[Main POV]
Herat, Afghanistan is an oasis city and the third-largest city in Afghanistan. Or was.
Herat, Afghanistan was no longer a city. It was now a giant pile of rubble.
The Citadel of Herat, also known as the Citadel of Alexander, dated back to 330 BC. It no longer existed.
The Musalla Complex was gone. Not a single column remained.
There were no people. But there was also no blood. However, I knew better.
The hundreds of thousands of residents of Herat were dead. I could smell it from miles away. The tens of millions of missiles used on Afghanistan had torn and burned bodies beyond recognition. The most I had found so far was a finger, cooked and blacked by the explosions and subsequent fires.
As I continued to breathe in the smell of burnt human remains, I made my way to the Citadel. Or where the Citadel used to be. I always wanted to tour the Middle East. By the time I finally got to go in my past life, it was in a war, and everything was already in ruin. And in this life, I had brought the ruin.
From the position of where the Citadel used to be, I could see the entire city. It was relatively flat. If it weren't for the rubble, I might've confused it for middle America.
As I surveyed the surroundings, I saw a small glint in the distance. It was between two cliffs, in a canyon. Not a place humans would normally settle. It was also a place where someone could survive an indiscriminate bombing. Bingo.
I ran over towards the location, stopping in a nearby crater. I pulled out a knife from my ankle strap and inspected it. This wasn't a normal kitchen knife. This was a 1.25-foot-long double-edged knife, standard for Apollo Enterprise Security Forces.
Looking over the edge of the crater, I could see my enemies. Radical Islamic fighters, dressed in desert camouflage. Something about them wearing light brown instead of black just didn't look right.
They set up barbed wire, multiple machine gun nests, and rocket launchers set up near the entrance. I could see SAM missile defenses set up behind them. Simple enough.
I jumped out of my crater and started walking towards them. "Hello! American tourist here!" I shouted towards them while waving my left arm, hiding my knife behind my back.
The Islamic fighters immediately responded. Yelling at each other. Yelling at me. Setting up the rocket launchers. Yelling at me. Pointing all guns at me. Yelling at me. Did I mention they were yelling at me?
It was too bad I didn't bother learning the language. But I got a pretty good idea of their words by reading their minds.
"I'm sorry," I shouted back, continuing my walk. Then I said very slowly, "Do you speak English?"
By now, there were about 400 people pointing some type of weapon at me. This was probably the most I was going to get, considering the narrowness of the pass. Time to act.
From my left hand, I generated lasers from each of my fingers, hitting the rocket launchers at the speed of light. As expected, the rockets exploded.
In the chaos, I burst towards them, flames flickering around me. There was no need to hold back. After all, dead men tell no tales.
As I rushed closer and closer, the flames got bigger and bigger, swirling around me like a torrent. When I reached their lines, I jumped straight up, letting fire consume the first few rows of enemies.
From 300 feet in the air, I looked down, observing the enemies that remained. I increased my luminosity, making myself as bright as the sun, forcing the ones that looked up to turn away.
"Well fellas, can't say you don't deserve this," I muttered as I felt myself reach my body reach the highest point of my jump. As I descended from hundreds of feet in the air, I thought about 9/11. The New York Sunscraper, Artemis, and Ms. Davis.
I prepared my vocal cords and screamed.
This wasn't a normal scream. Fueled by my divine powers, it was worse than nails on a chalkboard, emergency alarms, and a screechy violin all combined. And a thousand times louder.
Immediately, all the Islamic fighters dropped their weapons and put their hands over their ears. Many fainted, their hands dropping to the side, exposing bloodied ears from their burst eardrums.
Eventually I landed back on solid ground, doing a superhero landing of course. The impact from the landing knocked the surrounding Islamic fighters away, the rest being blinded by the dust cloud generated.
Brandishing my knife, I ran, person to person, killing them all. Hearts were stabbed. Necks were snapped. Heads were crushed. They couldn't see me, but I could sense their lifeforce.
It was surprisingly therapeutic.
Huffing and puffing, I stabbed an Islamic fighter in the eye. Grabbing a knife from his belt, I stabbed him again in the neck.
Taking back my knife, I jumped on the next Islamic fighter. Grabbing his face, I heated my hand, melting his face. Ignoring the screams, I stabbed the roof of his mouth.
As I pulled my knife out of my latest victim, I looked for the next one. By now the dust cloud had cleared, allowing me to see the hundreds of corpses littered on the battlefield.
I forgot to take a prisoner for interrogation. Damn it.
Looking around, I saw a bunch of military equipment, some of which was produced by Apollo Enterprises, and some horses. The horses had boxes attached to them, which contained letters in a writing I couldn't read. Damn it.
Simple caves that were dug in the cliffs, probably how the Taliban avoided my sight. I found nothing. Damn it.
Frustrated, I used my solar powers to observe the surrounding area, desperately looking for a lead. As I looked, I smiled. Found something.
Running a few miles East, I found my target: a lone man riding a horse. Zooming forward, I tackled him off his horse, sending it running off into the sunset.
"Hello Alhamdulillah, tell me everything you know," I said while pressing my knife to the man's throat.
.
[3rd POV]
Abdul was having a good day – at least for someone kidnapped by the Taliban.
Having gone to university in India, he would quite literally do anything but be part of a terrorist state.
But unfortunately for him, he was kidnapped and conscripted in 1991 when Abdul was visiting his family. Luckily, his local Taliban commander recognized his literacy skills and made him their scribe.
Abdul's daily tasks consisted of inventory, record keeping, and writing messages for the Herat Taliban commander that would be sent to their headquarters.
To Abdul's confusion, all messages were sent by horseback. Even though the Taliban had basic radios from the Soviet invasion, the Taliban leadership had insisted on physical letters. No electronics.
For 10 years they trained, dug caves, and prepared. All for what the leadership called "The Invasion of the Great Shaytans."
And last night, it finally happened. Missiles rained from the skies, making even Abdul question his religion. Everyone rushed to take shelter in the caves, praying for Allah to save them. Luckily, the missile bombardment was finished by the morning, leaving everyone in a pleasant mood.
They had only sustained minimal casualties, and no deaths. The commander rewarded everyone's faith and devotion by doubling rations for the day. Everyone was happy.
Then, they saw it. The Great Shaytan. Following the drills he practiced, Abdul grabbed a prewritten letter, stating that the Great Shaytan had come. He jumped on a horse and rushed for the nearby outpost they were to contact in emergencies.
As he rode away, he heard explosions and cries of terror. Not turning around, Abdul gripped his thighs and pushed his horse harder.
Only after riding for a few miles, Abdul relaxed. Crossing a relatively large hill, he could no longer see the base he started riding from. Abdul believed this meant he was safe from the Great Shaytan.
.
[Main POV]
The man I tackled wasn't speaking. I pressed my knife harder against his throat.
"Alak, akh –" the man choked out. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion.
Then I realized that there were streams of blood spurting out of his throat, and I was accidentally killing him.
"Ah shit," I said, sheathing my knife and healing my hostage. "Alright Habibi, why don't you start by telling me your name."
The man coughed up a few mouthfuls of blood before wiping his mouth. Looking at me he replied in accented English, "I am Abdul Wahid."
"That's nice," I commented. "Now Abdul, I'd ask you my other questions, but I'm pretty tired, so you'll forgive me for skipping that step."
Still on top of him, I grabbed his head and read his mind. I was not gentle.
A few minutes later, I slipped my hand in Abdul's left pocket, fishing out a revolver as I stood over him. Abdul remained on the ground, trembling like he had Parkinson's.
"You're not a bad guy Abdul," I said in Pashto, the language Abdul spoke. "So, this is quite unfortunate."
I unloaded a bullet in his head and Abdul stopped moving.
Abdul didn't know where bin Laden was. But he did know the location of the nearest Taliban base. So, I had a lead.