him when he realized he hadn't followed. However, thinking that his greed had made him fall behind, he felt ashamed to face Muhammad again. He believed his luck was good and that he would catch up with the guerrillas.

Thus, James left the Wakhan Corridor and entered the mountains of the Pamir Plateau.

The Soviet soldiers behind him didn't know that James was lost. They couldn't find the guerrillas' tracks either and could only follow the guy in front. The snow on their bodies quickly melted.

James rode for half the night, feeling tired. The half-roasted chicken in his arms had frozen stiff. He tore off a piece and chewed it.

The snow stopped, and the sky was filled with stars. The snow around him reflected the light, making everything look unfamiliar.

Where am I? James kept recalling his route in his mind. He started to feel anxious, realizing he might be lost!

Damn! How could I get lost! James was extremely frustrated. If he ran out of food and couldn't find the guerrillas, he would surely freeze to death here!

I should go back to where I started. Khvajah will send people to search! Just as James was about to turn his horse, he heard a voice ahead: "Stop! Who are you?"

Two people appeared in the snow, wearing Afghan robes and headscarves, with only their eyes exposed. The scarves around their mouths were covered in ice, and their feet were bare, black from the cold.

They held AEFERD MKIII rifles, weapons from the Third Anglo-Afghan War. They pulled the bolts, and the muzzles pointed at James.

James's eyes lit up: "Thank God, I finally found you! Take me to your leader!"

Saying that, James spurred his horse forward.

"Stop!" The two guerrillas were more nervous. "Who are you?"

Who would be out in this snow? It must be the Soviets!

"I'm American," James said. "I'm here to provide you with weapons."

James pulled off his scarf, revealing a Western face, definitely not a Soviet.

An American? The two guerrilla sentries relaxed: "You're here to provide us with weapons?"

Their guerrilla group had very outdated weapons. They were sentries with these two rifles, and in their base, there were fewer than twenty guns, with some people using swords.

Now, this guy was here to provide them with weapons? An American? That was great!

However, they couldn't relax. One guerrilla gave a nod to the other, who then searched James and his horse. They found a few cans of American food, and they immediately started drooling.

"Here, take them," James said. He was starting to wonder, as these people didn't seem like Muhammad's group. He must have encountered another guerrilla group.

This group hadn't received any outside aid and had very outdated equipment.

Although the United States and other Western countries supported the Afghan guerrillas' resistance against the Soviets, there were too many guerrilla groups. A few people or a dozen could form a group to fight the Soviets, and these groups constrained the Soviet army. However, due to their large numbers, the U.S. couldn't support all of them.

The U.S. principle was to support any guerrilla group that made contact. Now that James had encountered this group, he wouldn't miss the opportunity.

"Thank you," the two said, holding the cans and not knowing how to open them. One of them used a bayonet to pry open a can and, despite the frozen meat, took a piece and put it in his mouth.

The guerrillas, though sounding formidable, were often struggling to survive. They fought the Soviets without pay and had to find weapons and food themselves. The Afghan people were already poor, and now they were even poorer.

Groups like Muhammad's, which won battles and received aid, were rare. They not only fought the Soviets but also seized weapons and food from them.

"Please follow us," the two said, their attitude toward James changing as they put away their guns and led him into the valley.

James was relieved; at least he could sleep well tonight.

After walking for about five miles, they reached a cave in the center of the valley. At the entrance, there was a bipod-mounted AKM automatic rifle, their strongest firepower.

Seeing the two bring someone back, the guerrilla at the entrance with the AKM asked, "Hris, who is this?"

"An American, here to provide us with aid, and wants to see the leader."

"Who wants to provide us with aid?" a voice came from inside the cave.

A middle-aged Afghan man emerged from the cave, wearing a robe and Soviet military boots, with a pistol on his belt and deep-set eyes.

"Hello, my name is James, from the CIA," James said to the guerrilla leader. "The United States strongly supports the Afghan resistance against the Soviets and hopes to establish contact with various guerrilla groups to provide weapons and equipment."

"Mr. James, what weapons can you provide us?" the guerrilla leader, Rameel, asked.

"AKM rifles, ammunition, RPG rocket launchers," James said. "We can provide enough for every guerrilla here."

"Thank you very much, welcome our guest," Rameel said, delighted. His group didn't even have rocket launchers and could only kill a few isolated Soviets, unable to fight the Soviet army.

James entered the cave, seeing that this was the guerrillas' shelter. The ground was covered with dry grass, and a few guerrillas had just lazily sat up. At the entrance, there was a large pot, and only a small bag of food.

The cave was spacious enough to accommodate twenty or thirty guerrillas.

Sitting on a pile of dry grass, James said, "I'm here to find the brave fighters against the Soviets, establish contact, and determine the number of weapons needed. When the snow melts next year, we will bring the weapons."

Rameel's desire for weapons was urgent, but he knew it wasn't the right time. The snow blocked the mountains, and it was difficult to transport the weapons.

"We need equipment for thirty people," Rameel said. "My boys lack weapons; otherwise, we could have a big fight. Now, the glory of the guerrillas in this area has been taken by the Pashtun Khvajah!"

Rameel was still angry when he said this. James suddenly noticed that the guerrillas in the cave, though bearded, were different from Muhammad's group. They were not Pashtuns but Tajiks!