Finish the Job (Backstory from Deployment)

[Vidar Anfinson]

Vidar emerged from his quarters at Bagram Airfield and adjusted his uniform, pulling his cap a little bit lower on his head as he turned in the direction that would take him where he needed to go for his briefing. What Norway was doing being involved in Afghanistan in the first place was beyond the special forces' soldier's ability to comprehend. No doubt all the reasoning was a good bit above the pay grade of a simple Sergeant, even one that was as highly trained as Vidar was. As he moved along the dirt and rock path the winged mutant was careful to leave a wide berth between himself and other soldiers, in particular the Americans which comprised the largest contingent of forces at the air base and who, in a general sense, displayed the most animosity towards the Norwegian mutant.

Don't look for trouble, and trouble won't look for you, he thought to himself as the talons are the end of his toes, which protruded from his custom made and issued combat boots, dug little furrows in the walk way with each step. No doubt some of the soldiers would be less than pleased if they knew what it was that he did in the Afghan theatre. As it was, though, Vidar assumed most of them simply wondered why the Norwegians had sent the mutant soldier to Afghanistan in the first place. As he walked Vidar fished into one of the pockets on his pants and pulled out a trail mix granola bar which he unwrapped and proceeded to eat as he walked.

Finishing the snack as he reached the entrance to the building he was seeking Vidar deposited the wrapper in a trash bin near the door before pushing open the door and moving inside. There was a rush of cool air as the door opened since this building was air conditioned. His eyes quickly adjusted to the interior lighting, which was less bright than the sun outside, and he set off down the hall in a direction he knew well by now given how long he'd already been deployed.

Reaching the door of the Lieutenant Colonel's office he raised a hand, being careful to tuck in his taloned fingers, and wrapped smartly on the door. "Come in," the voice of the Lieutenant Colonel called out. Vidar pushed open the door and entered the office, standing at attention while he waited for the officer to provide further direction.

"There's no need to be so formal," the man said, waving a hand dismissively, "Please, seat yourself Sergeant." Vidar assumed his seat and, since there was no need for conversation at this point, he remained silent. He assumed that the Lieutenant Colonel would have come to expect this sort of behavior, in terms of a lack of speaking. Silently, with just a slight rustling of the feathers on his wings, Vidar sat and waited for the officer to begin the briefing.

"The Americans have intel, both local and aerial gathered by Global Hawks, on a Taliban weapons cache in the Kunar Province, southeast of Asadabad just west of the Pakistani border. They think Pakistani militants might also be funneling weapons and even some heavier equipment into the stash, possibly supplied by, or stolen from, the Pakistani Army. Type 56's and Tokarev's, mostly, though they have found some G3's and Dragunov's mixed in as well in some of their recent skirmishes in the area," his superior said, producing an intel file and sliding it across the desk to Vidar. The winged mutant took the file and opened it, thumbing through some reports and photographs as the Colonel continued with the briefing.

"In four days time they're going to be sending in a team of Rangers to hit the cache in the early morning hours and you're being assigned as a recon and surveillance asset for the mission. Callsign, as always, will be Guardian Angel. You'll also be tasked loaded out to serve as a small scale aerial assault asset as well with C-4 charges that you'll be able to drop from the air as needed or directed. Normally they'd do this sort of thing with a helicopter strike, but they want to figure out for certain if the weapons are coming from Pakistan or not so they'll be looking for intel on the ground after they hit the site. Questions?"

"Will I be deployed to a FOB near Asadabad or will I fly out of Jalalabad or Bagram," Vidar asked, looking up from the intel packet.

"This is the Americans' show. You'll be moved to the base at Jalalabad Airport tomorrow in a CH-47 that's moving some cargo from Bagram to Jalalabad. From there, on the day of the mission, you'll deploy with the Rangers from a UH-60 platform day of," the Lieutenant Colonel replied. "Anything else?"

"I want a 417 for this mission, long barrel," Vidar said, indicating that he wanted to be issued a designated marksman rifle rather than the standard Colt Canada SFW that was usually issued to Norwegian Special Forces. He didn't go into explaining why it was that he preferred the H&K rifle, he assumed it would be obvious to his superior officer.

"Easy enough, you can pick one up when you're done here. Anything else?"

"Any targets of importance at the site?"

"Not that we're aware of. Anything else?"

Vidar shook his head. Early on in his combat deployment a common question he had asked was whether or not the foreign assets he'd be working with would know wether or not he was a mutant. The answer had always been that they would not and Vidar had long sense stopped asking the question. No doubt they'd be in for a bit of a nasty shock when they loaded up for the operation in a few days and were joined by a Norwegian mutant. However, their shock was not Vidar's concern his concern was with getting the assigned mission completed.

"Dismissed," the Lieutenant Colonel said. With nothing further to address with his superior officer Vidar rose from his seat and exited first from the office and then from the building, emerging back out into the sunshine of the

[Vidar Anfinson]

The sun was just rising in the early morning as Vidar walked up the ramp of the Chinook helicopter with a calm, measured, gait. In each of his hands he was carrying a tan duffel bag by the hand straps while his HK-417 hung from a strap over his right shoulder and he had an H&K USP Tactical .40 strapped to each thigh. In one bag he had the uniform and personal items he would need while he was in Jalalabad, in the other was the rest of the gear he would need, mostly spare magazines and clips along with some bricks of C-4. He knew he'd receive the radio equipment and detonators, along with some more gear, once he reached Jalalabad.

He nodded to one of the Americans near the rear of the chopper and settled himself into the rearmost starboard seat in the back of the helicopter, setting his bags down at his feet before unslinging his rifle and double checking it again to make sure the safety was on then placing it across his lap with the barrel pointed out the rear of the helicopter. He had chosen this seat because it was away from anyone else that might be using the early morning helicopter for a jaunt to Jalabad and because it allowed the Norwegian flag on his uniform shoulder to anyone else in the chopper if they looked. He had arrived precisely when and where he was supposed to be and he assumed that this trip via American cargo helicopter would be about like most of them were. They'd ignore the Norwegian mutant and the Norwegian mutant would ignore them neither party had to like the travel arrangements, they just had to get by with them.

"Hey mutie where you think you're goin'," one of the soldiers at the back of the chopper asked, speaking in an accent that Vidar would have identified as Southern Californian if he'd known anything about regional accents in America. As he spoke the man made his way over to where Vidar was seated, tapping a clipboard against his leg as he walked.

"Jalalabad," was the white feathered mutant's one word answer.

"Really, I didn't hear nothin' about takin' no mutie on our run today," the soldier continued, stopping in front of the Norwegian and looking down at him, a stark contrast to having to look up to the winged mutant which would have been the case if the large Norwegian was standing.

"Clipboard jockeys should consult their paperwork," Vidar replied, tapping the clipboard in the man's hand with one taloned finger. He'd heard, on a previous flight like this, some Americans talking about a sporting event and describing a "Clipboard Jesus". Vidar had no idea what that meant, but had known from their tone that it wasn't a term of endearment.

"And mutie's oughta know when to keep their mouths shut," the soldier said getting down in Vidar's face. In the blink of an eye Vidar's right hand shot out and grabbed the offending soldier who was lucky that the mutant had his talons sheathed. Vidar yanked the man down until they were almost nose to nose with one another.

"You don't hear, so maybe you don't read," the Norwegian said in a low and dangerous tone, pulling the clipboard from the soldier's hand while he remained seated. "I can help." Vidar held up the clipboard to one side of his face and read it out of his peripheral vision using his enhanced eyesight all while never breaking eye contact with the suddenly silent soldier.

"Here, halfway down the page. 'Anfinson, Sergeant Vidar' and the 'NOR' means 'Norway'." Vidar said tapping the name badge on his chest which said 'Anfinson' and the Norwegian flag at his shoulder. "Now leave me alone," he continued shoving the man backward roughly while hooking one of his feet behind the soldier's ankle. The overall effect was that the soldier tripped over Vidar as he was shoved backward and fell hard on his rump on the helicopter deck.

"Hey, do we have a problem here," a man's voice shouted. A second later the speaker was in the helicopter and Vidar could tell the man was a Second Lieutenant, an American officer.

"No problem, the Specialist was confused about some paperwork. I helped him fix it," Vidar replied, not turning his head to look at the Lieutenant since there was no need to do so.

"Good, let's keep it that way," the Lieutenant said, making his way to the seat in the cargo area that was directly across from Vidar's as the Specialist picked himself up off the ground and shot a dirty look in the direction of the Norwegian. The look said that things weren't over, but Vidar knew well enough that they were. Bagram and Jalalabad were both large bases and the odds of running across the man again on accident were slim and none.

"You handle yourself well," the Lieutenant said, settling his gear on the ground.

"Even better on mission," Vidar answered, having noticed the Ranger tab on the man's uniform and surmised that they'd be working together in the near future.

"I assume you're my 'Norwegian asset'," the Ranger asked. Vidar nodded, but didn't offer a hand. He'd noticed that some people seemed hesitant to want to shake his hand, almost as if they feared they could catch mutantism from him or something to that affect. "Landon Dombrowski, U.S. Army Rangers," the Lieutenant said, offering a hand to the Norwegian.

"Vidar Anfinson, Norwegian Special Forces," the white feathered mutant said, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

"My 'eye in the sky'," Dombrawski said and Vidar nodded. "Sorry about the Specialist, unfortunately you'll find that kind of treatment far too often as my country struggles with the mutant question. We're not all like that though."

"There is no question, I'm human just different," Vidar replied in a level tone. "Do you have any more information on the mission," he asked, swinging the topic of conversation around to business while neglecting to mention that what he'd received from his superior officer had been a bit sparse. Dombrowski nodded and passed a file of information over to Vidar as the chopper's ramp raised and the rotors began to spin up.

"Rest of the team's already in Jalalabad. They flew me back for the briefing. Mission brief will be this evening after chow at 2030. Take a look at that file now, if you want, but I need it back when we land," Dombrowski said as Vidar accepted the file from him and opened it to begin pawing through the information.

"Of course," Vidar said, already beginning to pour over the information. What he was most interested in were the projected flight conditions for the day of the raid. That was information he hadn't received, for some reason, but he was pleased to see that it was included in what Dombrowski had been given. As the helicopter lifted off Vidar began to poke through and memorize certain parts of the file he'd received while the heavy cargo helicopter ferried them to Jalalabad.

[Vidar Anfinson]

There was a slight thump as the helicopter touched down. As the engines that powered the massive rotors on the Chinook helicopter wound down and fell silent Vidar stood and, without a word, crossed the cargo area and passed the file back to Dombrowski. "Is my presence required for the briefing this evening," he asked as he gathered his duffel bags and slung the rifle over his shoulder once more.

"No, I think you probably know better what it is that you need to be prepped for the mission than I do. If there's anything you need let me know and I'll be sure you get it," Dombrowski replied, truthfully he wasn't sure how well all the men under his command would respond to knowing they would be working with a mutant. The less chance they had to think about it and complain about it, and possibly pick fights with the Norwegian, the better off things would be. He didn't particularly like leaving them in the dark about working with the winged mutant, but in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a major thing for them to need to know right at the moment in the Lieutenant's estimation.

"I assume you'll have a billet with the Norwegians here," Dombrowski asked.

"I require detonators for C-4 and a half-dozen M67 grenades. The day of the mission I will require adequate radio equipment and the flight conditions over the target site," Vidar said, again getting directly to the point as he described what it was he wanted with a minimal amount of actual speaking.

"And yes, I will stay with the Norwegian contingent here," he continued, walking down the ramp of the helicopter as it lowered and turning to head in the direction where his countrymen would be located, while he was usually at Bagram the base at Jalalabad was not completely foreign to him. Within an hour he had received a temporary billet among the Norwegians and had settled into it for the duration, opening the file of information from his own superior and beginning to review it once again.

=========

The morning of the mission dawned cold and dark, though given that it was 0400 the darkness was hardly a great surprise in the grand scheme of things. As he walked down the flight line in the direction of the Blackhawks that would be the team's primary mode of transportation he tugged on his uniform to adjust it to the way he wanted it to sit on his large and lean frame. His HK 417 hung by a strap with the weapon near his right hip while a satchel with his C-4 charges hung over his left with a pair of flight goggles rested on his forehead.

From a distance he was quickly able to spot the helicopter that Dombrowski was in and chose that one to enter. Ducking his head he boarded the helicopter through the side door and seated himself as close to the port side door of the helicopter as he could get. There was little doubt that he'd be the first one off at the end of the ride since he'd need to get a start in the direction of the site to begin recon and reporting. As he did so Dombrowski turned in his direction and nodded, most of the rest of the Rangers looked fairly non-committal, with the exception of one who looked displeased, about seeing the avian mutant board the helicopter. The Norwegian flag was prominently displayed on his uniform and he had little doubt that Dombrowski had included the 'foreign asset' in the briefing.

"Here's our 'Guardian Angel', Sergeant Vidar Anfinson from the Norwegian Army Special Forces," Dombrowski said, gesturing to Vidar as he settled himself into his seat. He passed a satchel with the requested grenades and detonators to Vidar as well as the radio and several sheets of paper that Vidar accepted with a nod of thanks, draping the grenades and detonators so that they rested next to the bag with the C-4 charges in it while checking to make sure both of the satchels were zippered shut.

"Radio's preset," Dombrowski said as Vidar slid the radio headset on. "Caps and grenades are there and the papers have the requested flight conditions information."

"Radio check, check, check," Vidar said in a low tone, holding onto the papers for the moment.

"I copy you," Dombrowski said, tapping Vidar on the shoulder then resuming his seat in the helicopter.

As the helicopter blades on the Blackhawk begun to spin up Vidar unclipped a flashlight from the front of his uniform and shined the red light down on the papers he'd been given by Dombrowski, beginning to study them in silence while some of the Rangers began to talk amongst themselves. The Norwegian liked to be prepared for anything that might happen and, besides that, he wasn't on this mission to make friends and had no desire to chat with anyone that was part of the team more than was necessary including the Lieutenant who seemed like a good enough guy, especially as Yanks went.

=========

"Five minutes to touchdown," the pilot said. At that remark Vidar folded up the papers with the flight conditions information on them and put them into one of the breast pockets on his uniform, velcroing the pocket shut. With the information secured he stood and pulled his goggles down over his steel grey eyes.

"Request permission to disembark and move to get on station," Vidar asked, standing in the door of the Blackhawk and turning to face Dombrowski.

"Permission granted, God speed," Dombrowski said, nodding his head.

With the permission granted Vidar crossed himself and then allowed himself to fall backwards out of the chopper while it was still airborne. He allowed himself to fall a hundred and fifty feet, watching the altimeter attached to his wrist as his fell before opening his wings gradually which produced the affect of a soaring dive. Fifteen minutes later he was orbiting the site at a height of three-quarters of a mile.

"Guardian Angel is on site. Nothing to report, low activity. Eight sentries, paired, at each of the four compass points," Vidar said, knowing that at the height he was at and the time of day it was, plus the fact that no one ever looked up for an attacker unless they heard them, that his chances of being spotted were extremely low.

"Roger that, do not engage. We should be in position in ten minutes," Dombrowski's voice said, coming back over the radio headset.

[Vidar Anfinson]

Vidar orbited the site of the terrorist weapons cache and kept an icy blue eyed gaze on the goings on as the sun crept slowly into the sky, though it was not yet high enough to bathe the valley with golden warmth. As he circled in the air he watched for movement and made note of his observations. About ten minutes later he noticed a small plume of smoke coming from one of the tents near the middle of the encampment, light coming out of the flaps of the open tent. There had been no explosions so there was only one seemingly logical explanation. In the growing light he also noticed that two shapes at the rear of the camp that he had initially mistaken for large warehouse type tents were actually camouflage netting, though he could not yet tell what the netting was concealing.

"Guardian Angel to Bravo Lead," he said, keying on his radio mic.

"Bravo Lead, go ahead," Dombrowski's voice said, coming back through the radio headset's speaker.

"Got movement in the camp, looks like the mess tent has begun meal prep. Unknown number of hostiles inside, wouldn't put the number at more than four though," Vidar reported before continuing. "At the far southeast corner of the camp there are two large camo nets, they aren't tents. Can't tell what's being concealed. Maybe weapons, maybe something else."

"Roger that, we're in position and will move in from the east," Dombrowski replied.

"Understood."

Vidar turned his keen eyed gaze on the eastern side of the camp and watched as the two sentries crumpled to the ground. Even with his enhanced vision he wasn't sure where the shots had come from precisely since the Rangers were loaded with silencers and suppressors to hide the muzzle flash from their weapons as much as was possible. Down below he saw the dozen or so figures of the Rangers move out and into the camp. Everything, for the moment, seemed to be going according to plan so there was no need for Vidar to engage yet. Still, he avian mutant held his HK417 at the ready, prepared to engage if instructed.

The Rangers quickly breached the perimeter and then began moving methodically through the site, going tent by tent. Even though he couldn't see exactly what was going on in the tents the big Norwegian didn't need to be a rocket scientist to be able to guess what was going on as the site was cleared. As they approached what Vidar had pegged as the mess tent there was some shouting and then some audible sounds of weapons fire before Dombrowski's voice came in over the headset.

"Guardian Angel, you are weapons free! Hit the mess tent!"

"Acknowledged," Vidar said, pausing in his lazy circling of the encampment long enough to snap off two shots from his silenced rifle at the sentries at the southern edge of the camp.

Unzipping his bag of explosives Vidar removed one of the grenades he had been issues then quickly re-zipped the bag and dove from his position on the building he had pegged as the mess tent. As he neared the tent he yanked the pin on the grenade and then dropped the explosive down the stove pipe, beating his wings hard and using the speed from the dive to make sure he was clear of the tent. Behind him the grenade detonated and then there was a secondary explosion as whatever fuel source had been being used as heat to cook with also exploded. Turning his head to the side Vidar was gratified to see that there wasn't much left of the mess tent, or some of the tents in its immediate vicinity, beyond a small crater.

Climbing back to a height of one thousand feet Vidar turned his attention on the firefight being waged below, his rifle at his shoulder. At this height he knew he'd be rather difficult to see from the ground, even in the growing early morning light, but with his enhanced vision he'd be able to see everything going on just fine. He gazed around the camp, taking shots at several figures as they disappeared under one of the camo nets, but unable to tell if he hit any of them. When one of them came running out a few moments later with a weapon in his hands the winged man's suspicions were confirmed about at least one of the camo netted areas serving as the weapon's cache. He snapped off a shot at the man and was gratified to see that it dropped him before keying his mic.

"Guardian Angel to Bravo Lead, I've located one of the weapon's caches. I'm moving to destroy it with C-4," Vidar said calmly, dropping the rifle to allow it to dangle from his shoulder by its sling as he unzipped the explosives satchel and removed one of the bricks of C-4 and attached a detonator to it.

"Roger that, hit it then cover us! They've got us pinned down, we need what CAS you can give us!"

"Acknowledged," Vidar said, moving into position to dive bomb the weapons area. He had just tucked his wings to dive when he was interrupted by the roar of a diesel engine far below causing Vidar to pull out of his dive abruptly. The larger camouflaged net was suddenly shredded as an old Soviet T-72 roared out of it. Where the enemy forces had managed to get their hands on the Cold War era tank was beyond Vidar since Intel had long believed that all the armor the Taliban government had possessed had been destroyed. No doubt this was a mere statistical outlier, but a highly troublesome one nonetheless.

The tank rolled over several tents, making a beeline for the pinned down team of Rangers. Its main cannon suddenly barked and a round went roaring over the heads of Rangers and Taliban alike exploding well behind them. Making a snap judgement Vidar changed his plans, diving on the T-72. The Rangers had risen from their positions and were waging a fighting retreat against the armor. Intel hadn't indicated that any armor was to be expected and Vidar hadn't seen any of the soldiers lugging around a Javelin to deal with armor. What the winged Norwegian did know was that if someone could get a brick of C-4 on the tank that would neutralize the threat and he had the best chance of succeeding in that endeavor.

He saw, in his peripheral vision, as he dove on the target two of the Rangers take small arms fire and collapse to the ground. There was little he could do for them, other than to try and level the playing field. Fifteen feet above the tank Vidar shoved his wings out and his dive came to an abrupt halt about five feet above the tank. He knew he was very exposed in his current position and he acted fast. When the tank stopped to fire another round he tucked his wings and dropped down onto it, landing in a crouch just behind the turret. His hands flashed out and slapped two bricks of C-4 onto the tank, one on the turret and the other near the vehicle's rear mounted gas tanks.

There was no way he'd be able to fly to a safe distance before the explosion went off so Vidar leaped from the tank and rolled into a standing position and sprinted away from the vehicle, drawing his sidearms in the process as he preferred them for this kind of close in fighting. He never saw anyone to shoot at and, knowing how long the timer on the detonators was set for, hit the ground just a few seconds before the explosives detonated covering his head with his arms.

[Vidar Anfinson]

In the aftermath of the explosion of the T-62 Vidar got to his feet, spread his wings, and gave a leap to get airborne once again. His feet had just left the ground when he heard a rapid fire staccato burst from a Tokarev pistol followed by a sharp pain in his left leg. Beating his wings hard he fairly rocketed into the air, by his standards anyway, and he began to dodge and weave, flying an erratic pattern that would make him harder to hit. Checking his wrist altimeter the large Norwegian slowed his ascent as he reached a height of a thousand feet. He was still taking some fire but at the range he was at he was somewhat less concerned with it since automatic weapons, especially Soviet era pistols that were practically antiques and knockoff AK-47's, which weren't known for their impressive long range accuracy.

Raising a hand to his headset he keyed the mic. "Guardian Angel to Bravo Lead, the tank has been neutralized but the enemy knows I'm here now. I'm diverting back to knock out the cache now," Vidar said into the mic, neglecting to mention the fact that he'd been hit.

"This is Bravo 2, Lead's dead. We saw what you did with that tank you crazy son of a bitch! Hit those munitions and meet us at the rally point for extract in twenty," an unfamiliar voice said over the headset. While the voice was talking Vidar had used a talon to remove the sleeves from his uniform.

"Acknowledged," Vidar replied into the headset. Taking one of the sleeves he put it in his mouth between his teeth to hold onto it while he took the other in his hands and looked down at his injured leg. Spotting the wound the tied the first sleeve around his leg as tight as he could just above the knee, forming a makeshift tourniquet. Taking the other sleeve from his mouth he tied it over the wound itself as tight as possible so it would help to stem the blood loss.

Winging back over the camp Vidar unzipped his satchel of explosives. One by one he attached detonators to the blocks of C-4 and then dropped them down on the camp. He watched as one landed in the middle of the camouflage netted area where the weapons were stored and exploded taking the area with it. The fireball from the exploding ordinance created an updraft that Vidar rode several hundred feet higher into the air. Circling once over the encampment he dropped the rest of the explosives indiscriminately before unzipping the satchel with the grenades in it and removing them one at a time, pulling the pins, and hurling them towards the Earth far below.

Turning towards the rally point Vidar flew quickly in that direction, using the black smoke from the mess he had made of the encampment as a means of cover to conceal his own retreat as much as possible. As he flew in the direction of where he would meet back up with the Rangers he ripped open one of the pockets on his uniform and pulled out a pair of granola bars which were quickly devoured and washed down with a generous gulping of Gatorade from one of his plastic canteens. As he neared the rendezvous area he saw that the members of the team of Rangers, both alive and deceased, had already assembled and off in the distance he could already make out the shape of a pair of approaching Blackhawks that would pick them up and return them to Jalalabad.

Beginning to feel a bit light headed, the Norwegian tucked his wings and dropped into the little clearing that served as both the landing zone and rally point. Fanning his wings open with a soft snap he pulled out of the dive and landed, his left leg promptly giving way beneath him causing him to crumple to the ground. Several of the Rangers, seeing this, started in his direction but Vidar waved them off with his hand as the first sounds of the thumping of chopper blades began to fill the small clearing.

Getting slowly back to his feet Vidar lifted his goggles from his eyes and settled them on his forehead before limping over to join the others, dragging his left leg just a little. The Norwegian was a little surprised to not see any angry or accusatory glares thrown his way since he had expected the Yanks to lay the blame for not spotting the tank completely at his feet. Vidar knew that's where the blame for missing the heavy vehicle belonged since he was the reconnaissance man and it was his job to see those things, his fault that some of the Rangers had been killed. He was even more surprised when the medic moved over to him to check out the wound.

"Not a bad job of field dressing, all things considered," the man remarked in a slow Texas drawl as the first of the helicopters settled onto the ground. "Looks like a clean wound, through and through all flesh." Vidar nodded, that seemed like good news at least. If the round had struck bone things could have been a whole lot worse. "Go ahead and load up, we'll get the others squared away."

"No, load the others first," Vidar said, gesturing to the Rangers' fallen comrades. He was injured, but he could wait his turn. In truth he would have offered to help load the others if it weren't for the fact that the Americans didn't look like they needed the assistance. He watched as their fallen comrades, including Lieutenant Dombrowski, were gently loaded into the first helicopter as the second one landed in the clearing near the first.

Once they had loaded their fallen comrades Vidar climbed, gingerly, into the first of the helicopters to ride back. As the Blackhawk lifted off he turned his gaze outside of the helicopter though his mutation was such that he could also still see the bodies of those that had fallen. He was grateful that the eyes on the bodies were closed since he didn't want to have to deal with what he was sure would have been an accusatory gaze from the deceased lieutenant.

It wasn't long before there was a tap on his shoulder. Turning in his seat Vidar found himself facing the brown eyes of a Sergeant First Class. "Sergeant First Class O'Rourke," the burly man said, not offering a hand for Vidar to shake. "Intel dropped the ball on this," he said in a gravelly voice, pausing before continuing, "This ain't your fault, you saved all our lives by taking out that 62... I plan on recommending you for a commendation from the U.S. Army, not sure you'll get it but you deserve it. I need a final report from you to include in my own report, we can do that now."

Vidar nodded once and then resumed his million mile stare out of the helicopter, leaving unsaid much of what was on his mind regarding who was responsible for the deaths on the mission. The fact of the matter was that, to the Norwegian's way of thinking, it was his fault. It was his job to spot things, like the tank, before they could could endanger the teams he was working with and he had failed in that on this mission. He was thinking on how to formulate his report as the medic knelt at his feet and began to do a more thorough job of dressing the bullet wound.

"The weapons cache is destroyed, dropped a brick of C-4 on it. Made a fireball like you wouldn't believe, guess there was a fair amount of RPG ammo under there. Dropped the rest of the explosives and grenades randomly around the camp... pretty sure I leveled it. Wasn't able to gain any additional intel, not sure if there were any survivors or not, though I assume that there were," he said at last, not turning to face O'Rourke as he made his report. "Nothing further to report," he concluded, lapsing back into a brooding silence to be alone with his own thoughts on the mission.

The medic cut away the pants leg at the knee and the makeshift bandage and applied a fast-acting clotting agent and then re-bandaged the wound properly. "Probably hurts like a bitch and they'll have to treat this at Bagram, you got off lucky though... looks like a nine mil. from a pistol instead of somethin' bigger from an A-K or that damned tank." Vidar nodded and continued to keep his gaze outside of the helicopter.

Once the Blackhawk landed in Jalalabad Vidar and the other injured Rangers were hustled from the Blackhawk and quickly loaded into a Chinook with the clear red cross markings on it that denoted it as a medical transport vehicle. While gurneys were brought for some of the others Vidar insisted on walking under his own power to the Chinook, assisted by Sergeant O'Rourke who had one of the big Norwegian's arms thrown over his shoulder while the other Rangers accompanied their injured and fallen comrades in the same direction. The winged mutant winced with every step until they got to the big twin-rotor helicopter where the Sergeant helped him to ease himself into one of the side seats nearest to the rear loading ramp.

"Sergeant, an honor," O'Rourke said, offering his hand to Vidar.

"Good hunting," Vidar replied, shaking the offered hand before settling back into his seat for the trip from Jalalabad to Bagram where, no doubt, he and the others would be taken to the medical facility that was there. The facility was much nicer than most anything else in Afghanistan and rivaled, in some ways, western hospitals. A mechanical humming sound filled the interior of the big Chinook as the ramp was raised and a moment later the rotors spun up. Vidar leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes as he felt the vehicle lift off from the ground, alone with his thoughts.

[Vidar Anfinson]

[Two Weeks Later]

Vidar clop-hopped up to the door of the building that held the office of his commanding officer. The crutches were a significant hassle and he was quite relieved to know he'd be getting a walking boot tomorrow from the hospital in Bagram. The doctors had wanted to keep him in the hospital until the boot was on, but Vidar had refused to allow them to do so. There were others that needed a bed in that hospital far more than he did. Putting his back into the door he pushed his way through and clop-hopped over to the stairs, taking them slowly up. Stairs and crutches were never a good combination and it took the big Norwegian a good five minutes to work his way up two flights of stairs. Still, slow and steady was infinitely preferable to a backwards tumble down the stairs.

At the top of the stairs he turned and moved down the hall in the direction of his commanding officer's office. A few moments later he was standing before the heavy wooden door. Leaning a bit more on one of his crutches, so it wouldn't clatter to the ground, Vidar raised a hand and knocked sharply at the door. "It's open," his superior's voice called out through the door. Vidar grabbed the handle, twisted it, then pivoted and put his back into the door to go through it. He didn't need any help and he didn't want any help.

Once he was inside the office he clop-hopped to the middle of the room and came to the closest thing to attention that he could get in his current state. "Please seat yourself, Sergeant," the Lieutenant Colonel said quickly, gesturing to one of the seats opposite his desk. Vidar clop-hopped to the proffered seat and lowered himself into it, laying his crutches down on the floor next to the chair. "How's the recovery coming along?"

"Get a walking boot tomorrow, play it by ear after that. Lucky was just a flesh wound, recovery will be faster," Vidar replied succinctly. His feather's ruffled slightly and he suddenly realized he was still wearing his cap inside and quickly reached up and removed it from his head. When he had entered the office his sharp gaze had quickly noted the two medal boxes sitting on the desk. No doubt these would be two undeserved commendations. He had done no more than was expected of him and he'd done it too slowly to keep all the members of the team alive.

"I'm sure you noticed these when you came in. They are both for you, one compliments of our American allies. Ordinarily we would present these with a bit more pomp and circumstance, especially the award from our country. But, I convinced the higher ups that you would prefer to receive your awards this way. I know you don't think you deserve either of these, I read your report and I've talked to the Ranger sergeant. However, you're the only one that feels that way."

The lieutenant colonel took up the smaller of the boxes on his desk, opened it, and passed it without much ceremony. Inside the box was a small gold star attached to a small red, white, and blue ribbon with red being the predominant color of the ribbon on the outside. In the middle of the central blue stripe was a small bronze V-device. Vidar accepted the ribbon and looked down at it.

"I must say I was rather surprised the Americans sent you anything at all, given the way they and their government tend to view mutants. Apparently that Sergeant recommended you for something a great deal more prestigious, though I was not told exactly what. Still, the Americans have awarded you a Bronze Star with a combat V," the officer said. As he was speaking Vidar had removed the cover of the box and placed it back over the medal before sliding it into a breast pocket.

"Our own government has awarded you something far more prestigious," the officer began, taking the larger of the two boxes and opening it before passing it also across the desk. Inside the box was another medal, this one much larger though it was also on a red, white, and blue ribbon with red as the dominant color. The medal itself was a crown, beneath which there was a white cross sitting upon a gold four-pointed star. In the center of the cross was a gold lion rampant on a red field.

"You've been awarded the Royal Order of St. Olav at the rank of Knight, First Class. Apparently, it was decided that your actions merited something more than being simply a knight in the order. Frankly, I'm surprised you weren't awarded the War Cross. I put you in for one, so maybe it's just still caught up in the bureaucracy. So far as I'm aware you're the only mutant to be awarded the Order of St. Olav," the officer continued.

Vidar considered the award for several moments before closing the red velvet lined box and sliding it into one of the larger pockets on his pants. If there was one thing to be said for military uniforms it was that they were never lacking for pockets. He didn't want either award, though a small part of him had to admit that he was pleased to receive induction into the chivalric order of St. Olav. Still, such accolades should be reserved for those who completed their jobs flawlessly without getting members of their team killed.

"Anything else," Vidar asked in an almost painfully blunt and direct tone.

"No Sergeant, you're dismissed."

Vidar nodded, rose from his seat as gracefully as possible while picking up the crutches and then clop-hopped his way from the office.