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"Mr. Dudarev, where are they taking those Afghan women?" Fiona Tang asked anxiously.
"Haha—of course they're being sent to the border between Afghanistan and China! I'm a man of my word when it comes to business! Just a heads up, you'd better have your people back home ready to receive these refugees! Now, come with me to the village and change your clothes, get on with your mission. I've got to go mess with the wreckage of that Predator drone! This time, I'm making a killing—thanks to you all!" Dudarev said with a smug grin.
Shawn Young glanced curiously at Colonel Hank Han and asked, "Colonel Han, that drone is completely wrecked. Why does he treat it like treasure?"
Colonel Hank Han shook his head and replied, "You don't get it. American drone technology is top-notch. Russia and the US are always spying on each other's military secrets and new weapons. Russia has been itching to get info on US drones. This is a golden opportunity—Dudarev won't let it slip by. If he gets that wreckage to the Russian military, their scientists can take it apart and figure out how it's made, what materials are used, maybe even design counter-weapons. That's worth way more than a few million dollars! Plus, Dudarev will earn favor with the Russian military, making his arms business even smoother. He's really struck gold this time!"
"Oh, I see—so the arms business really isn't your average way to make money!" Shawn Young marveled.
"Absolutely. The arms trade is one of the most profitable industries in the world! But without the right connections and military background, there's no way you can survive in this business," Colonel Hank Han explained.
Just then, Dudarev's phone rang again. He answered, speaking rapid Russian. His expression turned furious. Suddenly, he whipped out his golden Desert Eagle and fired a shot into the sky. Turning to Major Akram, he shouted, "My old friend, your intel was spot on! The Americans have destroyed most of the poppy fields in Gul Village and killed several of my men! Now my people and some tribal fighters are battling them! Damn it! These bastards are begging for death! I'm going to wipe them all out! They've cost me tens of millions of dollars!"
Major Akram jumped in, "If that's the case, let's go help right now! We'll work together and wipe out those Americans and their lackeys!"
Dudarev nodded, waved at Major Akram, Colonel Hank Han, and the others, and said, "Let's go! Follow me—let's take out those damn Americans together!"
With that, Dudarev led his two mercenaries and headed down toward the village at the foot of the hill. Major Akram, Colonel Hank Han, and the others flashed a 'K' hand signal and followed Dudarev down the slope.
Meanwhile, dozens of kilometers away in Gul Village, explosions and gunfire filled the air. Thick black smoke and the stench of gunpowder billowed everywhere. In the ruined poppy fields, a group of Afghan Special Forces soldiers spread out, fighting alongside US DEA agents, desperately resisting attacks from all directions.
Black Eye gripped a modified M4 marksman rifle, wearing a black bulletproof vest. He dragged the corpse of a fallen DEA agent for cover, crawling quickly across the ground, scrambling to the edge of the poppy field, dodging a hail of whistling bullets.
Black Eye barely made it to the edge of the field when a 62mm mortar shell, shrieking as it fell from the hillside, slammed down. He rolled into a dried-up irrigation ditch just in time—BOOM! The blast shredded the unlucky corpse, sending bloody chunks flying everywhere. A smoking piece of intestine landed from the sky and draped around Black Eye’s neck.
Black Eye ripped the intestine off his neck, wiped the blood from his face, and cursed in frustration, "Damn it—this is insane! Why the hell did so many psycho Afghans show up out of nowhere? I don't want to die in this godforsaken place!"
He carefully peeked out from the ditch, scanning the situation. He saw over fifty Afghan Special Forces soldiers and a dozen US DEA agents scattered under sudden attack from all sides. Bullets kept finding their marks, but the well-trained troops rallied, unleashing return fire up the hill at the countless militants. The firefight had reached a fever pitch in moments.
But the odds were clearly against the Afghan Special Forces and the US DEA agents below the hill. More and more Afghan militants were pouring in, surrounding them, unleashing a relentless barrage of light and heavy weapon fire! RPG rockets, trailing smoky tails, shrieked into the poppy fields, exploding among the prone defenders—screams and explosions shook the ground.
Watching his dwindling allies, Black Eye cursed under his breath, "Damn it, I was so close to finishing the mission, and now this crap happens! Surrounded—just my damn luck!"
BOOM—an RPG rocket exploded, flipping a Humvee parked at the edge of the field. Black Eye looked up and spotted a communications device inside the Humvee’s cab.
"Oh—it's a base radio! Thank God, it still works!" Thrilled, Black Eye scrambled out of the ditch, rolling and dodging bullets with practiced moves. His M4 barked out accurate shots, dropping several militants on the hillside, and he dove into the Humvee, frantically working the base radio.
After more than a minute of fiddling, Black Eye finally got the base radio working. Overjoyed, he exclaimed, "Thank heavens! We're saved!"
He quickly entered the IFF code, activated the base radio, and connected to the largest US military base near Kabul—Bagram Air Base Command!