Time Travel 04: I Fight the US in the Middle East

Since the outbreak of the war last year, the highest-ranking U.S. military officer to die was Colonel Theodore Weschsen, but he did not die on the battlefield; he died in a helicopter crash.

Now... would Lieutenant Colonel Robert Parker be considered the highest-ranking officer to die on the battlefield?

It seems he wasn't sniped; he killed himself by running into a door frame...

In the village, the American soldiers, still venting their emotions, received the news.

What?

The battalion commander is dead?

So what if we die?

Wait, what did you say? The battalion commander is dead?

In less than a minute, the American soldiers stopped ravaging the village and all rushed out yelling!

"Where the damn sniper?"

"Come out!"

They were furious!

They didn't need any combat formations or cross-cover; they swarmed like locusts towards the direction from which the bullets might come.

but……

We found nothing!

Although the entire army doesn't have to be buried with the dead when their commander dies, it's still incredibly shameful!

The American soldiers have completely gone mad!

Dede dede!

Someone was holding a gun and firing bullets into the sky!

A few kilometers away, on a dilapidated motorcycle.

Azam twisted the throttle, and with a sputtering sound, the motorcycle weaved along the narrow dirt road. Even without headlights, he knew exactly where every little pothole was.

Behind him, Majid, carrying his gun, turned and looked towards the village.

"I wonder if they managed to kill that American officer."

Even though it's far away, I can feel the chaos over there, so... it's probably a done deal!

Azam wore a bright smile; it was a perfect day!

After I get back, I need to get a good night's sleep...

The eastern sky slowly brightened.

Baghdad, the presidential palace.

Buford-C. Brontë III arrived at the command post yawning, and the first news he received was...

"What? We lost three tanks and a lieutenant colonel?"

With the battalion commander killed in action, Captain Edwin Schmidt had to temporarily take over. After some deliberation, he decided to report that the battalion commander had been killed in action, so that Lieutenant Colonel Robert Parker's family could receive additional battlefield insurance.

Meeting Bront III's icy gaze, Colonel Chris's expression was complex: "Yes, after repeated checks, the engineers believe the enemy used a brand-new roadside bomb capable of burning through the bottom armor of M1 tanks. Just as the soldiers entered the village to search, the enemy sniper took aim at Lieutenant Colonel Robert Parker, the battalion commander..."

King Brunt III's expression changed drastically.

Does that mean even the M1 tank is unsafe?

A brand new roadside bomb, an elusive sniper...

"Have we captured any members of this guerrilla group?"

"So far, there's not a single person left. Everyone in Jufra village has run away... In their anger, the Second Battalion demolished the entire village..."

Bronte III looked at the large-scale map.

What should we do? Should we expand the search area and search all the nearby villages as well?

That won't do! Even an ant would know that the US military has suffered heavy losses!

Are we just going to give up like this?

That won't work either; it will only make those damn guerrillas think that the US military is easy to bully!

"Order the 2nd Battalion of the 7th Infantry Regiment to garrison this village! Set up outposts nearby and search for suspicious persons!"

"yes!"

"Also, issue a bounty: five hundred dollars, no, a thousand dollars, for anyone with information on this damned guerrilla group!"

This amount of money may not sound like much, but... for the Yituo people at this time, it was definitely a huge fortune!

In 1983, the monthly wage of an ordinary worker in Yituo was equivalent to three hundred US dollars. In 1993, the wage dropped to thirty US dollars. In 2003, the wage finally rose to seventy US dollars, and then another war broke out!

Even if it's over 600 per person, that's still just an average. For ordinary people, they're just the ones being averaged out.

One thousand dollars is equivalent to a year's income for most people here! And that's assuming they have a job!

Mahmoudiyah, a town 25 kilometers south of Baghdad.

As the morning sun shines down, the townspeople begin another busy day of work.

"Fish for sale! Fish for sale! Fresh dogfish!"

"Cheese, freshly made cheese!"

"Spices, spices from the East!"

Highway 6 runs through the town, and markets are formed along both sides of the highway.

As small vendors set up their stalls and hawked their wares, a startling piece of news was also spreading rapidly.

"Have you heard? A guerrilla group called 'Death Juba' has recently emerged. Yesterday, they ambushed an American convoy—four Humvees—and not a single American soldier escaped!"

"What?! A patrol convoy? They ambushed an American tank unit and destroyed three M1 tanks!"

"No, no, they ambushed an entire U.S. mechanized infantry battalion and killed the battalion commander! The U.S. has already issued a bounty!"

"That's amazing! I really hope they can drive the Americans out!"

A little girl walked through the crowd, a smile that went unnoticed by anyone.

She paused for a moment at the fish stall, took out all her dinars, bought a dogfish, and then disappeared into the town's winding, complex streets.

A dozen minutes later, she arrived at the door of a dilapidated mud-brick house in a village on the outskirts of the town. She looked behind her and, seeing no one following her, gently knocked on the door.

"Open Sesame!"

Crunch!

The door was opened a crack, and Mariam crept in. She saw the guerrilla fighters, who had already woken up, cleaning their guns. On the stove set up in the courtyard, her mother was baking Arabic flatbread for the guerrillas.

Villagers can stay at other relatives' homes or receive aid from the tribe, but guerrillas cannot; they must hide their whereabouts!

The owner of this dilapidated mud-brick house was killed in the war in 91, and the house was left unattended afterward. Last night, everyone cleaned it up and it became a temporary shelter.

"Mom, I bought a fish for the guerrillas. If they eat their fill, they'll have the strength to fight the American soldiers!"

Seeing the fish that Mariam was carrying, her mother Nur didn't say anything. After finishing making the flatbread, she started cleaning the fish.

Soon, the aroma of stewed fish filled the entire courtyard.

In the room, Azam turned over, sniffed, and then woke up.

It smells so good!

Just as he reached the door, Mariam came over with a washbasin: "Captain Azam, please wash your face first. Breakfast will be ready soon... Although you missed morning prayer, it's because you were tired from disciplining the bad guys, so it's not your fault."

In this place, prayers are held five times a day, without fail!

After washing up, everyone sat together around a large pot of stewed fish in the center, and each person had a large flatbread in their hand.

"Mmm, this fish tastes really good! Mariam, you and your mother..." Azam was about to suggest sitting down to eat together, but then remembered the local customs and decided against it. Seeing that the two were only eating flatbread, he grabbed a few pieces of fish and went over to them.