Shahi-Kot Valley, Afghanistan, 24 December 2012 AD
Bryan rubbed his hands together in another vain attempt to ward off the cold. Wisps of fog dissipated as he slowly exhaled. He pulled up his neckgaitor high. Scanning to the left and right, Bryan spotted the tell-tale green rings circling the eyes of his squad from the night-vision devices they all wore. Bryan looked out in the distance. Mountains extended around them a few kilometers in each direction, as if trying to isolate the godforsaken place. Sparse vegetation spotted the otherwise featureless protrusions of dirt and rocks. He pondered a moment and came to the conclusion that this was Earth's way of making a natural prison. His hate for this place grew as he thought about it more.
A few hours ago they got alerted by the company leadership. ISR feeds had tracked a team of Taliban insurgents in the valley. The Company Commander had spun up Bryan's platoon for the patrol. Overall, nothing out of the ordinary. It was highly likely the insurgents stopped at this cluster of derelict buildings, remnants of Soviet occupation decades ago.
The squad slowly crept up to the dull brown rocky outcropping that sat just short of a hundred meters from the objective. Holding up a fist, Bryan silently ordered his men into the assault position. Infrared lasers painted the entire building, a rotation of movement as the light went from window to door, high and low. The pure anticipation and excitement was palpable across the small group. On this deployment, they had done dozens of these types of raids and had grown confident as a team. Everyone was eager at another chance to hit the bastards. This particular group of insurgents killed a few of the local kids, children of a friendly tribal elder. After spending a year in the region, the local children had become something akin to surrogate sons and daughters.
"Coyote 1-2, Coyote 1-6, 1st squad in position, breach building four on the south wall." Called the platoon leader over the radio.
"6, 2, acknowledge, moving now." Bryan maneuvered his squad up, the soft crunch of their boots on the icy dirt just loud enough to be heard by the soldiers making the noise.
Bryan swiped his infrared laser against the door, signaling to his team leader to breach the door. Two shots from his team leader's shotgun broke the silence about as effectively as it broke the door in front of him. His squad swiftly assaulted through the building. Both teams following their rehearsed routes with a practiced proficiency. Shots from their M4s echoed like cacophony of lightning in the compound. Bryan trailed behind his teams, allowing them to clear the building without him getting in the way. Once all the firing had ceased, a moment had passed before he started hearing the reports.
"Room one and two clear, three enemy KIA." Yelled his alpha team leader.
"Room three clear, two enemy KIA." His bravo team leader followed up.
Bryan gave them both instructions to start searching the building and wounded. Content as they started moving with purpose, he reached for his mic to call up his report. As he keyed the mic, a loud explosion sent him flying, slamming him hard against the back wall. A searing pain flashed across the right side of his body. Temporarily blinded and deafened by the blast, Bryan could only stumble as he attempted to stand to face the new threat. He paused trying to assess the situation before he started moving again. The soft reverberations of rifle fire reassured him. At least some of his squad was engaging whoever started the counterattack.
Bryan tried to brace himself against the wall using his right arm. Sickening pain pulsated throughout his body as his arm folded in an unnatural way, sending him forward into the ground once again. He leaned back against the wall and tried his best to slow his breathing.
My body is absolutely wrecked. How the hell did they get the jump on us. Bryan's mind was thinking in circles, chances were he wasn't going to make it out of this one.
His vision from his one good eye, if you could call it that, was murky like looking through a window layered with condensation. The other was blistered shut from the blast. He looked around the room, he saw the shapes of two of his men, crumpled into a mess on the ground. The sight made him want to vomit and breakdown. He could feel the pit of his stomach sinking. The firefight had stopped now but none of his soldiers came into the room to check for casualties. Bryan couldn't fool himself, he knew that meant only one thing.
Steeling himself, he brought up his rifle with his intact arm and pointed it at the room's door, the effort was exhausting. He would get at least one of the insurgents who had just annihilated his entire squad. Quiet breathing was all he heard for several moments until some heavy foot steps and words spoken in some dialect of Pashto echoed from outside.
Tightening his grip causing his knuckles to turn white, he steadied his shaky hand. A man with his face covered in a balaclava walked inside, barely looking at the bodies at his feet. Bryan squeezed the triggered once, then twice, all his shots digging into the insurgent's chest. The masked man fell to the ground, clutching at his abdomen for a few moments and then went still.
Bryan listened to the panicked chatter from outside the building. One them stuck their AK47 into the doorway and blindly fired off an entire magazine. Rounds landed all around the room, with two burying into Bryan's leg and torso. His grip loosened on his rifle and it clacked on the ground. Another of the masked men strode into the room, staring at the American and the blood pooling under him. Bryan saw the barrel of a rifle raise up to his face. His jaw clenched in determination.
"Bastard." Bryan said with ragged breath.
The man stared at Bryan for a moment, he raised up the rifle to his cheek, aiming down the weapon's sights. Bryan maintained eye contact with his working eye, face tight from the rage he couldn't physically express.
This is how I die, helpless against some worthless human being. All my men are dead. This never should have happened.
A single shot rang out, the soldier's lifeless body slumping into blood that pooled onto the dirt.
Detroit, United North American States, 25 March 2160 CE
The five year old sat on the carpet, staring at his tiny hands. Sometimes he would have strange thoughts or remember things he has never seen. He recognized strange objects, that felt both familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. He glanced around the room. The child saw a woman with dark hair and beautiful, soft features. That was his mother, he knew, but he also remembered another woman, a taller blonde woman, who was also his mother. The woman with dark hair was tapping away on a blue holo-pad.
His hands. Why were they so small? He was a grown man, why did he have such tiny hands. You couldn't hold a rifle with these hands, the boy thought to himself. Rifle? What the hell is a rifle? He was confused. Like soft gusts of wind in his head, thoughts would scratch the surface of his consciousness and disappear as quickly as they came.
He tried to think. Something wasn't right. He did not belong here. A sudden wave of pain and disorientation hit the small child. It felt like his skull was in a vice, the pressure was almost too much to bear. His eyes snapped shut, as if to keep them from popping out of their sockets. Images flashed through his head, his 21st birthday party, basic training, his girlfriend in high school. Unimportant memories and important ones in a constant flow, as if the floodgate in his mind was opened. It continued like this for several moments and then a particular memory came to mind. He clung onto it, holding it focused in his thoughts.
A patrol in Afghanistan. They were hit, ambushed by an enemy. He remembered death, his friends killed in the battle. He died too. He must have, he remembered the barrel pointing at his face as if it had happened hours ago. Nothing made sense. His pulse sounded like drums in his ears. He scanned the room he was in. It was not familiar. He looked over at the woman, in her hands a device he had seen only in science fiction games and movies.
"Where am I?" As the boy said it, a voice came out, it was unfamiliar and sounded extremely adolescent. It was not his voice he knew.
He heard a metallic clack as the flat holo-pad hit the ground. The woman's eyes were wide and it looked as if she were about to cry.
"Oh Sofia, now you are hearing things" She said quietly to herself. Her hands holding the sides of her head firmly.
"Who are you?" The child directed his question at the slightly frightened woman now.
The woman looked at him with her light brown eyes, a shocked expression across her face, as if she could not believe he was asking her a question. "Dios mío... Daniel! Rico is talking!" The woman said in an excited, almost hysterical tone.
"What was that honey?" Asked a light skinned man who walked in from a different room. He dressed in a familiar looking, but unusual suit. An even more familiar orange hologram projection covering his left forearm.
"Richter. Tell mommy again what you just asked!" The woman was close to him now, moving her arms to embrace him.
"Who are you two?" The child asked again before the woman could touch him.