Chapter 64

Afghanistan is composed of nearly three hundred large and small tribes, the largest being the Pashtun, followed by the Tajik. Historically, these tribes have had various grievances and conflicts, with ignorance and backwardness being the root of tribal disputes.

In the north of Jalalabad, the Pashtun population is not large, with the Tajik being the majority. These people formed guerrillas, originally planning to fight a major battle, but they found that they could not even get enough food, and their weapons and ammunition were also lacking, making it impossible for them to fight a tough battle.

On the contrary, the Pashtuns actually went to Jalalabad and bombed the airport! They destroyed dozens of planes and killed hundreds of Soviets! With this achievement, the surrounding guerrillas could not even hold their heads up!

This statement was filled with jealousy, as if a beloved woman had been taken away. James had originally planned to have them lead him to Muhammad, but now it seemed that this idea was shattered.

If he mentioned Muhammad, he might be driven out of the cave right now.

"Mr. James, we still want a heavy machine gun," Rameel said. "If we had a heavy machine gun, we could set it up on the hilltop to shoot down planes and armored vehicles. We would have enough confidence to fight the Soviets!"

Listening to Rameel, James couldn't help but think, "Idiot, do you think a heavy machine gun can solve everything? No wonder you haven't achieved much!"

James smiled. "Alright, I will apply to the higher-ups."

The atmosphere in the cave was still friendly, and it was almost dawn.

This was the time when people were the most drowsy. The soldier guarding outside with an AKM assault rifle felt his eyelids getting heavy. He closed his eyes, and when he tried to open them again, he couldn't.

Snoring could already be heard from his nose; he was too tired.

He didn't notice that a snowball was slowly moving towards him. The snowball got closer and closer until it was right next to him. Suddenly, the snowball changed shape, and two hands emerged. The right hand held a shiny military knife, and the left hand quickly covered his mouth from behind.

Blood flowed from his neck, and the hot blood spurted out, staining the nearby ground red.

His body twitched twice and then lay still.

Kryshevich wiped the blood off the knife on this man's body and put it back in his waistband.

Behind him, dozens of snowballs followed.

There were no other sentries around; the vigilance of this guerrilla group was really poor!

Although Girkov was still a bit puzzled about the missing donkeys that had been carrying supplies, perhaps they had been taken to local homes after the delivery.

Regardless, following the guerrilla, they found this place. The cave looked quite large and should be the guerrilla base.

So, the next task was to eliminate the guerrillas here!

They split into two teams and stood on both sides of the cave entrance. Girkov made a gesture to Kryshevich.

Kryshevich took out a grenade, pulled the pin, and threw it inside.

"Mr. James, we also want to go to Peshawar for military training. Can you contact the Islamic Union of Afghan Mujahideen?" Rameel continued to ask James.

Sure enough, it was a small, unorganized guerrilla group. Just as James was about to answer, he heard a faint sound.

"Thud."

This was the sound of something being thrown in from outside! James was immediately alarmed and, without thinking, shouted, "Take cover!"

The cave was too narrow, and a grenade explosion could injure many people. In the moment James took cover, he quickly covered his body with a large pot.

Take cover? Rameel hadn't reacted yet when a huge fireball appeared, followed by a deafening explosion.

"Boom!" With the explosion, countless fragments flew, and the surrounding guerrillas immediately let out cries of pain.

This was just the beginning.

When the explosion sounded, even more terrifying sounds came from outside.

"Rat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat." With the gunfire, several Soviet soldiers rushed in, their AK-74 assault rifles set to automatic fire. They shot at anyone they could see without hesitation.

Kill, kill all these guerrillas! The Soviets showed no mercy.

Victory came too easily. When Girkov entered the cave, he saw bodies everywhere. Only one guerrilla was left, a man wearing Soviet military boots and carrying a pistol, looking like a leader.

At that moment, a piece of shrapnel had hit his arm, and he was still trembling, trying to draw his pistol.

"Thump." Girkov kicked this man down and stomped on the wound with his foot.

"Ah!" Rameel let out a scream.

"Where is Muhammad?" Girkov asked the suffering Rameel.

"I don't know!" Rameel said.

"How can you not know?" Girkov asked, increasing the pressure on his foot.

"He is a Pashtun guerrilla, and we are Tajik. We have no contact with each other. How would I know!" Rameel said, "You cursed Soviets, Allah will punish you! Khwaja's guerrillas will finish you off! Killing me won't help; my soul will meet Allah."

"Fine, I'll kill you!" Kryshevich took out his military knife.

Girkov stopped Kryshevich with a look. Clearly, they had mistakenly attacked a small guerrilla group, not Muhammad's.

Guerrillas often had contact with each other, and Girkov absolutely didn't believe that this man didn't know where Muhammad was.

However, using torture on Afghan guerrillas was ineffective. These were hardened individuals, and only experienced KGB interrogators with modern methods could get them to talk.

"Call the base and send a helicopter. Kryshevich, send a squad to take him back for interrogation," Girkov said.

There was no one left alive in the cave. Just as Girkov was about to order a retreat, he noticed the large pot on one side, which was trembling slightly.

Girkov made a gesture, and Kryshevich slowly approached and suddenly lifted the pot.

Below was a blue-eyed foreigner!

So, there was a big fish here!

James had just hidden under the pot, thinking he could escape, but now, with several guns pointed at him, James knew he was about to enter a different life. Being taken to the KGB and then to the Soviet Union, he would probably never return to America after the war.

James didn't have the courage to commit suicide.

"Take him back with us," Girkov said. "He must know more about Muhammad's guerrilla group."

Outside, the sky was already bright.

Khwaja looked at the white expanse around him and the two guerrillas returning on horseback.

"Did you find James?" Khwaja asked.

Yesterday, after walking for two hours, Khwaja felt something was wrong. Leaving James alone was dangerous, so he immediately sent people to search. However, they only found the remains of a fire, and James was nowhere to be found.

Khwaja's sense of foreboding grew stronger. Snow had started to fall, and James must have gotten lost!

They searched all night.

In the distance, the sound of hooves could be heard. Khwaja saw the approaching riders, who were his own guerrillas, led by Muhammad.

Khwaja had sent the message back last night, and Muhammad had rushed over.

"What happened?" Muhammad asked as he approached.

"Yesterday, James shot a mountain chicken and insisted on roasting it right away. I was in a hurry to transport the weapons, so I left James behind. He said he knew the way, but when I sent people to look for him at night, they couldn't find him. James must have gotten lost."

If it was just getting lost, it would be manageable, but Muhammad frowned. What he was most worried about now was not just getting lost.

"Khwaja, take the weapons back to the base," Muhammad said. Khwaja had already wasted time looking for James and couldn't afford to waste more.

At the same time, Muhammad rode his horse, leading over twenty guerrillas to continue searching to the north.

This was the territory of a Tajik guerrilla group. If not for transporting the weapons, Muhammad wouldn't have come here. Now that James had gone missing here, he should visit this guerrilla group and ask for their help in searching. They were more familiar with the terrain.

"Durrani, do you know the situation of the nearby Tajik guerrillas?" Muhammad asked Durrani.

"Sir, this guerrilla group is small, only thirty people, and they have no weapons. They were established earlier than our group but haven't fought much, so they have little combat capability. The leader of this group, Rameel, has some conflicts with our Pashtun tribe, and we don't have much contact," Durrani said.

After speaking, Durrani paused. "Sir, are you thinking of integrating this guerrilla group? Rameel is very stubborn; it's not worth the effort."

Muhammad shook his head. "I just want to ask them for help in searching for James."

Muhammad understood Durrani's thoughts. The tribal enmity was strong, and regardless of whether they could integrate this guerrilla group, once integrated, if Muhammad taught all the military knowledge to the Tajiks, they could become powerful enemies if they turned against them in the future.

Only by resolving racial hatred and barriers could Afghanistan truly become strong. Otherwise, whether it was the Soviet Union or the United States, they would only treat Afghanistan as a pawn, and Afghanistan would never have peace.

Muhammad was already planning for the future.

Riding for a while, Muhammad suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, his expression serious.

The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and a strong scent of blood.