Long Zhan's close-quarters combat was always clean and efficient—if he wanted to take someone out, he acted immediately, without uttering a single word.
The villains often died from talking too much, and so did the righteous.
This time, Long Zhan stuck to his usual practice and didn't soften his approach just because the opponents were old and weak.
Creeping quietly over, Long Zhan lay prone on the dirt embankment. When the two shepherds—one old, one young—passed below, he flipped over, jumped down, and struck with both fists.
Two punches landed solidly on their heads with sharp *thwacks*.
Neither shepherd uttered a sound; their eyes spun with stars, and they staggered, dazed, collapsing to the ground.
About ten meters away on either side, Murphy and Marcus had expected Long Zhan to use soft control—that is, to cover their mouths to keep them quiet, then drag them up the mountain.
They didn't expect Long Zhan to be so ruthless, going straight for the hard knock.
The size difference between Long Zhan and the shepherds was absurdly huge.
The two worried he might have killed them.
They wanted to rush over to check, but Long Zhan's massive figure suddenly appeared, and the startled flock of sheep began scattering to both sides.
Murphy and Marcus had no choice but to stop trying and frantically began herding the sheep back.
Meanwhile, Long Zhan had already knocked the two shepherds down and didn't even bother checking their vital signs. He easily grabbed one under each arm and headed up the mountain.
After more than ten years of close-quarters combat, Long Zhan was confident in his control over his strength.
He was certain the two shepherds were only stunned and disoriented—far from unconscious.
A few minutes later,
Murphy and Marcus, sweating profusely from the effort, finally stabilized the sheep, tying the lead sheep to a nearby bush.
The flock always followed the leader; controlling the lead sheep meant controlling the entire flock.
Returning to the observation point atop the mountain, they found Long Zhan had already bound the old and the young shepherd separately, each tied beneath a tree.
The two shepherds had come to their senses, looking at Long Zhan and the others with terror and rage, struggling and trying to speak.
But Long Zhan had torn their clothes and gagged them, turning their voices into muffled "ooh-oohs."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Marcus grew agitated and cursed repeatedly as he approached the old man, yanking off the gag to interrogate him: "Are you Taliban? Answer me, quickly."
"??ìyéò???ü?ζ."
The old man nervously rattled off a long string of words Marcus couldn't understand, so Marcus turned to Long Zhan for help: "What's he saying? Translate."
Long Zhan was the only team member fluent in Afghan languages.
"He's asking who you are and why you've captured him."
Long Zhan gave a brief translation, then stepped in to question the old shepherd directly.
While Long Zhan interrogated the old man, Murphy was already breathing heavily, flustered by the sudden appearance of the shepherds.
He used the radio: "Danny, have you contacted base yet?"
"No, no signal. Damn it."
The shepherds' unexpected appearance had completely disrupted the mission's rhythm. Dietz's mood suffered seriously; he was already anxious.
"Fuck, your radio is a piece of crap. Looks like we'll have to use an unencrypted satellite phone," Murphy said, pulling out the satellite phone and powering it on.
Murphy really didn't want to use WeChat calls unless absolutely necessary.
Even though WeChat calls were more widely usable—anywhere on Earth, as long as you were above ground and free from signal interference, you could connect to the outside world.
"That's not my problem. Signals have never worked properly in this damn place," Dietz grumbled, not wanting to take the blame and no longer trying. He grabbed his antenna and headed back to regroup with Murphy and the others.
Since radios were useless, it was better to return and figure out how to handle the shepherds together.
Murphy didn't argue with Dietz further. He extended the satellite phone antenna and dialed.
In mountainous terrain like this, satellite phones were indeed more reliable than radios; the call went through immediately.
"This is Jebad Forward Operations Command Center, Sergeant Heisler speaking."
Upon hearing the response, Murphy quickly replied, "Sergeant, this is Sparta O-1. Can you hear me clearly?"
"Yes, yes. I hear you, sir," Heisler recognized Murphy's voice.
"I'm on an unencrypted line. I need to speak with the commander immediately."
That was the downside of satellite phones—they couldn't directly access military command comms, only external landlines.
The communication protocol was much less secure than radio.
Heisler, an experienced communications officer, detected something wrong from Jason's tone and responded promptly: "Understood. Which commander do you want to reach?"
"Commander Christensen."
"He's not here, sir."
"Has he returned to Bagram?" Murphy asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Can you transfer me to the Bagram Olet Operations Command Center?"
Murphy's requested location was the place where his team had stayed before deployment, with an external landline at the duty room.
"Affirmative, sir. Please hold."
Heisler transferred the call to Bagram. Most others had already gone to rest. Sean, the junior on duty, picked up the transferred call.
"This is Olet, Sergeant Barton speaking. How may I—"
"Barton, this is Michael Murphy."
Sean's greeting was cut off, puzzled: "Are you trying to reach Michael Murphy?"
The American calling style was concise but had downsides.
Because of poor signal quality and distortion, Sean didn't recognize Murphy's voice, and the meaning got lost.
"Is this Michael Murphy? Over?"
"Michael? Sir?"
Sean was surprised and asked curiously, "What's going on there? The signal is shit."
Murphy didn't explain. He said directly, "Barton, get the boss on the line. It's urgent."
"He's sleeping, sir."
Hearing that the commander was asleep and thinking about his own dire situation, Murphy exploded, yelling into the phone, "Then what the hell are you waiting for? Go wake him up now!"
The call had some distortion and occasional missing words, and since it involved disturbing the highest command, Murphy hesitated.
"Are you saying I should wake the commander now?"
"Can you cut the crap and just do it?"
Murphy's almost murderous shout came through crystal clear. Sensing the urgency, Sean didn't argue.
"Copy that, going now."
Sean put down the receiver and sprinted out of the duty room.
Fortunately, the temporary camp was small; Sean reached the commander's quarters in under ten seconds.
Woken up, Commander Christensen heard it was Michael Murphy calling.
His awareness was far sharper than rookie Sean's.
Realizing something serious was going on, he didn't bother changing clothes—just in sleepwear and slippers, he dashed straight to the command center.