Chapter 62: Mirage

The terrorist pursuit team arrived at this area surrounded by a mirage after two and a half hours. The most experienced fighter and the de facto leader of the entire terrorist pursuit force in Afghanistan guerrillas frowned and looked around. Within a two- or three-kilometer radius nearby, there seemed to be only a solitary small sand dune, more than four meters above the ground. The Afghan guerrilla leader held his Russian military binoculars and slowly walked up to the small sandbag.
The Afghan guerrilla commander looked around warily, but as Zhanxiage led Zhao Haiping step by step away from the small sandbag, they used the stocks tied with cotton cloth to slowly pull the scorching sand from the sun into their footprints. Only when there was no trace left did they return to their original spot, leaving two more footprints that had absolutely no connection with the sandbag.
Chinese soldiers really have no reason to waste energy on inconspicuous, seemingly scattered sandbags in the desert. With their limited weapons and equipment, unless they know how to calculate and know that a mirage of up to half an hour will appear where they pass two or three hours later, they certainly wouldn't waste the few grenades they have left on such sandbags to set meaningless traps.
The Afghan guerrilla leader still climbed onto the small sandbag. As he stood on the sandbag and set up his Russian military binoculars, ready to look around for the marks left by two Chinese soldiers, his right foot suddenly sank downward, and then he heard a terrifying "tap" of the spring unfolding.
Hearing this all-too-familiar voice, the battle-hardened Afghan guerrilla captain, who had crawled out of piles of corpses countless times, shouted in his heart that trouble was wrong. Without hesitation, he tossed aside his binoculars, his body like a bullet just shot out of a barrel. He lunged forward with all his might, shrinking into the smallest wounded sphere.
Just as the Afghan guerrilla captain dove into the air and curled up into a ball, a loud crash erupted over the sandbag where he had just stood, sending large patches of yellow sand flying in all directions. Sixty rounds of automatic rifle bullets spun, spin, rolled, jumped, and screeched wildly through the air. The Afghan guerrilla leader felt a sharp pain behind him. Amid the splattering blood, several bullets grazed his huddled body, leaving deep grooves of blood.
The severely wounded Afghan guerrilla captain leapt into the air, his body unconsciously unfolding, and he landed heavily on the sand pile beneath the sandbag. An even more terrifying sharp sting swept through his entire body. He let out a scream of agony and quickly lowered his head. Beneath the sandbag, a sharp combat saber was inserted backward!
This was a tiger-tooth combat saber that had been stained with the blood of countless people, yet still sharp and radiating a proud glow!
It was hidden in the soft sand. When the Afghan guerrilla leader's body fell heavily, it had already pierced deeply. Its back had serrated edges capable of sawing through an inch of steel bar, leaving a terrible, fatal tear wound on the leader's abdomen. Even more terrifying, after the initial sting, the Afghan guerrilla leader found that he no longer felt pain!
A tingling itch spread through the wounds. Within the hilts of the Fifth Special Forces soldiers' tiger tooth combat sabers lay a deadly, terrifying poison, even more potent than the latest "Holy War No. 1" developed by the "Assassin Organization" terrorists.
The guerrilla leader stared blankly at his bloodied wounds that no longer felt pain. Feeling the strength in his body, his vitality rapidly draining away, an overwhelming sense of fear instantly swept over him. He stepped into a trap designed by Chinese soldiers, and just when he thought he had escaped it, the deadliest attack was actually on the Huya Combat Saber hidden in the sand!
This is a combo set specially designed for special operations experts with rich combat experience and agile skills!
The guerrilla leader lay in the arms of the last guerrilla who had accompanied him through the long journeys, his whole body aching in pain. The last remaining Afghan guerrilla fighter was completely terrified. He tried in vain to cover the wounds of his captain and father, but blood kept flowing from his fingers. Staring at the blood-soaked tiger-tooth combat knife at his feet, tears kept streaming from his eyes.
"Don't cry, Dansu. I'm already sixty years old. I can die on the battlefield instead of dying of old age in a sickbed. That is my honor. To die at the hands of such a powerful enemy, I have no regrets!" The Afghan guerrilla commander stared blankly at the blue sky above him. The sky looked so blue—so clear and blue it reminded him of his hometown, the wildflowers blooming in spring, the girl he loved most in his youth, and the melodious sound of the traditional Afghan instrument, the lobaba.
The Afghan guerrilla leader took a gentle breath. The strongest stench of blood wafted from the ground beneath his feet. He listened to the wind from afar, as if within the wind came a terrifying, almost tangible killing intent! The Afghan guerrilla leader shivered involuntarily and muttered to himself, "They won, they won!" They came, and they were coming! Dansu, run quickly, run far away, never come back, no matter what, never set foot on Chinese soil again, and never think about avenging me! ”
Dansu suddenly knelt before the Afghan guerrilla leader, sobbing softly, "No...... Dansu knows you're doing this for my own good—you're the father of all of us, but I don't want to be a deserter! ”
"I want you to go back, because I have something to ask of you!" The Afghan guerrilla commander handed Dansu the Afghan scimitar he had worn close for decades and a small, tattered cloth bag that had been worn out over countless years, and said softly, "Dansu, you are my last comrade and brother. I want you to take my curved knife and this cloth bag back to Afghanistan, throw them into the Helmand River of our motherland, and ask me to say to our endless Helmand River, 'Dear Zamimanli, I have come back to be with you!'" ”
Densu tightly held the Afghan scimitar that Afghans often gave to their beloved girls as tokens of love, tears streaming down his eyes again and again, falling fiercely onto this dry, naturally quartz-filled land that would form mirages on scorching afternoons.
Only he was left in the entire guerrilla force, their beloved and most respected old father, this old father as sharp as an eagle, cunning as a fox, as brave as a cheetah. This hero, he met an even more terrifying and greater hero, and he ...... We're about to die!
The Afghan guerrilla leader gazed at Dansu with eyes full of longing, and Dansu's nose tingled again. He knew that at this moment, their father's last wish was for him to survive! Facing the gaze of the Afghan guerrilla leader, Densu finally nodded slowly.
A faint smile of regret appeared on the Afghan guerrilla leader's face as he murmured, "Zamimanli, I'm here......"
Just as his eyes were about to close, he suddenly opened them again. He grabbed Dansu, truly afraid he wouldn't be able to catch his breath and die. He gasped for breath and weakly said, "Dansu, after I die, place my body in front of this little sandbag. I know they'll come back. We're finished. They won't miss this chance. They will use this vast desert to wear everyone down bit by bit." They'll fight back! I want to lie here, widen my eyes and see what the greatest warrior in the world looks like! ”
Afghans pursue "sky burial," believing that by returning their bodies to the world through sky burial, their souls can return to Allah and enter the happy kingdom of heaven.
The Afghan guerrilla leader's body was left by Dansu under that small sandbag. He feared that before the captain saw the Chinese soldier, the desert vultures would bite his father's eyes. Dansu managed to gather enough shrubs in the barren desert overnight, and with them and his rifle, he made a straw figure and put on a uniform. Dansu bit her own finger and neatly wrote the words "Dansu" on the scarecrow.
Since he can't personally guard his beloved father, let this straw figure take his place to protect his father!
The Afghan guerrilla commander still wore the Russian military binoculars he had captured from Soviet soldiers around his neck, the Russian military water bottle he wore, and the scarecrow he had always guarded by his side had a knife stuck in his chest—the tiger-tooth combat knife from the war hero's song!
After finishing all this, Sudan took advantage of the darkness before dawn when everyone was dozing off, carrying her own rations and fresh water, along with the Afghan curved knife and cloth bag given by her father, and quietly left.