Time skip 1 week
[Main POV]
Peeping my head from a crater, I observed the enemy. The road to Kabul was blocked with a barricade, machine gun nests were set up on either side, and the area in-between was mined.
I could go around. But what was the fun in that?
Observing the area ahead, I smiled. The Islamic fighters were clearly conscripts. No professional soldier would ever place mines so close together.
Picking up a smooth stone, I whipped it directly at the nearest mine, triggering it. Due to the density of the minefield, a chain reaction started, triggering all mines resulting in a large explosion.
Using the distraction, I rushed the closer machine gun nest, and I jumped in. Inside were two men, closing their eyes and covering their ears from the blast. I kicked one of their heads clean off, before slicing the other's off with my knife.
Then I set myself behind the machine gun, turning it towards the Taliban fighters on the road. Putting them in the crossfire, I pulled the trigger, and watched them drop like flies.
The men panicked before running towards the other machine gun nests for cover. Out of the dozen, I mowed down eight, with four making it to safety. There were also two more (presumably), in the machine gun nest to begin with.
So, six left.
Creeping across the road, I silently made my way to the machine gun nest. Pulling the pin out of a grenade I found, I waited three seconds before tossing it in.
One second later, there was a loud boom, and I peaked my head over the edge.
I was surprised to see nothing of interest. No blood or torn bodies. It was empty other than an abandoned machine gun and the shrapnel littered all over the floor.
I jumped in and looked around. The sandbags looked normal. The tarps that made up the walls and ceiling had cuts from the shrapnel but were otherwise normal. But the floor.
Running my hands across the ground, my finger caught on a snag. Found it.
Before I could pull the cover aside, I my vision blurred. I saw myself pulling over the camouflaged cover and receiving a mouthful of machine gun ammo. It didn't kill me, but it wasn't pleasant.
Back to the situation at hand, I smiled. Leaning back, I pulled the camouflaged cover aside, watching the machine gun fire that would have hit me soar into the air.
"Not bad," I commented. I ran back to the other machine gun nest, grabbed a large gas canister and rushed back.
Humming, I twisted the cap off. Ignoring the shouts below, I emptied the gas in the hole.
Continuing my humming, I lit a fire at the end of my finger. Flicking my finger, the flame travelled down the hole before erupting in a blinding flash. The ground shook as I felt multiple explosions go off.
Brandishing my knife, I jumped down the hole. Landing with a thud, I was overwhelmed by the smell of burnt corpses. Flicking my wrists, I used my powers to fully burn the bodies I was stepping on, turning them to dust.
This backfired as I ended up breathing in a bunch of dust. Gagging, I ran my hands around the walls of the hole, looking for a connecting tunnel, which I found on my left.
It was small, no more than three feet in diameter. With a quick sigh, I dove into the tunnel and started crawling.
As I crawled through, I heard gunshots and shouts echoing from the other side. Increasing my pace, my hand grabbed something that felt human. My body tensed, ready to blast whatever was ahead of me with my divine flames. But nothing happened.
Grabbing what I had touched, I shook it. Finding no response, I felt around and realized it was a shoe. A burnt shoe.
I could only assume that this was a victim that tried to escape the fiery hell I unleashed. Steeling my resolve, I continued moving, crawling over the first of many corpses in the tunnel.
Eventually, I made my way to the end of the tunnel, reaching a large underground chamber lit by candles. There was currently a situation.
Two Taliban fighters were in a gunfight with half a dozen Americans. At least I assumed they were Americans. They were white, and spoke English. However, they appeared to have misplaced their uniforms, leaving them in their undergarments.
Luckily, the Taliban fighters had their backs to the tunnel (and me by extension). So, I signaled for the American soldiers to hold their fire, before quietly slipping out.
.
[3rd POV]
James was not having fun. After landing near Kabul, the Airborne Division was virtually wiped out. General Donahue was dead, and cohesion was lost.
The survivors ran into the desert, only to be attacked by Taliban forces waiting in foxholes.
James was one of the few who were taken captive. All prisoners were split up, resulting in him and five others being held in this cave.
There, they were starved, dehydrated, and regularly beaten and humiliated. However, they stayed strong, waiting for their moment to strike.
Their moment came about a week later when the two guards they were left with got distracted. They had all heard explosions and seen flashes, resulting in the Taliban guards shouting into the tunnel to their comrades.
Seizing the moment, one of the others ran towards a crate that James had seen the Taliban store their guns. Opening the crate made a noise, alerting the guards of their actions.
To distract them, James and the others threw anything they could at them. Bowls, spoons, and dirt, which resulted in their rifles being pointed at them.
Luckily, their friend had managed to get his hands on a bunch of guns, tossing the first one to James.
James himself got an AK-47. Both sides exchanged fire with fruitless results.
As he started running low on ammunition, James saw a man covered in soot, half popped out of the tunnel, signaling for them to stop firing. With European features visible, James was 99% sure he was an ally.
"Hold your fire!" he yelled at his comrades, "Hold your fire!"
The man slipped out of the tunnel. Then James heard gasping and choking as two thuds hit the ground.
"Y'all can come out now," James heard.
James was the first one to stand, looking at their savior who was wiping his face with a cloth. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Blonde hair, golden eyes, youthful and handsome. There was no doubt. Standing before them was the man they were tasked with rescuing: Apollo.
"You son of a bitch," the man standing to James's right whispered. "You know how much trouble you've been giving us?"
"Uh, you're welcome," Apollo answered confused.
"We're in this mess because of you!" another chimed in. "If you hadn't gone gallivanting off, we never would've been in this mess!"
Apollo's face hardened before glaring at them. James felt a shiver across his body and felt slightly ill.
"You're in this mess, because of some botched operation," Apollo reasoned, "I told the world that I was coming here and never asked for any support. And I was doing just fine without it."
"And just so you know," Apollo added before anyone could get a word in, "it's hard to take you guys seriously if your underwear. For god's sake, put on some clothes."
The six survivors grumbled as they put on their uniforms that the Taliban had kept around as trophies. Then they followed Apollo through the tunnel, then up the hole.
.
Back on the surface, James and his brothers in arms took a second to adjust to the light. The sun was as merciless as James remembered, in both heat and light.
Once he had regained his vision, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"There's a camp I set up a couple miles west, full of supplies from the nearby Taliban bases I raided. Just follow the road; you can't miss it," he heard Apollo's voice say.
Turning towards the voice, he found that Apollo was not looking at him. Because a few meters from the foxhole was a redhaired girl in a desert camo uniform. She was holding a knife, and did not look happy.
"Apollo, we need to talk."