Chapter 57: The Weeping Chechen Nixia

Gradually, their voices converge into a historical torrent that once swept across Russia, and gradually, their voices converge into a roaring tide that repeatedly surges through this valley.
In the valley, gunshots rang out constantly, and more and more people joined the singing.
A Chechen veteran pulled out a family letter from his freed brother's pocket. Following the unwritten customs among Chechen veterans who had witnessed life and death, the veteran unfolded the letter and, in a trembling voice, slowly read the letter.
Dear Father, please let me kiss your hand!
I am now fighting side by side with the brothers of the vanguard in the darkness, fighting amidst thorns and blood, striving for our better tomorrow. We are not afraid of hunger, nor of severe cold, nor of darkness, nor of death.
Thank you for allowing me to dedicate myself to freedom and fight for my ideals. Those bandits—they killed our babies, stole our bread, insulted our nation. They committed countless crimes against us, yet still want us to be cannon fodder, going to a foreign land to become cannon fodder for their so-called "justice" and "fairness"!
Father, please bless your son!
He is bleeding for our nation, for our country, for our Chechen Nishia! We fight side by side because we believe that sooner or later, we will drive out the evil devil, and we will proudly place the crown of glory on the heads of our fathers.
If one day I die; If one day, I walk with the brothers of the vanguard onto the devil's gallows, please take back the clothes stained with our blood and cut them into strips of cloth. I believe there will be more brothers who refuse to submit to the devil, carry on our last wishes, put on the cloth strips stained with our blood, and sound the horn of battle for the devils!
Father, if I die, please do not grieve for me.
Compared to those who sacrificed for faith, dignity, and honor, we who merely survived were all the more pitiable. When I sacrifice myself, please be happy for me, because your son has already entered the ideal kingdom of heaven.
……
At this moment, everyone in the Chechen guerrilla forces had eyes shining brightly. Although the entire valley was filled with blood like a ghost realm, their faces were filled with proud smiles. The "Assassin Organization" who could understand Russian quietly translated every sentence of the letter to their companions. Almost everyone was surrounded by an atmosphere of "sacredness."
They fought for their people, for their homeland, for their fathers, mothers, siblings, and in this regard, they were honored. But for their loved ones and so-called political purposes, they donned religious cloaks, summoned believers to shoot at unarmed innocents, dropped bombs on buses, and hijacked planes to crash into the World Trade Center for more innocent people.
When they chose this absolutely improper method, using extreme religious means to incite believers, trampling others' happiness and freedom underfoot to express their own struggle ideals and pursue their own happiness and freedom, they had already left a deeply dishonorable mark on them...... Terrorists!
Today, they encountered a professional soldier who also broke the rules, thinking terrorists' tactics were effective and immediately using them!
The Afghan guerrilla captain picked up the military water bottle he had personally seized from a Russian soldier from the ground. He scooped up a drop of clean water from the bottle with his fingers and flicked it onto a sand ant crawling on the ground. The sand ant, completely covered in water droplets, struggled desperately within the droplets, but soon collapsed into the small water stain.
This veteran guerrilla who had endured nine years of war in Afghanistan frowned as he patrolled the valley, his gaze falling on the two hearths left behind by China. The Afghan guerrilla captain hurried over, put on a pair of sheepskin gloves, and picked up a small piece of charcoal from the hearth. He slowly crushed the charcoal, then sprinkled the powder onto several sand mosquitoes traveling together in swarms. The sand ants splashed with charcoal powder suddenly stiffened, curling up and motionless.
Several guerrilla fighters surrounding the Afghan guerrilla captain stared wide-eyed. They stared for a long time before someone shook off their parchment and burst into tears.
An Afghan guerrilla soldier rushed to the hearth, his bloodshot eyes wide open, crying out, "Devil, devil, you two devils, I won't let you off!" "We stake our dignity, for our Allah, for our holy war, for our brothers and sisters, I will make you pay a heavy price, I will kill you!" ”
The guerrilla fighter lifted his big foot and stomped the charcoal in the hearth, as if at that moment he was stepping on two Chinese devils.
The charcoal ash in the hearth was trampled and flew everywhere by this Afghan guerrilla fighter. The captain frowned, but before he could shout out a warning to stop him, a cloud of smoke mixed with the scent of hot steel shot up from the hearth. The guerrilla clutched his severed leg, screaming and rolling desperately on the ground.
Looking at the guerrilla fighter's wounds covered in charcoal ash, the captain silently drew his bayonet and stabbed it into the chest of his compatriot.
When this footage was transmitted to Western public stages via military satellites, more and more countries' special forces began broadcasting their edited footage to the soldiers. A senior special forces instructor directly said to his trained soldiers, "Boys, keep your eyes wide open and learn from this, or else when you encounter such an enemy, you won't even know how you died!" ”
There was also a special forces instructor skilled in special operations with near-legendary experience. After watching TV for three days, he immediately invested all his savings into the stalls run by the biggest casino owners in Las Vegas, the sleepless city, and even bet on odds of 100 times. He said to those around him, "Don't be fooled by the terrorists' numbers and the presence of Afghan guides living in the desert—they can only chase after two Chinese soldiers. They're in trouble!" ”
Zhan Xia Ge found an underground water vein. He first grabbed a handful of sand containing moisture, put it in his mouth to directly absorb the moisture, then found a highly absorbent piece of cotton cloth, folded it, and put it inside his steel helmet. He then inverted the helmet onto the moist sand. Using this method, he managed to extract nearly one liter of precious freshwater from the arid desert within an hour.
Afghans who grew up in mountains and deserts are also very skilled at the skill of finding water veins. They use almost the same method as in war heroes to extract fresh water from the moisture-laden sand. But when an Afghan game player eagerly opens his mouth and squeezes fresh water from cotton cloth into his own mouth, the Afghan guerrillas lose another member.
The war hero song sprinkled the "Holy War No. 1" poison in the sand.
In the desert, you often see tall cacti. These cacti are rich in sap, but their juice contains a kind of stimulant-like toy—once drunk, people become insane.
Of course, this was no challenge for Zhan Xiaoge. He directed Zhao Haiping to carefully cut several cacti with a combat knife, crushed them with stones, buried them all in sand with a surface temperature exceeding sixty degrees Celsius, and then stuck his steel helmet onto the sand. Using this simple method, he obtained freshwater that had been distilled and filtered with sand. Although it couldn't completely remove substances from the cactus juice, mixing it with other fresh water barely kept the limits for human tolerance.
When the terrorist joint unit, closely following Zhan Xiaoge and Zhao Haiping, ran here, they had left them a few cacti.
The Afghan guerrilla captain ordered with a stern face, "After cutting down the cactus, first carefully check whether any Chinese soldiers have been poisoned." ”
Several team members ran over, carrying the machetes commonly used by Afghans. With one swing, a cactus as thick as a bowl was sliced in half. One Afghan guerrilla with a machete widened his eyes and only managed to shout, "There's an ambush!" ”
Zhanxiage hid in a cactus and made another exquisite camouflage. The grenade with its safety bolt pulled out exploded with a thunderous boom. The guerrilla fighter, covered in cactus juice and blood, struggled for a long time but still stared at his large, unwilling eyes, slowly straightening his body.
He could chop a cactus and even get a grenade—his luck was really bad!