Chapter 66

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A huge rock was sliding down the hillside, and from the direction it was falling, it was very likely to hit their position.

"Dodge!" Askov shouted, his body nimbly darting behind a nearby rock.

All the Soviet soldiers were dodging. After all, such a large rock would certainly crush anyone it hit into a pulp.

James and Lamar exchanged a glance. Though their arms were tied, they stood up. This was their only chance. Without hesitation, they kicked off and ran down the hillside.

"The prisoners are escaping!"

"Chase them!"

"Don't shoot!" At this moment, Askov saw his men raising their guns to shoot and immediately stopped them. These prisoners knew many secrets, especially the American one. Handing them over to the KGB could yield a lot of useful information. Besides, with their arms tied, they couldn't run fast, and they could easily be caught.

With their arms tied, they couldn't maintain their balance, and their running was unsteady. The hillside made it even more difficult. After just a few steps, James and Lamar stumbled and fell to the ground. Once they fell, they couldn't control their bodies and began rolling down the hill, colliding with rocks and getting bruised and wounded all over.

The Soviet soldiers behind them were quickly chasing after them. If they continued rolling down, they would surely be knocked unconscious by the time they reached the bottom of the hill.

"Bang, bang, bang." At this moment, gunshots rang out from above, and several Soviet soldiers fell to the ground.

There were ambushers above! Askov turned his head and saw several guerrillas rushing down from the hilltop.

What should he do? If he stopped to fight the guerrillas, the prisoners would escape. But if he didn't fight, his men would be at risk of being wiped out.

In any battle, those with the high ground have the advantage. Now, the guerrillas rushing down the hillside were full of momentum.

As Askov was hesitating, a Soviet soldier beside him said, "Look, what's that?"

The sound of hooves echoed from a distance. In the snowy valley, another group of cavalry charged out. They skillfully rode their horses and wielded AKM rifles with one hand.

"Bang, bang, bang." Bullets flew, and Askov bent down, the bullets almost grazing his head as they flew towards the hill behind him.

He was surrounded! When the cavalry below and the guerrillas above attacked, Askov had no chance of counterattacking. He immediately shouted, "Retreat!"

As a soldier of the proud reconnaissance company, Askov was brave, but he also knew that he couldn't act rashly. Any mistake could mean death.

As Askov gave the order, the number of soldiers around him continued to decrease. He ran sideways towards the other side of the hill. The tactics of alternating cover were useless. When he had run several dozen meters, he was alone.

"Bang." Another bullet flew, and Askov felt a sharp pain in his calf. His knee buckled, and he knelt on the ground.

Dragging his injured leg, he managed to walk a few more meters before the sound of hooves caught up with him.

"Snap." A whip struck Askov's back, and he let out a painful cry, falling to the ground.

Surrounded by countless figures, Askov was trapped.

"Rumble, rumble." At this moment, the sound of a helicopter's engine roared overhead. The Mi-8 had spotted the battle and turned around, seeing two groups of guerrillas in the valley ahead.

This was the perfect moment!

"Weapons, switch to rockets, and provide covering fire!" the helicopter pilot said, pulling the control stick and flying towards the valley.

In front of an armed helicopter, the Afghan guerrillas were like lambs to the slaughter.

The helicopter flew quickly, and the rockets on the short wings were ready to fire.

The weapons operator aimed the crosshairs of the rockets at the guerrillas and was surprised to see that their reactions were different.

Guerrillas couldn't fight against a helicopter, so they usually scattered and ran when one approached. But now, these guerrillas stood there, not dispersing or fleeing. They seemed to be willing to be targets.

Something was wrong! The weapons operator zoomed in and finally saw a man in Soviet uniform, covered in blood, at the front of the guerrillas. He could almost see the rank on the man's shoulder—it was a sergeant.

They had captured one of their own soldiers! The weapons operator gritted his teeth in anger. Damn Afghans!

Every Soviet soldier's life was precious. Even though this soldier was captured, they couldn't bomb him along with the guerrillas.

"Pull up, circle above, and call the reconnaissance company," the weapons operator said. Their only option was to follow the guerrillas and call for Gorky's company to rescue them.

These guerrillas were small in number, and Gorky's company could easily eliminate them. Gorky's mission was to suppress the guerrillas, and their helicopter was only there to pick up people.

"Mi-8 calling the reconnaissance company, Mi-8 calling the reconnaissance company." The weapons operator set the radio to external and began to call.

The static in the headphones was terrible. The signal in the Afghan mountains was often poor, and they often couldn't get through.

The weapons operator looked out, frustrated, as they flew past the side of the guerrillas.

Suddenly, his eyes widened, and his breathing quickened. His voice was urgent, "Quick, pull up! Nine o'clock, missile!"

Damn! The Afghan guerrillas had portable missiles!

The Soviet side had been monitoring the guerrillas' equipment and never believed they could have advanced portable missiles. They had always assumed previous attacks were RPGs, just the guerrillas getting lucky.

But now, the weapons operator could almost see the guerrilla with the portable missile, the missile flying out of the launcher, and the real missile in the air.

The pilot immediately pulled the collective pitch lever, and the engine roared. The helicopter quickly ascended.

Suddenly, the helicopter shook, and then, as if using its last bit of strength, it began to descend.

The Pamir Plateau in winter was cold and windy, and the wind in the valley was even stronger. The pilot's violent maneuvers lost control of the helicopter.

The helicopter began to descend and spin uncontrollably. Once in this state, it was impossible to recover.

The pilot continued to struggle, pushing the control stick and staring at the spinning world ahead.

"Boom!" At this moment, a loud explosion came from above.

The portable missile hit the engine below the helicopter's rotor, and one side of the engine was damaged, emitting thick smoke.

The helicopter was already difficult to control, and now with one engine damaged, it accelerated its descent into the valley.

"Boom!" When the helicopter hit the ground, a violent explosion occurred, and the entire helicopter burst into flames.

Watching the Mi-8 fall, Muhammad felt calm and removed the load from his shoulder.

When the helicopter approached, Muhammad knew it was a critical moment. Although he had a Stinger missile, the helicopter could fire rockets from a distance, and he might not hit it accurately. Moreover, if the helicopter fired, it would cause massive casualties.

Should he immediately ride away? Even on a motorcycle, it wouldn't work! The view from above was too clear. Once they started to flee, they would be at a disadvantage.

Muhammad looked at the captured Soviet soldier and gritted his teeth, making a decision.

Place the Soviet prisoner in front of their own people and stand still!

Muhammad was betting that the Soviets wouldn't fire on their own people, or they would face severe military law.

Sure enough, Muhammad's bet paid off. The Mi-8, which had been preparing to fire, suddenly stopped and turned to the side, exposing its largest surface area. Muhammad, agilely, shouldered the Stinger, aimed, and fired!

When the Mi-8 fell, the weight on Muhammad's heart lifted.

The rock that had rolled down from the hilltop also landed nearby. On one side, Lamar's eyes were full of admiration.

The helicopter, which had been so intimidating, was now easily defeated. These people stood there, waiting for the helicopter to attack, and managed to scare it away and even shoot it down with a rocket.

When did his own guerrilla group ever have such a glorious moment?

"Brother, your arm is injured. Let me bandage it for you." Lamar heard a voice and looked up to see a young Afghan guerrilla.

Osama extended a hand of friendship to Lamar, but Lamar didn't reach out. Instead, he glared at the Soviet prisoner with hatred.

The Soviets had wiped out his guerrilla group. Over thirty people, and only he was left. He wanted revenge!

"Should we skin this guy?" Lamar heard a friendly suggestion from someone nearby.