Prologue

The mid-day sun is pounding on my skin. I can feel the heat radiating off me as my sweat pours down into my eyes, slightly burning them. I was trained for this. I was trained for this with three other men. I was trained for one simple sounding, but very difficult mission - to pose as Al Qaeda henchmen to capture the now elderly Osama Bin Laden to put him to justice and recover lost Intel of a munitions safe house. My name is Mason Howard, and I am one of four covert agents sent on this mission. Operation Backstabbed. Six weeks ago we were deported to Afghanistan; three weeks ago Al Qaeda took us in, now, the mission takes place.










Terminal

8/16/24

Kabul international airport,

Afghanistan

Mason Howard a.k.a Rasuul bin Qadamu


The elevator doors open up, six men and I carrying LMGs walk into the terminal. We attract a lot of attention as the other five men open fire at everyone in plain sight. All I can think is how terrible this is, as the only things decorating the walls and floors are blood, guts, and dead bodies. Some bodies are missing arms or legs and others, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. The slaughter continues, and I have no choice but to be part of it. Bullets pass my head as the airport security guards shoot at us and the guards are immediately blown to pieces from gun fire. The heist lasts for what seems like days as it is really only minutes. The man leading our squad is shot in the leg twice and finally finished off with a blow to the shoulder. The ANP arrive in multiple heavily armored cars and outnumber us 50 - 1. One of the terrorists is shot like a dog, and the other takes a bullet to the head instantly taking his life. We forget the loot and head to the getaway van where another terrorist is impaled with bullet holes. Without thinking, almost as if it were natural, we get in the van, slam the doors shut and speed away.






[Mason Howard]



I awake to the sound of gunfire, having no clue where I’m at. At first everything seems blurry and all I can hear is a very high pitched, ringing in my ears. A short middle-aged man is yelling at me but I can’t make out what he’s saying because of the intense ringing. He waits a couple of minutes expecting an answer from me and that’s when I recognize him. He is Amir Zawihiri, one of the leaders of Al Qaeda. He keeps yelling at me and says, “You American dog! Did you really think you could get past us and get away with this?” He speaks with a peculiar accent, clearly showing he is not native to English. He hits me hard with a wooden club and says, “We found a American I.D., belong to one of your friend, now him and the other two dogs are dead. Only you still alive. You’re a dead man!” He hits me again, I try to hit him back but I realize I’m tied up to a chair. I know I don’t have long to live. I notice a G36C assault rifle on a table, but I can’t decide how to get to it. He cuts the rope and lets me loose and two heavily built men grab me and start taking me to their interrogation room. Then I make my move. I grab one of the two men’s Browning pistols from his holster and quickly pull the trigger sending a bullet straight into his gut. It doesn’t kill him but I immediately turn around a send a round into the other man’s neck. I quickly turn around to see Amir Zawihiri darting towards the G36C. I pull the Browning up, look down its sight and shoot him twice in the right leg. He falls down pathetically and I mutter, “American Dog” to him and grab the rifle and carefully walk down the hall expecting terrorists to pop out at any time. As I head down the hall I can hear many men heading my way so I take cover in a little doorway which happened to be the restroom. I let the men pass and I kept heading down the hall ignoring the dangers behind me. I enter a large room and go up the stairs. I spot a man inside of an office using the phone probably to call for support. I slowly walk in and grab a knife on the desk next to him and stab him in the back. I keep the knife with me, leave the office and start up the catwalk that the stairs led to. I’m hoping this leads to a way out, but I’ll have to find out on my own. I keep following the catwalk until I find a dark hallway with lights that are actually making the hallway seem darker. Two or three men come out from a door and I quickly pop ten bullets at them killing all three of them. I walk into the doorway they come out of and I see some sunlight. I head towards the sunlight until I finally exit the bunker. I seek cover so I don’t get spotted by any henchmen outside. There have to at least be a hundred of them. I slowly and swiftly make my way to an armored car where to man are talking. I wait till they walk away and then keep making my way to the exit. I hear an alarm go off and then I notice that I’ve been detected. There is so much gunfire around me that it’s deafening and breaks my train of thought. Five men find me around the corner of the armored car and I open fire at them with the G36C. I run out of ammo so I drop my assault rifle and pick up two of their Skorpion submachine guns. I try my best and sprint towards the exit. I spy with the tip of my eye a Stryker tank and all I can think is how much is coming for me until I spot the US Army sign on the tank. This moment is a miracle to me as I start towards the tank to get in. As I climb on I feel a bullet penetrating the flesh of my left arm and I drop one of the Skorpions, but make no effort to get it back, I open the hatch of the tank and get in as we escape the scene of what easily could have been my death. We head back to one of our military bases and camp there for the night.
Home Sweet Home
I get shipped back home thanks to my wound and first things I see as I head through the doors of an average house are the two most important things in my life – my wife, and my daughter. They welcome me home with a long embrace and we go to eat a dinner my wife prepared consisting of rib-eye, green beans, and mashed potatoes. I have to say, it was a rather superb meal. After dinner I change into my pajamas, yes pajamas, and go to sleep after an exhausting day almost completely spent on a plane for 17 hours. When I wake up from my slumbers I go downstairs, have some coffee and toast, go to the living room, sit down on a recliner and help myself to some TV. As I watch the news a sly grin crawls up my face as I see that a terrorist bunker was under attack and I discretely take credit for that.
Later I go to lunch with a few old friends at my favorite restaurant in town, Fort Angus Burgers; I’ll say they got the best burger in town. As I leave I turn on the radio to listen to some of my favorite music and coincidentally, my favorite song is playing on the radio – Hotel California. I enjoy the song as it goes through the chorus and all of a sudden the song is interrupted by breaking news. I mutter a curse word and then hear, “Sadie Howard, age 17, is killed in a hit in run incident at 16th Avenue, Main Street. The police are after the culprit. He is middle aged, about 5’6” and is Muslim. If anyone sees this suspect immediately call your local police department.” My eyes shed so many tears that everything is a blur. I continue through the New York rush hour traffic moving only one block about every five minutes. I park in a random lot, put on my pistol holster containing an M9 pistol, and lock the doors and walk down the street. I’m already at 13th Avenue, Main Street and quickly pacing towards 16th. By the time I get there the police already have control over the area. There is yellow Caution do not cross – crime scene tape all around the street intersection keeping people from getting to their destinations. I duck down to get under the tape and a stocky looking cop says, “Sir you may not cross this line.” I quickly without thinking say, “I’m her father, lemme pass.” Right when I say this, my thoughts are instantly covered in grief. He lets me pass and I go up to where she was hit, and there she is, laying face down, dead from the world forever. I start to cry again and then ask where the murderer went. He grimly answers, “That way” and points towards 17th Avenue. Those vague words echo in my head as I load my M9 and walk on to 17th.