The cool night winds blew across my hair, rustling my long hair annoyingly into my eyes, making me curse quietly as I took a hand off of the binoculars that I hold to brush it outta the way. Boris, the ever vigilant along with the rest of the men were just right behind me, their uneasy silence speaking volumes of what exactly they thought of this whole...situation.
"Why are we still here? Don't you see? It's too well fortified. We must look somewhere else." Boris said, breaking the silence with a clear and bitter distaste in his mouth.
"Yep, I'd wager that another year or two of defenses, and it will stand aside Panjishir in terms of being a bitch to break through." I say without paying attention to him, Using the binoculars once more as I scope out the area tirelessly.
"What you just said gives us more than enough reason to move on, so why do you still not move?" Boris asked once more with a tired sigh. Oi, what gives you the right to sigh asshole? You don't gotta deal with the bullshit I have to go through!
"Oi, you must really like yapping endlessly huh?" I say with a smug grin, provoking him as I kept up my surveillance of the area in front of us.
"Hah? You're the one that agreed with me in the first place! Man… this is why I hate you so much!" He muttered in distaste as he ended his tirade with a multitude of curses.
"...Say, have you and your lot ever been to Panjishir?" I ask, seeing the very thing that I wanted to see, resulting in a small smile. Something rare these days, smiling genuinely. It's quite an odd feeling.
"Of course, why just a month before you joined up with us, we got-"
"You got repulsed." I say, cutting him off as I put the binoculars down, still looking over the valley.
"Time and time again, it was always the same story, you would come, destroy and get beaten back right?"
"...What of it?" Boris asked after an uneasy silence, I could practically feel his stare baring into my mind.
"It was absurdly simple, you bomb the hell outta the area, then have the boys roll up in the helicopters while having the mechanized forces drive into areas where the guerillas could have supported their brothers that were being assaulted by air where from, cutting them off from any support, right?" It was rhetorical, a slight and an explanation all at the same time.
"Well you wanna know one thing? If you keep doing the same thing over and over again, words tend to go around, you know?"
"What's your point here?"
"You still have that American fighter pilot on standby, correct?"
"That was like, one time-"
"Well, he's gonna make this infiltration a whole lot easier. Call him, tell him to fly from the east."
"What makes you think he will answer?"
"Oh, I don't know, Him flying is just the action with the highest chance of success. I'm lazy as all hell, so I would really appreciate it if you just begged on the radio to get him to fly by."
As I finished that offhand remark, a tense silence followed as I stood up from my crouched position behind the shrubbery. One look from their concerned and shocked faces told me everything that I needed to know.
"....What the hell?"
"Who the hell does he think he is.."
"Look here, you can't just talk to the lieutenant like that!"
"Yeah!"
I say nothing as I sigh inwardly, even in their darkest hour, these idiots still hold onto the foolish, idotic notion known as pride huh? Well, whatever, I don't really care if they die after all. There is nothing but pawns on this game of chess.
"...Calling him would lead to a higher success rate?" He asked, a serious look on his face. Hey! Glad to know that he's grasped the concept of maturity and responsibility! Sheesh, they grow up so fast!
"Yeah, it's either that, or we just go in and try to infiltrate the damn place ourselves. We, as in the not so small force that will most likely be discovered 10 steps in, We could probably do it, but it would cost us an arm and a leg." Sigh, just thinking about it puts me in an even more foul mode, worse yet is that I can't even afford to smoke my beloved cigarette-chan!
"...Sigh, I'll try, But I can't promise if he will come or not."
"It's ok, it doesn't even have to be the same guy that helped us, anybody will do really."
"...Fine."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"....Say, Miss pavlovna?"
"What?"
"What would you say is your favorite animal?"
"...That's a broad question, there are many animals. Even more that I like."
"But still, If you had to absolutely choose, which would you pick?"
"...I...don't know."
"Come now, surely there was at the very least one animal that you loved as a child?"
"..."
"Oh come now! There's no need to be so tight-lipped! For the record, my favorite is the Lion!"
"Eh? The Lion?"
"Yep! And I must say, they are quite fine creatures to look upon as well!"
"..."
"What? Don't believe me?"
"..Horse."
"What?"
"When I was a little child, I was always fond of horses."
"Hoh? And how so?"
"I just liked to ride them, nothing more, nothing less."
"They were always so cute as well, I always enjoyed feeding them and watching them hastily gobble the feed from my hands."
"You didn't ride them alone now did you?"
"No! Of course not! I was always accompanied by at least one adult whenever I rode upon a horse."
"Hoh? And this person is?"
"I don't see how you would gain to know that."
A pause, a tense silence behind the ever present smile. Small it was, but all the same still noticeable.
"...I see, My apologies then."
A hasty apology, A hasty cover up.
"Let us move on to another subject that is less...intrusive…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We heard the echoes of the engines long before we saw the plane, just how it usually was. In the darkest of night, under the pale luminescent moon, we saw the pale figure of the fighter jet that helped us out before. It was an imposing thing really, It looked like some demon right outta hell. And it was too, considering that it was helping us raise some hell, heh pun intended.
Now I am by no means a religious man, considering the shit that has happened to me ever so recently, but the sight I saw before my very own eyes? It was indeed a sight of biblical proportions. Like Moses parting the waves, there was suddenly a path. And all because of one plane.
It's frankly amazing how one can fear so much out of one little thing. Well, I do suppose that in this stage of the war, the enemy already knows damn well the consequences of getting caught by a fucking fighter jet, But still, absolutely amazing, that before they can see the damn thing, they're already getting into formations, strengthening positions that they suspect will be the first to get attacked. It's almost as if they've learned that aerial superiority is king, who woulda guessed?
"...And just like that, lo and behold, a fucking path." I say whilst cocking my pistol and double checking how much I have in the chamber, my knife ever ready. I'm not one for close combat, in fact, I hate close combat. No scratch that, I hate combat in general. But I'll be damned if I fucking get bayoneted and gutted like a pig in the chaos of a battle.
"How?" A serious strained voice, as if holding back his immense disbelief.
"It's quite simple actually, this is the most heavily defended. They don't need to have a hundred percent garrison here at all times, the trenches, wooded areas and all the easy defensible positions more than make up for any potential problems, they have wiggle room. And fighting guys like us? You're gonna bet your ass that they'll be diverting any available guys to the areas that need them the most."
"Even better that it's night as well, they're attention is not gonna be that focused here, they'll probably reinforce the left or right, hell maybe both. They sure as hell won't expect anybody here, of all places."
"And well, you fight in places like this? After a while you start to develop a sense of them eh?"
"Welp, time to go. Try not to fuck this up eh?" I say without looking at them, a scowl already on my face as I know what's gonna happen next.
What's gonna happen next you ask? Well, a whole fuck load of enemies, a mandatory sneaking mission, AND that one mission that you EVERY game forces on you where the annoying NPCS accompanying you. I always hated those things, and now I get to risk my life in a mission that involves all of those things. Great. Thanks God~
….And 88 steps in, God sends me his answer in the form of a hole. Not a natural hole mind you, but more of a secret entrance to a tunnel like hole. With just a single foot, I soon found myself losing all balance as I fell down into said hole. Like, Alice in wonderland or something, except I'm not in a fun happy go lucky world.
No, I find myself in an underground, fully modernized hanger if I had to describe it, where cables lie strewn over the place, and that the floor was concrete, the thoughts and images of something modern and inherently dangerous immediately flashed through my mind as I landed flat on my ass.
One second I see nothing but trenches and darkness and the next thing I see is a goddamn man right in front of me. Clearly a foreigner, with blonde hair and blue eyes. A second passes, then another as I lay there shocked, him as well as we both say nothing. The tension was thick, so thick that I felt as if I could suffocate just being in the same room as him.
Then I saw it, his mouth, a slight twitch, his eyes turning and then his head just starting to follow. I acted without even thinking, Shit like this all too familiar with me already as I grabbed my knife with swift speed and just shanked him, I didn't even aim, I just took my knife and stabbed him with all the force I could muster.
The knife went in with relative ease, A sharp gasp followed after, then heavy, quick breaths as the man quickly slumped to his knees, with me apparently stabbing the wind right outta him. As he fell to the ground, I saw for the slightest of moments his eyes. Tch. I always hated that, making eye contact with the guys you killed. It makes everything infinitely shitier.
...Well, whatever. That's one more thing to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life…Tch, I fucking hate this shit!
With a renewed frown on my face, I pull the knife from the now dead man (Not before kicking him into a corner) as I quickly move into some cover that at the very least hides me somewhat so that I can have a short breather to try and figure out wherever the hell I am.
A quick glance gives me some new pieces to this infuriatingly absurd puzzle. As I suspected, it is indeed an underground hangar of some sorts. The lights on the ceiling are somewhat dim. Could be an issue with the electricity or them merely wanting to skimp out on the electricity bills.
There are obviously foreign personnel walking around. But their clothes suggest them to be of a...auxiliary role, like engineers and technicians and that shit. None of them carried any heavy weaponry, just the occasional pistol here and there. All of them looked relaxed, with many of them just sitting and lazing around. Tch! Lucky bastards.
There are crates all over the place, seemingly filled with mechanical components. From what I can deduce currently as of right now. I would have to leave my cover and see, which I definitely will not do. Not without getting a better read on my immediate surroundings at the very least.
Another glance around the corner and I can see something. Something rather suspicious if I must add. It was a rather big thing you see, with a tarp placed over it. With buckets of paint and paintbrushes right next to the damn thing. But no, the most damning thing about it was the mere fact that it was just about jet sized. That raised some frightening alarms in my mind.
Foreign personal? An underground hanger? I know that they're pushing for a plane from the red army, so all of this makes some bit of sense. But why? Under that tarp is clearly a plane. Is it out of commission? If so, if they have the money to hire all of these foreigners then they sure as hell have enough money to fix the jet, so why? It doesn't make sense, why would they risk so much for another jet when they already got one? What does that woman have to do with this?
The noisy chatting along with the loud, resounding footsteps from the few guys who were walking around practically confirmed my suspicions. These bastards weren't here to fight, instead they were here to do something else. These guys were just too relaxed, they didn't give off the reading of fighters and soldiers for hire. No. These guys were technicians, it would make logical sense, a hanger like this? If the enemy wishes to use the planes, they'll have to at the very least keep it from going into disrepair.
But still, why? This is simply too fucking fishy. They already got a plane. They got an underground hanger like this, they got the cash to hire a large group of foreign experts, what's their game here? If they got a plane, why would they still hold her hostage?..Wait, money?
A quick glance at a crate nearby that was hidden by some other crates, a good place to cover me...Sigh. Fuck. I run stealthy straight to the crates, hoping to god that no one will see me, and luckily they don't. Great, that's one step finished, I guess. Now the next step is to open the fucking thing as silently as possible.
With a little prying and mental swearing, it makes some noise, but not enough to the point where it's visible. Setting it to the side, the sight of the contents of the crates almost made me whistle. You see, it was filled to the brim with ak's. No, not the russian ak's, these ones were cheaper, but they still got the job done. These were type 56's, literally any man in the Mujaheddin who had an "AK." Had one of these babies.
They were good, and the Pakistani's over the border funneled them to us back when I was still rolling with them. They were insanely popular too. The second they were introduced, they were gone. So that begs the question, why were these here? I'm not a moron, there are a shit ton of these crates everywhere in this hanger, so it's more than safe to say that nearly all of these crates have the same kinda heat that this particular one is packing.
Tch. Great! Just fucking great! An underground hanger, Foreign personnel, a jet and a shit ton of Chinese ak's. What more huh?...Shit. Shouldn't have said that. In front of me is now a piece of paper. Not just any piece of paper mind you, no, this paper was written entirely in Japanese. Something importantly irritating. It must have slid from under the crate top that I set to the side and directly onto the crate itself.
With one hand on the paper and the other on my knife, I quickly glance at the wording. And I am not happy at all. Nope, none, nadda. This shit just got even more complex.
Why, why the fuck, would the Yakuza, of all Criminal organizations be involved here? What exactly is fucking happening? Seriously, what is this bullshit? Tojo clan? Omi-Seiwa alliance? The Washimine family? Why? Man, what the fuck is going on here? Is this like some worldwide conspiracy? Why the fuck are the Yakuza helping out the mujaheddin?
Seriously, this paper states that this crate and the 7 others are simply a gift, and I quote,
"A gesture of friendship."
Don't fuck with me. What. is. Going. On. here?
"Aye bob, where the hell are ya? You said you'd walk with me to the office so that we store these files together-" A sudden voice brings me out of my focused state on this piece of paper.
The voice came first, then the footsteps, one second later and they would have walked around the corner and discovered me. We can't have that happening now can we?
As soon they turn the corner, I grab them, and with my free hand, I force it against their mouth, silencing them to nothing but mere muffles as I force my knife into his throat.
I can say absolutely nothing as I see him slowly stop struggling, his eyes losing life by the second as I still force my hand over his mouth. A second passes, then another, and soon he crumples to the floor, not without my intervention however, as I lay him down as peacefully and gently as possible. Don't want to make noise now do I?
He's completely devoid of strength now, his breaths now faint and gaspy as he looks at me. His eyes are now tearing up as he looks completely broken hearted. His face now contours in despair and pain as he can barely breath with what little strength he has left. He looked so...young.
I grimace at this, It never was something I enjoyed, looking at those who I've killed. It's not like the last guy I killed a couple of minutes ago was better. But this? Shit like this just sucked. It sucked so much you know? It was tiring, and downright sucky. It sucked even more that beneath it all, my heart still felt heavy, weak and fragile, as if a single gust of wind was more than enough to shatter it into a thousand pieces.
I hate this shit man. I just want to go home.
I don't want to move from my spot, I just want to stay here and lament, throw a fucking pity party, I don't want to move another step. I just want to stay still, because it hurts just to keep moving. It hurts.
But I can't. I can't sit still. I can't throw a pity party, because I'm so close. I get this woman outta here, and I can finally see the damned finish line. I finish this mission, and I'm sure things will resolve on their own. She's a smart woman, and important to boot, if there's anybody, she alone can unfuck this messed up situation.
With a glance to the side, I see the files that the man dropped, luckily none of them have left the files so that's that. I grab one of the files quickly, skimming through all the shit, in hope of something, just anything, that will get me some clear answers.
"...Hah? What the fuck is this? John Doe? John Smith? Ivan Ivanovich? Ivan Petrovich Sidorov?"
Why in the flying fuck do they have files on both Russian and American pilots?