A trusted lieutenant who had followed him for years cautiously approached, lowered his voice, and attempted to persuade: "Leader, calm your anger! The enemy... the enemy is too cunning! Like scorpions in the desert! They are deliberately provoking us, using our brothers' blood as bait! Ahead... I fear there are more, even more hidden traps waiting for us... Is it... is it perhaps better to let the surviving brothers retreat, calm down, and then wait for reinforcements before sending the engineers ahead to carefully clear..."
"Retreat?!!"
Abu Omar suddenly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes fixated on the lieutenant who dared to suggest "retreat," as if he wanted to devour him whole.
He roared, spitting in the lieutenant's face: "Retreat where?! Tell me, retreat where?! Those damn, Allah-defiling heretic Russians, have killed so many of our loyal brothers, and now, they are just ahead, fleeing miserably like frightened sand foxes! And now you want me to retreat?!"
