Chapter 67

As long as they could survive, no one would be willing to risk their lives. Those who joined the guerrillas were all people who had lost family members to the Soviets.

Lamal's hatred ran even deeper. His group of over thirty people had all been killed in a single night, massacred by the Soviets! This grudge had to be avenged by those who were still alive!

Whether it was the Soviets now or the Americans in the future, when they fell into the hands of the Afghan guerrillas, their greatest wish was to die as soon as possible.

War is cruel. Didn't the Soviets also drive their tanks to crush their dead and dying compatriots into flesh and blood?

Hearing the suggestion from the person next to him, Lamal felt the flames in his eyes suddenly ignite.

Osama, with a smile, handed Lamal a military knife.

With his arm still bleeding, Lamal took one step after another toward the Soviet prisoner.

"James, it's great that you're still alive," Muhammad said, after dealing with the Hind, turning to the injured James.

James' injuries were not severe, just bruises from the fall. He felt utterly embarrassed, looking at Muhammad.

If it weren't for his greed for the chicken, how could this have happened? Thinking about it, James was filled with regret.

"James, thank you for your bravery and intelligence," Muhammad said. "You noticed the Soviets following you and led them away, protecting the safety of our supplies. I will report this to the higher-ups."

Hearing this, James' face lit up with excitement.

James had killed and roasted the chicken to hinder the Soviets behind him. He had also led them deep into the mountains alone, completing these tasks with great bravery! James immediately felt proud of himself.

"It's not entirely like that," James, whose face was not yet thick-skinned, smiled awkwardly. "A Soviet company came, and we couldn't resist them. They also killed an innocent guerrilla group."

The Soviets who came to the mountains were not just those dozen or so people. From the footprints at the cave, Muhammad knew there were more Soviets nearby.

The battle here was quick, lasting less than five minutes, but the noise was significant, especially the explosion of the burning Hind, which could be heard for dozens of miles. The remaining Soviet forces might be rushing here.

"Secure the prisoner and prepare to retreat," Muhammad said. There was no need to tangle with the Soviet main force. They should return to see what the Americans had sent and set up the rocket launchers. The Soviets would wander in the mountains for a few days, unable to find their target, and then leave.

Muhammad was not interested in a prolonged battle; his mind was on the equipment.

Just as Muhammad gave the order, a惨叫声 from the prisoners' side caught his attention.

"Ah..." The sound was so tragic and loud, it seemed to echo across the entire Pamir Plateau.

What's going on? Muhammad quickly walked to the circle surrounded by guerrillas.

He saw the Soviet prisoner lying on the ground, his hands and feet tied. A cut had been made in the center of his belly, and the recently rescued Lamal was peeling the skin with a military knife, just like skinning a sheep.

The Soviet prisoner's cries grew more and more pitiful. He struggled, but several guerrillas held him down firmly.

What is this? Muhammad's face darkened. The Geneva Convention forbids such torture of prisoners. This thought flashed through his mind, but he then heard the guerrillas' angry voices.

"Skin him! When the Soviet devils entered the city, they raped so many of our women!"

"Yes, they hanged and beat the village elders to death!"

"Skin him and hang him on a tree! Avenge our dead!"

One after another, the voices of righteous indignation. Muhammad knew he couldn't stop this.

Half of the prisoner's belly was already skinned. Lamal, looking at the nearly lifeless Soviet, said, "Give him some water, don't let him pass out."

If he passed out, he wouldn't feel the pain. Only by keeping him conscious could he fully experience the suffering!

The water in the canteen had frozen, and the ground was covered in snow. A guerrilla grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it into the prisoner's mouth. The cold snow woke him up.

His throat was hoarse from screaming. His greatest wish now was to die as soon as possible.

"Herman, return to the base immediately. Leave twenty men to guard it, and the rest should ambush on both sides of the Three Mile Bay. Lay S-shaped mines in the middle of the valley," Muhammad said to a guerrilla on the outskirts.

"Yes." Herman glanced at the scene of the skinning and mounted his horse.

This would enrage the Soviets. An enraged Soviet was both terrifying and prone to mistakes, which Muhammad would seize upon.

He had been too cautious. Since the Soviets were here, they shouldn't be allowed to leave. Just one company, over a hundred men. His guerrillas also had over a hundred men. A well-planned ambush could eliminate all the Soviets!

The Afghan guerrillas were venting their anger. The Soviets were the devil, the invaders!

Poor Askov, his entire chest was skinned, the blood flowing into the snow, quickly freezing. The pain and cold kept him unusually alert, unable to die quickly. He could clearly hear the sound of the knife cutting his skin, his vision gradually blurring.

Muhammad stood quietly, looking into the distance. He knew the Soviets would arrive soon.

Turning his head, he saw Osama standing outside the crowd, calm. Muhammad suddenly remembered that Osama had been with Lamal when he was talking to James.

Lamal could do this because Osama had incited him! This thought flashed through Muhammad's mind.

Osama had a rebellious and cold-blooded nature. He didn't care about killing or human life, which was why he could carry out suicide attacks.

Osama was already showing this nature now.

Thinking of Osama, Muhammad felt a headache. This man could be a sharp weapon, but if mishandled, he could cause trouble.

Noticing Muhammad looking at him, Osama put on an innocent expression, pointed to the Soviet prisoner, and made a gesture.

Killing him outright would be too easy. Muhammad understood Osama's meaning, but it was too brutal and cruel.

At that moment, Muhammad's expression became serious again.

"Mount up, retreat!" Muhammad shouted.

"Yes." After months of training, the guerrillas strictly followed orders. They quickly ran to their horses and mounted.

When they arrived, each had a horse, but now there were two more: Lamal and James.

Muhammad let James ride with him, and Osama approached Lamal.

Lamal was still meticulously working, his knife smoothly cutting without tearing the skin. This time, the skin was very intact.

He didn't hear Muhammad's order.

"Lamal, it's time to go, the Soviets are coming!" Osama shouted. At the end of the valley, Soviet soldiers were already visible.

"Not finished yet," Lamal said, continuing to raise his knife.

"Isn't it better this way?" Osama said. "Let the Soviets know the consequences of their invasion. Do you want to stay here and die, or join us to fight the Soviets?"

Join you? Lamal had originally been prejudiced against the Pashtun guerrillas, but seeing their methods and the Hind's crash, his heart was slowly changing.

No matter the ethnicity, anyone who fought the Soviets was a hero!

Finally, Lamal stood up, leaving the blood-soaked Soviet prisoner, and rode with Osama.

"Rat-tat-tat..." The crisp sound of gunfire came from a distance. The Soviets had opened fire from far away.

Unfortunately, the distance was too great. Their bullets didn't hit the riders, only seeing the hooves of the horses as they quickly left in another direction.

Gilkochkin's face was grim.

When he heard the distant explosion, Gilkochkin knew the Afghan guerrillas had appeared. At that moment, he was excited. The guerrillas hiding made them hard to find, but now they had shown themselves, a perfect opportunity to encircle and destroy them!

But when he arrived with his men, he had a bad feeling. His infantry squad lay dead on the hillside.

They hadn't used any tactics. Gilkochkin led his men up the hill, and the guerrillas fled, leaving behind a skinned soldier.

Sergeant Askov.

Askov was still alive, but his entire upper body was skinned. Being alive was more painful than death. Even if he were taken to a hospital, he wouldn't survive.

Gilkochkin read Askov's lips: Help me! Help me!

Gilkochkin raised his gun.

"Rat." The AK-74 made a crisp sound, and Askov was freed.

"Kill all these Afghan guerrillas!" Gilkochkin shouted, his voice echoing through the valley.