CHAPTER ONE

WARDAK PROVINCE, WEST OF KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

Blaze McIntyre could see it out of the corner of his eye. An abnormal wind blew behind him. It was a welcomed relief even with the sand it kicked up in his face. The tent behind him quivered from the wind’s effects. Blaze focused on the men that had caught his attention. He continued cleaning his gun without looking down. Something didn’t look right. He held tight to his weapon feeling a premonition that he might very soon need to use it. It was not a typical day in the desert and he sensed that what he saw was not a typical conversation between blue and green. Just beside the checkpoint area something was brewing. Blue looked calm, but increasingly nervous. Green looked abrasive and increasingly angry.

Blue was the term used to identify those serving with the ISAF (International Security Assistance Force) sent by NATO. Green was the term used to describe those serving in the ANA, the Afghan National Army. All based on uniform color.

The checkpoint had been quiet and uneventful for days. When Blaze arrived at the camp he aroused suspicion and curiosity. His guarded mannerisms fueled the curiosity. Blaze was busy holding secret meetings with several equally mysterious MI6 members. He barely interacted with anyone else there on the NATO side. No one on either the ANA side or the ISAF side was really sure why the hell the clandestine service guys were even there. Blaze sensed this and was glad that his designs had fleshed out. He liked keeping everyone guessing.

His gaze was securely affixed on the arguing soldiers. He could hear the voice of the Afghan soldier in green getting louder and he could see, even with his distant view, the contortions of the Afghan soldier’s angry face flinching with agitation. The ISAF soldier’s temperament had not changed—despite being yelled at—but it was clear the nature of the conversation was heading in a tense direction. Although Blaze was in Afghanistan on specific CIA business, he knew that he couldn’t ignore what he was witnessing. He knew he would have to get involved.

The shot crackled with terror from the gun of the angry ANA soldier. Brain matter flung with an arched trajectory from the head of an unlucky ISAF soldier. Two other NATO-sent ISAF blues tumbled to the ground and howled in agony. Medics scrambled to rescue the wounded blues that surrounded the scene.

His position twisted sharply and he saw the aftermath of the shot. The Afghan soldier had fired quickly and the shot had not been visible to Blaze. But the seriousness of the situation was indeed clear to the American spy. It was time for him to get into the mix.

His legs took on a trajectory of their own as he charged towards the scene of this stupefying growing “incident”. His reaction was instant, but not well thought out. This was, after all, not the typical premeditated spy op he was accustomed to. This was normal warfare with all its spontaneity and unpredictability. The circumstances called upon the instincts that Blaze had honed back in his days in the Marines.

He saw his three newfound MI6 friends responding in kind close by, as they drew their weapons and ran towards the firefight. Blaze took out his Walther P99 as he ran to fight along side his British pals.

Several more Afghan soldiers emerged from behind the checkpoint area ahead. They ran with anger and were screaming and shooting their weapons. Sand swirled in the hot air mirroring the chaos of the moment. Other Afghan greens were fleeing, clearly trying to separate themselves from the rogue Afghans that had turned on the blue ISAF NATO soldiers that they were supposed to be working side by side with.

By the time Blaze got close enough to the checkpoint scene gone wrong, the bullets were flying everywhere. Several whizzed passed his head as he tucked and dodged his way forward. He simultaneously attributed divine protection and Irish luck to the fact that his head was still in one piece. A contradiction in belief that somehow worked well for him.

He said a quick prayer internally that the Almighty would follow him and swarm him with a “pillar of cloud,” as He did for the Israelites fleeing hordes of Egyptian marauders in ancient times.

He heard a scream to his left, and saw one of his new MI6 buddies go down with a thump. Blaze kept moving, it appeared not to be a fatal hit.

Blaze raised his Walther P99 and began firing while running. All the good Afghans had already fled the scene, and all that remained were rogue Afghans shooting brave ISAF soldiers. Blaze killed three rogue Afghans quickly and effortlessly. Two others almost escaped the path of his bullets, but ultimately found death from the flying lead.

His foot trampled the fingers of a dead Afghan turncoat as he continued to spring forward. An excruciating pain surged abruptly in the side of his right calf. Blaze tried to continue running, but fell forward to the ground after only a few steps. He had been hit. He was down.

Blaze had been shot before, and knew the pain of a bullet, but this one hit a particularly sensitive and vulnerable spot. He reached down and clutched his ankle in an attempt to calm the unbelievable pain caused by the flaring nerves that spazzed inside his leg. His eyes flinched and closed as he braced the unrelenting agony. He held in his screams as to not draw attention to himself. He had always disciplined himself to not yell and scream like others in battle. He knew the value of holding in expressions of pain. He opened one eye as he held tight his leg. The Afghan was only a few feet away, and his gun was closer.

Blaze shifted his fallen body with precision. He positioned himself to shoot the oncoming Afghan maggot before he got turned into a bleeding dead pile of red.

Blaze’s head tilted back and he escaped any feeling of prolonged pain as he felt a dizzying transition out of his body, while the oncoming bullet transitioned its way through his forehead. Death had come.