OK, I was really surprised that people liked the first chapter! I honestly wasn't expecting any response at all, since this one started off so unusually. Anyway, here is Chapter 2, and I am disappointed to say that it is probably the last chapter I will post on this story for a while. I already had it written, and I need to focus on my other two stories rather than this one. My apologies! And once more, feel free to scream and yell at me about how bad my portrayal of the military is. I repeat that I know NOTHING about anything military related.
Further Disclaimers:
I go on to state that I know nothing of Afghan culture or how Afghans live, or even exactly what language they speak. Events in this chapter would probably be considered absurd by anyone who knows about the way Afghanistan's cities operate. This is a fiction story that will not make complete sense AT ALL.
Also, I have no idea on what exactly the American government does with retired Agents, but I bet it's NOT what is described in this chapter. Once again, this is all completely MADE UP by me.
Anything written in italics mean that an Afghan language is being spoken, most likely Pashto. Just FYI.
A huge thanks to all the reviewers!
BloodshotJW – I am updating right now! :)
TidePoolAngel – Thanks! I hope it gets even more interesting here soon!
jlrdsr – Thanks so much for the support. Yeah, I tried to do my best and make the sassy trash-talking on the radios funny. Over.
Agent Khizar – Medal of Honor accepted! Ha ha. If you have a similar story in mind, you should post it! I bet it could be ten times better than this one. Yeah, and Astrid does have blue eyes. This used to be a non-HTTYD story that I had just written out for fun, and when I switched it to a Hiccstrid I forgot to change the eye color of the supposed 'hostage'. My bad. And sure, I'll be more than happy to PM you with any questions whenever I get around to writing Chapter 3. Over.
Foster117 – Thanks a lot! I hope it will be cool too.
Guest No.1 – All right! Hopefully this chapter meets your expectations.
Guest No.2 – Yes, I made a mistake there. Astrid does have blue eyes. As I said to Khizar, this used to be a non-HTTYD story that I had just written out for fun, and I forgot to change the eye color of the supposed 'hostage'. My bad. I've gone and edited it to be correct, BTW.
Guest No.3 – Yeah, I wasn't sure how a lot of people would react to that odd-looking format for a first chapter. Sorry if it was a little tough to follow. This one is better in that regard.
LunnaValley22 – I'm glad you liked it! Read on to see the results of this mission :)
WalterMittyEsq – I am updating right now! :)
Thanks so much, all you people!
NatB.
*TWO HOURS EARLIER*
Time: 1600 hours
Location: Kabul International Airport, Kabul, Afghanistan
Coordinates: (34.551769, 69.218318)
Date: April 13, 2017
"Name, Miss?"
"Astrid Hofferson."
"Passport, please?"
"Right here." Astrid handed the security officer her well-kept passport, and stood still while the man went over her papers, inspecting them carefully.
"American, eh?" The officer spoke good English but with a marked Afghan accent.
"That's right, officer." Astrid spoke curtly and short.
"And what is the purpose of your visit here in Afghanistan, Miss Hofferson?"
"I'm on vacation. I promised my friend that I'd come by and visit her whenever I got the chance. She lives in Golbahar, and I haven't seen her for eight years."
"Ah, old friends."
"That's right, Officer."
"All right. Your papers look to be in order. Welcome to Kabul, Miss Hofferson." He handed Astrid back her passport.
"Thank you, Officer." Astrid retrieved her passport and strapped it around her neck once more, picking up her bag. The security officer spoke once more.
"I wish you a safe and happy trip, Miss Hofferson, but I am afraid I must warn you also. Due to recent developments with my government and yours, you should be aware that some people around here do not – appreciate the presence of Americans. You can understand that, I hope?"
"I was – aware of that before I came here, Officer. However, I thank you for the caution. I'll be careful, I can assure you of that."
"You are welcome, Miss Hofferson. Once again, enjoy your stay in Kabul, and I hope you and your friend have a wonderful time together. Next!"
Shouldering her bag, Astrid strode through the last of the security barriers and found her way through the doors and out into the dusty road. There were plenty of transport cars and taxis awaiting the arrival of new passengers, and Astrid hailed the nearest one, got in and spoke from her Pashto translating book.
"Umm, you speak Pashto?" She questioned the pleasant-looking man in faltering Pashto.
"Yes!" the driver smiled, looking back at her. "Where can I take you, miss?" He gestured out the window, still with a big smile on his face.
Astrid consulted her book again for the right words.
"Umm, Golbahar." She said, uncertain of her pronunciation. "I want go to Golbahar."
"Ah, Golbahar!" The man nodded emphatically. "Yes, I can take you there. Long trip, miss." He stretched out his arms to try and explain to Astrid.
"Yes," Astrid answered, handing him a map with her exact destination on it. "I want go to there. Want see, umm, friends? Yes. See friends."
"Yes, yes! I can go there," the man nodded and took the map from her. "It will cost three thousand Afghanis." He put three fingers in the air to make his meaning clear.
"Yes," Astrid replied. "Three thousand. It is fine. Take me?"
"Yes!" the driver smiled, and started the car with a roar. In a few seconds Astrid was rolling down the highway to meet her old friend.
Time: 1659 hours
Location: Bagram Airbase, Kabul, Afghanistan
Coordinates: (34.944168, 69.273331)
Date: April 13, 2017
"Agent Haddock, are you go?"
"Roger that, Tuff. You and Thug are on Strike 1 duty for this mission, right?"
"That's right, Henry," Thomas(Tuff) Thorston said, strapping on his Afghan militia disguise. "We've got your ass covered, sniper boy. We're the best backup in the damn country."
"April Fools was two weeks ago, Tuff." Henry replied with a straight face.
"Haddock, you need to shut your smart mouth," Tuff growled, checking his pistol. "Seriously, are you capable of understanding the words 'serious operation'?"
"I've been a sniper for seven years, boys," Henry grinned, pulling on his boots. "And you guys just finished getting out of diapers back at Fort Rich. I think I have the authority on what a 'serious operation' is."
"Wait, you aren't calling this serious?" Thuggory(Thug) Butcher demanded. "Here we are, in the middle of Afghanistan getting disguised as Afghan militia in order to eliminate a family of terrorists that are camped out in a civilian area in Golbahar, and you are treating it as if it's a goddamn game. I really don't get you, Haddock. According to the mission briefing, you're going to have to kill two women in there, and one of them is barely into her hijab. I wouldn't have the heart to pull the trigger if I were you."
Henry was silent for a second, and then replied quietly.
"Look, boys, I've been on more kill missions then you could possibly imagine. I'm wanted for over fifty assassinations in forty different countries. I've killed everyone there is to kill – from an old president of a European bank to a blue-eyed toddler who was still in pampers. I'm used to it by now. Killing means nothing to me anymore. I can pull the trigger and have no regard for who's on the other end of the bullet. Call me a psychopath, but the US Government is doing the best they can to keep their people, us, safe. If that means ordering me to shoot women, well then, it's what I have to do. Hell, whatever happened to equal treatment, anyway."
Tuff shook his head. "I don't get you either, Haddock. What possessed a guy like you to stay in the Special Forces? Jesus, you're strong, you're handsome, good with the ladies, you could fucking do whatever the hell you wanted in life. You must be loaded after all the crazy shit you've had to do. Why don't you fucking retire, settle down, maybe get married while you're still young? If I were in your shoes I'd do it in the blink of an eye. Why are you even here right now?"
Henry sighed. "I'll never be able to settle down, Tuff. Sure, I've seen and was interested in a lot of girls, but none of them were exactly what I'm looking for. Marriage isn't appealing to me right now. But that's not the main reason. Like I said, I'm a psycho. I'm a ruthless killer. Who the hell would marry me after knowing what it is I do? And I know so much about the US Army operations. If I quit now -" He shook his head.
"What do mean, Henry?" Thug asked, strapping his helmet under his chin.
Henry looked up grimly. "Our country is free, happy, and prosperous, but, like all countries, it's not perfect. When I'm discharged, what will happen? I know WAY too much to simply be let loose. I would be under constant surveillance from NSA, FBI, and the CIA, not to mention our dear friends at the Pentagon. Ironic, isn't it? I have fought for so many years and risked my life countless times for this country so that Americans could be FREE. And yet, when I get out of here, if I ever do, I will never get to experience the liberty I've fought so hard for. NSA will be breathing fire down my neck for the rest of my life. Hell, they may even take me out."
"What the hell!?" Tuff said angrily. "What are you talking about? They can't take you out, not after all you've done for them!"
"Who'd ever know?" Henry asked, snapping the buckles of his weapons case. "I can see the newspaper story already. Picture this: 'Long time US Army agent Henry Haddock was found dead in his Florida home last Tuesday, shot twice in the head. Local police have no leads and the investigation is in progress.' Sound familiar? Yep. You've all seen those before, right? You all follow the news. Isn't it funny how obvious it is sometimes? The police investigate strange murders until they hit the rock solid wall of the FBI or NSA. Then they back the fuck off and nothing ever comes of it. Everyone knows that the government pulls off thousands of unsanctioned kill missions, even in their own damn country. Do either of you two remember Chad Thompson? He was Special Ops five years ago, retired? Ever hear of him?"
Tuff and Thug shook their heads. "No."
"That's because he's dead. He was murdered in his own house two months ago in Nebraska. No one has a clue as to who did it or how. The police are 'baffled'." Henry grinned. "But I know the truth. Only a Special Ops force could have gotten in and out as fast as that killer did. The US Army killed Chad, only a year after he was doing the exact same thing for them."
Thug was staring. "In the name of God, why?"
Henry shrugged. "Chad was starting to talk. He was starting to go to the bar every Friday, would get drunk, and blab about his old military operations. He was starting to write, too. He had some old memoirs of his time in the military that he had been working on for a few months. Interestingly, the books weren't found anywhere after his death. Coincidence? Hell no."
Tuff sat utterly still.
"So," Henry laughed, standing up, "when you're in the Special Forces you've gotta watch your six. Oh, I'm sure the government will let me live when I get out, they're not that heartless, but only until I'm a potential security risk. Then I'll be taken out, too. It's the way of the US regime and the entire world."
Henry was on his feet, but his Strike Force was still sitting silently on the bench, staring up at him.
"What?" Henry asked, spreading his hands. "Come on, we all know it goes on. Our politicians aren't saints, and neither are we. Don't be acting all offended that they're cheating us by not giving us the freedom we fight for. Sadly, life doesn't exactly work that way. The only thing I can suggest is that you two never become a sniper or a special agent or anyone who could ever be considered a potential threat to revealing top secret information. Hell, it may already be too late for you. You'll definitely be closely monitored when you get discharged. But forget about it. Let's go and kill some terrorists."
Time: 1727 hours
Location: Golbahar, Afghanistan
Coordinates: (36.569931, 59.161591)
Date: April 13, 2017
"Astrid? Is it really you?!"
"Salima! Oh, it's so good to see you!"
Astrid leaped across the sill of the Afghan home and embraced her friend from so long ago. They had not seen each other since they were both twelve.
"Astrid, where did you come from?" Salima smiled. "I haven't seen you for about ten years!" Salima released her friend and looked at her with happiness.
"I'm on vacation," Astrid grinned. "And I promised you all that time ago that I'd stop and see you whenever I got a chance. I'm a Hofferson, I never go back on my word. I'm surprised you can still speak English after so long!"
"Obviously you don't go back on your promises," Salima laughed. "And, as for English, you are in luck. I came back and taught my whole family the language. Now we use it often to keep privacy with our neighbors. It is sometimes difficult to keep silly rumors from spreading around here."
"Wow!" Astrid exclaimed. "So both your mom and your dad speak English, too? That's awesome!"
"Yeah, you should come meet them!" Salima said. "Come on in!"
She closed the door behind the two of them, only seconds before a pair of US army binoculars were trained on the house, signifying the beginning of Special Forces operation Z-COM-8.
Time: 1744 hours
Location: Golbahar, Afghanistan
Coordinates: (36.569541, 59.163451)
Recording: US Military radio 45B
Operation: Z-COM-8
Date: April 13, 2017
US Army Base: "Strike Team, you are cleared to proceed. Over."
Strike Force 1: "Roger that, Team Leader. Haddock, you ready to bail?"
Strike Force Sniper: "Any day now, Tuff."
Strike Force 1: "Then let's get out of this damn car and get to our positions."
Strike Force Sniper: "Right. As soon as we pass this building up here we jump it and move to the target location. Copy that, driver?"
Strike Force Driver: "Copy, Agent Haddock. I'll stop the car up here and you can hop it. Then I'll drop Strike 1 by the shop on the other side."
Strike Force Sniper: "Roger that. Team Leader, I am preparing to exit the vehicle. Over."
*Radio Silence - 02 seconds*
Strike Force 1: "Hey Haddock, you know if something goes wrong, we've got your back, right?"
Strike Force Sniper: "Sure thing, Tuff. Driver, stop the vehicle. I'm going out. Weapon in possession. Operation Z-COM-8 is in progress. Over."
Time: 1800 hours
Location: Golbahar, Afghanistan
Coordinates: (36.569931, 59.161591)
Date: April 13, 2017
"So how was your trip, Astrid? Was it eventful?" Salima's mother asked.
"It was rather dull, actually," Astrid replied. "I was having a really good time in Paris, but they didn't handle my flight very well. We got delayed for two hours before we even took off. But it wasn't bad after that. A few stopovers, and now I'm here." She took another bite of her Afghan food, which was very good.
"Well, we hope you will enjoy your stay," Salima's father, Fahim, commented. The entire family spoke very good English, especially for Afghans. "However, I'm surprised you showed up at a time when our two countries have so much – should I say – friction between them. It is dangerous for Americans to be around here at this particular time. War may be declared at any moment, and when it is, any Americans on our soil will most likely be instantly taken as Prisoners of War by our dear Afghan government."
Astrid nodded, chewing her food slowly.
"I was aware," she said, "that there was a slight risk in my coming here. However, I did my homework on the recent US-Afghan relations, and I came to the conclusion that a declaration of war, while it is still possible, is highly unlikely. The only reason the United States is currently involved in your affairs is because they suspect many of the terrorist group Al Qaeda and other such rogue militia members are in hiding in your country. While this is causing lots of civilian unrest, especially here, such a belief is hardly a prelude to war."
"Aha!" Fahim laid down his fork. "Salima, you have a smart friend. Astrid, I did not look to see such intelligence from someone your age. That was a very accurate assessment of our country's relations, although it does have a few flaws. You have been well educated, I see."
Astrid looked down at the compliment.
"Well, I'm still attending college," she stated. "I'm almost done with my degree at Stanford. I'm only 20, but I'm usually up to par on my knowledge of the world, especially when it may mean hostilities between nations. War is dangerous these days, Fahim. Ever since the emergence of the nuclear bomb, war has become – shall I say – rather un-primitive. For instance, there is no more of the fierce hand-to-hand combat that we all read about in the old conflicts like our American Civil War. It is all long distance fighting now. We can fire missiles around the world with the press of a button. I fear that if nuclear war begins, no one, not even innocents, shall survive. It's unreal."
Fahim nodded sadly. "Alas, the nuclear threat has thrown a terror over almost every nation. Some can argue, 'why not simply target every other country's supply of nukes and then hit them with all we have? This way we are the only country in existence.' However, if that were to be done, it would have had to have happened as soon as the bombs were invented, and now it is too late. It is impossible for every nuclear weapon to be accounted for. They are stashed on submarines that are invulnerable to any nuclear attack. Underground bases, satellite launching, and other technologies allow no one to be safe. I am afraid the nuclear threat is the only thing that maintains world stability."
"I wouldn't exactly call it 'stable', father," Salima laughed.
"Far from it," Fahim replied. "Here in Afghanistan the threat of being bombed is much higher than in your dear America, Astrid. We all feel rather strongly about the current events and the global warfare that exists. I have said time and again that -"
Fahim's head exploded.
It snapped forward with an instantaneous motion, and blood sprayed from his forehead all over the clean white tablecloth. Astrid stared in speechless horror as Fahim collapsed to the table, blood gushing from a hole in his head.
In the same instant, Salima's mother screamed and fell also, a bullet tearing through her skull and hitting the wall behind her with a crack. The body fell from the chair and onto the floor with a thud. Astrid yelled and started to reach for Salima, and then something wet splashed all over the side of Astrid's face.
Astrid whirled to look at her friend, and stared in horror at what she saw. Salima's upper chest was a mess of blood. Her friend was falling from her chair to the floor, and Astrid caught her and eased her down.
"Salima!" she shouted, kneeling by her friend. "Salima! Can you hear me!?"
Salima, looking up at her with agonized eyes, took one last shuddering gasp for breath.
"Allah Akbar!" she whispered, and died in Astrid's arms.
Astrid looked up in terror. She had heard no shots. It was obviously a sniper; but he must have had a silencer for the gun and he had also been exceptionally deadly. Whoever fired those rounds had gotten off three rounds and two headshots in less than three seconds. Astrid then realized that he could be pointing the rifle at her as she knelt by the table. Maybe her head was the next to get blown off. Terrorized of the thought, she leapt under the table and got to cover, curling up into a ball.
She thought of screaming for help, but it seemed like the wrong thing to do at the time. The sniper could have blown her head off by now if he wanted to, and maybe if she sounded the alarm he would do it at once. Apparently he was only after Salima's family. But would they let her live to tell the tale?
Something hit the floor next to Astrid, and she jumped. Staring, she realized that it was only the steady drip, drip of blood seeping through the cracks in the table and onto the floor. Fahim's blood was leaking down from the top. Shuddering with nausea, Astrid realized that Salima's blood was dripping down her own face. It was sickening and horrific.
Then the door burst open with a crash, and Astrid screamed. A hand reached under the table, grabbed her by her arm, and hauled her up. Staring in fear, Astrid saw a uniform of an Afghan militiaman. The man wasn't big, but he was taller than she was, and looked like he meant business. Across his back was strapped a sniper rifle that had apparently been used to kill Salima's family. While he was dressed as an Afghan militiaman, did not look Afghan. His freckled, hardened face was clearly American, with a mop of shaggy brown hair over his helmetless head. He had a pistol in his hand, and he twisted her around, clapped his hand over her mouth, and pointed the weapon at her head.
"Not a sound, blondie, or I'll blow you to kingdom come!" he hissed in Astrid's ear. "Strike 1, I am moving from the house to the extraction point. I have the hostage secure. Over."
Grabbing Astrid's arm, he hauled her out the door, through the house, and towards the front door. Astrid made no move to resist. She was only paying attention to the man who held her firmly in his grip, and the gun that was pressed against her temple. She was frozen in shock and fear, and the man had to drag her off.
The man was speaking again, with one hand to his ear.
"Confirm, Strike 1, is the street clear? Repeat, is the street clear? Over."
He paused by the front door.
"Roger that, Strike 1," he said, replying to someone over the radio. "I am crossing the street with the hostage in three seconds. Cover my ass or I'll have yours. Over."
Shoving her out, the man sprinted across the street with her in tow. She tried to run with him, but the man's hand was clamped firmly over her mouth and she couldn't breathe properly. Also, her legs refused to work. She was so terrified she could barely stand. Basically being dragged across the street with her mouth covered, she quickly ran out of air.
"Strike 1, get your ass to the extraction point!" The man snapped over his radio as he dashed into the building on the other side of the street, Astrid with him. "Strike 2's arrival is in one minute, and I have the hostage ready to move out! Team Leader, report to the Colonel that the hostage is in possession, repeat, hostage is in possession. Over."
He loosened his hand over Astrid's mouth and spoke to her.
"Listen, blondie, I'm US Special Forces. We're here to get you to safety. No screaming, no noise, and you'll be fine. You're safe now, we'll be out of here in one minute. Are you going to be quiet?"
Astrid nodded, tugging on the man's strong forearm. She needed air.
"All right, blondie. Not a sound or you'll be shot. Strike 1, what's your damn status? Over."
The man released her mouth, but kept one strong arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders so she couldn't run away. Astrid gasped for air, her chest heaving. Behind her she heard boots thudding, and she twisted her head to see who it was.
It was two men, both tall and muscled, and wearing the gear of Afghan militia. One was big and the other was skinny. The big one had short cropped brown hair and a gruff beard. The thin one was clean shaven and had long blonde hair that spilled out from behind his helmet. Both carried Uzi machine guns and loaded pistols. They were also American soldiers, evidently the 'Strike 1' force that the sniper had spoken to.
"Took your time, boys," the man holding Astrid growled, loosening his grip on her shoulders. "I've been waiting for you lazy asses to get over here for a full damn minute. What the hell were you doing, jerking each other off?"
"Hey, we were covering you and the girl, Haddock," the man with the blonde hair grinned. "It takes a little longer when you actually do shit right." He gestured at Astrid's face. "Is that her blood?"
Agent Haddock shook his head.
"No. She just got dusted. I think she's in a little shock, too."
"Well, no shit, Haddock. Seeing your ugly face for the first time I nearly had a heart attack, too."
"No, I'm serious. I think she may be froze up. Hey, blondie," he asked, coming in front of her and laying his hands on her shoulders. "Listen to me. Are you OK?"
Astrid could only nod, she was still gasping for breath. The shock of the horror that she just witnessed was in fact having a toll on her, and she was beginning to tremble all over. The man was right; she had been shaken up.
"OK, I need you to tell me how many fingers I'm holding up, blondie. OK?" The man held up two fingers on his right hand.
"Two," Astrid answered, still panting.
"Perfect, now can you tell me your name, blondie?" The man still held his fingers up.
"Astrid Hofferson," Astrid said. She was beginning to get her breath back.
"Cool." The man adjusted his fingers so that only his middle finger remained. He showed it to her. "OK, what am I doing right now?"
"You're flipping me off," Astrid replied, allowing a small laugh to escape her trembling lips.
"All right, girl. You're good. Come here." The man pulled her into a hug, and Astrid felt herself slipping over the edge. The shock of what had just happened caught up with her, and she started to shake and cry, clinging tightly to the man's uniform.
"Hey, you're OK," the man said softly, rocking her back and forth in his arms. "We're not going to hurt you, Astrid. You're safe now."
"Strike 2 Evac is going to be here in 10 seconds," the big man with the beard said.
"Sounds good, Thug," the man holding Astrid answered. "On arrival, I'll take the hostage and get her in first. Then we fucking bail. I want to get out of here before there's any remote hint of those bodies being found, and that damn woman screamed. Copy that, Thug?"
"Copy, Haddock. I can see the Humvees. They're on their way. Prepare for extraction."
"All right," the man holding Astrid said. He stroked her shoulder. "Astrid, I need you to listen to me, OK? Did they hurt you in there? Can you walk all right?"
Astrid shook her head, tears still coming out. "I'm too – scared," she whispered.
"All right, stay calm, Astrid," the man said soothingly. "We're going to get you out of here, OK. Just take it easy." He bent down and picked her up, holding her in his arms.
"Humvees are here!" the blonde man announced. "Get her out there now, Haddock."
Holding Astrid in his strong arms, the man kicked open a door and Astrid found herself directly in front of a sand-colored military truck. Soldiers were jumping out and preparing for action, all of them heavily armed.
"Agent Haddock, get the hostage in the back!" one of them shouted. "Strike 1, get in the front Humvee. Step on it!"
"Roger that," the man holding her said. He sprinted around to the back of the second Humvee, where the rear door was open. Two men were sitting on the floor of the truck, waiting for her.
"Get her in here!" one of them shouted. "Is the hostage injured, Agent Haddock? Miss, is that your blood?"
"I'm fine," Astrid told them shakily. "They didn't touch me. I wasn't a – a hostage. I was just visiting."
"God fucking dammit!" one of the men shouted. "She wasn't a hostage. Shit!"
"Wait, hold on a minute," the man holding her said. He put her down in the back of the Humvee and squatted down to look her in the eyes. You weren't a hostage, blondie?"
"No!" Astrid cried, her face lined with terror. "I was just visiting them! I'm a friend! I'm not a hostage!"
"Well, you are now," Agent Haddock grinned. And he shut the door on her.
All right! Chapter 2 is complete, and, as I said before, a new chapter probably won't show up for a month or so. I'm trying to work on my other two Fanfictions in my free time. If you liked this one, go check them out. They're called Captain Hiccup and Running with Fate. Both are HTTYD, and one is an AU.
Follow, Fav, and Review! I LOVE reviews! Keep them coming! :)
Over.
NatB.