A/N: Sorry this took so long, but I had exams. Anyway, feel free to tell me if I should keep this on. Reviews really appreciated now!

August 5, 2011
1337 Local time

"Tell me again what we're doing in this town in the middle of nowhere."

Carter and Rosie were in the outskirts of Mazar. Their present situation had begun the day after their rescue of Minister Musa Muhamedow, who was now back at work but unable to tell the truth about what really happened. Word had gotten through to the KGB that there was about to be an attempt on the Afghan commander-in-chief of armed forces. Kulyuchev had wanted to pursue the matter with all assets available, but all he had were the two loaned American agents and a new addition to his staff, Yakov Petrovich Razov. Razov had all the makings of a good KGB officer, but only if weren't so difficult to control! But the colonel had no choice. He had to check on the General.

The meeting had been arranged as an innocent interview about the recent tragedy of Air Afghanistan Flight 200, in which the Afghan Armed Forces had played a vital part in examining vital pieces of evidence. Other topics that would be covered are the effects of a heightened state of readiness for the Armed Forces and how the public was perceived to react.

"Heads up," said Razov. "Here comes the General."

Sure enough, on the horizon, there was a single plume of dust marking the passage of a vehicle. Soon, it was near them, revealing a dusty Ford Crown Victoria. Two men stepped out of the car, and the two women began walking towards them.

They never heard the rockets until it was too late. All that they saw were two streaks of white before everything went up in flames.

"What the fuck?" said Razov. He turned around, searching for the source, until he found a single Mil Mi-35 "Hind" where the rockets could have come from. He reached for a radio hidden under his shirt and keyed the mouthpiece. "Base, this is TASKER. Base, this is TASKER."

"Base reads, TASKER. Authenticate Delta-Foxtrot."

"Lima-One. We have a Cold Front, repeat, we have a Cold Front."

"Say again, TASKER."

Why did they have to get deaf now? "Base, we have a Cold Front! If in case you don't know what it means, it means that General Ali-fucking-Khalilullah is under-fucking-attack!"

Carter's ears were ringing. The last thing she remembered seeing was a red-tipped missile. It landed right in front of one of General Khalilullah's bodyguards. Only a crater was left where he had been, and the same was true for his companion. Her lungs hurt with every breath. She was sure there were broken bones, especially her ribs, where she thought she had hit the ground.

There was no sign of either Rosie or Razov. But the General's car still lay in front of her, as if waiting for her to board. Turning around, she glimpsed a Russian helicopter, a Hind by the looks of it, and there were two missile pods on its winglets. Each had a capacity of four missiles if she still remembered right, and it had fired only two. The Hind still had six shots left.

She got up shakily and limped towards the car. Khalilullah was still frozen stiff at the sight of his men vaporized in a single instant. But he should've been used to such things, Carter thought, because he was another mujahideen. But it was the least of her worries.

The keys were still in the ignition, and the engine was still running. She found the accelerator and pushed. The car started to move away just as the Hind fired another two missiles at it, lifting the trunk into the air.

Rosie felt someone lightly tapping her cheeks. Opening her eyes, she saw the face of Yakov Razov.

"You're awake," he said. "Good."

"What happened? Where's Cater?"

"Uh…" He then pointed with his PPSh-41.

"Yakov! Does that rifle still work?"

"Duh! Do you think I would keep this thing if it didn't work?"

PPP Directive One: Protection of the objective is paramount to all other concerns. Once reserved only for royalty, the PPP had expanded its directives to all government officials once the agency became international. The difference between life and death for the objective sometimes depended only on the shoulders of the agents who risk their lives to keep the balance of world power.

In this particular situation, General Ali Khalilullah was the Afghan Armed Forces' balance, neither too liberal nor conservative. With him, Afghanistan finally had its first effective fighting force. Take him out of the equation, and the Armed Forces would either collapse into a drunken misfit or turn into a destructive intimidating force.

"Yakov! How many rounds does that thing have?"

"Seventy-one. Why?"

"We'll have to distract the Hind from attacking Khalilullah." Rosie snatched the submachine gun from Razov. "You're driving."

"I just got my driver's license!"

"Last salvo," muttered Carter, jerking the car's steering wheel hard to the right. The Hind fired its last two rockets, which exploded harmlessly onto the desolate Afghan countryside.

"I think we're safe for now, General," she told Khalilullah.

"Forgotten it's an attack helicopter, haven't you?" The general had regained his composure. "You seem to not know about the gun on its belly."

"What?" Only then did Carter see the gun in question. "Hold on, sir!" The Ford waved around once more as she brought the vehicle into a zigzag course.

"Remember," said Razov, "left trigger is single shot, and right trigger's full-auto."

Rosie nodded, and then she lowered the window. The sand blown up by the front wheels blinded her a little, and then she was sitting on the windowsill. She aimed for a point before the helicopter and fired. A short burst of smoke came from the PPSh, and a line of tracers slammed into the Hind.

"Hey!" said Razov.

"Sorry," she said. "I got the two triggers mixed up. But they're not turning yet, right?"

"Nope, they're still bearing down on the General."

"Didn't you see any units when you were driving here?" Carter asked the General.

"There is that car near the town," he replied after a few seconds. "I don't know the frequency."

Damn. Carter quickly dialed the onboard radio to the Guard frequency. "What's your callsign?"

"Star Five."

Carter nodded then turned to the microphone. "All units in the vicinity, Star Five is under attack. Repeat, Star Five is under attack."

The car was an old GAZ-21, and the radio had been in use since the Second World War. Because of its bulk, the unit itself was in the back seat while the microphone and earphones were with the passenger.

"Did they just say Star Five?" asked the driver.

"Sure sounded like that to me."

"Star Five's General Khalilullah, isn't it?"

"Holy shit!" The driver pressed the brake to the floor as hard as he can. The two then jumped out of their vehicle, and the one on the radio went for the trunk and brought out a Stinger missile launcher.

"I see some movement on the horizon," said Razov. Rosie brought up his battered Russian binoculars and focused on the two figures. If the thing on one of them is a rocket, then Carter and Khalilullah are as good as dead…

The missile flew straight for the Hind, and despite its crew's efforts to evade, the missile hit them in the engine, and the Russian helicopter became a blazing fireball in the clear Afghan sky.