Elf Commander

“I don’t know how confident he is about persuading the tribal elders,” Hou Rui muttered, bored, as he drifted to the window. Carefully, he parted the curtain just a crack and looked down from above at the backs of the bearded man and his companion.

“The power dynamics here are complicated. If the temptation is sufficient, it shouldn’t be too difficult,” replied one of the men, now revealing his face as he removed his veil.

“Let’s hope so,” Hou Rui said, and was just about to withdraw his gaze, when suddenly, in the center of the street below, a woman in a black robe whipped off her veil. She raised both arms high and began to recite something in a loud voice. The pedestrians around her, upon hearing her words, instantly showed terror on their faces and scattered in a panic, but it was already too late. The woman pressed her palm down, and in an instant, her whole body exploded, engulfing a twenty-meter stretch of the street in flames.

The blast shattered the windows on both sides of the street. Hou Rui was thrown backwards, landing hard on the floor. When he managed to struggle to his feet, his ears were still ringing so badly he couldn’t hear a thing. Dragging himself to the broken window frame, Hou Rui looked down at the devastated street. He saw the bearded man, unlucky enough to be caught in the explosion, writhing in agony, his body ablaze, rolling on the ground in a desperate attempt to extinguish the flames. But the fire showed no sign of abating.

The bearded man had become a charred figure of fire, driven to the edge of madness by the inhuman pain. From the second floor, Hou Rui watched as the man drew his pistol, shoved it into his own mouth, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. With the gunshot, a plume of blood sprayed from the back of his skull, but even after his body collapsed, the flames continued to consume him.

“Damn it! They mixed sugar into the incendiary bomb to make the fire stickier. Without a chemical foam extinguisher, there’s no way to save him,” Hou Rui heard another man at the window remark, as his hearing gradually returned.

Dead, just like that?

The leader of the task force had died in so simple, so abrupt a fashion?

Hou Rui sat numbly on the floor, drained of all strength and utterly bewildered. Just then, the woman in the black robe across the street also tore off her veil, revealing a pair of enchanting green eyes. “I told you, no one is safe here!”

From the distance, police sirens began to wail. The black-robed woman swiftly announced to everyone, “The commander is dead. I’m taking charge now. First order of business: we move immediately.”

At once, Hou Rui and the others strapped their weapons and gear back on, following the black-robed woman as she pulled out a satellite phone and dialed while leading them out of the building.

The street was chaos: the awnings of the shops along the way burned fiercely, the air thick with the stench of scorched human flesh, the occasional screams of the wounded piercing the night. Some local civilians had rushed out to help extinguish the fires, shoveling sand and dirt over the still-burning corpses, lifting bloodied survivors and laying them side by side along the curb.

Hou Rui, keeping close to the street as he hurried away, cast one last glance at where the bearded man had fallen. But now, the area was swarming with locals; even if the team had wanted to recover equipment, it was impossible. They had no choice but to leave him behind.

Someday, I’ll probably become just another unclaimed corpse in some unfamiliar city, Hou Rui thought, a little melancholy. But the woman’s voice crackled again through his radio, urging him to keep up. Pulling himself together, Hou Rui followed the others out of the street.

Sixty-seven minutes later, the black-robed woman led the group to another safehouse. Once everyone was settled, the atmosphere outside remained tense. Patrols of armed men belonging to various factions roamed the streets, keeping a wary distance from government soldiers as they passed each other. Heaven knew how, beneath their nearly identical robes and headscarves, they could tell friend from foe.

After a long period of noise, the street finally quieted down. Yet the woman continued to coordinate, speaking in Pashto over the satellite phone with someone, her expression shifting unpredictably.

At last, she hung up and turned to address the group. “The mission continues as planned. The organization will assign a new intermediary. For now, we wait.”

No one spoke. Originally, twelve people had set out on this mission—a task with little hope of survival even then. Now, with two fewer, their odds were even worse.

Perhaps sensing their unease, the woman broke the silence. “To increase our chances, I want everyone to state their codename and specialties. I need to reassign roles and details, and this also improves your chances of survival.”

“Little Tommy. Grenade launcher specialist.”

“I’m Snake Eye, assault specialist, skilled with assault rifles.”

“Firelight, demolition expert.”

“Boar, assault.”

Each introduced themselves in turn. When it came to Hou Rui, he followed suit. “Wild Dog, specialty…” He hesitated, unable to think of any particular skill. At last, the black-robed woman, growing impatient, cut him off.

“Call me Elf. I’m skilled in rapid deployment and mid-range sniping. Now that we all know each other, let’s discuss the plan: if we secure the tribal elders’ help, I’ll have them stage a frontal assault to draw the Americans’ attention, while we deal with the government troops. No need to get bogged down; grab the truck and withdraw immediately. If we don’t get their help, we’ll repeat the ambush at the checkpoint—use heavy explosives to inflict maximum casualties on the convoy’s guards in a short time, suppress resistance, and seize the truck.”

“The mission brief said the truck is carrying art. Isn’t it risky to use so many explosives?” asked Porcupine, his codename betraying his worry.

“There’s no alternative. Assume twenty Americans and thirty government soldiers: that’s about five opponents per person. That’s not only difficult, it takes time. If the Americans call for support, drones will arrive in fifteen minutes, and reinforcements in twenty at the latest,” Elf said forcefully, laying out the stakes.

“What if the attack stalls? Do we have a backup plan?” Snake Eye pressed on, suspicion written all over his face.

“Why not track the convoy and strike at the airport or transfer station instead? Creating chaos is easier than a head-on assault,” suggested Opossum, also reluctant to follow Elf’s plan.

“Dammit, if only someone could persuade the tribal elders. I hear Afghans like Western women,” someone in the corner said, voice heavy with implication.

A couple of others chuckled knowingly.

“No. Even if the objective is slightly damaged in the process, it’s still better than total failure or being killed by the chip for failing the mission. I support Elf’s plan.” At this, Rock, a hulking figure hefting a M60 machine gun, spoke in a deep, gravelly voice, quashing further dissent.

“I agree.”

“Seems there’s no other way.”

“Whatever you say.”

Seeing the majority in agreement, Elf’s striking green eyes settled on Hou Rui, who hurriedly nodded his assent under her gaze.

“One more thing: I’m assuming command mid-mission. I’ll explain my plan and permit questions, but from this moment I expect total obedience. If anyone feels more fit to lead, I can request the organization to transfer command.” Her demeanor shifted, voice sharpening, her eyes narrowing like a sniper locking onto a target. The dissenters fell silent under her cold stare.

“You’re in charge,” Snake Eye conceded, dropping his gaze.

Just then, the satellite phone rang. Elf snatched it up, exchanged a few quick words, and Hou Rui watched relief flood her face.

Good news, it seemed.

For some reason, Hou Rui felt lighter too. But as Elf hung up, she unexpectedly pointed straight at Hou Rui. “The new intermediary has agreed to meet. I need one person to go with me. Wild Dog, you’re coming.”

“Me?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go.” Elf wrapped her veil back around her face and strode out. Still catching up, Hou Rui hurried after her, following her down the stairs.

Outside the dingy two-story building, an old pickup truck waited at the corner. Elf flashed her flashlight; someone in the cab responded. She led Hou Rui over, and they climbed in as the truck headed out into the pitch-black city outskirts.

During the drive, Hou Rui held his tongue as long as he could, but finally leaned over and whispered, “Why did you pick me? I don’t speak Pashto, and I lack experience.”

Elf turned to regard him in silence. Under her gaze, Hou Rui began to regret asking, but at last she answered, “Afghanistan’s been at war for years. The tribal elders will never trust an unfamiliar Westerner. What I need is your Eastern face.”

“Oh, I see,” Hou Rui replied, relieved.

“Of course, Afghans would never accept a woman as a negotiator either. And among the team, you’re the least valuable. If something happens and we lose you, it won’t affect the mission much,” Elf finished, turning away and leaving Hou Rui to stew in his own frustration.