9/11 Was An Inside Job
Hffyl woke up in a surreal, white expanse. He was unfazed by the bizarre setting.
"Back in the dream world. Where to this time?" he sighed.
As he started walking, the world around him shifted with every step, creating an ethereal landscape.
"Never gets old, this place. Always changing the rules," he muttered.
The environment transformed, and Hffyl found himself standing in the midst of a Mujahedeen base during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. Tents, camouflaged equipment, and armed fighters appeared around him.
"Well, this is a familiar chaos," he raised an eyebrow.
He strolled through the camp, passing by fighters busy with preparations, seemingly ignoring his presence.
"Alright, let's focus. Trancadores das Almas Falsas. Where are you hiding in this mess?" he talked to himself.
As he explored the camp, the world continued its dynamic shift, making it hard to differentiate between whatever the white realm is and reality.
"Gotta find something, a hint, a clue. Why bring me here?" he wondered, looking around.
He lingered on faces and details, searching for any anomaly or sign related to Trancadores das Almas Falsas.
"No conflict yet, no threats. Just the Mujahedeen in the distance. What are you trying to show me?" he whispered, trying to make sense of the dream world around him.
Hffyl approached Sikandar Khyberi, a Mujahideen fighter busy inspecting weapons.
"Hey, Sikandar, got a minute?" Hffyl asked.
Sikandar looked up, a grizzled expression on his face. "Sure thing, Hffyl. What's on your mind?"
"Just trying to make sense of everything around here. What's the word on the street?" Hffyl inquired.
"Word on the street? You sound like one of them reporters. Ain't much gossip," Sikandar remarked, squinting.
"I'm lookin' for somethin'. Not sure exactly what, but it's important," Hffyl explained.
Sikandar smiled, "Important, huh? What's on your mind?"
Hffyl scratched his head. "There's this... thing. Trancadores das Almas Falsas. Ever heard of it?"
"Trancado-what? Sounds like one of those foreign tongue twisters. What's it gotta do with us?" Sikandar frowned.
"It's a long story, and I ain't got all day. Just curious if anything strange happened around here recently," Hffyl leaned in.
"Son, every day in this place is strange. But, if you're talkin' about weird stuff, I did hear about some blasted painting sellin' for a fortune. Irises, I think," Sikandar shared.
Hffyl raised an eyebrow, "A painting? That's random."
"Yeah, some other bits too. IRA doin' their thing in Enniskillen, casualties in the news. Crazy world out there," Sikandar nodded.
"Yeah, that's the world for you. Feeling like we're getting closer to the end," Hffyl muttered.
As they talked, the camp activity unfolded around them. Mujahideen fighters prepped weapons, shared stories, and engaged in daily tasks.
___________________
"Enough 'bout that. What's this Trancador stuff about? Trouble brewin'?" Sikandar asked, smiling.
Hffyl looked around. "Might be. Just gotta figure out what it means for us."
Meanwhile, Colonel Ivanov, General Gromov, and General Vorobyov sat across the table from Afghan President Najibullah and General Dostum. Maps and documents scattered the table.
"Alright, let's get down to it. Operation Magistral. We need to secure this stronghold," Ivanov said, squinting at the map.
"Yes, the Mujahideen have been a thorn in our side for too long. This operation needs to crush their resistance," Gromov nodded in agreement.
"We must ensure stability in the region. Dostum, your forces will play a crucial role," President Najibullah leaned forward, addressing Dostum.
Dostum smirked, "Of course, comrade. We know the lay of the land better than anyone."
Vorobyov glanced at the plans, saying, "The Mujahideen's supply routes are vulnerable here. We hit them hard, disrupt their logistics."
Ivanov rubbed his temples, expressing concern, "We can't afford any mistakes. The last thing we need is a repeat of Panjshir."
Gromov agreed, "True. We'll soften them up before the ground assault. Vorobyov, your Spetsnaz will lead the way."
Vorobyov smiled confidently, "My pleasure. We'll make sure they feel the full force."
Dostum raised an eyebrow, "What about air support? We need cover."
Gromov nodded, "We've got helicopters on standby. They'll provide the necessary air cover."
Ivanov, looking at the map, added, "Once we secure the area, we establish a strong presence. No room for insurgency."
President Najibullah spoke resolutely, "This operation is crucial for the stability of the Democratic Republic. We can't afford failure."
___________________
Hffyl and Sikandar Khyberi eavesdropped on the Americans, hidden behind crates.
"Once the towers fall, it'll be chaos. Perfect pretext for our grand plan," one of the Americans whispered.
"And with Osama Bin Laden in the mix, we'll have the perfect enemy. Just what we need," the other American nodded.
"Osama Bin Laden? What are they talking about?" Hffyl whispered to Sikandar.
"I've heard that name before. Some Saudi dude," Sikandar Khyberi replied, looking confused.
"After the attack, we'll have the excuse to invade Iraq and Afghanistan. Establish our dominance," the first American smirked.
"The world will buy our narrative. We'll be hailed as saviors," the other American chuckled.
"Invade? What's their endgame?" Hffyl whispered angrily.
"Remember, once it's done, we rebrand. The Trancadores das Almas Falsas become the Global Coalition for Stability and Progress," the first American explained in a hushed tone.
"GCSP? That's what they call themselves?" Sikandar Khyberi raised an eyebrow.
"So, they're manipulating everything for their gain," Hffyl said, disgusted.
As the Americans continued plotting, Hffyl and Sikandar Khyberi grasped the magnitude of the conspiracy unfolding before them.
The radio crackles to life, a voice urgently conveying distress.
"Soviets are hitting us hard! Need backup at Grid C-27. Repeat, Grid C-27!" the voice on the radio urgently reported.
"We have to leave the Americans now," Sikandar Khyberi said with a grim expression.
"Those Soviets just don't quit, do they? Always causing chaos," Hffyl grumbled, his anger palpable.
Sikandar Khyberi grabbed his AK-47, and a photo slipped from his pocket - his son, Jalajuddin Khyberi, smiling in better times.
"I hope Jalalauddin is holding up well in all this madness," Sikandar Khyberi mumbled, looking at the photo.
"We'll make sure they regret attacking us," Hffyl said, his tone serious.
They rushed out of the base, joining other Mujahideen fighters heading towards the battle.
The Mujahideen fought valiantly against the Soviet onslaught, exchanging gunfire amidst the chaos.
"Keep pushing forward! We can't let them take our territory!" Hffyl yelled over the cacophony of battle.
"Damn Soviets think they can trample over us. Not today!" Sikandar Khyberi fired his weapon, his determination echoing through the rocky terrain.
Explosions erupted, painting the night sky with streaks of gunfire. The Mujahideen maneuvered through the rough terrain, utilizing every bit of cover.
"These moments shape history, Sikandar. We can't let them dictate our fate," Hffyl declared with grim determination.
"Right you are, Hffyl. Let's show them our spirit!" Sikandar Khyberi nodded, sharing the resolve.
As they fought, the Mujahideen faced the grim reality of combat - the smell of gunpowder, the cries of the wounded, and the uncertainty of survival.
"Any idea where their reinforcements are coming from?" Hffyl yelled over the continuous gunfire.
"No clue. But we need to hold our ground," Sikandar Khyberi struggled to reload, emphasizing the urgency.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the battlefield. Hffyl was thrown to the ground, consciousness slipping away.
"What... happened?" he muttered in a daze.
The sounds of battle faded into a distant hum as Hffyl's vision blurred. Slowly, he drifted into unconsciousness.
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Hffyl woke up, disoriented, in modern times. The white realm had released its grip, leaving him in the familiar surroundings of Zarabad.
"Back again. What was that all about?" he mumbled, still trying to make sense of the surreal experience.