Fortification

The outskirt of Zarabad, Qal'a-e-Suroosh, now under their control, bore the scars of recent skirmishes. The sand was upturned in places, littered with shell casings, and the distant remnants of the ANNM explosions dotted the landscape with debris. Burnt-out vehicles smoldered, the sharp, acrid smell of burning rubber and metal piercing the night. The remnants of barricades lay askew, and the traces of rapid fortifications attempted by AASOC could be seen.

Liv, her gaze sweeping over the area, spoke up, "We've got to lock this place down."

Farid, picking up a discarded map nearby, laid it out, pointing. "Entrances here, here, and here. We need barricades. Tank traps. Nothing gets in."

Charlie chimed in, her voice steady, "Got some scrap metal and leftover vehicle parts. We could rig them as makeshift barriers."

Emily, eyes still scanning their surroundings, noted, "We'll also need some elevated watch points. Sniper nests. They won't give us a moment's respite."

Liam, looking slightly pale from the day's exertions, added, "A medical station, somewhere central. In case things go south."

Karim, ever the tech wizard, had his gears turning. "We need a way to bring down that AC-130 if it comes knocking. Anyone know if there are any old anti-air weapons or at least parts we can jury-rig?"

Asif thought for a moment, "There might be. A couple of years back, heard rumors about some old Soviet AA guns in the region. If we can find them, we could repurpose."

Karim grinned, "That's the spirit. Also, we need to set up jammers. That will buy us some time against their tech and drones."

Hffyl, shivering slightly, caught Dollah's eye. "What about the skies? We can't shoot down everything."

Dollah, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, responded, "No, but we can camouflage. Use nets, foliage. Make it harder for them to spot from above."

Asif looked at the crew, a sense of determination in his eyes. "This is our fortress now. They won't get it back without a hell of a fight."

Dan, flipping open a notebook, began listing out tasks, "Alright, break into teams. Some for barricades, some for AA, and a few to get that camo netting up. We work through the night."

Karim nodded, his fingers already tapping away on a device. "I've got a prototype sensor that'll pick up heavy engine vibrations. If they come rolling with tanks, we'll know."

Emma, her expertise in demolitions coming to play, began rigging the main entry points. "If they get too close, these will give them a surprise."

In the midst of the preparations, there was a sudden thud, pulling everyone's attention. Hffyl lay unconscious on the ground, his skin flushed and hot to the touch.

Liam rushed over, quickly joined by Nurse Murni, their faces furrowing with concern. "He's burning up," Murni exclaimed, her fingers feeling the pulse at his wrist.

Asif, kneeling beside Hffyl, looked up, alarm evident, "What happened? He was fine just minutes ago!"

Murni, taking out a small thermometer, placed it in Hffyl's mouth. "This isn't just fatigue or stress. His body's fighting something off."

The small device beeped, and the reading made Murni's face pale. "He's at 104°F. We need to bring this down. Now."

While Liam and another medic quickly worked to cool Hffyl's body with cold packs and wet cloths, Murni took out a blood test kit. She needed to identify the root cause.

The atmosphere was tense as the minutes dragged on. Soon, the test results were in, and they weren't good. 

"He's got a combination of dengue and a strain of influenza, possibly H1N1. His immune system is compromised, perhaps due to all the stress, there's also some weak signs of Pavulon, potassium chloride and midazolam, still don't know how it get into his body." Murni reported, her face grave. "The change in climate, from hot to relatively cooler, might've just been the tipping point."

Liam looked up, sweat on his brow, "We need antivirals and hydration, ASAP. His body's been through a lot."

Murni nodded, her professional demeanor pushing through her rising panic. "We'll do everything we can."

Mustafa, who'd been silent, stepped forward, his voice a low rumble, "This boy has the heart of a lion. Allah be with him."

As the medic team worked tirelessly on stabilizing Hffyl, Farid and Dollah were off to the side, speaking in low tones. 

"Never seen him fall ill before," murmured Dollah, worry evident.

As the medical team hovered around Hffyl, keeping a diligent watch, the rest of the crew understood the weight of their responsibilities. The defense line needed fortification, and with limited time on their hands, every second mattered. Hffyl's condition was a painful reminder that they were all vulnerable.

"Alright," began Farid, his voice cutting through the tense air, "we need to fortify this place before nightfall. They'll come, and when they do, we'll be ready."

Mustafa nodded, "I've got some contacts. We can bring in some reinforcement. Perhaps even a trophy system to ward off incoming missiles."

"Let's get some deep trenches dug around the perimeter," Mike suggested. "Makes it harder for any vehicles, especially those MRAPs, to get through. Plus, they serve as good cover."

Nodding, Mustafa added, "Also, get some sharpshooters on the roof. Gives us a bird's-eye view. And if someone can rig up a siren or some kind of alarm system, that'd be good."

Sophie looked around, "What about supplies? Food, water?"

Farid, wiping sweat off his brow, nodded towards a corner. "We have some stockpile. But ration it. No one knows how long we'll need to hold."

Inside, Liam approached Murni, "His meds are limited. We need to make them count."

She looked grave, "I'm afraid we might have to resort to some traditional remedies. It's not ideal, but it might ease his symptoms."

Liam nodded, "Do what you have to. We can't lose him."

As the day wore on, the once-vulnerable defense line began taking shape, morphing into a formidable fortress. The evening call to prayer echoed, a haunting reminder of the delicate balance between life and death.

Sitting by Hffyl's side, Kadir whispered, "Stay strong. We need you."

___________________

Hffyl blinked against the blinding sun, dust stinging his eyes. The buildings around him bore a crumbling, battle-worn look, and the skyline was dominated by old Soviet architecture. Aging propaganda posters clung stubbornly to walls. As his eyes adjusted, the distant sound of gunfire and shouts punctuated the air.

Taking a deep breath, Hffyl tried to steady himself. "Alright," he muttered, dusting off his worn-out clothing. "Not my first rodeo with this... mind-travel or whatever."

He cautiously walked through a marketplace, abandoned stalls scattered with fruits and vegetables gone bad. A broken radio spat static, with occasional bursts of a Russian voice. Nearby, an old TV set flickered showing a speech by a younger-looking Brezhnev. Hffyl's eyes narrowed, "Soviet-era Afghanistan... But when?"

Approaching cautiously, Hffyl spotted a discarded newspaper, 'Pravda,' it read. He quickly scanned for a date, finding it in the corner: December 1979. "Beginning of the invasion," he murmured.

Suddenly, a group of Afghan rebels ran past, guns in hand, communicating in hushed, urgent Dari. Hffyl slipped into an alleyway to avoid them. He needed to keep a low profile.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, recalling his goals. "TAF, Machado, Adams... how do they fit in this era? If they even do."

He then remembered the legends of the Mujahideen fighters receiving mysterious support – not just from the US but other shadowy groups. Could TAF have been involved? Hffyl's mind raced with the implications.

He found himself in a busy bazaar later on, where whispers of the Soviets and rebellious sentiments filled the air. Slipping into a tea shop, he ordered a cup and tried to eavesdrop, picking up bits and pieces. Nothing substantial, but enough to confirm the general dissatisfaction with the Soviet presence.

Spotting the familiar symbol on the man's jacket, Hffyl's curiosity was piqued. He discreetly trailed him, winding through narrow streets and crowded bazaars. The man led him to an encampment on the outskirts, where men were hurriedly setting up defenses. These were Mujahideen fighters, preparing for a stand against the Soviets.

"Who are you?" a voice questioned sharply, dragging Hffyl from his thoughts. It was a burly Mujahideen fighter, his gaze skeptical.

"I'm... just looking for a place. Got caught up in all this," Hffyl stammered, realizing he couldn't expose his real agenda.

The fighter looked him up and down. "You're just a kid. What can you offer?"

Hffyl thought quickly, "I've seen defenses. Different strategies, different setups. Maybe I can help?"

The fighter seemed amused. "You think you can show us something new?"

Taking a gamble, Hffyl nodded. "Maybe not new, but effective."

The Mujahideen, out of sheer curiosity or maybe because they saw some spark in Hffyl's eyes, decided to give him a shot. He quickly found himself amidst a bustling camp, instructing on how to set up basic traps, suggesting vantage points for snipers, and even recommending better positioning for their limited heavy weaponry.

Days merged into nights as Hffyl's involvement deepened. He helped fortify the base, always under the watchful eyes of the Mujahideen. But as they saw his suggestions yield results, a grudging respect began to form.

He still felt out of place — a child among warriors. But every night, as he lay under the starry Afghan sky, the weight of his fever and fatigue tugged at him. Whispers of concern among the Mujahideen reached his ears: "The boy's sick," "He's pushing himself too hard," "Someone needs to watch out for him."

One evening, as Hffyl was sketching out a strategy in the sand, his vision blurred, and he collapsed. When he awoke, he found himself inside a tent, a concerned Mujahideen fighter by his side, offering him water.

"You have a fever," the man said, his tone softer than before. "You should rest."

Hffyl tried to sit up, "The defenses—"

"They'll hold," the man interrupted. "You've done enough."