They had completed yet another successful mission, and now, they were rewarded with a round of drinks in the nearest watering hole "on the budget" as Shepherd would say. It had been a rather… slippery one, and the men needed some rest and relaxation to say the least. They had all been pushed to their limits for a long, long time now, with no sense of the word "pause". One night of freedom, of booze and just plain fun, and it was all they needed to get the wears and cares of war out of their backs…
Only he remained deep in thought. How many such nights could they live to see? As the days grew long, so did the list of enemies that they had to defeat, and with every mission they took, the danger and the sacrifice needed of them increased… He could not see the end of the days in which he had to traipse across the beautifully harsh landscapes of that vast country that had made itself the enemy of the world in recent years, killing those he had been ordered to…
He knew that he had already seen what would have come, the very moment he had decided to serve as a soldier. The death, the decay… it had been all part and parcel to what and who he was… Taking a sip of his drink, he mentally gave a toast to those who had given their lives to the causes that they had set their hearts to, while praying to any power above that he would survive many more missions in order to see peace reign in the world once more.
"You seem to be a little quiet," a man said to him, interrupting his thoughts. "Your friends, on the other hand… Look like they're the life of the party." With the glass of whiskey in his hand, he moved it towards the direction of Royce, Roach and Ghost, apparently doing the limbo before a few appreciative women and the rest of the men that had come along with them.
He looked at the newcomer and nodded. Usually, he would not talk to strangers, particularly strangers in bars, unless of course, they were beautiful women, which could be just a matter of judgment at that time. Heck, the geezer who ran the bar could look like Miss Universe if he had drunk just enough… Well, in truth, he seemed to be the only other guy in the bar sober enough to hold at least a decently intelligent conversation, so he decided to humor the man. "I just don't feel like it," he answered, strangely giving the stranger the truth that was lingering in his heart. However, it was the truth that he had not meant to say.
"Indeed," the stranger said. "But there'll be times when perhaps a little alcohol will ease the hurts that one's soul bears. Not that I condone a habitual drinking of that sort, anyways." With his clear, blue eyes, the stranger was scanned head to toe once again. Really, he did not know what to make of this strange being at all. He seemed so calm, so serene, in a town where most people would have eyed them all suspiciously whenever they came about.
And truth be told… He did not know what language he was speaking in right now. In his brain, the language that he had processed was English, his native language, but he knew from common sense and experience that he should be speaking Russian… All of the 141 had been trained to speak and write in Russian, because they were based there in the land of the enemy itself, and to "blend in" with the locals there, what with their base being hidden in plain sight by the natural terrain of the area…
"Listen, just who the hell are ya?" he asked the stranger, who only gave him a fatherly smile. "And what makes you think that you know all of us, and me?"
The stranger smiled even more, and gestured him to sit down, a gesture that he obeyed. "I know that you are a leader of a band of brothers," the stranger said calmly, and he kept his silence. Taking a wary sip of the whiskey that never left his hand, he looked at the stranger, and knew from his expression that there was more to be said. "You carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders, young one, but always remember that the same thing never happens twice…"
How the hell did the stranger know what he was thinking about?
For the past few years, he had been fearful of one thing, and one thing only, that the fate of the 141 would never be the fate of his first SAS teammates… All of them, save for him, had died fighting against Imran Zakhaev, and Price… he was MIA with little hope of survival. He opened his mouth to say something to the stranger, to say that the stranger did not know what he had been through, the agony and the pain of seeing his comrades die before him, but no words came out at all.
The stranger, remained in his expression, while he… was no less oblivious. The others, on the other hand, they were totally ignorant of the exchange between their Captain and the other man.
"Look, mister, I don't know you who you are, or who you think I am but…"
"On the contrary," the stranger interrupted him. "I know exactly who you are, my son. You are a brave soldier, and a great leader of the men you call brothers… Always have faith, Soap, and you will prevail over all the challenges before you. They will get harder in time, but you'll pull through, trust me."
With those words, the stranger left after paying the bartender. He slipped past the door without stirring any more stares anyone else, except the Captain of the 141. "Hey, wait!" he exclaimed after the stranger, but saw no one on the empty street when he opened the door.
How… odd…
And when he closed the door, he heard a highly familiar sound. It was not a gunshot, nor the sounds of detonating explosives.
It did not last very long, but it had been loud and clear in the darkness of the night, and when he looked back, he knew that the others did not hear it at all.
It was a lion's roar.