Chapter 266
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Chapter 266: Reinforcements on the Frontline
Even though Gem Valley had complete air superiority, the fighter jets had failed to create the desired harassment effect.
On the ground, not a single bullet was fired into the sky; the P-51 "Mustang" was completely ignored. Despite the bullets raining down, the armed militants kept their fierce red eyes locked on the valley ahead.
These outlaws pressed forward under the fire of the fighter jets, mounting a desperate assault. If they succeeded, the survivors would be the lucky ones. In this chaotic land, when the gunfire erupted, the battle-hardened veterans could only rely on Allah’s protection.
Lin Mo’s mindset changed dramatically within a minute. The images occasionally captured by the Light Mirror Technique swiftly shifted his focus to one particular light mirror.
The mirror, the size of a dinner plate, displayed clear images like a translucent monitor. A well-equipped team, far superior to the armed militants, approached. They looked familiar—most were black-haired, yellow-skinned East Asians, but there were also a few Caucasians and Middle Easterners among them.
At the forefront of the advancing team stood a man whose face was painted with camouflage. Yet, Lin Mo still recognized him; it was Zhang Zhenyu, the squad leader of the Night Special Forces’ Fourth Team, code-named "Avanti," responsible for overseas special operations.
In addition, they were equipped with exclusive, high-quality gear from the Night Special Forces, combining American aesthetics and lightness, Chinese versatility, and Russian durability—virtually the best features of conventional soldier gear from China, the U.S., and Russia all in one.
If Lin Mo wasn’t mistaken, they were coming for him. It was truly unfortunate for Zhang Zhenyu’s team to have chased after him to such a desolate mountainous area, wandering aimlessly for over half a month.
If he hadn’t previously reported his GPS coordinates using a satellite phone, they likely wouldn’t have known where to find him. If he went silent for too long, he would probably be deemed a martyr.
That would be a tragedy; at that point, his furious comrades would drag him off for target practice.
The P-51 "Mustang" immediately left the battlefield and sped toward them, flying at a low altitude, just high enough for the team to see everything inside the cockpit.
Upon hearing the light purring of the fighter jet’s engine, the Fourth Team immediately halted their advance, scattering for cover behind large rocks, aiming their weapons at the suddenly appearing propeller-driven fighter.
Lin Mo abruptly pulled the aircraft into a steep vertical climb, then swiftly yanked on the control stick to maneuver backward, performing a backward U-shape move before leveling off again. This ultra-low altitude maneuver brought him within three meters of the ground, then he quickly increased altitude.
When he was closest to the ground troops, Lin Mo waved out of the cockpit and pointed at his aviation helmet.
The pure white standard aviation helmet bore a red pentagram star. If they had binoculars, they could clearly see that Lin Mo’s helmet was the standard issued by the Chinese Air Force, allowing them to infer the pilot’s identity.
“Alright, alarm lifted! Put your guns down!”
Squad leader Zhang Zhenyu, who had personally led the search through these godforsaken mountains for nearly half a month, waved to his men.
Without using binoculars, he was confident that the pilot of the fighter jet was their long-sought Lt. Lin Mo. A heavy weight lifted from his heart; they had weathered mountains and rivers, repeatedly hitting dead ends. Had it not been for the confirmed coordinates from base, they wouldn’t have known where to search in this vast wilderness.
Ground rescue missions are this challenging; one second in the air could translate to nearly a kilometer of error on the ground. In mountainous areas, walking is sometimes faster than driving.
Here, armed militants were as numerous as the hairs on a cow, and with the distance from the border, rescue helicopters couldn’t guarantee frequent sorties, leading to inefficiencies. But they had no choice but to do so.
At least they were sure of one thing: Lt. Lin Mo was still alive, probably moving along with a group.
“Captain, what’s happening? Watch out for the plane!”
A soldier, still unable to wrap his mind around the situation, anxiously stared at the plane performing its daring maneuvers, keeping his weapon steady and following the nose of the aircraft, mindful of maintaining a lead for potential firing.
“It’s fine! That’s Lt. Lin Mo! Um, it should be him,” Zhang Zhenyu replied.
“How can that be? Isn’t he flying the J-10? Where did this old plane come from?”
“I don’t know. It’s a long story, but just look at the maneuvers! Only he could pull off such breathtaking flying; no ordinary pilot could do it. This guy is something else! He just crashed a plane, and now he’s flying another one! He seems to be in the thick of battle.”
Squad leader Zhang Zhenyu guessed fairly well. He watched as the propeller-driven fighter shook its wings, seemingly signaling something before it turned towards the area of intense gunfire.
From a distance, they could hear the roar of battle as the plane performed high-speed dives with piercing calls.
“Attention everyone! Prepare for battle!”
Squad leader Zhang Zhenyu announced the combat alert as he and his men quickly moved toward the location of the gunfire. No matter what, he was determined to help Lin Mo in this predicament.
Of course, this commotion was also something he wanted to join in on, feeling no pressure at all in dealing with these little tricks.
In any case, there are no good people in the mountains of Afghanistan, just as the Chinese opera line from "Su San’s Release" states, "There are no good people in Hongdong County." The people in the mountains are fierce, living a life that is almost half civilian and half bandit, and in such harsh conditions, it’s hard for any kind-hearted individuals to survive.
…
"Open fire! Hold your ground! Shoot!"
Sally, on the front lines, tore off her obstructive scarf and fought with the other men in the trench to resist the enemy’s attack. Her AK-47 roared in her hands, and her delicate shoulder bore the recoil of the gunstock, quickly revealing bruises.
Not only her, but other bold women also held guns and bravely fired amidst a hail of gunfire.
Weak women, when pushed to their limits, can be more terrifying than men. They knew that if the valley fell, they would be the first to suffer. Rather than face humiliation, they would rather die fighting with honor.
Village chief Mude Zariyev and several other chiefs did not stay in the valley behind the mountain. They realized this was the enemy’s final strike. If they couldn’t withstand it, they were heading for certain death.
At this point, surrender would do no good; these bloodthirsty foes would cruelly kill every person in the valley.
To survive, they had to fight to the end!
These damned ants, even though the fighter planes, like reapers, harvested lives, did not shake the unwavering will of their opponents to fight till death.
The P-51 Mustang continually attacked the battlefield below. No matter what, as long as they protected the Pashtun people and the mercenaries, Lin Mo could truly secure his Lapis Lazuli mine; otherwise, it would just be empty words.
Although he couldn’t cash it in right away, it was still a significant fortune, and Lin Mo would not let it slip away easily.
"Devils, go to hell!"
In the sky, someone known as the "Silver Devil" was blissfully unaware of his own hypocrisy.
Mortar shells, activated and dropping down, exploded on the ground, rising plumes of smoke. Even on a sunny day, visibility on the battlefield was obscured by the rising smoke.
The P-51 Mustang strayed for a moment but returned without anyone noticing anything unusual. Only Lin Mo felt a surge of good spirits at that moment.
However, this mood was unimaginable to both sides fighting fiercely on the ground; no one knew what unforgettable events awaited them.
The bullets in the machine gun had long been depleted; now what was being fired was the Gaussian machine gun evolved from the gold giant dragon, perfectly occupying the newly vacant third gun position, continuously spraying 5 millimeter caliber explosive-shaped steel armor-piercing projectiles at high speed onto the ground. Each projectile had a cross imprint on top, and at nearly three times the speed of sound, its power was comparable to that of a 12.7 millimeter heavy machine gun.
Anyway, they were all outlaws who killed without blinking; they were all destined to die. Who would care about the effects of Dum-Dum bullets?
Gold Coin was miserly, and even the cheapest metal was still a part of itself. This stingy character, comparable to Grandet, only gave Lin Mo a base of 1000 rounds and refused to provide more afterward.
1000 rounds amounted to only 500 rounds when calculated for the two evolved Gaussian machine guns, barely enough for a brief one or two minutes of sustained fire.
After all, no one would come to check how many bullets this plane had fired. With hundreds of rounds, who could keep track? Lin Mo piloted this old Mustang more recklessly.
"Fire! Don’t stop! Crossfire, crossfire, don’t just shoot in front!"
With blood-red eyes, mercenary leader Abik had completely gone mad, desperately pulling the trigger of his PKM general-purpose machine gun, which was wrapped with a wet towel to cool its barrel, disregarding its lifespan. Sometimes, he didn’t even have time to soak it; he would cool it down with urine.
However, countless enemies kept pouring in, and a rain of bullets fell upon the defensive position like a torrential downpour, resembling swarming locusts. Occasionally, a muffled groan echoed from the trench, or a spray of blood mist erupted as a Pashtun or a mercenary left this world.
"God, open your eyes and see!"
Behind the mountain pass, the wounded, elderly, small children, and women left their camp and gathered together, spreading a carpet to pray to Allah for those fighting in the front lines.
Compared to Lin Mo’s calm mood, the Pashtun people and mercenaries in the Gem Valley were nearing despair. The narrow mountain pass had been bombarded by mortar and grenade shells, and curved projectiles even penetrated into the valley.
With the rapid depletion of ammunition and the enemy’s frenzied assault, the mountain pass defense was on the brink of collapse; most people bore injuries, whether minor or severe. As long as they could hold a gun, they refused to retreat from their positions, willing to die there.
If the enemy broke through, the entire Gem Valley would lose the ability to resist, like a weak girl pushed down, left to be at the mercy of others.
…
Suddenly, thunderous sounds echoed from the distant sky.
Three small dark specks leaped gracefully from the clouds five thousand meters high.
Light Mirror Technique locked on!
