Chapter 196
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Chapter 196: The Strange Journey to Peshawar
As one of the most influential television stations in Pakistan, GEO’s hosts often appear on the battlefield, risking their lives to deliver real-time news on conflicts, whether between India and Pakistan or the U.S. military and the Taliban in Afghanistan.
Representatives from China, America, and Russia, acting as mediators, had their soldiers mixed together to ensure the safety of the temporary camp, preventing even a fly from getting in within a five-kilometer radius.
In the massive tent covering nearly three hundred square meters at the center of the camp, journalists from various countries gathered. Multiple cameras were already positioned for optimal coverage, and the flashes from over a hundred high-end DSLR cameras continuously illuminated the space, capturing valuable moments without pause.
“Member of Parliament from Tuvalu, it’s great to see you here,” a representative from Pakistan greeted the belated Indian representative, extending his hand for a handshake with a polite smile.
The Indian representative, with a red turban wrapped around his head, forced a smile as he shook hands with the Pakistani representative. “Asad Viyeri Khan, my good friend, it’s been a long time.”
Pakistani names typically consist of a given name followed by a family name, and if there is a middle name, it usually represents the family name, indicating noble lineage.
As politicians, they wore thick skins, capable of deflecting sniper bullets, maintaining a graceful demeanor even while secretly wishing to shred their opponent to pieces.
At that moment, a clever waiter brought out a tray with champagne. The representatives from both countries took a glass, clinking them together to produce a crisp sound. Facing the reporters, they shared a knowing expression and raised their glasses, saying, “To peace and the friendly relations between India and Pakistan, cheers!”
Other representatives followed suit, raising their glasses as well.
In an instant, the camera flashes dazzled everyone’s eyes, as the bodyguards of the two nations stood alert, ready to react at a moment’s notice.
The scene inside the signing tent was being broadcast live on the bus’s TV, which they had rented at the Peshawar Air Force Base.
“Looks like we’re going home soon!” Lin Mo glanced at the live broadcast, then turned his gaze to the window. The earnings from this trip were disappointing compared to his last trip to Zambia; he earned nearly three million from that assignment.
The son of the Peshawar Air Force Commander wasn’t exactly a naive rich kid, unlike Kauala, who knew how to navigate the situation. Lin Mo thought to himself, “I provide the money, he takes the blame. If only I could get back here a few more times, I’d have funding to make this ‘monster’.”
However, Lin Mo had yet to encounter a spoiled second-generation official. In truth, every Pakistani was incredibly friendly to Chinese people, as if it were etched in their bones. From a young age, school textbooks instilled in them a natural fondness for China, leading to a sentiment where even negative comments about China were unacceptable.
Peshawar wasn’t a large city; it featured an intricate maze of old residential buildings, both bright and dim, interspersed with majestic modern architecture. The British colonial legacy had clearly delineated the old town from the new one.
Much like most small towns in China, a dusty main road could divide the entire area in Peshawar. Colorful trucks adorned with traditional Pakistani styles mixed with old Chinese bicycles like the Forever or Phoenix, cruising slowly along.
Many Chinese had made a living in Pakistan, and various Chinese products were visible throughout Peshawar. It wasn’t uncommon to see a Haier electronics store or armed personnel carrying Chinese-made weapons.
Though the bus carrying the Chinese volunteer pilots joined the slow-moving traffic, they didn’t encounter any immobilizing congestion.
The residents of Peshawar practiced Islam, which had become an integral part of daily life. Several ancient mosques dotted the city, serving as important venues for men to meet and pray.
The Pakistani guide, Hark Anyum, who was dark-skinned and lean with a striking handlebar mustache, was a dedicated tour guide intimately familiar with Peshawar. He spoke animatedly about various historic sites, occasionally sprinkling in a joke that had the volunteer pilots laughing heartily.
With such a lively guide aboard, the pressure accumulated from their wartime experiences melted away.
In the morning, the volunteer pilots toured many of Peshawar’s cultural landmarks, savoring a lunch rich in local flavor.
“The war is finally over; we can return to our good lives,” Hark Anyum said, glancing at the TV screen on the bus. He couldn’t help but sigh, aware that the conflict had heightened nerves among both nations. Regardless of victory or defeat, it was the common people who would suffer.
Looking down at a piece of paper in his hands, Hark clapped, saying, “Next, we’ll visit a little shopping street filled with Islamic charm. Don’t worry, I won’t take kickbacks. You’ll absolutely find authentic Afghan, Pakistani, and Indian souvenirs here, guaranteed genuine, as Hark’s honor stands behind it. Then I’ll take you to visit the Sikh Fort.” His gesture prompted playful laughter from the volunteer pilots.
The Sikh Fort was massive, stretching from Peshawar all the way to the Khyber Pass, serving as a significant military installation.
“Maru, turn left ahead, then right, and continue straight; we’ll be there,” Hark Anyum instructed the driver, patting his shoulder.
“Okay, Hark!”
The driver, with sunburned skin and a robust build resembling the Bearded Squad Leader, answered in a low, steady voice, focused on the road.
No one noticed as the bus quietly veered off from the lead jeep clearing the way and entered a different road. Almost simultaneously, the two SUVs filled with special forces soldiers that were following the bus became blocked by some arguing donkey carts.
With the Bearded Squad Leader’s impressive driving skills, the bus weaved skillfully through the narrow and complex paths of Peshawar’s old town, darting like a fish through obstacles and crowds, eventually vanishing from the escort’s sight.
However, the volunteer pilots inside the bus remained oblivious, captivated by Hark Anyum’s animated storytelling. Honestly, Hark Anyum was an outstanding tour guide.
Not long after leaving the bustling market, the bus stopped in a quiet alley.
“Come on, we’re here! We will only stay for two hours, then we need to rush to visit the Sikh Fort. While we may not get to see everything, we hope to return before dark to have dinner,” Hark Anyum said with a bright smile as he opened the bus door.
“Everyone, keep an eye on your belongings and don’t get separated. There have been cases of Taliban members kidnapping Chinese people. As long as we stay together, our plainclothes officers will protect you, so don’t worry. Let’s move quickly!” Hark Anyum encouraged the pilots as he stepped off the bus.
“Yeah, I need to buy a few Persian carpets for my relatives. The one they gave us is really nice.”
“I agree, Gold Coin, I support your idea. I want to buy a whole bundle to cover my room in carpets. Haha, I hope there’s space in our vehicle.”
The volunteer from the helicopter squad, Earth, patted Gold Coin’s shoulder, who shared the same sentiments.
“Alright, Earth. If it doesn’t fit, we’ll use your helicopter to carry it.” Gold Coin from Sichuan responded with a smile, leaning on Earth.
“I want to bring back more curry. I think I’ve grown fond of the flavors here.”
Snow Wolf licked his lips, reminiscing about the flavorful Pakistani meal from earlier.
“Snow Wolf, don’t mention that again! I hate curry. Stay far from me when you eat it; the smell reminds me of the Indians’ planes, and it’s disgusting. Their Astra missiles must be filled with curry; otherwise, how could they have such poor accuracy?”
Meat Sauce, fixated on his single food choice, pinched his nose, shaking his head. He carried a can of Meat Sauce everywhere; he couldn’t eat without it. This peculiar obsession seemed almost obsessive.
“Are you that against it? Meat Sauce, you should try new flavors — it won’t hurt you. Embrace new things, don’t always cling to your meat cans.”
“The milk tea here is fantastic; I’ll see if they have instant mixes to buy by the box so I don’t run out later.”
“Hera smiles, I want to bring back some copper crafts and agate. Pakistani crafts will give my room more artistic flair.” Old Russian Caviar prepared a large bag, not looking like a shopper but more like a robber ready to loot.
One of the “wild chickens” from their group saw Lin Mo’s indifferent expression and teased him, “Dragon Knight, don’t you want to buy anything?”
“Me?! Whatever!” Lin Mo shrugged. The pilots were well taken care of by the state, lacking any need to spend; he had no clue what to buy as a souvenir. Surely, they wouldn’t sell aircraft parts in this rundown area.
