Chapter 58: A Spark Spreads Like a Prairie (Part 1)

The Afghan guerrillas found another underground water vein. Faced with the moist sand, they finally got smarter. After extracting the extremely precious freshwater from the desert, they first tried to test it. After wasting this precious amount of fresh water in the desert, everyone's faces lit up with smiles. Although the Chinese soldiers were cunning, they kept fleeing passively against powerful pursuers. They were not all-knowing Allah, so this water vein was not poisoned!
With a wave of the captain's hand, more than a dozen Afghan guerrillas rushed forward, knocking their steel helmets borrowed from Chechen anti-government guerrillas along with highly absorbent cotton cloth onto the sand layer below where water veins were located. Some people even spread sheepskin directly on the sand. Although the water extracted from sheepskin is not drinkable, draping it over the body can cool the body and indirectly save fresh water.
Two Afghan guerrillas, after finding a plant, kept digging down, digging its roots into small sections and handing them over to each pursuer soldier.
The "Assassin Organization" terrorists and Chechen anti-government guerrilla fighters stared wide-eyed at the twisted rhizome in their hands, only two or three inches long. Those who could barely exchange a few words with these Afghan guerrillas finally couldn't help but ask, "What's the use of this little stick for us?" I think even if I chewed the whole stick and swallowed it myself, I wouldn't get much fresh water, right? ”
The Afghan guerrilla fighters handing out sticks to everyone waved their hands repeatedly. One guerrilla soldier demonstrated by scraping the stick on his own teeth, carefully removing food debris bit by bit. In the vast desert where supply lines have been cut off, good hygiene habits are essential to avoid illness. When you can't brush your teeth every day and don't have chewing gum, using branches to clean your mouth is definitely a good and necessary measure.
The Afghan guerrillas, experts in desert survival, are definitely experts in this field. They not only helped the entire pursuing force find water sources and everything edible, providing branches to clean everyone's mouths, but also silently buried the waste left by other allied troops near the campsite with yellow sand. Every day when they get up from the campsite, they repeatedly remind those around them to first pat their clothes hard and check their gear to prevent insects from crawling in.
After squeezing the first batch of fresh water out of the cotton cloth inside their steel helmets, the Afghan guerrillas first gave this precious freshwater to the coalition forces eagerly surrounding them. Watching the Allies feed them the little fresh water, these Afghan guerrillas, who grew up in the desert, couldn't help but stick out their tongues, gently lick their lips—still dry and cracked after being smeared with animal fat—and then stuck their steel helmets back into the sand.
After the second batch of fresh water was released, these Afghan guerrillas carefully squeezed most of the fresh water from the cotton cloth into their kettles, then the already thirsty guerrillas raised their heads high and twisted the cloth with both hands.
Fresh water quickly gathers between the cotton fabrics, eventually forming small streams that trace sparkling streams through the air, falling straight into the mouths of Afghan guerrillas who spread wide, afraid of wasting even a little moisture.
Meanwhile, the elderly Afghan guerrilla leaders also took sheepskins that had accumulated enough moisture and draped them over several sick soldiers who could not endure the desert's heat by day and cold at night. Those patients who had been specially placed in shady places by Afghan guerrillas, wearing sheepskin that brought them a refreshing feeling, all showed expressions of gratitude toward the guerrilla leaders.
The Afghan guerrilla leader looked at the young faces before him. His face was as dry and marked as a dried orange peel, and a faint smile appeared on his face. He gently stroked the foreheads of these patients and softly said, "Rest well. Allah will bless you." Rest assured, we Afghan soldiers will never abandon brothers and friends who still survive on the battlefield! ”
His hands were large and warm, their thick calluses gently rubbing against each person's forehead, bringing a tingling and tickling sensation that gave everyone a sense of safety. The patients all looked at the elderly man, nodding vigorously. Amid the sincere smiles and soft words of the Afghan guerrilla captain, they felt the moisture and freshness brought by the sheepskin. The discomfort from the desert's unpredictable climate and the tension of being a burden to their comrades for fear of abandonment were greatly eased for a moment. Almost every patient's face showed a hint of ease and joy.
He twisted open his water bottle and fed his precious fresh water to the patients. But after feeding once, the Afghan guerrilla leader gently shook his bottle, his face showing a puzzled expression, because the water bottle was almost exactly the same as before. He looked at the patients who instinctively stuck out their tongues to gently lick the droplets of water on their lips. The Afghan guerrilla leader's face, weathered by many pleasures, trembled gently, and even in his yellowish eyes, a few sparkling watery lights flickered constantly. Suddenly, he reached out his large hand and tightly embraced the patient beside him, who had lost the strength to walk and had to be carried by his companions on a stretcher. He kept hugging everyone, his voice trembling as he cried out, "You are all good warriors, you are all good children of Allah, you are all messengers of Allah. Even Muhammad would be proud of you!" Our God, our people, our brothers and sisters—they will be proud of you! ”
Although few of these patients could understand the old guerrilla leader's words, at this moment, each of their eyes sparkled. As they were held tightly in the broad and strong embrace of the old man, they instinctively reached out and hugged the Afghan guerrilla leader's waist as well. Even they themselves didn't realize that they instinctively longed to be held a little longer by the old man and to draw a bit more warmth from him.
Is it because the loving light in the eyes of this old man reminded them of their equally elderly father, and of their own home, though not wealthy, yet warm? Or is it because of the old man's passion, having endured countless wars and trials, having learned to disregard his own life, yet still respecting his brothers and friends, hoping to lead each of them to conquer the desert and conquer death?
These powerless soldiers and children gathered around the Afghan guerrilla leader, pointing at the water bottle in his hand and at his mouth, repeatedly making the same gestures. The Afghan guerrilla leader laughed—he truly laughed. He twisted his water bottle open once more. Just as he brought the bottle to his lips, preparing to pour the precious fresh water down his thirsty throat, he suddenly heard an uncontrollable scream, followed by a chorus of screams and groans.
"Bang!"
The Afghan guerrilla captain loosened his grip, and the Russian military canteen he had personally snatched from the Soviet army—the one that had accompanied him in over a decade of combat—suddenly fell to the ground. The Russian military canteen, with the lid opened, lay across the uneven desert, with precious fresh water representing life and hope flowing continuously from the canteen's mouth.
But the Afghan guerrilla leader didn't bend down to pick up his water bottle. He just stood there dazed, dumbfounded, tears streaming wildly from his eyes once again. This Afghan guerrilla leader, who thought he had seen life and death and would never be moved on the battlefield again, was now sixty years old and should have been enjoying his retirement at home. At this moment, he finally cried!
He couldn't help but cry!