Colonel did not nod. He swept his piercing gaze across the faces of over a hundred elites, raised a finger, and, gritting his teeth, said in a deep voice, “I want him alive. I want that child standing before me, unharmed and alive. This is my only demand—my only plea—from Henry Grant to all of you! Please! Please!!”

The men in black berets said no more, quickly breaking from their neat formation into combat teams and moving toward the hills.

Standing nearby was an elderly-looking middle-aged man. Though well-dressed, his face was so lined with wrinkles that he looked as if he were at death’s door. His eyes were filled with a complex mix of despair and hope, and his hands trembled uncontrollably.

Henry Grant pressed his lips together, walked over, and grabbed the man’s trembling right hand. Forcing a relaxed smile, he said, “Old Baldwin, don’t worry. We will definitely rescue the child. Unharmed, I promise!”

But this reassurance did little, even though the man saw the most elite troops heading out for the rescue. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe them—he was simply too afraid. The kidnapped child was his only son. If this son died too, he didn’t know if he would lose his mind.

The middle-aged man trembled, his lips moving soundlessly. After a long while, not a word came out. Suddenly, his knees buckled, and he knelt straight down before Henry Grant.

“Commander, you must save my son, even if he comes back with broken arms or legs—as long as he’s alive, as long as he’s alive!” Tears filled the man’s eyes as he clung tightly to Henry Grant’s pants, begging as if grasping a lifeline. “This son is the last blood of the Xiao family. If Edward dies, his mother won’t be able to go on. Please, you must save my son, I, I, I…”

The man bent low, about to knock his head hard against the stony ground.

But before he could, Henry Grant pulled him up, stopping this act of utter desperation.

Henry Grant’s eyes reddened. He understood the weight of a man’s knees—especially for someone who, though only middle-aged, looked so old: George Baldwin.

“Commander,” George Baldwin took a deep breath, gripping Henry Grant’s shoulders tightly. “My eldest son died on the northwest border. My second son died at a border outpost. My third son died fighting floods. My fourth son gave his life to save a busload of people. I have only this one son left, just this one…”

Henry Grant’s eyes grew moist. He reached out and held George Baldwin’s arms, gripping them tightly, tightly…

George Baldwin, born in 1955, son of William Baldwin, who joined the Burma Expeditionary Force in 1942. After the unit was scattered, he was lucky to return to China and was incorporated into the Eighth Route Army, later fighting in the War of Liberation and the Korean War, and was a first-class combat hero.

George Baldwin was born into a military family, naturally brave and combative. At eighteen, forced by his father, he married and had children. At twenty-four, he secretly left his wife and child to join the first round of the Vietnam self-defense counterattack, was seriously wounded, and later recovered. Even after recovery, his ferocity in that first campaign was unmatched—he once shaved his head, drank blood wine, led a reconnaissance team deep behind enemy lines, fought Vietnamese agents to the death, and returned laughing with heads tied to his body.

George Baldwin had five sons: the eldest, James Baldwin, died in battle on the northwest border; the second, John Baldwin, died at a border outpost in the southwest; the third, Charles Baldwin, died fighting floods; the fourth, Frank Baldwin, used his own body to stop a bus from sliding off a cliff to save a busload of people; the fifth, Edward Baldwin, only six years old, was taken hostage today by a vicious criminal.

When his first son died, George Baldwin said to his son’s ashes: For the country, it’s worth it!

When his second son died, George Baldwin said to his son’s ashes: Son, well done!

When his third son died, George Baldwin stroked the urn and said: How will I explain this to your mother?

When his fourth son died, George Baldwin just held the urn tightly, muttering to himself—no one heard what he said.

In seven years, four sons had died one after another. Four heroes in one family brought the Xiao family supreme honor, but George Baldwin and his wife withdrew from the world, watching over their only remaining son with all their hearts. This last son was their life, their only hope for survival.

A man who once dominated the battlefield, a hardened warrior who had buried four sons, now cried, knelt, and begged. He could not bear another loss—he simply could not take it anymore.

“Commander, the phone!” A soldier ran over and handed the wireless phone to Henry Grant.

Taking the phone, Henry Grant immediately stood at attention, face solemn, and spoke loudly into the phone: “Please rest assured, Commander, I will definitely rescue Edward Baldwin unharmed! If he loses even a single hair, I, Henry Grant, will take my own life right here—my word is my bond!”

After hanging up, Henry Grant grabbed George Baldwin’s arm again, gritting his teeth: “Old Baldwin, leave it to me. I, Henry Grant, will bring you back a lively, healthy son.”

With that, Commander Henry Grant picked up a gun and, with his guards, ran up Xiake Ridge.