Chapter 248
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Chapter 248: Urgent Call
In the chaotic land of Afghanistan, nearly every civilian learns how to use and make homemade weapons; these are basic skills for self-defense. Since Knight joined them, a single sword has helped them eliminate many enemies while saving a substantial amount of ammunition.
Today’s warfare is largely dominated by semi-automatic and automatic weapons, and while their firepower is fierce and their killing efficiency is incomparable to that of single-shot rifles, the consumption of ammunition escalates geometrically, posing significant challenges for logistics and reserves.
Thanks to Lin Mo, the migrants still had plenty of ammunition, which became a great source of confidence for mercenary leader Abik. The ammunition initially meant for battles along their migration route was now enough for one or two small-scale wars.
If they could endure this fight, Abik would no longer just be a mercenary leader but could present himself as the Gem Valley Guard, gaining the full support of thousands of civilians and ensuring a steady supply of resources and recruits.
With wealth, weapons, personnel, and land, he would no longer be a wandering mercenary but rather a small warlord with territory of his own.
Two young Pashtun men crouched atop a mountain, struggling to climb along the ridge to gain higher ground for a better view.
“Where are these guys? Do you think they won’t come? Ouch!”
One young man, wrapped in a white turban, slipped and nearly fell down the mountainside, but his friend quickly seized him and prevented a tragic fall.
“Be careful, you fool!”
The young man who had pulled him up wore a tan American steel helmet as he forcefully helped his friend onto a slightly flatter boulder.
“I almost lost my life. Thanks, Hafar!”
The shaken young man in the white turban patted his chest, glancing at the rocky slope below, thinking that a fall would make him unrecognizable.
“Don’t mention it! We can’t just throw our lives away; if we die, we should die fighting. If we just fall to our deaths here, even Allah wouldn’t accept us.”
Hafar, wearing the helmet, lifted a pair of binoculars to begin observing the surroundings as part of the routine.
Each reconnaissance team sent out had been given a pair of binoculars; some were of Russian make, others American, but each one was a bit of a mishmash of brands left behind by foreign troops in Afghanistan.
Some were even imported from abroad, but they were not easily obtainable for small mercenaries like them.
“Are you thirsty?” Hafar asked, full of gratitude, handing his water bottle to Hafar.
“No, no, I’m good. Guess what I see?” Hafar replied as he peered through the binoculars, adjusting the focus.
“What? Is it an Arab dancer doing the belly dance?” Hafar, who wore the white turban, took a big swig of water, unabashed.
“What nonsense are you talking about? If there was a dancer, would it take you? With your looks, women likely run away as fast as they can,” Hafar shot back, lowering his binoculars and shoving them into Hafar’s hands while pointing in a direction. “You look for yourself!”
To be honest, Hafar didn’t have the best looks; his face was square, with bushy eyebrows, bulging fish-like eyes, a hawkish nose, and thin lips.
If only that were the extent of his issues; he also had a blotchy complexion resembling someone with skin disease and a noticeable large wart, making him look rather ungainly, like an old feudal lord from centuries past.
“Wait, there really are dancers? What a blessing from Allah! Thank you, Allah!” Completely missing the sarcasm, Hafar muttered to himself as he pointed his binoculars in the direction indicated by Hafar. Just as he took a glance, he was suddenly shocked, his face changing dramatically as he quickly lowered the binoculars, startled, and shouted, “Quick, notify the camp! The enemy is coming! So many of them!”
Through the binoculars, he had seen a massive dust cloud indicating a large force on the move, spotting a long convoy of transport trucks and marching infantry. It was hard to keep count, but there seemed to be several hundred soldiers at least.
“Fool! Why are you panicking? They’re still far away; they’ll probably set up camp for the night and won’t launch an immediate attack,” Hafar said, picking up his walkie-talkie with a calm demeanor, adjusting the antenna and signal power.
“Hello! Hello! This is Khalifa 2; can you hear me?”
After a brief moment of static, a response came—a woman’s voice. It seemed they were short on personnel, as even women were assigned non-combat roles; her voice was a bit stammering, “Th-this is … um, hold on a moment.”
The woman’s voice suddenly weakened, but he could faintly hear her speaking as if confirming something with others.
“Are we in Gem Valley? Is that what I should be saying? Gem Valley? Correct? Okay, got it. Thanks! I thought we were still at the original Morizas village!”
Hafar glanced at Lin Mo with an odd expression; this woman was clearly a novice, unable even to recall her own communication code. Civilians knew nothing of military discipline.
The walkie-talkie crackled with random noises, leaving Hafar to wonder what was happening on the other end. Luckily, the woman’s voice returned, still somewhat tense but much improved. However, her tone was off-key and strange.
“This is Gem Valley. Uh, what was it again?”
Hafar didn’t know how to react. Non-professionals are indeed a challenge, and the nature of this task explained the situation; speaking just one line was exhausting.
He couldn’t be angry at the woman, so he shrugged and helplessly said, “I am Khalifa 2; remember that, Khal-ifa, one. Correct! I have an important message to report to Abik; you better take note, it’s very important.”
“Sorry, hold on, let me find a pen. Um, I don’t know how to read; I’ll ask someone nearby to help me write it down. I’ll be right back.”
The voice on the other end left Hafar speechless, causing Hafar, still on edge about the enemy situation, to turn and raise an eyebrow at him, as he counted the enemy forces from afar.
“What kind of rookie is this? My god, where did they find this person? Can’t even read! Are they that desperate to assign such an important task to a literate novice?”
Hafar spread his hands, clearly very frustrated. While equipment issues had been resolved, human communication barriers still existed, which was not his fault.
“Is it a woman? Hey, that’s good news! You should take this opportunity to chat with her; you might be able to get yourself a wife. If you don’t want her, I’m happy to take her off your hands; at least I’m still single, aren’t I?”
Hafar joked, enjoying the misfortune of the usually shrewd and capable Lin Mo.
“Shut up! You first scout the enemy’s strength, the more detailed, the better. If they spot you, you must be the first to charge in and cover the gun’s mouth!”
Frustrated, Lin Mo nearly wanted to hit Hafar with the walkie-talkie, annoyed by Hafar’s incompetence when he realized why this guy was still single. Who would marry such an oddball? They would only end up suffering.
“Okay, Khalifa 2, I am Gem Valley. I’m ready; hurry up and speak.” Another voice came through the walkie-talkie, seemingly another person—this one sounded more like a child, yet again another woman and now a child. The communication station was turning into a shelter for women and children.
To deal with the impending large army, almost everyone in Gem Valley had been put to use, regardless of gender or age—all hands on deck. They received basic training before jumping into action, with no time to worry about professional qualifications; being able to turn equipment on and off was already impressive.
Fortunately, the child on the other end of the line had some bravery, speaking steadily, which somewhat reassured Lin Mo. In a rush, he said, “I’m Khalifa 2. Listen, little one, I’m about twenty-one kilometers south of the mountain pass, and I see a troop moving in; estimate about seven hundred people and over twenty vehicles. That’s what I have for now. Repeat that for me.”
“Twenty-one kilometers south of the mountain pass, seven hundred people, over twenty vehicles, right? Uncle Khalifa 2?”
“Very good, smart kid! I’ll continue…” Lin Mo’s relief was palpable. Finally, there was someone capable of doing something, and just as he was about to offer more praise, a bullet suddenly flew in, snapping his long antenna that resembled a pen in half.
“Watch out! Sniper!” Hafar hurriedly reacted, throwing himself on Lin Mo.
Clearly, they had been spotted, and someone had taken a shot, announcing another person’s presence.
“Damn it! It’s a sharpshooter!” Lin Mo didn’t have time to continue talking; he grabbed the walkie-talkie and the severed antenna, his heart racing at how close that shot came—just ten centimeters lower could have taken his head clean off.
“We need to retreat! Lin Mo, we can’t stay here any longer!” Hafar anxiously glanced at the direction of the bullet, not daring to look too long. He quickly ducked his head, unsure of where the sniper was hidden. However, with their two AKs, they were practically target practice; staying here for another minute would be even riskier.
