Chapter 245
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Chapter 245: An Old Horse in the Stable, Aiming for a Thousand Miles
One by one, outdoor camping lights scattered in various corners lit up, brightening the dark cave a bit.
The young Pashtuns were busy clearing the path in front of the cave, pushing in various tools and oil barrels.
The cave wasn’t large; it was only about twenty meters deep, just enough to fit one P-51 Mustang. Perhaps a J-20 could fit as well, and it was quite spacious, practically a natural hangar. Thanks to Afghanistan’s Middle Eastern climate, the cave was very dry, and the stones blocked off access securely, preventing all sorts of chaotic small creatures from invading.
Lin Mo walked over to the body that Mude Zariyev, the village chief, had pointed out.
The remains were already skeletal, with dry golden hair indicating that the individual was a tall Caucasian, dressed in a standard Allied pilot uniform. A flight cap lay next to him, and a red scarf was wrapped around his neck, half-leaning against the cave wall, clearly having died peacefully.
Inside the cave were some wooden boxes, pots, bowls, empty cans, and empty liquor bottles, along with a bomb-shaped shell that appeared to be a modified cargo hold capable of holding 560 kilograms. Inside, there were some clothes and miscellaneous items.
Perhaps a pilot, sensing his impending death and weary of war, prepared in advance, flying to this beautiful place and finding this cave. Before dying, he piled up stones to seal the entrance, using his beloved aircraft as a burial companion, awaiting death’s arrival.
It was impossible to verify who this pilot was, who had flown the fighter jet away from the military. Perhaps only fragments of words or personal documents he left behind could shed light on his identity.
The P-51 Mustang was produced in a staggering number of 15,686 units in America, making it the largest-production fighter in American history. Even the world-renowned MiG-21 had only over 6,000 units made, while the P-51D model before Lin Mo had a production figure of at least 9,000.
Powered by the Packard V-1650-7 piston engine, the P-51D was also the heaviest version of the P-51 series, with an empty weight of 3.46 tons, which was 0.9 tons heavier than the latest XP-51F. It could carry ten 5-inch rockets, making it an excellent model for bomber escort and ground-strike missions.
In World War II, losing a plane or two from the P-51 fleet was common; even the participating air forces might not be able to comprehend whether they had been shot down or had simply disappeared.
The P-51D had a maximum range of 3,306 kilometers, which meant it could almost cross half of China without considering the return flight, making it no surprise how it ended up in this small country called Afghanistan.
It seemed the previous owner hadn’t prepared any coverings; decades of accumulated dust had almost turned the aircraft into an old relic. Faint signs of past repairs were visible, but it was evident that the former owner had taken certain measures, sealing key areas to facilitate long-term preservation, preventing decay from the passing years.
Lin Mo reached out to wipe the dust off the wings, pressing on the gleaming metal surface, listening quietly.
An old horse in the stable, aiming for a thousand miles;
A martyr in his twilight years, yet his ambition remains unyielding.
This Mustang, once a hero in World War II, still brimmed with ambition like an old horse in a stable. Lin Mo seemed to hear its unceasing heartbeat, surging with excitement at encountering a kindred spirit once more.
The echoes of the engine’s former roar seemed to resonate in his ears. After Lin Mo personally brushed away the dust, the fighter jet appeared to come alive once again.
It was a relatively new aircraft, a standard American make. It was clear that the original pilot had been someone who cared deeply for his aircraft, maintaining it well before his death. After such a long time, it still retained an impressive 80-90% appearance. The body bore about a dozen repair scars, each one a medal of honor, indicating it had been shot down before but had bravely returned to the skies to fight fiercely against its enemies.
“Can it fly?” Mude Zariyev, the village chief, knew a little about aviation. Even decades-old airplanes are complex machines, and after sitting for so long, just pouring in fuel might not be enough to get it airborne.
“Hmm, let’s tidy it up; perhaps I can. I need half a day to inspect it,” Lin Mo replied, looking at the deflated landing gear tires, hoping that the rims hadn’t been deformed from sitting too long.
If they were intact, only aging non-metal parts would need replacing, and this plane could take to the skies once more.
Decades of enclosed storage likely allowed this aircraft’s internal metal stress to equal or even exceed that of a brand-new aircraft.
…
Respect the deceased, may they find peace in the earth.
Next to the cave entrance, they dug a deep pit. Lin Mo and the others buried the unknown pilot and erected a small earthen mound. Considering the pilot’s Caucasian descent and religious beliefs, they set up a stone cross in his honor, in deep respect for the soldier, wishing him peace in his heaven.
Lin Mo personally carved the pilot’s name, and while organizing his belongings, he found a diary and identification, “Major Klen Hiller, Eagle Squadron, U.S. Air Force.”
Epitaph: The glory of the Air Knight forever belongs to the fearless warrior.
The Pashtuns, who followed Islam, raised no objections, as respect for warriors transcends faith and nationality.
Like the Muslim hero Saladin, he wasn’t just a hero to Islam but also regarded as a model of chivalry in the West.
“‘Knight’ Sir, we have brought our communication equipment and electronics,” mercenary leader Abik personally arrived with his men, bringing a table and boxes filled with various electronic devices.
“Oh my! It’s really an airplane. Mude, you didn’t lie! What a big guy; we will definitely defend this place. This is our home, and no one can take it away,” Abik’s voice grew softer as he stared in awe at the massive aircraft, having only previously seen airplanes flying in the sky and never having encountered such a huge one up close.
Mude Zariyev, the village chief, directed the young men while turning to Abik, saying loudly, “Abik, have your men cleared the area? If we can’t catch any spies, we won’t be able to trust you anymore. Our cooperation can only end here.”
In times of such urgency, he couldn’t afford to be preoccupied with the aircraft; as the military cooperator for the migrants, it was crucial to address internal threats. He wanted to avoid experiencing another night where everyone was taken down by anesthetic again, as next time, they might not wake up.
“Damn it! I finally found out who the traitor is; it’s Omi. I treated him well and even saved his life,” Abik growled, enraged by Mude Zariyev’s reprimand. He had barely escaped with his own life, thankful that the “Knight” had saved them.
“Did that person confess anything? When will those wolves attack?”
Mude Zariyev was more concerned about when the coalition formed by the "Taliban," "Jamaat al-Tableeg," "Holy War Army," and the "World Uyghur Congress" would find them.
“Fortunately, our electronic devices broke down that day; it must have been an electromagnetic bomb. Truly, Allah bless us. Fortunately, it’s not the worst luck, as those guys’ electronic devices also malfunctioned. The surrounding surveillance teams were wiped out by the ‘Knight,’ leaving that traitor to leave only quiet markers as he couldn’t communicate with them. They probably won’t find this place for another three days, which is the only good news amidst all my recent bad news.”
Mercenary leader Abik shrugged and continued, “As for your men, I’ve captured a few suspects and kept them under control until you return. Besides those working here, I’ve had the most reliable people monitoring the rest.”
“I have personally taken care of Omi; I slashed his throat. His body has been fed to the beasts,” Abik added as a final note, expressing his utmost trust in their cooperative relationship.
Mude Zariyev’s pupils constricted, and the aura of a kind and respected elder vanished in an instant, “I will return to handle this matter this afternoon. The traitor will not have a good ending, I promise!”
Holy war is not merely interpreted as waging war but refers to “struggle and effort.” Broadly defined, it means “using maximum strength, effort, and capability to confront what is not recognized.” What is unrecognized can refer to enemies, devils, and personal desires, leading to various types of holy war.
Holy war is the only war term allowed in Islamic law. Muslims can wage holy war against apostates, traitors, bandits, violent groups, and non-Muslim leaders and nations that attack Islam. Most Muslims understand holy war primarily as a defensive endeavor.
Dealing with traitors, Islam does not confine itself to any means or morals; the outcome for traitors is often brutal, and the term “inhumane” would not be an exaggeration. This contributes to the extraordinary unity among groups under the Islamic sect.
“‘Knight’ Sir, when will my equipment be repaired?”
Mercenary leader Abik glanced at Lin Mo, who had already opened the non-fixed skins at various positions on the P-51 Mustang, with a small wooden box specifically for storing the removed fasteners.
Even decades-old mainstay fighters still hold a significant amount of technological content.
“By this afternoon!” Lin Mo raised his hand to check his watch without looking up, “You can come to collect it at four o’clock.”
