Chapter 264
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Chapter 264: The Situation is Grim
The mercenary leader Abik held the defense at the mountain pass for the first day. With Lin Mo and Omar’s perfect cooperation, they successfully dismantled the coalition’s supply reserves.
In the upcoming battles, every hour they delayed would be more beneficial for the people inside Gem Valley.
The coalition forces, lacking supplies not just in food but also in ammunition, especially those undisciplined guys firing wildly into the air, were consuming bullets at an alarming rate. It was estimated that after the supply depot was destroyed, they would tragically discover they had very few bullets left on themselves.
Even Abik felt a twinge of jealousy. Although Mr. Knight didn’t fall under his command—acting freely unless necessary—his ability to seize battlefield opportunities was outstanding. Through coordinated efforts, he forced the enemy to have very little ammunition left, akin to achieving two objectives with one move.
The repaired P-51 "Mustang" had stable performance and agile handling, but its biggest flaw was the lack of ammunition, which limited its ground attack firepower. Perhaps facing hundreds of enemies with just one fighter jet had something to do with it; had they deployed two or three, the situation would surely have been different, possibly even overwhelming the enemy.
With the ammunition for the Browning heavy machine guns on the wings nearly exhausted, these guns became mere decorations; they only balanced the wings and served no further purpose.
If there had been enough ammunition belts, Lin Mo believed they could have plowed through more rounds, making the armed militants retreat without a fight.
Currently, only two 50-kilogram small bombs remained, enough for the P-51 "Mustang" to take one more round. Without logistics, everything relied on makeshift methods and manual labor to stitch things together.
Maintaining a fighter’s firepower was not a simple task.
The only thing that reassured Lin Mo was the plentiful supply of 7.62mm bullets; the PKM general-purpose machine guns on the wings had enough ammunition.
As the P-51 "Mustang" landed, Lin Mo instructed others to refuel while he reopened the wings to adjust the gun mechanisms inside, adding a 150-round belt to each. He reconfigured the firing control system to skip the Browning and directly control the PKM machine guns.
Once airborne again, Lin Mo had to manage the firepower carefully and set it to fire three rounds with a single pull of the trigger. Fortunately, the enemy lacked armored vehicles, and their air defense was nearly non-existent. Firing six rounds at once was barely sufficient; he could only suggest carrying additional mortar shells from the cockpit to supplement the lacking firepower.
Amidst the chaos, the coalition’s armed militants retreated from the mountain pass, and the strong young Pashtun men finally seized the moment without losing their remaining courage, watching the enemy leave.
After the camp was bombed, shot up, and blown to bits, especially following three powerful bomb drops, the armed militants returning to their main camp found the place in ruins, as if it had been bombed by American airstrikes.
“Ugh! Where am I?”
Lawrence groaned softly as he slowly opened his eyes to see the tent’s ceiling, which had a semi-open alloy frame, with the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the stench of burning.
“Mr. Lawrence, you’re awake! This is wonderful! I’m Mude.”
A face squeezed into Lawrence’s view, wearing a dark blue cap. Seeing Lawrence awake brought a look of great joy to his face.
“Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Lawrence! You’re finally awake! This is wonderful!”
“Thank God! If you hadn’t woken up, we’d have been done for.”
“Yes, we lost a lot of supplies. What should we do next?”
“My men are running low on bullets, and the injured soldiers need dressing and medicine.”
“We only have enough food for three more days, Mr. Lawrence! Please help us with some advice.”
After Mude called out, the various leaders squeezed in together, filling the open tent to capacity.
Lawrence, just regaining consciousness, felt light-headed again as the crowd drew closer. His headache intensified and he felt dizzy.
Mude reacted quickly, pushing away those bothersome figures like flies.
“Scatter, scatter! Mr. Lawrence needs fresh air. You bunch of fools! Zade, Zade! Come help me set up a security line; no one is to come close until Mr. Lawrence is fully awake to make decisions.”
This local figure from the Taliban cared for Lawrence, realizing that while other organizations were passing through, this was the Taliban’s territory. If they could invade the valley, they stood to gain the most, making their interests closely aligned with the Taliban and the background benefits represented by Lawrence.
Seven or eight armed militants heard Mude’s shout and rushed over with their guns, recklessly shoving away the confused leaders.
These armed organization leaders could manage small skirmishes like robbing or attacking a village, but when united, they would quickly find themselves at odds. Only someone with a significant background like Lawrence could command them. Those above had warned that anyone who defied Mr. Lawrence would find themselves discharged with a firing squad.
“Mr. Lawrence, don’t worry! You just need to rest well! The doctor said you have a mild concussion and need quiet.”
Mude showed concern as he adjusted the blanket for Lawrence, reassuring him.
“No, no, no! What did I just hear? What happened to the ammunition and food?”
Lawrence squinted, took a deep breath, and struggled to sit up, with Mude quickly supporting him.
Mude’s expression shifted, and he bit his lip; he thought that Lawrence needed to make the decisions. He said, “Well, our supply reserves were blown up more than half! Not just food and medicine are in short supply, but we can only last about four days. The soldiers used a lot of ammunition when attacking the mountain pass, and the camp’s soldiers also wasted a considerable amount while firing at the air. Now we’re low on bullets, and the two captives we caught were rescued.”
Lawrence felt a grip tighten in his chest. Now it was clear to him; they had fallen into a trap. The enemy was cunning, expertly coordinated; while sending people to infiltrate their camp, they had blown up the ammunition and food reserves. Even worse, the enemy had sent a plane that directly depleted the remaining ammunition they had on them, making their meager supplies even scarcer.
“Ah! Mude! Help me sit up!” The situation was dire; Lawrence no longer had the luxury of resting. With Mude’s assistance, he managed to sit up with difficulty.
Mude also brought over a cushion for Lawrence’s back, saying, “Mr. Lawrence, why don’t you sit for a while? I’ll go get you something to eat.”
“No, no, I don’t need it!” Lawrence waved his hand. His movements and voice appeared weak; the sharpness and confidence he usually displayed were gone, replaced by a sense of depletion. His voice was hoarse as he shook his head, continuing, “Mude, you’re doing well. Come sit next to me. I need to think—right, I need to think. Our situation is not good, and we need to find a solution; otherwise, we’ll both die here.”
He lifted his eyes to his armed helicopter, which now lacked its former glory. Its tail was deformed, and the main rotor was missing a blade, looking like a tiger stripped of its fangs and claws, more akin to a cat. There were no parts or mechanics available, and this million-dollar armed helicopter was nearing total destruction.
“Right, right!” Mude nodded in agreement but didn’t move from his spot, standing aside like a servant waiting for further instructions.
Lawrence realized he needed to ensure an escape route for himself. As an agent, he had no intention of accompanying these armed militants in death; his life was far too precious compared to these crude individuals.
After pondering for a moment, Lawrence finally said, “Mude, find a place and call all the leaders together.”
“Yes, yes!” Mude quickly nodded and made arrangements.
Most of the tents in the camp had suffered varying degrees of damage, with the large tents that could hold over a dozen people mostly ruined. Only a fabric wall marked off an area covered with large carpets, where Mude gathered all the leaders.
Lawrence had already been waiting for some time, and the bitter Afghan tea helped him regain some energy.
Seeing those leaders, though dispersed, still watching him attentively, they flowed into this makeshift meeting space at the same time.
Lawrence drew his MK-23 pistol and pointed it at the sky. Bang! He fired a shot directly.
This single shot interrupted the anxious leaders who were about to rush in and jabber away, causing quite a commotion in the camp.
Mude shouted loudly, reprimanding while explaining a few things, calming the ruckus among the leaders’ subordinates. At that moment, the camp no longer resembled the fantasy they had of easily storming the valley and enjoying a feast of meat and drinks; any unusual movement now could lead to unpredictable consequences.
Among the soldiers under these leaders were some quick-witted individuals who, after estimating the remaining supplies in the camp, could roughly gauge the dire situation.
Things were looking bad! Very bad! Extremely bad!
