Chapter 1

The East Wind

Patton exited the airport after grabbing some food and some Aspirin. The city was unique to
a man like him. It offered ..accessible verticality. The place was filled with large open
buildings with accessible floors, and plenty of hustle and bustle.

Interestingly, there was no political campaigning of any kind. No hoardings, no protests, but
there was a police presence, armed with batons. Almost like something was going to
happen.
Something they wanted to suppress.
A board was at the entrance. Eraban Bazaar. A good start for some recce.

He walked through the bazaar, noticing how people didn't react much to him.

This made sense to Patton after a while, as the place was filled to the brim with profiteers
and warmongers from all over the world.

He had an advantage now, however slim.

Walking along, he found the place pleasant, even with all the drugs he found being sold.

And then he spotted the boxes.

Large green wooden crates with gasket seals.

Patton made a mental note. He had a good guess about what it was. Suddenly, a beeping
sound emerged from the announcement intercom and a man began speaking in Urdu.

'This is an announcement to all. We bring you this message to warn you of the East Wind
forming another sandstorm at 6:30pm, we repeat, 6:30pm. Thank you, and have a nice day.'

Patton realised that the wind had a name- The East Wind. The sandstorms were regular.
Another thing to note. He immediately bought a shemagh and a pair of goggles. The
shopkeeper took the US dollars without blinking. How convenient.

Some time passed. Patton checked his watch.

1810.
"Might be a good idea to find an inn", he thought.

By the time the sandstorm began, he had gotten himself settled. He couldn't do anything out
of the ordinary however; there was no guarantee that the place was free of bugs and
cameras.
He pulled out his BLUFOR tracker, and noticed he had an update. He needed to get to
Pavlov military base at 0930, where an informant would update him on the location of the
PMC, named Greyhound.

Tomorrow was going to be eventful, and Patton needed his rest.

Which is why through the sounds of the sandstorm, he did not recognise the sound of a
missile firing, and something crashing into the ground.

Patton woke up and clarity deceived him.

Black as far as the eye could see, and he could not move beyond it.

He felt something drip on his face. A few drops fell in his mouth.
It tasted of iron and lead.

He heard voices, the breaking of a bottle, a muffled scream, and the emptiness grew warm.

He thought the fire would stop.

It was going to cook him like a partridge in an oven.
He wanted the fire to stop.
Did you? Did you stop?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Patton awoke, panting. He still hadn't gotten over his first operation. That had to change
soon.

At 0800, Patton walked out the front door of the inn. Pavlov Military Base was somewhat far
out and he needed to know the path.
The second Patton reached the main road, confusion overtook. The road, bustling and busy
yesterday, was bereft of any soul.

Patton,now thoroughly spooked, quickly began walking towards his goal. And that's when he
heard the sounds of a mob.

The police presence made sense now. Some sort of protest was happening, and the police
stepped in when it became violent. But that didn't line up with the fact that there were police
yesterday. He needed more information. He needed to reach that informant.

He had to walk straight into the protest as it stretched to all the main roads to the other side
of the city. And most definitely, he was going to run into trouble.

The protest was about better work opportunities and the invasive activities of the police.
Interesting. Patton sensed something afoot, but had whipped up a few tools in 30 minutes.
He walked through the throngs of people, pushing his way through at a snail's pace. The
crowd was getting louder, their actions more rowdy, and the police were struggling to keep
them back. Patton sensed a change in the demeanor of the police.
doonk. doonk. doonk.

A soft noise of something metallic hitting the ground. Patton now hurried as he knew exactly
what it was.

The grenades exploded in a cloud of CS gas, and the police began charging with their
batons. Patton reached into his bag and pulled out his makeshift mask. It was just some
cloth with charcoal, but it would help.

Patton had mostly made his way through but progress was slow. And the police were inching
closer. He was within view of the exit when he saw the barricades. The police had them
sandwiched.
Not sure what to do, Patton looked around, and found a small alley and got himself through.
The alley led to a dead end, but he just leaped over the wall. And with that, he was out.

Few minutes later, Patton was at Pavlov Military Base. The entrance was fortified, and was a
sight to fear. The walls were tall, topped with razor wires, spotlights everywhere, the place
was prepped for a siege.
A siege from what exactly, hmm?

A man in olive slacks told him to follow. Patton obliged, not entirely willing. The man
proceeded to gossip about the place, something he tuned out after a while.

Finally, they reached their destination.

The base commander's office was sparse, with a few medals and photos, a desk, printer,
telephone and chairs. A grey-haired man was sitting at the head of the table.

Patton sensed a sense of authority with him. He was a bit worried that he had been led into
a trap.
The base commander dismissed the assistant and looked Patton in the eyes. Patton didn't
stare back, instead looking a few metres forward.
"I don't think I can trust you. I think you are here to herald us to our doom."
Patton replied, "All due respect sir, but I don't think you have a choice."

"But you do. So make one. I don't want you here. I don't think anyone wants you here. This
is not your war, or your country. Go back."

"Once again sir, I do not have the authority to call off this operation. And even if I did, I
wouldn't."

"There's no need to prove yourself."

Patton did not reply. His intentions had been deduced.
"I've served this place for a long time. You may be Special Forces, but you're green. Be
careful."

An awkward silence filled the room.

The base commander spoke first.
"My codename is Fox."
"Fielde."
The base commander passed him a bundle of a few hundred thousand roubles.
"Very well, Fielde. Show me what you are capable of. Go to Altair, in the Pashtor mountains.
And prove me wrong. Because this land has seen enough bloodshed."

Patton got up and walked out of the room.

The commander whispered, "I fear there will be more.. "

The sun shined with all its might, but the heat of the desert landscape didn't deter the beauty
of the land, nor did it deter Patton from his task.

He had a location now. Altair. He didn't recognise the name, but he certainly recognised the
Pashtor mountains. They were large, craggy peaks. A great place for a hideout, certainly.
Patton quickly hailed a taxi and asked him to drive.

The driver attempted to strike up a conversation.

"Tourist? Why mountains?"
Patton handed him a few thousand rouble notes, and the driver promptly shut up.
Patton pulled out his BLUFOR tracker, checking his map. He didn't see much except a single
small building on the map. Bingo.

The Pashtor mountains were towering. The place was cooler and less arid than the
mainland. But instead of being sandy, it was barren, so you had to pick your poison.

It did make sense to have a rebel headquarters here though. Out of sight, easily defendable,
probably has a few hidden nooks to hide or store something. But not without issues.
Vehicles couldn't be deployed easily. The supply chain would be strained, as well as facing
difficulties in rapid movement and transportation. But he had to see to figure stuff out.

Minutes later, he began sprinting up the hill, a faint feeling of elation filling him completely.
He had begun his task. He ran up the peak and found.. Nothing. A small altar cut in a large
rock.

He was thoroughly befuddled, but searched the area regardless. It then dawned on him
where the name 'Altair' came from. A bastardisation of the word altar. He walked around to
check the back of the rock, chuckling at his discovery, when his instinct prickled.

Patton ducked, and the tire iron swung over his head and hit the rock.

He turned around, arms raised, and saw two people, a guy who swung with the tire iron, and
another woman with a pistol.

The man swung again, but Patton caught his arm, and pulled him closer, then kicked him in
the gut with his knee. The woman took aim, and Patton struck the gun with a backhand fist,
disarming her. The gun fell a few feet away, bouncing harmlessly across the floor.
The CQC he was taught was useful after all.

He kicked the gun with his foot, and as the man lunged at him once again, Patton struck out
with his elbow, knocking the breath out of his foe.

Patton grabbed the tire iron, and held it in a defensive stance opposing the woman, who was
stunned.
"We need to talk. I am an ally."
The woman stared, disbelief writ large on her face.
"Fox sent me. This is Altair?"
The woman nodded, and slowly grabbed her gun.
"Carry him", she said
"What?"
"Carry him. You knocked him out. It's not far, so carry him. I'll lead the way."

Patton grabbed him, and slung the unconscious man across his back.

He had allies.
How reliable? He didn't know.
How strong? Couldn't gauge.
Was this good?

All questions, none useful.

You haven't changed.
I don't think you will.

————————————————
The phone rang.
Ahmed picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Where is he?", a rough voice ordered.
"I don't kno-"
"WHERE?!"
Ahmed stayed silent.
"So.. this is what it's come to. Listen carefully. Etch this into your mind."
The scream of a young girl filled the phone.
Ahmed broke down. He had made mistakes. Mistakes that cursed everyone around him.
He sobbed, he prayed, but there was no repentance.
"Your wife. Dead due to your incompetence."
"I'll find him. I will, I will!"
"Make sure you do. Your daughter is next."

Ahmed shrieked. Pain and anger flooded through him. He was powerless. He was the police
chief. It meant nothing to him. He was weak, as a newborn babe.
Ahmed called his lieutenant.
"We need to find a man. Foreign, American."
"There's thousands of-"
"Use your FUCKING brain. He uses foreign money, some sort of foreign tablet, and should
stay away from people. He escaped from the protest,so he'll put up a fight."
"It will be done."

Ahmed sat back down at his desk.

He looked at the drawer. He was close to his breaking point.
But his daughter.. He needed to get her back.
Life was hell on earth for Ahmed.
All he needed to leave it was the soul of a man.