THE EXTINCTION AGENDA

CHAPTER FOUR

                CHAPTER FOUR

                           

Kabul, Afghanistan.

1301 hours.

April 17th.

Director MI-6, Bullard 'Brain' Harris, expressed an indifferent countenance as soon as the helicopter gracefully took flight from the massive HMS battleship, its powerful rotors slicing through the air with an unmistakable hum. As it ascended, the aircraft seemed to defy gravity, rising higher and higher into the boundless expanse of the sky. The sun's golden rays bathed the sleek fuselage, accentuating its aerodynamic curves.

The pilot, a young RAF officer, Richard Maple, skillfully manipulated the controls, effortlessly maneuvering the chopper through the invisible currents of the atmosphere. The sound of the rotors reverberated, echoing through the surrounding landscape as if announcing the helicopter's dominion over the sky.

From its elevated vantage point, the world below unfolded like an intricate tapestry. The sprawling landscape appeared miniature, long stripes reduced to mere lines, and buildings to mere specks. The verdant landscapes stretched out, displaying nature's grandeur in all its glory.

The helicopter's flight path traversed diverse terrain, from rugged mountains to serene coastlines. 

The wind tousled the Directors' hair and made incoherent whispers and scents of distant lands and stories yet untold.

As the helicopter soared, it seemed to dance with the wind, executing graceful turns and gentle tilts. Its presence commanded attention, drawing gazes skyward from those below, who marveled at its airborne prowess.

He did not care less about the panoramic view that played on the helicopter's perspex. Scores of thoughts drifted in his mind, wondering if the fucking Americans could be trusted. 

He had heard of the massacre in Kabul and he trusted his instincts, primordial as they were that an insider was part of the macabre.

His boredom was soon eliminated with the emergence of the United Military Base on the horizon. He adjusted his stout frame in his bucket seat and gave the pilot a light shove. Richard interpreted the Directors' action and responded by reaching for the radio receiver and said mildly: 'HRMF to Tango. Over.'

The response on the other hand was immediate: Tango to HRMF. Confirm status. Over.'

'HRMF Arriving Kabul Military Base. Permission to land, Tango. Over.'

'Permission granted, HRMF. Over.'

'HRMF to Tango. Over and Out.'

The radio screeched off as Richard placed the receiver on the board.

Bullard has focused ahead at the massive base.

As the helicopter soared above the military facility, he gazed down at the sprawling complex, feeling a mix of curiosity and awe. It was his first time here. What the hell would he be doing in this hellhole if not for the incompetence of some damned maggots who were supposed to be doing their jobs in the first place. Even the crooked old General Marlon Pike could not be exonerated from such negligence.

He directed his attention to the base nestled within a vast expanse of land, surrounded by rugged mountains on one side and dense towering dunes on the other, strategically providing a natural shield of protection against any likely onslaught

From the air, he could see a network of roads and neatly organized buildings that formed the base's infrastructure. The structures appeared to be strategically positioned, with a central hub flanked by various facilities and barracks. The base seemed to be bustling with activity, a hive of military operations and personnel going about their duties.

Bullard also took particular note of a large runway stretching out before them, indicating the base's airfield capabilities. It was lined with aircraft hangars, some open with planes ready for takeoff, and others closed, presumably undergoing maintenance or storage. The airfield seemed to be a crucial component of the base's operations, connecting it to the broader military network.

Surrounding the central hub, he observed well-organized residential areas for military personnel and their families. Rows of housing units and apartment buildings provided a sense of community within the base. The presence of schools, recreational facilities, and sports fields suggested an effort to create a balanced and supportive environment for those stationed there.

As the helicopter continued its journey, he glimpsed various training areas spread throughout the base. There were firing ranges, obstacle courses, and simulated urban environments, all catering to the rigorous training needs of military personnel. These areas served as the crucible for honing skills and maintaining readiness.

The base boasted an impressive array of military equipment and vehicles. He also spotted armored vehicles lined up in a designated area, helicopters neatly parked in designated spots, and storage depots for ammunition and supplies. It was evident that the base was well-equipped and prepared to respond to various contingencies.

Security in his view was a top notch hence the feeling that the deadly slaughter of the seventeen or so men was an inside job. He could bet his life on this deduction.

He admired the two watchtowers positioned strategically along the perimeter, ensuring constant surveillance and protection. A series of fences, barriers, and checkpoints controlled access to the base, emphasizing the importance of maintaining its integrity.

The helicopter made a swift glide and descended towards the dusty helipad. Richard focused gaze locked onto the landing zone. The air crackled with anticipation as the whirling blades sliced through the atmosphere, creating a symphony of sounds. The young pilot's hands delicately maneuvered the controls, ensuring a smooth and precise landing in this challenging environment.

As the helicopter neared the helipad, the pilot's keen senses were heightened. Dust particles danced in the air, obscuring visibility and posing a potential hazard. With years of experience and a calm determination, the pilot adjusted the controls, compensating for the unpredictable gusts and sudden shifts in wind direction.

With the slow descent, Bullard could see a dozen or more vehicles coming to a halt some thirty meters before the landing zone.

The pilot deftly manipulated the collective, reducing the aircraft's altitude while maintaining a stable hover. The weight of the helicopter shifted as the pilot lowered the collective, causing the machine to gradually descend towards the dusty surface.

The swirling vortex of dust created by the rotor wash obscured the pilot's view, adding a layer of challenge. Yet, the pilot relied on their knowledge and intuition, adjusting the cyclic control to compensate for any deviations caused by the obscured visibility.

As the helicopter drew closer to the helipad, the pilot utilized the collective to slow the descent rate, carefully managing the power to maintain control while ensuring a gentle touchdown. The rotor blades carved through the dusty haze, stirring up the particles and creating a surreal atmosphere.

With eyes scanning the instruments and the landing zone, Bullard felt the subtle vibrations of the helicopter as it prepared to make contact with the ground. The final moments of the descent required the utmost concentration and precision by Richard.

Amid the dusty chaos, Bullard watched Richard skillfully adjust the cyclic, making subtle corrections to align the helicopter with the desired touchdown point. His hands moved fluidly, responding to every nuance and maintaining a delicate balance between control and finesse.

As the helicopter's skids made contact with the dusty helipad, a cloud of dust erupted into the air, momentarily obscuring the pilot's vision. But Richard had anticipated this, and their steady grip on the controls remained unwavering.

With a practiced touch, Richard gently reduced the power, gradually bringing the helicopter to a complete stop as he noticed more than twenty men disembarking from the various vehicles. The dust began to settle, revealing the successful landing on the helipad. 

The whirling sound of the engines permeated the surroundings, gradually fading as the pilot powered down the engine of the aircraft 

The rumbling noise of the helicopter gradually dissipated, leaving behind a serene ambiance.

Major Bullard maintained his indifferent look as he unbuckled his seat belt and with an effortless leap swung the helicopter's doors open, revealing the scenic surroundings outside. 

Flanked by Richard who took off his vacuum helmet, they carefully stepped out onto the landing pad, their feet meeting the solid ground characteristic of the Afghan landscape. 

Richard meanwhile took a moment to survey the extremely hostile and rugged Kabul terrain.

The twenty or so uniformed men made swift strides to the landing pad with the six-foot-tall, blonde-looking General Marlon Pike leading the team.

He made a deft salute and waited a while for Bullard's curt response.

Bullard observed General Marlon Pike clad in a crisply pressed uniform spotting a variety of dangling medals. He could see a purple heart prominent among them. With his broad shoulders and chiseled jawline, the General exuded an intimidating demeanor. 

Bullard nodded approvingly, from one soldier to the next, though retired, he acknowledged his place as a guest. However, he was still enraged by the breach experienced in a facility of this proportion flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.  

General Marlon extended his hand and observed Bullard's unconcerned countenance midst his neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair, which spotted a single strand of gray. A subtle sign of the passing years was obvious on the Directors' face creased with several wrinkles.

Bullard reached for his hand and firmly grasped it, accepting the convention of a ceremonious handshake as a way of breaking the ice. He could see the General admiring his meticulously tailored dark suit and perfectly knotted tie which epitomized elegance and professionalism.

Typically, only the British exhibited such elegance, he thought with an air of pride

His attire, an extension of his personality, exuded sophistication coupled with an aura of power that commanded the attention of the men flanking the General. He could tell by their broad smiles and friendly nods.

The sharp lines of his suit highlighted his once-muscular build. Being Director of MI-6 and its relative privileges had shed some of his stockiness for some level of cholesterol.

'Glad to see you, Director.' The General uttered with a smile.

They both instinctively disengaged the warm handshake while Bullard replied in his unique British accent: ' I thank you for receiving us at such short notice and truly admire what President Bush put here within a short time.'

'Glad to know that our partnership over the years which has been built on the tenets of democracy, and freedom has continued to wax stronger and your presence today is a reminder of that great alliance.' The General said with a broad grin 

'I truly find that encouraging. So can we get down to the reason for this bilateral convergence?' The Director smiled, expecting the General to be awed by his diction.

The General noticed his ostentatious use of words and restrained himself from exhibiting any surprise. The British were such proud bastards, he thought. 

Wafting his arm to the direction of the vehicles, the General flanked the Director and his young pilot to one of the eight Humvees parked on a sandy concourse, some forty meters away from the landing pad.

One of the twenty or so men swiftly made a dash to the Humvee which was under the propriety of the General. He swung the door open, allowing the Director lower into the rear seat, and was closely followed by the General. The officer made a crisp salute and shut the door.

The officer behind the wheel purred the Humvee to life and soon sent the SUV heading across the concourse. Through the rear mirror,  the Director watched the other men disperse while others got into the Humvees and drove behind the General.

Bullard could not hide his curiosity. He asked: 'General, I would like to know where we are heading to?'

'Thanks for undertaking this fact-finding our facility. We are yet to come to terms with the tragic event of that fateful. What is important however is finding out what happened and who were the bastards behind the ugly act. And for starters, we would visit the facility housing our servers where the breach was supposedly initiated.'

The pleasure is all mine, Director,' General Marlon, said, staring ahead at the horizon that gradually stretched out into a massive facility.