Chapter 1: The Past and The Future
Let me do it, I can do it, whatever happens, we can handle-"
"No, its to risky and extreme, we can't afford the consequences if something were to go wrong."
"But if everything goes to plan, it would greatly-"
"No is my final answer, it is not happening. If you ever want to lead, you need to look before you leap, something you have yet to learn, Makarov."
Light filled Vladimir Makarov eyes as he awoke from his sleep. The early morning dew lightly filled his nose as breathed a sigh of displeasure. He had had another dream about him, before he had taken his place, before he had died. Imran Zakhaev, his mentor and predecessor, the man he had followed, and the man who had held him back. But times were different now, and the past mattered little when you were the one writing the future, and that is what Makarov would do; Finish Zakhaev dream of a new Russia free from the west, and to create a new dominant world superpower, something not seen since the Cold War. Makarov would finish his work, only this time, he would do it his way.
As Makarov got dressed, he looked at himself in the bedroom mirror. Slender, with black hair and slight stubble on his chin and face, he stared at the man looking back at him through the mirror. His eyes met his in a silent stare. The right eye was a clear, icy blue, the other, a light green, all thanks to Heterochromia Iridium. It added to his demeanor, making him look more like a mad man. He wonder how long he could last, how long it would take before he would meet his goals. Makarov only smiled to himself and headed for the front door. "Only four days" he reminded to himself, and stepped out the front door.
As he opened the door and walked out, he was greeted by a crisp morning breeze blowing gently through the trees. Makarov paused at the front porch, surveying the landscape around the estate. It was a mixture of fields and forests with a lake itself behind the estate itself. The high mountains were reflected off its crystal clear surface.
"Peaceful" Makarov thought to himself. He had frown fond of his safehouse estate, being his home away from home, as well as central base of operations. Makarov only sighed, knowing that this would be the last time he would probably see this place, there would be no turning back now.
Makarov continued on his route towards a single parked van. The van had the markings of an ambulance, with sirens and lights to match.
Makarov approached the ambulance from the back doors and took out a single silver key. He inserted the key into the door's lock and opened it, and jumped in the back. The ambulance had been stripped of all of it's original equipment, leaving a big storage space. The only thing that had remained was the compartments that were used to store various medical tools and supplies, and even that too was converted into storage.
As Makarov placed his bag into one of the storage containers, he looked around and took mental note of the van's contents.
The ambulance had become a mobile armory, with enough ammunition for at least ten men. Locked and secured into place along the side were nearly 4 dozen boxes of ammunition, each with a combination padlock.
Held on racks above were the guns themselves: Two M4A1 Carbines, Two M240 light machine guns, and a Striker Shotgun. First aid supplies, maps, schematics, and duffel bags sat in the other compartments of the van. And near the front of the van hanging on a hanger, was a single, drycleaned black suit and matching pants.
It was all here, everything they would need was all in front of him, ready to go. Makarov walked to the front of the van and stepped into the drivers seat. It would be a long drive to Moscow, giving him time to collect his thoughts and prepare for the days ahead. As Makarov turned the ignition and started down the driveway. As he come to the end before the service road, he paused and reminded himself again:
"4 days, 4 days and we'll be one step closer to our goal Zakhaev."