[IEA]: The Power Struggle

[Grant]

As the sun rose over the rugged outline of Kabul, its rays lit up the landscape marred by conflict. The fierce fighting of recent days had left scars. Buildings lay in ruins from relentless bombardments, and the streets were strewn with abandoned vehicles left behind by those fleeing to safety. Makeshift barricades were erected throughout the city in an attempt to fend off the militia forces determined to rip control of Kabul from the Taliban regime. The Afghanistan National Army was stationed across various sectors, bracing for the incoming waves of militia.

The silence of the night was shattered once again by gunfire, and explosions reverberated through the city as the bombardments resumed.

---

In the heart of Kabul, at the Arg Palace, General Mahmood Zafar of the Afghanistan National Army burst into a meeting hall where numerous high-ranking ANA officers awaited his address. As his presence was acknowledged, everyone in the room stood to attention, offering a firm salute as he passed by to take his seat. The General scanned the room, ensuring all necessary personnel were present, before lowering himself into his chair.

"At ease. Take a seat, gentlemen, and thank you for gathering here on such short notice. Our Taliban overseers are breathing down my neck for information. They need us to keep this city defended. I have a meeting with them later today and must relay our current status. Where do we stand on the defence of Kabul?"

Major General Rashid Durrani, Commanding Officer of the 111th Central Corps responsible for the city's defence, rose from his seat. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead before taking a deep breath and responding to the General.

"Sir, the situation is graver than we anticipated. Reports from the battalion command overnight indicate that our defence lines were severely hit. The militia's advance is alarmingly rapid and forceful as if they have the support of an experienced backer. Local warlords typically aren't this well-equipped. We also face targeted attacks behind our lines, leaving our flanks vulnerable. We're spread too thin, defending on multiple fronts and failing to secure our flanks adequately."

The General slammed his hands on the table as he rose from his seat, his frustration visible.

"Pull another battalion from the inner defence line and move them to the outskirts to support your other men, Durrani. Your lines cannot falter. Someone tell me how long will it take to pull a battalion from Jalalabad to flank the militia forces?"

From the opposite side of the table, another officer's voice interjected.

"Sir, I have already ordered the preparation of troop movements in Jalalabad. They are ready to mobilize at my command."

The General grinned and nodded in approval.

"Very good. I want regular updates on their position and battle readiness. Gentlemen, I am issuing a strict order: do NOT lose Kabul under any circumstance."

 

[Grant]

Within the hour, troops had mobilized out of Jalalabad, all destined for the outskirts of Kabul. Briefed beforehand, they were instructed to approach the militia's flank to cut their attack in Kabul short and eliminate as many insurgents as possible. The convoy, consisting of troop transports, armed pickup trucks, and a tank, departed from the base, winding through the bustling streets until they reached the Kabul-Jalalabad Highway.

On a nearby rooftop, two men lay prone, watching intently. They remained silent, absorbing as much information as possible about the rapidly moving convoy. As the vehicles faded into the distance, they exchanged glances and nods. Moving in unison, they slowly retreated from the roof's edge. One of the men headed towards the stairway, checking for any insurgents before signalling it was clear. The other man packed away his rifle, shouldered it, picked up his G36C assault rifle, and joined his comrade at the stairway. Together, they descended, aiming around each corner as they approached a vehicle parked behind the building.

Reaching the car, one of the men pressed a radio button on his chest and spoke clearly and precisely:

"Wolff, be advised you have a large ANA force heading towards you on the highway to Kabul. Eight transport trucks. Estimated 80+ ground personnel, three armed technicals, and one tank. We're packing up and will follow up with updates. Do you copy, over?"

A crackling but audible voice responded on the radio:

"Solid copy, Oskar. All received. I'll prepare a nice surprise for them outside of Surobi. Get moving, and keep me updated on their position. Wolff, Out."

The men knew they had to be quick, so they grabbed a bag of clothes from the front seat, pulling out traditional Afghan clothing. They donned the garments to conceal their military gear and blend in with the locals. Then, they pulled the car onto the street, accelerating to catch up with the convoy.

---

At Surobi, Adrian Wolff had already begun orchestrating the ambush for the approaching convoy. Gathering his team of soldiers around a table, he started briefing them on the upcoming battle:

"I have received intel from our guys in Jalalabad. Reinforcements are en route to Kabul—a strong force with technicals and a tank. We must prevent them from reaching Kabul or at least weaken them enough to disrupt their assault. We're using the two technicals we secured the other day and need RPGs to take out their vehicles quickly. We'll strike here."

Adrian tapped his finger on the map, emphasizing the ambush point, and continued:

"Surprise is key. We'll lay IEDs on the road. Given their speed, I aim to take out the first two vehicles with that. Afterwards, the tank is our priority. Anti-tank units will be positioned on the hill beside the road, hitting it from the rear once it passes. From there, our technicals will concentrate fire on the troops. Do not destroy their technicals if you can help it; they might be useful for future use. We will keep up the pressure until every one of them is dead or fleeing. If they run, hunt them down and slay them with no mercy. We'll then extract quickly before anyone shows up. Any questions?"

The room remained silent; no one questioned the plan. Adrian stood up, grinning devilishly.

"If we pull this off, we'll be one step closer to toppling the Taliban in Afghanistan. The militia has paid us well for our support, so let's get dirty and do our job. Move out, Vanguard."

Adrian and his Vanguard troops gathered their gear and headed to the technicals. They loaded up in every available spot and drove out of the compound towards the ambush site.

 

[Grant]

As the Vanguard's technicals left the vicinity of Surobi, they accelerated toward the ambush site. Once clear of the town, the first two vehicles veered off-road into the rough terrain, heading for the highway under the cover of tall dunes that flanked it, providing the perfect vantage point for their assault. The third vehicle continued on the road, joining the highway at an entry point before speeding down the main road to where the other technicals lay in wait. With a sudden skid, the technical swerved to block the road. The gunner aimed down the highway, alert for any threats. Two men leapt out, quickly placing explosives among the rocky rubble.

From his position on the dune, Adrian watched intently, occasionally glancing up the road to ensure it was clear. He pressed the radio button on his chest, speaking to the team trailing the convoy from Jalalabad:

"Klein, it's Wolff. The ambush is almost set up. What is your location? Over."

Oskar leaned forward, turning down the radio before replying:

"We're about 15 miles outside Surobi and moving fast. We've been tailing this convoy since Jalalabad, and the guys in the back truck are getting suspicious. They're giving us some dodgy looks. We need to get back to you before they arrive."

"Agreed," Adrian said. "Floor it and meet us at the ambush site."

Ten minutes later, a dust plume rose in the distance. Oskar's vehicle skidded into view along the bumpy road. Wolff guided them via radio to the explosives and instructed them to block the road. With everyone in place, Adrian addressed the team:

"The convoy won't be long now. Double-check the detonators. Oskar, raise the bonnet to make it look like a breakdown and get to cover."

Five minutes later, a shout confirmed the convoy's approach. Everyone grabbed their weapons and moved to the dune's edge. The technical drivers started their engines, ready to spring into action. Adrian's heart pounded as the trucks drew nearer, tension mounting.

"Ambush is GO. Kill them all!" Adrian ordered.

The detonators exploded, flipping the nearest truck onto its side and killing many troops. The second truck ignited as its petrol tank was pierced, engulfing it in flames. The three technicals surged over the dune, gunners firing mercilessly. They circled the dunes, dodging return fire while unleashing a barrage of bullets. Chaos erupted as enemy troops scrambled, disoriented by the sudden attack. The Vanguard soldiers picked off targets with precision, neutralizing threats before they could retaliate.

The ANA tank repositioned, firing its co-axial machine gun. One Vanguard soldier was hit, badly wounded in the shoulder. Adrian rushed to him, applying pressure to the wound.

"MEDIC! MEDIC! SOMEONE, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, DEAL WITH THAT FUCKING TANK!"

A shell exploded nearby, showering Adrian and the wounded soldier with sand and debris. More Vanguard troops were injured, rolling back down the dune. The Anti-Tank squad, stationed 50 meters down, loaded their RPGs. They stepped over the dune, kneeling to line up their shot. Two rockets fired quickly, striking the tank's rear and disabling it.

A few of the Vanguard troops advanced over the hill towards the Tank. Two men began climbing up the side of the tank. One prepared a grenade while the other lifted the hatch. They dropped a live grenade in and leapt off as the tank erupted, its turret flying off nearby. With the tank neutralized, Vanguard had the upper hand. The remaining ANA soldiers were quickly dispatched. Some tried to surrender but were ruthlessly mown down. Adrian walked through the carnage, stepping over burning vehicles and bodies. It was a bloodbath, but the mission was a success. Despite casualties, the Vanguard had prevailed.

 

[Grant]

The Vanguard troops swiftly began checking the bodies to ensure everyone was dead. Occasionally, a shot echoed in the background, marking the end for any injured soldiers. Adrian took out his phone and dialled a pre-saved number. As it started to ring, he pressed it to his ear. When the call connected, a thick Afghan accent greeted him.

"Ah, Lieutenant General. I wondered when you would call. I assume our arrangement went as planned, and I won’t be expecting any surprise reinforcements?" the man chuckled.

"It's done. I have wounded troops and need your medical support. We're heading to your camp, ETA 15 minutes."

The voice on the other end grew more earnest. "Of course. I will alert my men that you're coming. Please see me when you arrive. I may have more jobs for you."

Adrian ended the call and ordered the wounded to be loaded into the technicals. Using a comrade's arm for leverage, he hauled himself into the truck's pickup bed and watched as his men climbed into the vehicles. Once everyone was in, he signalled the driver by slamming his hand on the cab roof. The convoy rejoined the highway, speeding towards the city. As they neared, the smoke and smell of burning grew stronger. The city had been under siege for over a week, and the devastation was clear. Adrian moved to check one of the injured men's bandages, giving him a quick thumbs-up before standing back up.

As the technicals approached the Militia HQ, the horn blared, and the men at the barrier opened the gate. The convoy drove into the camp and parked in an open area beside a row of tents. Adrian ordered his men to take the wounded to the medical tent and then made his way to the largest tent, assuming it was the command centre. Two guards stood at the entrance to the command tent. As Adrian stepped closer, they both stepped into his path and placed their hands against his chest to stop him.

"Who said you could fucking touch me? Move, I'm here to see Warlord Qasim." Adrian barked, pushing past the guard and entering the tent. Inside, the room was well-furnished, with luxurious and exotic decorations lining the walls. A table stood in the centre, surrounded by men discussing their campaign. They turned and narrowed their eyes at Adrian, who had stormed in unannounced. One of the men chuckled and spoke up.

"Ah! My friend! Finally, you are here. Gentlemen, this is Adrian Wolff, CO of Vanguard PMC. Without him, we wouldn’t have survived the first week!"

Adrian chuckled as Abbas Qasim, the warlord, approached him with open arms. Responding softly to the praise, Adrian said, "You're doing the hard work. We're just a small force trying to make a difference."

Abbas gestured to the table and stepped towards it. Adrian followed, leaning over the map spread across it, marked with their positions. The battle was shifting as more sectors fell to the Militia, though the central areas remained heavily defended. Abbas pointed to the centre of the map.

"That job I mentioned on the phone. I need you and your men in the red zone, making precise attacks behind enemy lines. This will weaken their defences enough for a breakthrough. I know you've had men injured already, but I need you out there with your remaining force. Your men are in good hands and will be waiting for you to come back out once they're on their feet."

"Okay, then run me through your plan. What targets are we talking about? How are we getting into the city? I don't have the men to take on a full force head-on in battle."

Abbas grimaced and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He sparked it up and took a long drag before replying:

"Getting into the red zone is up to you. Be as creative or simple as you want. As for the targets I need to deal with, it'll be a mix of known locations of ANA Officers, which need silencing, search-and-destroy, and the usual. We have an old Militia safehouse near Arg Palace where you can rest, and I'm sure it has supplies that haven't been found by the ANA yet."

Adrian heard the plan and nodded. He shook the Warlord's hand, agreeing to the mission he had been given. He moved around to the side of the map and began to draw up plans for the insertion.

 

[Grant]

Night had fallen again, casting a thick, impenetrable darkness over the city. The air was tense as Adrian and his team slipped out of the compound, their movements concealed by the shadows. The city outskirts loomed before them, dominated by a large, weathered stone structure. This was one of many such entrances scattered throughout the city, leading down into the labyrinthine sewer tunnels beneath—an underground network that had become the Militia's lifeline, a means to slip in and out of the city's borders without detection. Now, it was Vanguard's turn to use these tunnels.

With a shared nod, the team entered through the heavy iron door. The air grew damp and foul as they descended into the sewers, the narrow walkways barely raised above the slurry of waste that trickled beneath their feet. Each soldier’s weapon was held at the ready, eyes scanning every shadow as they advanced cautiously through the tunnel. The team moved precisely at each corner or cross-section, forming up and covering each other’s movements, their steps almost soundless against the stone.

Adrian was in the middle of the pack. He reached for the map given to him by Warlord Qasim, a crude sketch. The stench of the sewers made his stomach churn, and he fought the urge to gag, breathing shallowly through his mouth as he studied the map. The route was clear enough, and he quickly slid the map back into his pocket, signalling the team to continue moving. After what felt like an eternity of wading through the darkness, a ladder finally appeared at the end of a narrow passage. Adrian felt a rush of anticipation as they approached it. He checked the map once more, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

"This is it," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint trickling of water below. "Once we're up there, we've got three blocks to cover to the Safehouse. Expect enemy resistance, but hopefully, we can dispatch them without causing a god-damn firefight. Check your weapons—silencers only. Let’s move."

He took the lead, stepping up to the ladder. The metal was cold under his gloved hands as he climbed, every muscle in his body tensing as he neared the top. With a deep breath, he braced himself and pushed hard against the panel overhead. It scraped against the stone as he slid it aside, the sound loud in the silence. Adrian's pistol was in his hand instantly, his eyes scanning the street above, searching for any sign of movement. The night was still, save for three Afghan soldiers a short distance away, murmuring among themselves, their faces lit by the dull glow of cigarettes.

Adrian slowly holstered his weapon, then signalled for his team to move up. One by one, they emerged from the manhole, their movements precise and coordinated. The last man carefully replaced the cover, ensuring their presence would go unnoticed. The team moved silently, keeping to the shadows as they crept closer to the three soldiers. Adrian's heart pounded in his chest as he pressed the microphone button on his radio, his voice a low, controlled murmur.

"Three hostiles, 1 o’clock. We need to dispatch them quietly. Fuchs, Dorada, you’re with me. Go for the kill, then hide the bodies."

With barely a nod, Fuchs and Dorada slipped into the darkness with Adrian, each man moving with a lethal purpose. They approached the soldiers like a predator stalking their prey. Adrian had positioned himself behind the nearest soldier, his hand steady as he drew his knife. He caught Fuchs and Dorada's eyes, giving the signal. In perfect unison, they struck. Adrian launched himself over a nearby barricade, his hand clamping down over the soldier's mouth, muffling any cry. The knife slid effortlessly into the man’s neck. The soldier's body went limp, and Adrian eased him to the ground, his breath coming in controlled bursts. In the same breathless moments, Fuchs and Dorada dealt with their targets, the soft pop of silenced shots marking the end of the soldiers' lives.

Without a word, they dragged the bodies into the shadows, working quickly to conceal any evidence of their presence. The night remained still, the city unaware of the violence that had just occurred. The team moved on, navigating the streets towards the safehouse. Twenty minutes later, the team stood before a nondescript door. Adrian paused, listening intently for any sounds of danger from within. The street outside was deathly quiet, but something felt off. His instincts, honed by years of combat, told him that the night’s work wasn’t over yet. He nodded to his team, then slowly turned the handle. The door creaked open, and the team slipped inside, weapons raised, eyes scanning the dimly lit room. The telltale sound of muffled movement and whispered voices reached Adrian’s ears and he shook his head in disbelief. The room was not empty.

 

[Grant]

Adrian paused, calculating the team's next move. The safe house was supposed to be empty. A question lingered—friend or foe? Had the safehouse been compromised? The footsteps inside grew closer, and the muffled voices of men could be heard. The team pressed against the wall beside the door, gripping their rifles with tense anticipation. With a silent countdown from three, they burst through the door, swiftly clearing the room. Inside, men were tending to injured soldiers slumped against the wall. Most had no weapons within reach and surrendered quickly as Vanguard stormed in. A quick assessment revealed that the soldiers belonged to Qasim's militia and were promptly released.

Adrian exhaled sharply before addressing the room. "Qasim sent us. What are you doing here? This safe house was supposed to be empty. Who's in charge?"

One of the men stepped forward, extending a hand in a gesture of peace.

"I am, sir. This is my unit. We had to retreat here after an assault a few hours ago. We've taken heavy losses. A few good men died, and some won't make it much longer. We must get out, but we're stuck in a bad spot here."

Adrian wiped the sweat from his brow, weighing their options. He glanced at the wounded men leaning against the walls and spoke softly.

"Get your men patched up and ready to move. I'll figure something out."

He stepped aside and approached Fuchs, one of his team members. "Prepare the men to move out and secure the route back to the sewer system," he instructed. Pulling out his satphone, Adrian dialled Qasim's number, speaking with precision.

"Qasim, it's Wolff. There's an injured team at the safehouse that needs an exit. I'm escorting them to the sewer where we entered the city. Can you have your people meet us there?"

The warlord agreed, barking orders on the other end to mobilize his men towards the sewer exit. Adrian thanked him and ended the call. Grabbing his rifle, he moved towards the street. Within 15 minutes, the injured men were being assisted outside while the able-bodied prepared to defend. The group advanced cautiously, sticking to the shadows of back alleys to avoid detection. It took over thirty minutes to reach the sewer manhole undetected, but they managed it. The Vanguard team immediately secured the perimeter as the injured were lowered into the manhole. Adrian urged them to hurry.

"Move quickly; we don't have much time before a patrol passes through."

The militia leader tapped Adrian's shoulder in silent gratitude as he passed by, descending into the manhole. Adrian watched as the last few men lowered, then moved to close the cover. He saw Qasim's familiar grin, looking up at him. Qasim spoke quietly before leading the group away.

"I'll call you at 0700 hours. I have a big job for you tomorrow. Get some rest and Godspeed."

Adrian nodded, sliding the manhole cover back in place without hesitation. He and his team then retreated to the safe house to await the call.

 

[Grant]

The dim glow of a single light cast shadows across the abandoned safehouse where the Vanguard unit had set up camp for the night. Outside, the sporadic hum of vehicles and the distant chatter of patrolling soldiers served as a constant reminder of the volatile world beyond their fragile sanctuary. Adrian lay sprawled on a thin mattress, drifting through the shallow realms of sleep. Rest was a luxury seldom afforded in their line of work.

A sudden vibration originating from deep within Adrian's bergen disrupted his stillness. The persistent buzzing awakened him from his slumber, his eyes fluttering open to meet the darkness. Instinctively, his hand moved towards the vibrations. His fingers brushed against the cold metal of his rifle before settling on the bergen where the phone was. He propped himself up slowly, careful not to disturb the men scattered around him. Glancing at the entrance, he noticed one of the men on guard was perched on a wooden crate. The guard acknowledged Adrian with a slight nod and a flicker of a smile, his eyes gleaming with alertness and exhaustion. Clutching the phone, Adrian rose to his feet, using the cracked wall for support as he manoeuvred around sleeping bodies. He slipped into an adjacent room, its windows boarded up, offering a semblance of privacy amidst the chaos. Pressing the phone to his ear, he answered in a hushed, measured tone.

"What's the play?" Adrian's voice was cold, laced with uncertainty and fatigue.

A familiar voice crackled through the line, "The city is beginning to fall into our hands. Many ANA forces have fallen back to the Shahre Naow district to reinforce a last stand. We're looking at hundreds of armed troops within a three-mile radius, and we're not risking a direct confrontation; it's much too risky. I need you and your men to focus your efforts on the southwestern area of the district while we cordon off the remaining forces into Shahre Naow."

Adrian's brow furrowed as he reached back into his bergen, retrieving a folded map loaded with markings from their previous missions. Spreading it against the wall, his eyes traced the outlined streets and strategic points, settling on Qasim's specified area.

"Southwest..." he muttered, his finger hovering over the map. "That's the Presidential Palace. What the hell can we do there? I have a small number of men, Qasim."

"Yes, it is, and I know your battle strength," Qasim confirmed, his voice steady. "This is why I brought you and your men on board. We need a delicate touch, and luckily for me, most of your men are ex-special forces. I need you to infiltrate the palace and free the Council of Ministers, including the Prime Minister. I've arranged for messages to be sent out informing them of your arrival in due time."

Adrian's mind raced, piecing together the implications of such a mission. It was bold yet stunk of suicide. He couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there was more to this than Qasim was letting on.

"You'll send out messages?" Adrian's voice sharpened. "None of this makes sense, Qasim. Not one thing... I need to know what is happening, or we walk from this."

The intensity of his tone echoed through the empty room, seeping through the thin walls and stirring the men outside. A few of them stirred awake, their survival instincts kicking in as they grasped their rifles and scanned their surroundings. Realizing there was no immediate threat, they exchanged glances and shifted closer to the doorway, ears perked to catch snippets of the conversation unfolding within.

A heavy sigh emanated from the other end of the line before Qasim spoke again, his voice softer, almost pleading. "Alright, calm down. You're right; you deserve the truth."

Adrian remained silent, his jaw clenched as he waited for the explanation to determine their next move.

"This is bigger than you and me," Qasim began. "After the Taliban takeover, the Afghan government has been secretly funding a coup against themselves to overthrow the regime. They've realized that conventional methods won't work, so they're orchestrating a strategic collapse to rebuild stronger. I was approached to unite the militias to lead this covert operation."

Adrian's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "You defected from the ANA years ago. Why would they trust you now?"

"Because they need someone who knows both sides," Qasim replied, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. "Someone who understands the landscape and can manoeuvre through the chaos. If I succeed, I've been promised reinstatement as General, and my men will be restored to their rightful positions within the ANA. But we can't do this without you, Adrian. Freeing the diplomats is the key to turning the tide and initiating the political takeover from a place of safety outside the city. We never intended to take the Palace."

A tense silence settled between them as Adrian weighed the risks and rewards. He glanced back toward the doorway where the silhouettes of his men lingered, their faces etched with concern and unspoken questions. These were men he'd fought alongside for years, and he trusted them with his life as they did with him. Leading them into a mission of this magnitude required absolute certainty. Adrian ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling slowly as he contemplated their options. Backing out meant turning their backs on a chance to change the war's course, but moving forward meant diving headfirst into the lion's den without guaranteeing survival. Adrian stepped back into the other room and met each of his men's gazes. He raised the phone back to his ear, his resolve hardening in his voice.

"When do you need us to move?"

A palpable sense of relief washed over Qasim's voice. "First light. I'll send you the coordinates and intel within the hour. Adrian... thank you."

"Save it," Adrian replied curtly. "Just promise me you can get these diplomats and my team out of here once we have them. We're risking everything here."

"You have my word."

Ending the call, Adrian stood in the dimly lit room, the weight of the approaching mission pressing heavily on his shoulders. He folded the map back into his bergen and gazed upon his men, who waited for instruction. "Alright, listen up," he began, his voice commanding yet calm. "We've got a new mission, and it's a big one. At first light, we're heading to the Presidential Palace to extract the Council of Ministers and the Prime Minister."

A murmur passed around the group as they exchanged glances, processing the seriousness of the task ahead. Adrian continued, his tone bearing no argument.

"This is our chance to make a real difference, to turn this war around. It's risky, no doubt, but if we succeed, we can help reclaim this country from the Taliban and bring some semblance of peace back to Kabul."

One of the men stepped forward to pledge his agreement to the mission, a determined glint in his eye. The others stepped forward, voicing their agreement one by one. The team formed a united front on which Vanguard was built: teamwork, dedication, and loyalty to the cause. Nothing mattered in that moment more than the mission ahead.

"Thank you. Get some rest; we have a long day ahead of us, gentlemen." Adrian nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

As the men settled back down, mentally and physically preparing for the mission ahead, Adrian found himself gazing out through a crack in the boarded-up window. The city sprawled before him, a tapestry of shadows and dimmed lights. Dawn was still hours away, but Adrian felt a flicker of positiveness ignite within him for the first time in a long while. The path ahead was heavy with danger, but together, they had a chance to change the course of a nation torn by war.

 

[Grant]

Adrian leaned over the map, spreading it across the table as soon as he'd heard about the mission. His eyes darted through the maze of streets and buildings, each aerial image and palace plan scattered around him like pieces of a deadly puzzle. Every road held a possibility, and each path had a different strategy for entry. Yet, despite the myriad of options, his mind kept returning to his earlier conversation with Warlord Qasim. The news was grim—the number of troops in the area had tripled in just a day. What once seemed challenging now felt impossible.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Adrian's mind raced. The task was daunting, but failure was not an option. Suddenly, a thought struck him—a risky plan that might work. He snatched the phone from the table and quickly dialled.

"Qasim, it's Wolff," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos in his head. "How easily can you get me a black SUV with tinted windows? Any direct assault is a death sentence here. I’m going in under the radar. I'll need you on standby for extraction when I give the call. I’ll arrange a distraction at the front to keep everyone occupied. If we can reach the eastern plaza, there are four helipads. Can you get a chopper nearby? We'll pose as a foreign delegation's security. Tell the Ministers we're coming and get them to fool security for us."

There was a pause, and then Qasim chuckled. "Very daring, Adrian. Give me a few hours. I'll get you the SUV and ensure you get a lift home. I’ll do my best to get the Ministers on board."

Adrian thanked him and hung up. He turned to his team, who had been waiting for the signal. "Gather around," he called out, his voice carrying a weight of authority and urgency.

The room filled with the soft shuffle of boots as the troops surrounded the small wooden table, eyes fixed on the man who would lead them into the heart of the storm. Adrian glanced at each of them, his lips curling into a quick, confident smile. They needed to believe in this plan—no matter how crazy it seemed.

"Alright, here’s the deal," Adrian began, calm but firm. "We’re going undercover. Two of us will go in as foreign delegates, one as an aide, and the four others as private security. Our cover story? We’re here because of the chaos in Kabul. It’s plausible and simple—no need for elaborate lies. Once inside, we'll head straight to the conference room where all the ministers are gathered. Everything will seem legitimate; the messages have already been passed to security. They'll be expecting us."

He paused, letting the plan sink in before continuing. "Now, for the other two. You’ll be positioned on the roof of Amani High School, just a short distance from the courtyard we’ll be entering. One of you will be the sniper, and the other will control the aerial drone to locate and spot targets. The drone’s battery is low, so use it wisely. The sniper's job is to clear a path to the helipads on the eastern side without giving away your position. Once we’re close, you make your way to the helipads. Qasim is bringing a helicopter big enough for all of us."

He took a breath, scanning the room. "It’s a lot, but it’s our best shot. SUV will be here within the next few hours. Any questions?"

The team remained silent, their faces stoic but focused. They had been through countless missions, but this one felt different—more complex, more vital. They understood the stakes and shook their heads individually to signify their readiness.

"Alright," Adrian nodded, satisfied with their resolve. "Let’s get to work."

As the troops dispersed to prepare, Adrian remained at the table, his eyes tracing the lines of the map once again. The weight of the mission bore down on him, but he shoved the doubt aside. They had a plan and would soon put it into action.

 

[Grant]

The once-quiet street stirred with a vehicle's arrival, and Adrian, who had been patiently waiting, instinctively reached for his rifle. The familiar weight of the weapon in his hands brought him a sense of readiness. Moving with the practised silence of a seasoned soldier, he crossed the room and approached the badly boarded-up window. Through the gaps in the wood, he could see the street below.

The SUV's sleek exterior gleamed under the light, and Adrian watched intently as four men casually exited the vehicle. Adrian's eyes missed nothing. Some of the men dispersed while one man approached the safe house door. Adrian's grip tightened on his rifle as he observed the man leave a package before rejoining his comrades, who all disappeared down the street. Adrian remained at his post until he was confident they were out of sight. Only then did he move to the front door. His senses were on high alert, every noise amplified as he cautiously opened the door just enough to retrieve the package. The door creaked slightly, and Adrian's heart quickened, but the street remained empty. He quickly grabbed the package and closed the door, securing it behind him before returning to the table in the centre of the safe house.

The package was nondescript, save for a small tag attached to the exterior. Adrian hesitated for a moment, then read the message written on it:

Happy Hunting
- A Friend

A grin spread across Adrian's face, a rare expression in a place as grim as this. He knew Abbas had sent it and knew well enough to understand that this package was more than just a delivery; it was a statement. He tore away the packaging to reveal two tailored suits, each with a matching tie. The fabric was immaculate, a stark contrast to the war-torn surroundings of the safe house. Adrian carefully laid the suits on the table and glanced around the room.

"Listen up, everyone," he called out, his voice carrying the weight of command. "We leave in five minutes, so get ready. Klein, you're wearing this."

Oskar Klein, the other soldier assigned as the Aide for this mission and Adrian's second-in-command of the whole operation in Afghanistan, nodded and moved to retrieve one of the suits. Meanwhile, Adrian set his rifle against the table and unbuckled his bergen. Piece by piece, his gear clattered to the floor. The sound was loud in the otherwise silent room. Adrian felt a strange mix of vulnerability and relief with each item dumped. The weight that had become so familiar was now gone, leaving him feeling oddly exposed. He slid his Kevlar vest back on, but it was against his skin this time. The idea of walking into a warzone without protection was unthinkable, even if the mission required a certain level of deception. The transformation was striking as he buttoned the crisp white shirt over the vest. Gone was the heavily armed soldier; a man who could easily pass for a diplomat stood in his place. Appearances were deceiving, but he had no intention of going unarmed. He strapped a knife to his leg and slid his sidearm into one of the suit's pockets, ensuring he had a few spare magazines tucked away.

Time was ticking, and after five minutes, Adrian called out the final order. "Everyone, get into the car."

The soldiers moved with precision, each man slipping into his assigned seat as if they'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Two of them, designated for the support part of the mission, opened the trunk and climbed inside before closing the hatch behind them. The SUV's heavily tinted windows concealed the activity within, keeping their preparations hidden from prying eyes.

Adrian settled into his seat and leaned forward, speaking quietly but firmly to the driver. "Head towards Amani High School. We'll stop there on our way to the Palace Gates."

As the SUV rumbled to life and began to move, Adrian stared out the window, his mind already focused on the task ahead. The driver expertly navigated the narrow streets, the SUV winding through the maze of alleyways and broken roads throughout the city. The route was carefully chosen to avoid main thoroughfares where checkpoints or patrols might lurk. The once-bustling city was now a maze of destruction—buildings scarred by gunfire, rubble spilling into the streets, and the occasional flicker of light from a distant window. The vehicle manoeuvred past the remnants of a burned-out car, its charred husk a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked around every corner.

Finally, the SUV rounded a corner, and the silhouette of Amani High School came into view. The old school building stood in stark contrast to the decaying structures around it, its walls still intact, though the grounds had long been abandoned. Adrian leaned forward slightly, signalling to the driver to slow down. The vehicle stopped at the school’s entrance, out of view from the Palace. The soldiers in the trunk readied themselves, silently preparing to slip out and begin their part of the mission. With one last glance around, Adrian gave the order.

“Move out.”

They popped the rear hatch without a word, sliding out with practised precision. The area was quiet, and the air was thick with tension as they pressed their backs against the wall of the old high school, moving in sync to avoid detection. Using the car as cover, they advanced quickly toward the school entrance, their senses sharp and weapons ready. The silence of the hallways was almost eerie, broken only by the soft rustle of their gear. They moved as shadows, navigating the maze of empty classrooms, where desks sat in neat rows, untouched by the chaos outside. Each door they passed was cautiously opened, and every room was checked and cleared. They were focused, yet a single thought lingered: this place had once been filled with students' laughter, the sound of lessons being taught, and the promise of a better future. Now, it stood as a mere waypoint in a mission that could determine the fate of many.

The gravity of their task sank in more profound as they approached the stairwell leading to the rooftop. They pushed through the heavy door, stepping out onto the roof. The warm air greeted them again as they swiftly cleared the area, ensuring no surprises awaited them. Once they confirmed the roof was clear, the two operatives moved swiftly to the edge and began surveillance. The cityscape stretched before them, with the opulent Palace Gardens sprawling nearby. One operative, his gaze focused and steady, set up his sniper rifle, bracing it securely against the rooftop’s edge for stability. Meanwhile, his partner expertly deployed a drone, sending it aloft to capture real-time footage of the palace and its surroundings.

The drone’s live feed quickly revealed a daunting sight: the palace was heavily guarded, encircled by ANA troops and fortified positions that would make any direct approach perilous. It was clear that evading confrontation would be a challenge.

Below, the SUV driver placed a single block of C4 explosives beneath the vehicle's chassis near the fuel tank. Once his task was complete, he slid back into the driver’s seat and began carefully navigating the SUV from the side street and onto the road toward the palace’s main gate. As the SUV manoeuvred into position, Adrian’s earpiece crackled to life. The familiar voice of one of the rooftop operatives cut through the static.

"This is bloody crazy. We all need a Pysch Eval ... Good luck and god's speed, boys."

 

[Grant]

The SUV rolled up to the palace's security checkpoint, and Adrian's eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. Hundreds of troops lined the fenceline and patrolled the Palace Gardens, a small fraction, he knew, of what might await them inside. The driveway stretched ahead, leading directly to the archway and the buildings housing the ministers. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sharp rap on the driver’s window. A guard peered in, exchanging tense words with the driver, who was trying to explain that they were escorting two diplomatic officials meeting with the Council of Ministers. Adrian held his breath, waiting to see if the explanation would suffice. He rested his hand on the pistol he had stashed away in his suit jacket in case it was needed.

The guard stepped back from the car, his movements slow and deliberate. Retreating into the safety of his control booth, he picked up the phone and began dialling. Adrian watched him intently, noticing how the guard kept glancing at the car with suspicion and unease. Every time the guard spoke into the phone, he turned his head, shielding his words from view as if they were too dangerous to be overheard. Adrian leaned forward, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I think we’ve been compromised. Be ready to move—fast.”

Through the windshield, Adrian caught sight of a man in a dark suit walking briskly down the pathway toward the checkpoint. The man’s confident stride and sharp attire suggested he was no ordinary passerby. Adrian's eyes narrowed, his mind racing to decipher the unfolding situation. Inside the booth, the guard carefully placed the receiver back on its cradle, his movements slow and calculated. With a wary glance back at the SUV, he reached for his rifle and pulled it into a ready position. Summoning the other guards with a sharp gesture, he approached the vehicle again, his eyes stern and resolute.

“There’s no meeting with the Council of Ministers scheduled,” the guard barked, his voice laced with authority and fear. “Get out of the car and put your hands up. Now!”
The muzzle of his rifle was a mere breath away from the driver’s head, the tension in the air thickening with every second. Adrian’s hand inched towards his pistol, instincts screaming at him to act. But before he could move, the man in the suit reached the checkpoint, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Sergeant, lower your weapon!” The man’s command was sharp and authoritative. “You're pointing a gun at a diplomatic delegation from Germany. Have you lost your goddamn mind?” The guard’s eyes widened in recognition and horror. His rifle dipped as he stammered out an apology. “Prime Minister, I—I’m so sorry. They weren’t on the schedule, and I couldn’t let them through without proper authorization.”

The Prime Minister’s gaze was icy as he responded, “Next time before you aim at someone, try to resolve it without violence. This could have been a disaster. Let them through immediately!" The Sergeant hastily retreated into the booth, his hands moving swiftly to activate the mechanical gate that led into the complex. Meanwhile, Adrian took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as he rolled down the car window.

"Prime Minister, I can't thank you enough for your assistance," Adrian said, his voice sincere. "And please, don't be too hard on him. Your man was doing his job, nothing more."

The Prime Minister acknowledged Adrian's words with a nod, an understanding smile crossing his face like old friends sharing a private joke. Without another word, he turned, guiding the sleek black SUV up the winding path toward the palace archway. The vehicle glided smoothly along the stone-lined driveway, its engine a low, steady hum that matched the calm before the storm brewing inside Adrian’s mind. As they approached the grand entrance of Arg Palace, the car came to a gentle halt in front of the massive double doors.

Adrian waited a beat longer than necessary, giving his men time to exit first. He wanted everything to look just right. The door was opened for him, and he slid out with practised ease, the warmth of the midday sun immediately wrapping around him. As he stood, he reflexively adjusted his tie, loosening it slightly to ease the tightness in his throat. He had never been one for formal attire, and the constricting knot felt like a noose around his neck, but today, he couldn’t afford to break character. The group assembled around the SUV, forming a tight, disciplined cluster as they approached the entrance. The Prime Minister had already turned back, striding down the steps to meet them halfway.

"Gentlemen," the Prime Minister greeted them, his voice smooth and diplomatic, "thank you for coming. We're almost ready to start the meeting, but we're waiting for the Foreign Affairs Minister to arrive. He shouldn't be too long. I'll escort you to the meeting hall to avoid further troubles."

Adrian accepted the Prime Minister's outstretched hand, shaking it with a firm grip as he stepped through the grand entrance into the palace atrium. The moment he crossed the threshold, the atmosphere of grandeur and timeless elegance enveloped him. The sheer scale of the space caught him off guard despite all the briefings and photographs he’d seen beforehand. The foyer stretched out before him, an expansive marvel of architectural brilliance. High ceilings soared above, supported by towering columns of polished marble gleaming under the chandelier's soft glow. It was a place designed to awe and intimidate—a symbol of power.

The Prime Minister led the way through the intricate maze of hallways, each turn revealing another layer of the palace’s opulence. They passed squads of soldiers stationed strategically along their path, each standing at attention as they moved by. Finally, they arrived at a large set of double doors, ornate and imposing. With a slight push, the Prime Minister opened the doors and stepped aside, allowing the group to enter.

Inside, the council chamber was nearly full. Council members sat in their designated seats around a large, polished table, their eyes turning toward the new arrivals. Adrian acknowledged them with a curt nod as he walked in, the doors closing with a soft but final thud behind him. The moment they did, the composed mask he had worn cracked, and the sharp edge of his true self emerged.

"Where is your Foreign Minister?" Adrian’s voice was a blade cutting through the polite silence of the room. "We don't have time to mess around here, Prime Minister. He's got five minutes, or we're leaving without him."

The Prime Minister’s expression remained calm, though his eyes flickered with a hint of urgency. "He's coming," he assured Adrian. "The Russians have been on the phone, and he's just tying up that. It won't be long."

Without a word, Adrian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He punched in a number, bringing the device to his ear. The dial tone echoed in his ear until a voice on the other end cut it off.

"Qasim," Adrian said, his voice low and controlled, "We're inside, and I'm with the Council now. I'm starting the extract in five minutes. Wait for my signal."

There was a pause as Abbas, on the other end of the line, processed the information. The silence was finally broken by a calm, steady voice laced with a hint of curiosity: "What's the signal?"

A slow smile spread across Adrian's face, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His lips curled into a grin that sent a chill down the spine of anyone who saw it. "You'll see it," Adrian replied smoothly, his tone almost playful.

He ended the call and pocketed his phone, focusing on the men before him. Their expressions were a mix of fear and determination, each knowing their lives would be irrevocably changed. The Council were merely diplomats, not soldiers, but they were on edge too, knowing that failure here was not an option. Adrian stepped closer to the table, his presence commanding and authoritative. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that cut through the tension like a knife.

"Listen up," he began, his eyes locking onto each man in turn. "When this goes down, you are to do exactly what I say when I say it. If you don't, you will die. And if you die, you will kill the rest of us as well. Do you understand me?"

The men nodded, their fear palpable. They knew the stakes and knew that hesitation or disobedience would mean certain death, not just for themselves but for everyone involved. This operation was more than just a mission; it was a high-stakes gamble where the price of failure was too great to contemplate. Satisfied with their silent agreement, Adrian straightened up. He could feel the moment's weight pressing down on them all, but he thrived in it, his mind sharp and focused. He was ready and knew that when the time came, he would deliver. The minutes ticked by, each feeling like an eternity as they waited for the moment to strike. Adrian's thoughts were a whirlwind of strategy and contingency plans, his mind several steps ahead, anticipating every possible outcome.

And then, the time came.

"Where is your man, Prime Minister? We can't wait any longer." Adrian's words were a clear warning, his impatience barely contained. He moved toward the window, knowing Qasim was going to the helipads on the outskirts of the Palace grounds. Five, maybe ten minutes from the distraction—that’s all they had. Adrian hoped his urgency would force the Foreign Affairs Minister to move quickly.

He glanced outside, the sun glaring off the pristine lawns of the Palace grounds. Apart from the guards patrolling the perimeter fence, the area was eerily quiet. Adrian's eyes scanned the surroundings, but there was a small amount of movement. He unlatched the window, lifting it slightly to let in a warm breeze. The day was calm, almost too serene for what was about to unfold. Turning back to his men, Adrian gave them a firm nod—a silent command they understood immediately. They moved swiftly, taking their positions near the windows, each man ready and focused. These were seasoned operatives, men who had been through countless missions together. They knew what to do.

A small smile crept onto Adrian’s face as he crouched by the window, his hand hovering over the detonator hidden in his jacket. This was the moment they had prepared for. The anticipation buzzed in his veins, a familiar thrill that came before every mission.

"Move on my order only," he instructed, his voice low but commanding. "Let the distraction draw as many as possible to the front lawns."

Outside, the guards continued their patrol, unaware of the impending disaster. Adrian’s fingers tightened around the detonator, his pulse quickening. He primed the device—a block of C4 planted beneath the SUV parked near the Palace’s main entrance. There was no turning back now. With a determined motion, Adrian pressed down on the switch.

The explosion shattered the peaceful afternoon, a thunderous boom that echoed across the Palace grounds. The SUV they arrived in was engulfed in a fiery blast, metal fragments flying in all directions. Soldiers stationed nearby were thrown to the ground, and some were killed instantly by the force of the explosion. Thick, black smoke billowed into the sky, staining the bright day with chaos again. Alarms blared throughout the complex, a cacophony of panic. From all corners, troops rushed toward the front lawns, desperate to control the situation. The plan was unfolding perfectly—the explosion had drawn attention away from the back of the Palace, where Adrian and his team would escape to the helipads.

The voice of the drone operator stationed at the High School crackled through Adrian’s earpiece, urgency apparent in his tone:

"Sir, the distraction is working. There's a mass movement towards the front of the complex—they think they're under attack. You still have minor resistance at the back of the Palace. Something that sniper support should be able to handle. We're ready to cover you. Good luck."

Adrian acknowledged the drone operator and then slid the window fully open. He helped the diplomats through the frame individually, guiding them with quick precision. As the room emptied, he glared at the meeting room door, silently hoping the Minister would make it in time.

 

[Grant]

The door to the conference room burst open at the last moment, crashing against the wall with a loud thud. Adrian spun on his heel and raised his pistol. His sharp eyes locked on the figure in the doorway—Minister Agha, eyes wide in shock, staring down the gun barrel. He froze, paralyzed by the sight of it being aimed towards him. His leather briefcase slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a soft thud as he instinctively raised his arms in surrender.

Adrian’s gaze flicked over the minister’s dark, well-tailored suit and polished shoes. He slowly lowered the weapon but kept his expression sharp and focused.

"Minister Agha, I assume?" Adrian asked, his voice steady but impatient. The minister nodded shakily, his eyes still glued to the gun. He bent down slowly, his trembling fingers gripping the briefcase handle.

"You're late. Quick, out of the window", Adrian snapped while waving the pistol towards the window behind him. The minister hesitated for a second, confusion clouding his face. But there was no time for questions. Adrian grabbed the minister by the arm, urgently pulling him toward the window. Adrian pushed the window open and gestured for him to climb through. Once both were outside. Adrian’s boots crunched against the gravel as he crouched beside the Minister and the rest of his team, who were all seeking refuge behind a row of manicured hedges.

Adrian tapped the small radio button on his chest plate, squinting against the sun. His voice was calm but urgent.

"We've exited out of the south side conference room window," he spoke into the mic, the words barely above a whisper. "I can't get everyone out without being seen. I need eyes and ears on the route to the helipad. Sniper is cleared hot where needed."

The sniper perched on the roof of the Amani High School gazed through his scope; he could see the helipad in the distance. His finger rested lightly on the trigger as he surveyed the guards patrolling the grounds. They moved in pairs and small groups, oblivious to the danger from above.

“Copy that,” the sniper responded, his voice steady. “Engaging.”

He shifted his position slightly, adjusting for the wind and glare. His first target was an isolated perimeter guard; his back was turned to the palace. The sniper’s breath was slow and even, his focus razor-sharp as the crosshairs settled on the man’s head and the trigger was squeezed. The shot was suppressed, a faint pop lost in the open air. The guard crumpled to the ground, collapsing into the shadows of a nearby column. To anyone watching from afar, he had merely taken a seat to rest.

“One down,” the sniper reported, his voice as steady as ever.

Adrian peeked out from behind the hedge, eyes locked on the path leading towards the helipad. It was wide and exposed, offering little in the way of cover. They’d be spotted if they didn’t move fast.

"Keep it quiet and clean," he murmured into the mic, his gaze darting between the guards and the palace’s towering walls. Through the sniper’s scope, another pair of guards came into view. They were walking in sync, side by side, chatting casually under the unforgiving sun. The sniper took a deep breath, waiting for the right moment. Just as one veered slightly to the right, the rifle’s crosshairs followed, and the trigger was pressed. The guard fell, his partner unaware for a split second before panic began to settle in. But before the man could react, a second suppressed shot echoed, and he joined his fallen comrade, slumping lifelessly to the ground.

“Two more down,” the sniper whispered.

“We’re moving up,” Adrian whispered into the mic. He crouched low, signalling the team to follow as they slipped silently from the hedgerow, darting between cover patches and keeping close to the stone facade. As they approached the corner of the building, Adrian raised his hand, signalling for the team to halt. His sharp eyes flicked up to the windows as each person passed, ensuring they stayed beneath the line of sight and ducking low to avoid detection.

The sniper's scope was sweeping across the grounds, his pulse steady but his gaze sharp. Suddenly, movement caught his attention. Two more guards were approaching from the east, their boots crunching against the gravel as they neared the team’s position. But the angle was wrong—the tall marble pillars flanking the walkway obscured his view, and the guards moved too quickly.

"You’ve got two more nearly on you," the sniper’s voice crackled through the earpiece, a note of urgency creeping into his otherwise calm demeanour. "Twenty meters. I can’t take both shots. The pillars are in the way.."

Adrian tensed, his mind racing. The guards were closing in fast, and he didn’t have time for mistakes. His eyes flicked to the corner ahead, where the team was stacked, waiting for his signal. He had no choice; this had to be done quietly. He reached down to his leg, his fingers curling around the hilt of his combat knife. The cold metal was familiar in his grip, a weapon he had used countless times before. He quickly passed it forward to the group's point man and made a gesture of neck slicing at him. The soldier nodded, knowing what to do.

“Five meters... Taking the shot,” came the sniper’s low, controlled voice over the radio.

A faint pop echoed through the air. One of the guards, mid-stride, jerked suddenly as the bullet struck him. His body slammed into the palace wall with a sickening thud, leaving a dark splatter of blood smeared across the pale stone. His limbs went slack, collapsing in a heap at the base of the wall, his head lolling unnaturally to one side. At the exact moment, the point man darted swiftly and silently from the corner like a shadow. He closed the distance to the second guard in a single, fluid motion. His arm moved like lightning, the gleam of the blade barely visible as he plunged the knife deep into the guard’s chest, between the ribs. The man’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening in a gasp of pain, but the point man was faster. His free hand clamped down over the guard’s mouth, muffling the dying man’s moans as they struggled in a deadly embrace. The two wrestled—briefly, the guard’s weakening hands clawing uselessly at the point man’s chest plate. But within moments, the guard’s strength faded. His body went limp, eyes rolling back as the life drained out of him. The point man lowered him gently to the ground, careful not to make a sound.

The team advanced cautiously, guiding the Ministers past the lifeless bodies strewn along their path. They moved with grim determination, stepping over the fallen guards as they made their way toward the helipads. The bright sun beat down on them, but the tension made the air feel thick. When the helipads finally came into view, they pressed themselves against the nearest wall, pausing to assess their next move.

Adrian stole a glance at his watch. Seven minutes passed since the truck explosion out front—a diversion that now felt like a lifetime ago. His eyes flicked upward, scanning the grounds. The chaos near the front of the palace was escalating; plumes of smoke billowed into the sky, and distant figures scrambled through the haze. From somewhere up ahead, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed, cutting through the air. Adrian flinched, instinctively flattening himself against the wall, unsure of the direction it came from. Moments later, the sporadic gunfire and shouting intensified. Adrian’s heartbeat quickened, but he forced himself to stay focused, his eyes darting toward the sounds.

A new sound emerged—low and ominous at first but growing louder and more distinct—multiple rotor blades slicing through the air at breakneck speed. Adrian turned sharply, his gaze lifting to the sky, just in time to see four UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters cutting through the horizon like dark, menacing birds of prey. The helicopters roared toward the palace. As they approached the palace walls, each helicopter split off in a different direction, banking hard to evade enemy fire. Their movements were precise and combat-honed. From above, the unmistakable whirring of their M134 miniguns spooled up. It filled the air, followed by the thunderous roar of gunfire as the miniguns unleashed a devastating torrent of rounds into the courtyard below.

The ground shook from the onslaught, dirt and debris exploding into the air as the Black Hawks rained down fire. Adrian watched as the courtyard turned into a battleground, soldiers scrambling for cover as the helicopters manoeuvred through the hail of bullets. The sound of the rotors and gunfire blended into a symphony of destruction, the battlefield quickly transforming into a scene of controlled chaos. Two helicopters broke free from their combat to bank towards the helipads and began their landing.

“This is our only chance. GO!” Adrian shouted, his voice rising above the din of gunfire and the loud thrum of rotor blades. The urgency in his tone spurred the team into motion, with no time left to second-guess. With adrenaline, they broke from the cover of the building’s wall, emerging into the open. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and dust, and the chaotic roar of battle filled their ears. Above them, the Black Hawks circled like predators, their miniguns spewing relentless streams of hot lead into the courtyard. Empty brass casings rained from the helicopters, rattling as they hit the ground in a metallic shower. Adrian followed up the rear of the movement; eyes focused ahead as he made sure everyone got across the open space, all while weaving through the thick smoke and debris. They passed directly beneath one of the hovering Black Hawks, dodging the storm of brass and stray rounds. The helicopters provided a deadly shield of fire, keeping the enemy pinned down as Adrian’s team escaped.

Reaching the nearest Black Hawk, the team loaded as many Ministers as possible into the cabin as the rotor wash kicked up dust and debris around them. The crew inside was already engaging the enemy, the roar of the miniguns almost drowning out the chatter amongst the crew as they climbed in. When the last team member was aboard both helicopters, they lifted off, banking hard to the right to speed away from the battle below. Inside, Adrian gripped the edge of the door, his eyes scanning the chaos unfolding beneath them. Even as they soared higher, the fight raged on, gunfire flashing like fireflies in the smoke-choked courtyard. He leaned out slightly, his heart still racing, watching as the Black Hawks continued to provide cover, raining destruction on their pursuers. The team inside Adrian’s helicopter began to fire back at any threats, their rifles cracking quickly as they returned fire through the open doors.

One of the helicopters lifted and broke the formation, veering off toward Amani High School. The sniper team was still positioned on the roof. The Black Hawk swooped low over the building, hovering just above the rooftop. The sniper team, moving swiftly, climbed aboard and were pulled to safety. The other helicopters, still under fire, continued to circle, their miniguns keeping the enemy suppressed as they ascended into the open sky to join the rest of their formation. The hum of the rotors filled the cabin, a welcome contrast to the chaos they’d just left behind.

Adrian’s eyes drifted across the distant horizon, where the mountains of Afghanistan loomed like silent sentries. The country was broken, scarred by years of war, but in this moment, as they soared away from the flames, something felt different. The ministers they had just saved, the mission they had just completed—it was more than just another battle. It was a step toward something better, something worth fighting for. Perhaps, after all the bloodshed, Afghanistan could still rise from the ashes.

A future was waiting, just beyond the smoke.