Chapter 284 Death
"How did you get into this state?" Ron almost didn't recognize him.
"That place is wild." Johnny smiled, a silent laugh.
"I can see you have your troubles and your stories. If you want, we can find a place to have a drink, drink happily and drink as we please."
"Well, I do have a story or two, but they're certainly not meant to be told publicly. If I were to tell them, I wouldn't even have enough time for dinner."
"I'm looking forward to it. We have some time, so there's no rush." Ron led him to a tavern in Malabar Hill.
The environment here is quiet and usually there are few outsiders, which is very suitable for close friends to sit down and chat.
Johnny had really changed, not just the slight pause in his shins when he walked, but also his face had become so cold and unfamiliar.
He also had a thick beard, as tangled as weeds, which made the coldness even more sharp.
They sat down by the window in the pub and Ron ordered two glasses of whiskey.
While waiting for the drinks, they locked eyes, staring at each other for a moment, each interpreting the other's changing expressions like a fortune teller searching for meaning in scattered bones.
Johnny wore a black jacket, his eyes were tired and bloodshot, his brows were constantly furrowed, holding onto his worries, unable to let go.
"You look like you've died once, and with that big beard, is that the fashion for Arab warriors?" Ron said in a relaxed tone.
"Ron, it's great to see you again." Johnny smiled faintly.
After experiencing the bloody and snowy days there, he found that the old friends and the city were still there, and it felt great to be home.
Wherever he looked, the sounds, colors, and natural beauty of the island city made him feel intoxicated.
He hadn't even drunk yet, he loved the city so much.
The waiter brought two glasses of whiskey, good whiskey that made you twitch your nose.
"Here's to the living!" said Ron.
"Cheers to the dead!" Johnny clinked his glasses together and drank the whole glass.
"Now," Ron looked at him steadily, "you can talk about that trouble."
"Where should I begin?" Johnny said with a mockery on his face, a mockery of fate.
"Anything, not just the war. There's something else in your face, I can see it."
Johnny smiled, a secret joy flowing through his heart. He was happy to have someone close to him again. Only Ron could understand the troubles buried in his heart.
"Had Khan is dead," he said emotionlessly, staring at the empty glass in his hand.
"What?" Ron's tone was slightly hesitant, with a hint of surprise.
The news was sudden: the underground black emperor of South Mumbai, the feared tyrant, had died.
"It's true."
"How could that be? You should have made a lot of preparations back then."
"I was right beside him. I saw his body, helped drag it up the mountain to the camp, and helped bury it. He was dead, they were all dead. We were the only ones who got away alive: Najeer, Ghani, and me."
"There's no news about this in this city. If there was, I would be the first to know." Ron took a deep breath, still a little bit unbelievable.
For the past two or three decades, Khad Khan has always been present in Mumbai, influencing every aspect of the city, especially its order.
If the news of Khad Khan's death spread, he could almost foresee that a bloody storm would break out immediately.
"It took me several months to accept this fact." Johnny lowered his eyes again and fell into deep thought full of thoughts and feelings. His thoughts were in a mess, his head twitched uncontrollably, and his lower lip kept shaking.
Ron was worried that he would collapse, as a person's mental breakdown can happen in an instant. He knew that Johnny's admiration for Hardhan was the same as a son's admiration for his father.
"Listen, Johnny. There's no one else here. You can speak freely and uninhibitedly. Just pour out whatever you want to say. Don't bottle up your sorrows. They'll rot and stink."
Ron touched his arm and Johnny slowly raised his head.
“That was a war.”
Johnny and his team set off from Mumbai Airport, first arriving in Quetta, near the border of the Imperial Cemetery in Babar, and then changing four modes of transportation on the way to reach their destination.
They pretended to be strangers and crossed the borders of three countries together to carry out more than 20 illegal activities.
In order to complete his mission, Khad Khan had made all the necessary arrangements. He shipped the medicines and arms out of Mumbai in batches and finally sent them to the holy place in his heart.
But things did not go smoothly. As soon as they arrived in Babayang, they were targeted by the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), Babayang's spy agency.
It was obvious that there was a traitor among them. There was no reason why such a covert route would fail at the very beginning.
Fortunately, the 30 of them were alert and had all stayed in different hotels. When the political police raided one of their residences, they had received the news in advance and had already evacuated a minute before.
They changed their plans, gave up the more eye-catching car, and instead took camels to travel the rugged mountain trails.
It took them a month to reach the Imperial Cemetery, and they lost several good men while passing the cliff.
There were also bandits demanding tolls on the road. The place was so chaotic that you could hear gunshots every few miles.
The bandits usually appear first from a commanding height, pointing their guns at them, and then the ground troops pour out from their hiding places to cut off Johnny and his men's way forward and retreat.
At this time, Khad Khan would take out the green and white flag he had prepared long ago, which was decorated with verses from the Koran: We come from Allah and to Him we return.
The local bandits did not recognize Khad Khan, but respected the words and meaning on the flag.
Religion became the best pass at this time.
But even so, the tolls still have to be paid.
Khad Khan carried a supply of goods for his journey, including peacock blue and green silk embroidered with intricate gold thread patterns, a hatchet, a thick knife, sewing tools, Zeiss binoculars, and a fine Indian-made automatic watch.
Well, in a remote place like Arabia, especially the graveyard of empires, things made in India are considered high-end imported goods.
When encountering a larger team, Khad Khan would also prepare some ten-gram gold ingots engraved with Arabic-style laurel branches and leaves reliefs.
He has a gold smuggling business in Mumbai, so he doesn't mind the loss.
With these things, they can also get supplies from the bandit camp.
With this arrangement, the group successfully advanced into the hinterland.
In January and February at the beginning of the year, there was no grass growing on the hillsides of the plateau, and the cold wind turned it into a barren wasteland.
As they got closer to their destination, the weather became increasingly cold and unbearable. They took refuge in a camp in the mountains, one of the strongholds of the Khadhan tribe.
The fighting seemed to have spread to the neighborhood, and Johnny would exchange fire with people outside every few days.
In those weeks, he learned to use a gun, to use it like a soldier, not like a Bombay gangster.
His favorite is the AK47. This rifle weighs about five kilograms, has a curved metal magazine that can hold thirty rounds of bullets, fires 7.62mm bullets at a speed of 690 meters per second, and has an effective range of more than 300 meters.
In automatic mode, it can fire more than 100 rounds per minute continuously, and in semi-automatic or single-shot mode, it can fire more than 40 rounds per minute.
Johnny knew all this information. He had touched an AK before, but never as familiar with it as this.
He also knew that the muzzle flash was very bright when shooting, and using it at night would make it difficult for the shooter to see what was in front of him and would often expose his position.
The barrel would quickly overheat, becoming too hot to hold, and sometimes the bullet in the chamber would explode in front of the shooter because it was so hot.
This is why many guerrilla fighters hold their guns away from their bodies or above their heads during combat.
But this gun is very reliable and its operation is not affected at all even after being soaked in water, mud or snow.
For a while, Johnny almost fell in love with such days. He liked the taste of blood and fire.
Until an armed helicopter appeared, which was a powerful weapon obtained by their opponents.
As it appeared it fired at them, then turned and flew away like a falcon swooping down on its prey.
Two rockets were fired into the cave, and the air smelled of burning. The shells were moving too fast for Johnny to catch up.
When he turned around, the cliff above the entrance to the cave complex exploded, and smoke, fire, rocks, and metal fragments fell.
Then the second one came, it penetrated the hole and exploded. The shockwave hit Johnny hard, like standing at the edge of a swimming pool and someone pushed him in with their hands.
He was knocked to the ground, gasping for breath as the air in his body was instantly sucked out, but was choked by the thick smoke.
The cave was in a mess. Some people were lying there silently, while others were rushing out or crawling out from the black smoke and flames.
The man was blown open from head to legs, his clothes on fire, burning to smoking embers around the exposed, blown flesh of his back.
His hipbone and shoulder blade were clearly visible, moving within the gaping wound as he crawled.
He screams for help and Johnny grits his teeth and runs towards him, but the helicopter appears again.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Several more rockets were fired, and the rolling fireballs and white-hot metal fragments melted the blood on the entire mountain.
The entire camp was broken up, and the AK was nothing compared to the machine guns of the attack helicopters.
Johnny and Najeer escaped from the cave, went down the mountain, and hid in the snow.
As they were leaving, they saw Khad Khan heading in another direction under the cover of Ghani.
The two tried to join them, but there were so many enemies surrounding them that they could only avoid them carefully.
Three days later, Johnny saw Khad Khan, who was dead.
Ghani dragged his body numbly through the snow.
They encountered another guerrilla group, who shot them without giving them a chance to speak.
A bullet entered Khad Khan's side, causing a splintering, deep, and large wound, and then the bullet wreaked havoc inside his body.
It left a scar across the chest, and finally formed a black "lotus" on the heart.
Johnny found it hard to accept the fact that Had Khan, whom he regarded as a father, had died just like that.
He didn't know how he survived those two months, or how he escaped from the graveyard of empires and returned to Mumbai.
He only remembered that on the way back, he encountered another bombing and seven or eight shrapnel penetrated into his legs.
But there was one belief that supported him, which was to return to Mumbai and personally find out the people who betrayed them.
"I need revenge, Ron. I think I know who he is." Johnny's voice seemed to float from the dark place, without a trace of emotion.
(End of this chapter)
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