Difficult Persuasion

Suddenly, Hou Rui heard the elf behind him give a barely audible cough. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Hou Rui noticed the elf perform a series of gestures: first, she raised both fists; next, she intertwined her fingers, forming a tight ball; finally, she spread her hands wide, mimicking an expanding motion.

A spark of inspiration! Hou Rui realized, understanding everything.

Enlightened, Hou Rui's expression shifted. He smiled at Ram, speaking with unwavering confidence, "As far as I know, the Tajik tribes in Azabad are divided into fifty-six clans, each hostile toward one another. Externally, the Tajiks frequently clash with the Uzbeks, Kazakhs, and Nuristanis over land, resulting in mutual depletion and preventing anyone from growing strong."

"So what if you know our history? That's just how we live. Our ancestors have always survived this way," Ram replied indifferently.

"But what if we could act as mediators, bringing the elders of every Tajik clan together to form a loose alliance? In Azabad, the Tajiks would instantly become the dominant force." Hou Rui's words piqued Ram's interest, and even Elder Abu, who had been feigning indifference in the back, opened his eyes in surprise.

"Impossible! Who are you people, and how could you wield such influence?" Flustered, Ram began to panic. Centuries of accumulated hatred had left the Tajiks cut off from each other; it was hard enough to bring elders together, let alone keep rival Tajik warriors from shooting at each other on sight in the street.

"What is the most important thing in this world? Land. With land, you can shelter more clansmen, more mothers, more shepherds, more warriors—all of which make the tribe stronger. A powerful tribe then strives for even more land, and eventually, perhaps, you could establish a pure Tajik nation." Hou Rui didn't directly answer Ram's question; instead, he pressed his argument, dangling the tantalizing prospect of national independence—a potent allure for a closed tribal society like Afghanistan's.

At these words, and with a quick flight of imagination, Ram's breathing grew heavy. Yet Ram was no naive fool; though his heart churned, he managed to control his emotions. After a few deep breaths, he addressed Hou Rui again, "Mr. Douglas, your vision is beautiful—truly appealing. But how can you prove you have such power? Elder Abu has a good relationship with the government forces right now. If you're as important as you say, handing you over to the government could bring us considerable rewards."

Damn! When he can't win, he resorts to threats.

Hou Rui felt a flicker of contempt, but he had to stay sharp; this was the most critical moment, and a single misstep could shatter the negotiations.

"Mr. Ram, the Northern Tribal Alliance is acting as an intermediary for this meeting. If I fall into government hands, I assure you, no faction will ever sit down with Elder Abu again. You will lose access to weapons and medicine, your trade routes for tribal specialties will disappear, and the Northern Tribal Alliance, with influence across Afghanistan, will become your new enemy. On this land, tribal reputation and the loyalty of friends are priceless assets." Hou Rui delivered one soft blow after another, leaving Ram at a loss for words.

"Of course, I know you were only joking with me, Mr. Ram. Even if we can't cooperate this time, perhaps in the future there will be other common goals." Hou Rui offered Ram a way out, easing the tension.

"Mr. Douglas, Elder Abu needs time to consider. You will have a reply soon." Unable to make a decision, Ram rose to see them off. Such weighty matters were beyond his sole authority.

All that needed to be said had been said; all that could be done had been done. Hou Rui had nothing more to improvise, so he and the elf seized the opportunity to leave the manor and retrace their steps.

This time, the pickup dropped them off directly at the market near the safehouse. Having just witnessed the suicide of the bearded man, Hou Rui felt unsettled, but the elf beside him seemed perfectly at ease—so much so that she dragged Hou Rui to a street vendor to buy food.

When Hou Rui, arms full of flatbread, and the elf, carrying a bag of fruit, started back, she whispered, "It's done. Ram's surveillance has left."

"What? Someone was tracking us this whole time?"

The elf was at a loss for words at Hou Rui's ignorance—or naivete—and only after a moment continued, "You handled the negotiations well. My estimation of your value has risen."

"Thank you," Hou Rui replied.

"But remember: only the most alert and cautious survive missions. If you don't want to die, you'd better improve quickly."

"Improve what?"

"Everything."

The day after meeting Ram, the fat chief they had encountered in the Kyrgyz market contacted the elf and sent over a batch of specialized equipment everyone had ordered. The prudent elf didn't allow the chief's men near the safehouse; instead, she, Rock, and Hou Rui stole a small truck, fetched the gear, and distributed it among the team.

On the morning of November 13, the elf received Ram's reply: for reasons unknown, Elder Abu had chosen to abandon cooperation. Everyone was deeply frustrated. There was no time left to approach other tribes—Hou Rui and his companions would have to tackle this deadly mission alone.

At noon, 1103, the elf's satellite phone received the final set of mission details, including the route and exact timing of the American convoy. At dusk, she led everyone out, advancing to their ambush site ahead of schedule.

The elf chose a section of road for the attack. On the left side, a rocky hill rose about eighty-nine meters, sparsely covered with shrubs—insufficient for a large-scale ambush. The right side was a vast, undulating expanse of hills, forming a perfect terrain for an ambush.

The plan: the elf, Hou Rui, and two other team members would lie in wait atop the rocky hill. The elf set up a sniper's nest four hundred meters from the road, while Hou Rui positioned himself a hundred meters ahead, serving as a safeguard. The remaining two hid beneath the sand less than one hundred fifty meters from the road.

Across the highway, Rock led six men, arranged in a crossfire with the elf's group. Their sixty-caliber machine gun and forty-millimeter grenade launcher were tasked with sealing off the entire road. Cutting off the convoy's route of advance and retreat relied entirely on Firelight's roadside bombs.

At 21:19 that night, the headlights of the lead vehicle appeared on the road. Hou Rui, shivering from the cold, heard the elf's voice through the radio: "All units ready. Roadside bomb is the signal—three minutes to suppress the enemy, five minutes to finish the fight. Handle any unexpected situations as they arise. May Lady Luck smile upon us."

Hou Rui knew his weapon, the 09, could only be lethal at ranges within one hundred meters. Once the fight began, his position would become awkward. The elf was the team's only precision shooter; though Hou Rui was meant to protect the vulnerable sniper, they were desperately short-handed. With one less gun, could the remaining nine truly provide suppressive fire?

No time for idle thoughts—the convoy was right under their noses. Even without night vision, Hou Rui could see clearly: the lead vehicles were two Stryker armored transports, followed by two Humvees with dual-turret machine guns, then two transport trucks, and finally a truck full of soldiers and two Humvee jeeps bringing up the rear.

Five hundred meters.
Three hundred meters.
One hundred meters.
In position!

Eyes wide, Hou Rui stared at the roadside bomb. The thought had barely crossed his mind when a heavy blast thundered in his ears. He watched as the lead Stryker's wheels triggered a burst of fire, the seventeen-ton vehicle leaping more than a meter into the air before crashing hard onto the pavement.

"Boom!" The second explosion engulfed the last Humvee in a ball of fire. The first stage of the plan was complete—successfully trapping the convoy in the ambush zone.

"Go, go, go!" The American troops proved their reputation as a top-tier force. After the sudden attack, they instantly began organizing a counteroffensive. From over two hundred meters away, Hou Rui could faintly hear officers yelling, herding the stunned soldiers out of their vehicles to take cover and prepare a defensive stand.

Government soldiers poured out of the rear truck like dumplings, rolling and scrambling down the embankment, desperate to burrow into the sand for safety. Meanwhile, the machine gunners in the remaining Humvees unleashed rapid bursts of tracer fire, seeking out the attackers' positions in the darkness.

Because of the terrain, the American gunners focused their defense on the right-side hills; nearly all gun barrels pointed that way, tracer rounds slicing the night sky in search of assailants.

The surviving Stryker screeched to a halt, its rear doors swinging open as the soldiers inside poured out. Rock, who had waited patiently, took action—he aimed his sixty-caliber machine gun at the door, blocking it with unwavering fire, mercilessly unleashing a hail of bullets...