[3rd POV]
On September 19, 2001, the United States declared war on the Taliban and invaded Afghanistan.
They did so with minimal intelligence; President Bush had called his father, who advised they not raid Apollo Enterprises. So, instead of sitting on their hands, they sent the soldiers in blind.
From military bases in Pakistan, transport planes and helicopters took off. The first paratroopers landed in Kabul. Or at least what was left of the city.
Major General Christopher Donahue and his airborne division had landed near the city and were currently surveying the area on a nearby hill. He had sent part of his division to Kabul with the task of looking for any translators. Although, given the destruction of the city, he simply hoped they would find survivors.
"General Donahue," Donahue's Chief of Staff Eddie Clark saluted. "The engineer company has finished making the airfield. We can expect transport to start landing by the hour."
"What about the recon company?" Donahue inquired, "Did they find any survivors?"
Clark shook his head. Donahue simply sighed and turned back towards the landscape.
"Look at this place Clark. We were sent here for war. But it seems that we're late."
Donahue was right. As more and more Americans arrived, they were astounded by the sight.
The ground was scorched black and peppered with craters, with not a single plant in sight. Combined with the scorching sun and horrid smell, many thought they arrived on a different planet.
"The scout planes haven't been able to find anything," Clark reported to Donahue after talking with a lieutenant from the radio company.
"Of course, they haven't," Donahue waved away, "look at this place. Nothing can survive on this godforsaken – !!" Donahue froze.
"Sir?" Clark asked.
The general paused. "Nothing can survive on this godforsaken land…" Donahue repeated, "but what about under the land?"
As if on cue, gunfire and screams resounded all around them. Camouflaged nets, covering the entrance of tunnels, were removed. From under them, Taliban fighters with heavy machine guns were revealed.
"My god," Clark whispered, frozen from all the bloodshed.
From a few of the foxholes, dozens of terrorists with vests strapped with C4 rushed forward. Some of them ran towards the newly built airfield, making it inoperable. One of them ran into a tent, which happened to hold a lot of equipment (including explosive materials).
After the particularly large explosion, Donahue snapped out of his stupor. "Clark, gather the men and move them towards the city! We'll use the rubble as cover!"
Grabbing his Chief of Staff, he dragged him a few meters before roughly pushing him forwards. Clark collected himself before running to perform his task.
Donahue ran towards the city, grabbing as many soldiers as he could himself. Hopefully they could survive until air support arrived.
.
[3rd POV]
Near the no-longer-existing city of Kandahar, Mohammad Khan wiped the sweat from his brow before staring off into the distance.
The life of an Islamic fighter was hard. Especially in Afghanistan. Khan was one of the soldiers stationed near the entrance of their hideout. Their job was to keep watch and to alert their superiors if they saw anything.
Looking into the hot desert, he occasionally saw pools of water and desperately wished for a sip. Rations were halved and water was especially precious.
At least they had an abundance of ammunition.
Seeing something move in the distance, Khan yelled, "there's something there!"
Khan, along with the rest of his squad, jolted to action, aiming their rifles towards the movement. Looking down their sights, they saw a red fox.
"Mmmmh," someone said, "you think we can eat that for dinner?"
"They taste really good," someone else added.
"We can't shoot it, it'll alert the others and the commanders'll get the food," a third noted.
"I'll get it," Khalid said. Khalid was the smart one of the group. Everyone turned to him, expecting a master plan.
Khalid pulled out a kebab with one piece of meat, his meat ration for the week. Holding a knife in his other hand, he hid it behind his back while waving the kebab.
Smelling the meat, the fox edged closer and closer.
It would creep 10 meters before retreating 2 meters. It trekked left, then right. But it came closer and closer.
Soon, the fox was only several meters away. If Khalid jumped for it, he could probably grab it. But he was patient, waiting for the fox.
When the fox was within arm's reach, Khalid made his move, swinging his knife towards the fox. Everyone else held their breath as their mouths watered.
At that moment, it was as if time slowed. Khan's eyes widened as the fox transformed into a woman with red hair. She not only wore a western military uniform that perfectly camouflaged with the desert, but had a wolfish expression that told everyone she was going to tear them to pieces. She grabbed Khalid's wrist, stopping his knife in the air. Then, she ripped his arm before snapping his neck.
In a panic, everyone including Khan, grabbed their guns but immediately dropped to the ground as their bodies felt as if they were on fire. Ants ravaged their bodies, consuming their flesh while they lived.
Khan screamed and rolled on the ground. He heard the alarm ring but knew it would take a few minutes before help arrived. He was dead.
The last thing Khan saw was a cold look from one of the two targets they were warned about.
Baba Yaga had returned to Afghanistan.
.
[3rd POV]
Artemis stared at the ants eat the Taliban fighters.
"Thank you, my friends," she whispered, "can you help me with one more little thing?"
Accepting her command, the ants swarmed towards the entrance of the Taliban base.
Slowly walking in, Artemis heard shouts and erratic gunfire echoing from further in the base.
Artemis paused before making her way to the commander's headquarters. She had done this many times. Four turns and a couple jumps later, she had arrived.
"Leave us," she told the ants terrorizing the Taliban commander. The ants followed her order and left.
The Taliban commander gasped for breath as he reoriented himself. Looking around, he saw his handgun on the ground, a few meters away. And of course, he couldn't miss the goddess at the door.
"Baba Yaga," the commander croaked.
Artemis twirled her knife, playing with it, not even looking at the Taliban commander.
The Taliban commander looked at this gun, then looked at the goddess. Then back to his gun, then back to the goddess. He was under no delusions that he'd survive.
Figuring he had nothing to lose, the Taliban commander lunged for the gun. Midway, he was stopped by a knife impaling his hand, pinning him to the ground.
"Ahhhhrr!" he yelled out. Reaching out with his other hand, he grabbed for the gun, falling short by millimeters.
"It's no use Omar," Artemis mocked in Dari. She walked over to his position before delicately picking up the gun with two fingers, then tossing it aside.
Omar, the Taliban commander, looked up shocked. "My name," he said, "you truly are a witch."
"Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you?" Artemis taunted, "I'm so much worse. But we're not here to talk about me. Tell me Omar, where is Apollo."
Omar closed his eyes, ignoring the silver orbs that studied him. His lips quivered but did not speak.
"Fine." Artemis sighed. Stepping on Omar's other arm, she crushed it. Ignoring the cracks and screams, she grabbed Omar by the hair, pulling him up, and looked into his now open eyes.
Instantly, Omar relived his memories. He welcomed Islamic soldiers from nearby bases bringing letters. He read those letters, describing the Shaytan rampaging in the north. Then, he was back. Staring at the silver orbs that were drilled into him.
"Thank you, Omar," Artemis said in a sickeningly sweet voice before dropping him. "As a thanks, I'll allow you to live. But I can't let you tell anyone about me…"
Grabbing Omar for a second time, Artemis forced him to look up. Once again, Omar saw visions. He was tortured in the fires of hell, eaten by tigers, and choked on chlorine gas, all at the same time.
Omar felt the flames lick his flesh, the claws of the tigers slicing his skin, and his body panicked as his breathing suffered. And he felt it continuously without stopping.
Meanwhile, Artemis took one last look before exiting the room, leaving the trembling Omar on the floor. His eyes were clear, body was shivering, and was muttering incoherently, begging random names for forgiveness.
.
Back in Kabul, General Donahue was nearing his end.
His Chief of Staff, Clark, was dead.
His forces were nearly out of ammunition.
And no help was coming. In the chaos, the communications equipment was destroyed, so coordination was impossible.
The air force had shown up but was chased off by anti-aircraft guns.
Now, Donahue and the couple hundred soldiers that remained, were holding up behind some barricades made up of some large pieces of rubble. Due to taking cover, they would be harder to spot by any high-altitude aircraft.
General Donahue himself, was looking over a map of Kabul, a map that was no longer relevant due to the total destruction of the city. He was furiously looking for a way out. They had to escape. They just had to.
"General!" a soldier saluted, "We've been observing the Islamic fighters! They will soon be finished setting up the rocket artillery!"
Donahue cursed for the hundredth time. The enemy had captured a large stockpile of military supplies, including their artillery. How did a bunch of goatherders know how to set up rocket artillery?
"So, we have no choice," Donahue said standing up. Removing a cigarette, he handed the rest of the pack to the messenger. "Give these to any of the men who want one."
Walking towards the barricades, he looked over towards the artillery. They were almost done indeed.
A few puffs of his cigarette later, he saw a flurry of rockets fire and head their way.
Donahue thought about his family. He suddenly regretted not trying harder.
"Son of a bit-" BOOM