(AN: Sooo, I would have had this up sooner, but most of it got lost when my computer crashed. I've been able to piece it back together, but I still don't think it's as good as the original. Anyways, I will be introducing a new character in this chapter, and said characters' background will be detailed in the next chapter. I originally was going to introduce them at the beginning of this chapter, but it messed with the pacing. And sorry for it being shorter than the last few chapters, I had to split this off so that the beginning of the next chapter can detail the new character's background. I promise the next chapter won't take so long.
On the plus side, I have been pleasantly surprised by the amount of attention this story has garnered. It has way more hits than ZSNT had at this stage of the story. Granted, at the time I was still learning the ropes, but it's always encouraging. Anyways, hope you enjoy!)
(Date: ? Agabrah Marketplace, 15:09 hours local time)
During the daytime Agabrah's streets were always busy. Even in the heat of the midday's sun the marketplace would be bustling with the city's inhabitants, buying and selling everything from fresh produce and fruits to exotic silks from the Orient and woven carpets. But now, the entire street was deserted, the marketplace uninhabited, the vendor's stalls abandoned without a soul to be seen. A dull breeze blew some of the dust from the sandy street, to an overturned apple cart, spinning its wheels lazily.
The spilled apples spread out like a carpet on the dusty street, one apple even had rolled until it came to rest by a large black tire, belonging to a battered US Army HUMVEE. The HUMVEE was stuck in an improvised trench that acted as a trap. Suddenly, a figure darted out of a side-alleyway, it was a heavily armed man wielding a sword and armor of the Royal Palace, but without the livery or colors of the Sultan, which meant he was a freelancer.
As soon as he left cover the man let out a ferocious bellow and charged towards the HUMVEE. There was a loud, staccato bark, and the man jerked back abruptly and collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut. He collapsed to the ground.
PVT. Davis lowered his SCAR-H and ducked back behind the military truck, pushing the release catch on the receiver, ejecting the empty magazine. He shouted over to Mayfield, who was covering the empty street with his MSG 90 sniper rifle.
"Changing! Changing Mags!"
(BGM: SO:TL OST, "Get To The Choppa!")
Mayfield glanced briefly to see their medic reloading his machine gun, then saw movement and checked his scope. There were two burly thugs being flanked by two more janissaries wielding crossbows. The janissaries crouched down and held their crossbows up in the air. The private shouted out.
"Arrows, Arrows, Arrows!"
Both he and Davis rolled under the HUMVEE, as arrows pelted the ground where they were standing. Their opponents advanced, thinking that they were in the clear, but both Davis and Mayfield fired their weapons from under their transport. Bullets tore through flimsy mail and leather armor, and all four of their opponents crumpled to the ground, clutching their legs and howling in agony. Their pain was cut short as headshots finished them off, then Davis and Mayfield rolled back out and into their positions behind the the HUMVEE. Davis shouted back at his CO.
"Changing mags! Enemy QRF coming up on the rear!"
Lt. Bradley gave the private a nod, then shouted into his own radio.
"Misfit Two, if you do not have eyes on the package fall back, enemy QRF is trying to outflank!"
His radio crackled to life and SSG Connors' voice came through the static.
"Misfit One Actual, this is Misfit Two, I have the package, we hit the target early...be advised there are crossbowmen in the field..."
The lieutenant grinned and keyed the mic.
"Roger that, Misfit Two just get your ass back here!"
Bradley looked up and hollered over to Mayfield.
"Misfit Two is inbound, check your fire, check your fire!"
The private gave the thumbs up and scanned the street with his scope. There was more armed guards incoming. He called over to Mayfield again.
"Better get Deadly on the horn, private. Shit's gonna get hairy here in a bit!"
Mayfield hollered back a 'Lima Charlie', and Torrez grinned at Bradley.
"Still think it was a good idea to take that detour, El-Tee?"
(earlier, an Oasis in the desert, location ?)
"Do ya think he's gonna wake up?"
PVT. Davis looked up from his patient.
"Why, you wanna ask pretty boy out here on a date?"
SGT. Torrez just grinned in response.
"Naw, he ain't my type."
The sergeant had been had been pestering the Exile medic since daybreak about their new passenger. Mostly, because having a load to tend to meant that they were 'stuck' in one place instead of continuing on their journey. The previous evening, on Bradley's orders their small convoy had taken a detour in the desert. When they arrived the large cat head statue had sunken into the sand, leaving nothing but a large crevice. Perched on the ledge of the crevice was a young man, unconscious. Lt. Bradley had Davis administer first aid to the boy, and over the objections of his two NCO's had decided to take him with them.
"He'd die of exposure if we left him in the desert," the lieutenant explained, "...besides, there's probably a settlement nearby that he can direct us to..."
At dawn SSG Connors had spotted another oasis, along with what looked like a large city in the distance. They had set up camp, taking inventory of their food and water rations. PVT. Davis was checking on the boy when Torrez was pestering him. In the light they were able to get a good look at their new passenger. He was in his teens, dressed in rags, and at least looked Middle-Eastern, so that was a comfort to the group of 'Exiles.' At least they couldn't be too far from the Emirates. The medic's thoughts were interrupted when he heard a groan. The boy was coming to. Davis hollered over to his CO, who was pouring over a map spread out over the lead HUMVEE's hood.
"Hey loot! Our guest is coming to!"
Bradley made his way over to the improvised shelter. Of the group the lieutenant was the most fluent in Gulf Arabic, as well as Farsi and some of the Afghani dialects, so he had been designated the interpreter. The young officer crouched down beside the boy, just as his eyes were starting to flutter open. He started in English, on the off chance that the kid spoke it.
"Okay, I need you to take it easy. You're alright, we're American soldiers stranded in the desert, but we mean you no harm..."
The young thief felt his head throbbing, trying to remember what had happened the previous night to make him hurt so bad. Had he been captured by the city Guards at last, and had been beaten by them, then thrown into a dungeon cell? He opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. The bright light blurred his vision, which at least meant he was not in a dungeon.
He heard a voice speak, but could not make out the words. As his eyes came into focus, he could see that someone was framed in the light, it was the one speaking. Then he saw a vision that frightened the young thief to his core. There was a man looming over him, his pale skin marked him as a farangī, a white foreigner, and his appearance was terrifying. He had heard tales that the foreigners from the faraway land of the Franks wore bizarre clothing and armor, but this like nothing he had ever seen before.
He wore baggy pantaloons that at first appeared to be the color of moss, but upon closer inspection were made of a woven material with many small geometric patterns in them. His feet were encased in sand-colored boots that went almost up to his knees, and his armored breastplate was a darker green with all sorts of odd things fastened to it. There were a pair of darkened spectacles perched on top of the man's shaved head, he looked as alien to the young thief as any desert djinn. The foreign man spoke again, this time in something that sounded like a guttural version of the boy's own language.
"I...speak, understand...you?"
The young thief nodded, and the farangī continued.
"No harm...we you help..."
He pointed to his armored chest.
"...B'raad-Lee."
He then pointed to the young thief. The boy understood, the foreigner had named himself, he was called B'rad-Lee. He pointed to himself.
"Ala'ud-Dīn...my name is Ala'ud-Dīn."
Bradley sat back on his haunches and glanced over to Davis.
"Well, either it's a hell of a coincidence, or we've officially lost cabin pressure."
The medic frowned.
"Why?"
The lieutenant jerked a gloved thumb at the young man.
"Well, I switched to Farsi and the kid finally understood me."
That was unsettling to the medic. Gulf Arabic was the lingua franca of the Emirates, and most of the Arabian peninsula, if the kid was speaking Farsi, then they were far off course. Davis shrugged.
"So? He could be one of the refugees from Dubai..."
"...and he said his name was Aladdin."
Torrez let out a low whistle.
"Whoa, whoa, hold it! You mean like Arabian Nights, Forty Thieves shit?"
Bradley glanced back at the kid and shrugged.
"Dunno, I'm gonna try and get some more information."
Aladdin was now very scared. The foreigner wasn't alone, there were two others, and they were dressed identically. One was pale-skinned like B'raad-Lee, but the other was tanned, and looked to have hailed from the Iberian continent. Like B'raad-Lee they wore armored vests, but the tanned one wore a cloth-covered helm that was the same color as his pantaloons. A pair of canvas straps dangled from the helm, but it looked as alien as the rest of the foreigner's attire. They were conversing in their own dialect, before B'raad-Lee spoke to him again.
"Where...where do you hail from, Aladdin?"
The young thief had to think for a moment, and then saw the city in the distance. He sat up to point towards it, and was rewarded with another wave of throbbing pain and nausea. The other pale-skinned farangī gently but firmly pushed him back onto his improvised cot. The man must have been the healer of the group as he placed a bare hand on his forehead and held his wrist. Davis checked the kid's pulse and looked back over to his CO.
"Sir, this kid's still pretty weak, we should let him rest up before asking any more questions..."
Bradley was about to answer when the kid, Aladdin began to speak frantically.
"What's he saying?"
The lieutenant shook his head.
"Kid's probably delusional. He's babbling about some large treasure trove..."
Torrez leaned in.
"Treasure? Like gold!?"
Bradley frown at the sergeant.
"Like I said, he's probably still suffering from the after-effects of that concussion...and even if there was a hypothetical treasure, we can't eat gold or drink it instead of water. I'd sooner ask him where we can get re-supplied before heading back out into the desert."
Torrez was about to retort, but apparently changed his mind and turned to leave. Bradley looked back down at the young man, addressing him in Farsi.
"Look, Aladdin, you're not in any shape to get the treasure now. You took a nasty knock to the head..."
The young man shook his head, interrupted him.
"But you don't understand! I need that treasure, I need its riches, so I can become a prince, so that I can marry the princess!"
Okaaaay, Bradley thought to himself, either the kid took a bigger knock to the head than Davis originally thought, or they definitely weren't in the Emirates anymore. Better keep this to under wraps, he thought.
The lieutenant turned his attention back to the boy called Aladdin, he could see that the kid wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"Look, I tell you what...we'll help you get this treasure, after you've recovered. But we'll need your help."
The boy nodded.
"Of course, anything I swear by Allah, glory be to Him, that if you help me in my quest I will accomplish any task you set upon me!"
Bradley chuckled.
"Okay, riiight. So, all we need is a guide, someone to help us get to that city and get some supplies, food, water possibly fuel."
The boy looked puzzled.
"Fuel?"
Bradley pointed to one of the HUMVEE's parked by the improvised shelter.
"We need diesel, or at least some sort of oil you use for burning candles, to power our vehicles."
Aladdin stared at the construct in amazement.
"How can you move that? Mere horses couldn't pull that..."
The lieutenant shook his head. Even if this kid had been living under a rock his whole life, he should still know what a car looks like and what an internal combustion engine does. Bradley pushed aside the thought and continued.
"It's a horseless carriage. It moves by an engine, powered by fuel."
Seeing the odd way that the boy was staring at the military trucks just reinforced to the lieutenant what his gut was already telling him. Somehow they had left the sandstorm in Dubai and ended up in a fairy tale. Bradley's rational mind rebelled against the implications, but then his memory went back two nights ago, when they had fled the airport. He had a half-remembered dream of a beautiful woman who promised that he would become a hero, and that he would go to land where heroes were needed. Maybe this was the place?
His thoughts were interrupted by Torrez, who had stepped away.
"Sir! Mayfield's got eyes on an inbound chopper! Looks like a search and rescue, and one of ours!"
Bradley grinned. For a moment he dismissed the thoughts. If there was a military helicopter, then maybe they weren't in some weird fairy tale world.
"Hot damn! It's our ticket out of this sandbox!"
He walked over to where Mayfield was standing, at the rear of the HUMVEE staring through the sights of his sniper rifle. Bradley could see a speck on the horizon, and could hear the distinctive chopping noise of a helicopter. He pulled out his binoculars, trying to get a fix on the inbound craft. Sure enough, Mayfield was right, it was a Black Hawk helicopter, its grey paint job identified it as a Navy or Marine bird, which meant it wasn't one of the 'Damned'. He turned to the private, who was listening in on his long-range radio.
Mayfield paused for a moment, then handed Bradley the radio mic.
"Sir, you're gonna want to hear this..."
The lieutenant listened, and could hear a female voice coming through the static.
"To the US Military transponder IFF ID Romeo Foxtrot Eight, Six, Seven, Fife, Tree, Zero, Niner, this is US Navy SeaHawk Helo callsign Deadly transmitting in the blind, how copy..."
Bradley was astounded, and keyed the mic.
"Ah, solid copy Deadly this is...ah, Misfit One Actual, I authenticate IFF ID Romeo Foxtrot, Echo Bravo Four, Zero, Niner, Niner, how copy?"
The voice responded through the static.
"Solid copy Misfit One Actual, it's good to hear another voice..."
The lieutenant responded.
"Ah, Deadly, are you from CENTCOMM? I had a feeling we were lost, or worse..."
He could hear the female voice chuckle on the other end.
Be advised, it probably is what you think it is. As for where I came from...it's a long story. Probably better I tell it in person."
Bradley nodded.
"Roger that, Deadly, do you need a heading?"
"Negative, I am homing in on your transponder, ETA five mikes."
The lieutenant glanced over to Mayfield, who had overheard.
"C'mon, let's go tell Davis. We might not need our HUMVEE's, after all."
When Bradley got back to the shelter, he saw Davis tending to the kid. The Black Hawk, callsign Deadly, was getting closer, its distinctive engine and bladed chopping noise was getting louder. He saw Aladdin had heard as well.
"W-what is that noise, B'raad-Lee?"
Bradley shrugged.
"Never heard a chopper coming inbound?"
"Ah...chah-hopper?"
The officer felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. But before he could respond the teen started freaking out and pointing to the sky.
"A dragon! It's a dragon!"
Bradley turned and saw the Black Hawk had made a pass over the oasis, and was now in a hover as it slowly descended down. Bradley shielded his eyes from the updraft kicked up a small sandstorm. He turned and saw the boy had passed out, and Davis shook his head.
"Hey, he was hyperventilating, so I administered a small dose of morphine."
"He'll be okay?"
Davis shrugged.
"He might have a headache when he wakes up, but he'll be fine. Besides, he needs rest.
Satisfied, Bradley turned his attention back to the chopper. Its wheels had touched the sandy ground, and it was already going through landing procedures.
As the engines and APU spooled down, the blades slowed, and Bradley saw the pilot open the door. He noted that it was odd, normally a chopper that size would have a co-pilot and at least one crew chief, but this bird's pilot was flying solo. He saw the pilot approach him, and knew it was a woman even before her features were concealed behind a crash helmet and mirrored aviator sunglasses.
She was tall, and her feminine figure was evident even through the baggy sage green Nomex flight suit. Bradley also noted that she was a Marine, as indicated by the tabs on her suit, and a captain. The pilot removed her gloves, then undid the strap on her helmet, pulling it free.
She had lightly tanned skin, a fine nose and slightly full lips. She had her long black hair bound into a ponytail, that pulled free of the helmet's webbing. Her grey eyes surveyed the assembled soldiers, until her gaze fell on Lt. Bradley.
"You're Misfit One Actual?"
It was the same voice as on the radio. Bradley gave a salute.
"Yes ma'am, and you must be Deadly."
The pilot gave a small grin as she returned the salute.
"In more ways than one, lieutenant. Captain Velinda Pelayo, USMC."
"2nd Lt. Bradley, US Army, 33rd Infantry."
"You're part of the Damned 33rd?"
She chuckled to herself.
"I wasn't in that shit-show that was Fallujah, but I remember ol' Chaos..."
The Marine paused.
"I mean General Mattis spoke well of Colonel Konrad and the Damned 33rd...so I suppose..."
Torrez walked up.
"Well, finally something worth looking at in this desert. You our ticket outta here? Please tell me you're not a mirage..."
Pelayo glared at Torrez, clearly not in the mood.
"Sergeant Torrez, isn't it?"
He still grinned.
"Yes ma'am, although my buddies call me Omar and the ladies call me darlin'..."
"Well, sergeant I am Captain Pelayo, I assume you gruntshits still respect the chain of command, even out here in BFE..."
She glanced over to Bradley, who gave a small shrug.
Ah, you'll have to excuse Torrez, he's a bit of a joker, but he's alright..."
The Marine shoved her gloves in her helmet in exasperation.
"Jeezus, I can't believe I have to do this mission with immature Army grunts and a wet-behind the ears Boot Loot..."
Bradley heard Torrez and Mayfield snicker, and looked indignant.
"Hey, I'm right here, you know!"
Pelayo shook her head.
"Sorry lieutenant...I didn't mean that."
Mayfield decided to break the mood and spoke up.
"Um, ma'am, on the horn you said you didn't come from CentComm...were you dispatched from the Johnny Reb?"
To his surprise, the Marine shook her head.
"Nope, someone else sent me..."
Captain Pelayo looked up at Lt. Bradley.
"Listen, lieutenant, what I have to say might come as a shock to you..."
Mayfield spoke up before his CO could respond.
"Ma'am, with respect, some of us have had recurring dreams of dying, and ending up here. And here looks like it's from the Arabian Nights..."
Bradley expected the Marine to snort derisively, or ridicule the private, but instead Pelayo just smiled.
"Well, maybe it's not gonna come as much of a shock to you...It's a long story..."
Glossary:
Janissary: Foreign crossbowmen fighters employed by in the early 13th century Ottoman Empire. They are a bit anachronistic, given that the Disney version of Aladdin is supposed to take place some time between the early 9th and late 10th century A.D.
QRF: Quick Reaction Force, an armed military unit capable of rapidly responding to developing situations.
Farangī: Persian word for foreigner, specifically the Franks.
US CENTCOMM: US Central Command, headquartered at Al Udeid Air Force Base in Quatar. Lt. Bradley thinks that Deadly is a search and rescue from the base.
BFE: US military acronym meaning Bum F*** Egypt, a slang term for a place in the middle of nowhere.
Chaos: General James Mattis's callsign during OIF. Contrary to popular opinion, the nickname 'Mad Dog' was one given to him by a civilian, but the Marines have since appropriated it.
Johnny Reb: The USS John C. Stennis, an aircraft carrier frequently dispatched to the Persian Gulf. Named after the Mississippi senator of the same name, the term is an affectionate nickname by the members of the US armed forces.
(AN: Aaaand I had to break it off here because the next chapter will show where Captain Pelayo came from. If you're familiar with the COD, Modern Warfare franchise, you already know, and if you don't, well, you will. Incidentally I am basing Pelayo visually off of Gal Gadot, albeit with grey eyes. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soonish...either in a week or two. End of March, tops. I've been neglecting my other story The Spy Who Came to Kirkwall and need to finish that next chapter before I tackle this one. Until then!)