Disclaimer: Call of Duty and Medal of Honor do not belong to me. They belong to their respective owners, namely Activision and Electronic Arts.

Quarters of Lieutenant Commander Malcolm 'Mother' Richardson, Virginia Beach, Virginia, United States of America.
September 14th, 2011.

A knock on the door of his house, diverted Malcolm and Mary Richardson's attention away from the television.

But before Malcolm made an effort to get himself off his seat, Mary said, "I'll get it".
And before he could say anything, Mary was already making her way to the front door.

Moments later, he could hear the front door open, and Mary exclaim, "Ah, Chris, it's so good to see you! Come in!"
The resonant, dusty voice of Christopher Goodman, who was also known simply as 'Dusty', echoed through as the two of them greeted each other, "You two, Mary. And, as promised, some gifts for you and Malcolm, for your anniversary".
The sound of rustling, meaning that Mary was now being handed a plastic bag full of gifts from Dusty, for her and Malcolm's upcoming wedding anniversary on the 17th, followed by "Oh, thank you, Chris".

And before long, the familiar form of the former Ranger and Delta operator turned CIA officer, was now standing in the doorway to the living room.

Malcolm diverted his attention from the television, to take a good look at Dusty, who was around 5"9' tall, even after acquiring the right prosthetic leg from losing his right leg to an IED in Baghdad in '07, still bearing a really large beard, and sunglasses that he hooked onto his shirt.

Remembering why his friend was here, Malcolm said, "Hey Dusty, you're just right on time".
Smiling, Dusty indicated his head towards the telly and, after a pause, asked, "Anything interesting on there, brother?"
A glance back at the telly, before he replied, "Not really".

Mary, who was now in the kitchen, then asked, "Can I get you anything, Chris?"
Dusty then turned his head to the kitchen and said, "No thanks, Mary, I'll be fine", before turning to Mother and indicating his head towards the back, "Come, let's go into the garden. We'll talk some more with some drinks".

Then, as Dusty moved to the kitchen, Malcolm got up and followed him, telling him "You get the bottles, I'll get the glasses".

Sitting down on the garden chairs, by the garden table, Dusty and Mother with their glasses of beer, began idle conversation amongst themselves, chatting about interesting news happening in regards to the SEALs or Delta and reminiscing about old times.

But the reminiscing stopped whenever they breached on the memories on events in the Shahi-Kot Valley, or more specifically, Takur Ghar, which brought up memories of "Rabbit".

So, instead, Mother changed the topic, onto some news that he heard about an old friend of his.

"So, Dusty, I hear some interesting news in regards to someone from Wolfpack. Or mainly, two someones, actually".
This raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"
"I hear that Panther's in the running for command, over at the Unit".

Dusty nodded, at the mention of his former commanding officer, Kevin "Panther" McClane, "Ah yeah, I heard that one. He's done a stellar job, and rightfully deserves to run Delta".
"How did he get his name in the running for that?"
"Well, Old Man Marcello's thinking about retiring after the new year and the other Squadron leaders, well, have had their names thrown into the hat in line for command. But Panther's the one who's more likely to acquire it".

"And I also hear, that Vegas is now team leader?"
"Yeah, Team Jackal. In Panther's Squadron, same as Wolfpack".

Silence fell as the two operators looked up towards the night sky of the evening.
Then Dusty asked on how Mother's teammates were doing.

Mother smiled, "Yeah, great. Voodoo's still the same as usual. Preacher and Lena had a great holiday with Isabella and Michael down in Italy. Rodeo's got a new girlfriend..."
An eyebrow rose, "New girlfriend?", followed by a nod to the head, "Yeah, new girlfriend number three".

"And you've got a new guy, I hear. Rat, right?"
"Yeah, Adrian Wilkes. Just passed the OTC four months ago, and we're showing him the ropes".
"He doing well?"
"Marvellous. Fits right into Neptune just fine. But of course, I'm not gonna tell him that. Might inflate his head".

Dusty chuckled, and silence fell again, until Mother asked, out of curiosity, "So, Dusty, any news that you could share? Off the record?"

At this, Dusty fidgeted a bit, and stroked his beard for a good long while, which was quite uncharacteristic behaviour from him, Mother noted, until his friend finally spoke up, "Hmmm, well, I do hear that some people upstairs are starting to keep an eye on Azerdistan".
That was certainly one of the many places that Mother was not expecting next week's latest headline on the news, and Mother's face displayed his surprise, "That small little country over in the Arabian Peninsular? Why?"
"Well, we've been hearing chatter amongst our esteemed friends in the NSA, that someone known only as the 'Orchestrator', is about to make a move of some sort against the President, Yasir Al-Fulani".
"Sounds mysterious. Any possible leads on who this 'Orchestrator' is?"
Dusty shook his head, "Too many, unfortunately. Even though Al-Fulani is an, alright, President, so to speak, he's not at all popular with some of his government and the military, so it's a bit of a long list, brother".
"Damn. Well, what's so interesting about this 'Orchestrator' that put him on the NSA's radar?"
"Nothing that I can tell you at the moment, other than that he's got backing from some really shady guys who are calling themselves, the 'Horsemen'".

Mother raised an eyebrow at that,
"Horsemen? As in, like, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"
Dusty shrugged, "Well, whoever they are, I couldn't tell you much about them, even if I wanted to, because, we've only just recently received this intelligence, and they're shady as hell. Gonna be some time before we do some digging and find out more about them. But still, I'll give you the heads up if anything comes that might involve you and Neptune".
"Gotcha".

A long pause afterwards came, until Mother asked, "So, any news on whenever we're going to need to fix that mess up in Russia?"
Dusty gave his friend a hard look, before sighing, "Well, 30,000 nukes at stake and Russia still wants to deal with this civil war by themselves".
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious. We always keep offering help to the Russians, but, erm, well, I dunno. There's at least, some talk of allowing a special ops force of American, British and NATO forces into Russia, but no definite word on whenever that'll be reality".

And as Dusty let Mother sink that news in, it was a while, until he asked,
"Say, speaking of Brits, do you still keep in contact with a certain Captain, Mother?"

He knew what, or whom, Dusty was talking about, remembering the British captain who other than sporting one of the most impressive beard/moustache combinations that could give Dusty's beard a run for it's money, was known as a larger-than-life legend amongst the Special Ops community, across the world.
Dusty and Mother knew this all too well, having worked with the Captain in Afghanistan and Iraq since 2001, several times.

But in response to Dusty's query, Mother gave him an earnest answer, "Not since Kandahar last year. Why?"
Dusty shrugged, simply saying, "Just wondering. I haven't seen or heard from Price since '06 in Kabul. Would like to know how he's doing nowadays".

Commanding Officer's Office, Stirling Lines, Hereford, Herefordshire, England, Great Britain, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
September 14th, 2011.

Lieutenant Colonel Henry Newhouse, Commanding Officer of 22 Regiment Special Air Service, looked up from his desk towards the knocks on his door.

Knowing who it was, before glancing to his guest who was also in his office, Newhouse shouted, "Come in!"

The door opened, to reveal Captain John Price, who was ever sporting his handlebar moustache and beard combination.
The Colonel smiled, "Ah, John, come in, come in".
Price nodded, "Sir", before entering the office, and asking, "You sent for me, sir?"
"Yes, I did, John. On behalf of a friend of yours, I might add".

Raising an eyebrow, Captain Price then looked around the office, to see a familiar figure standing in the corner.

Price smiled, "Kenneth!"
His old mentor and friend, Kenneth MacMillan, now a Major General, and the Director Special Forces, thus making him the foremost senior military official in command of UKSF, smiled back, "Hey, John. Great to see you!"
"You two, Kenneth".

Then, MacMillan turned his head towards Newhouse, and said, "Hey, Henry, bring up some chairs for us, would you?"
"Sure".

And before long, the two of them (Henry left after a Lieutenant summoned him on behalf of the RSM) sat down and began catching up, with MacMillan stating, "Hope that mission in Murzuq wasn't too difficult for you".
Price shook his head, "Nah, it was just another day in the office".
MacMillan chuckled, before Price then asked, "So what brings you down to Hereford? You getting bored of boardroom meetings in Whitehall?"

Another chuckle and, "You know, every time I have to listen to some nitwit from the MOD who thinks he knows everything about our world, I remember the time when you told me to never leave the field, for it's truly the time when you feel dead".
Price grinned, "Still don't want to change your mind, get yourself back down to Captain? Be just like old times".

Kenneth shook his head and said, "Well, as much fun as that would be, I am not as young as I used to be, not to say that I couldn't try the Pen-y-Fan once in a while, but quite frankly, I'm a bit too old to go charging into gunfire".
Price paused, before he shrugged, "Fair enough, Mac".

And silence fell, for a good two minutes, until Price asked his mentor, "So, any news on whenever we'll get some sort of deployment into Russia? I know that the Ultranationalists are gonna start winning that war if nothing's done soon..."
MacMillan held up a hand and nodded, saying, "I agree with you, but all I know, is that the Foreign Office, and the State Department, are still working out some of the details with the Russian Foreign Ministry, so no word on that, I'm afraid".

Price grimaced, muttering under his breath about how politicians will be the death of them all, until Newhouse came back after his business with the RSM.

Then suddenly, MacMillan got up and took his leave, saying, "Well, I would love to say a little bit longer, but I have to get back to the boring world of Whitehall, otherwise I'll be very much missed. Great to see you, John".
Captain Price nodded, "And to you, Kenneth. Give my regards to Gillan when you see her".
"Will do".

And the Director Special Forces left both the Captain and the Lieutenant Colonel to it, heading out to get to his car and head back to London.
Then, Newhouse then gathered up a folder from his desk and handed to Price, "Oh, and I just ought to let you know, you and Air Troop have a new guy coming in. Fresh off selection. Former Sergeant in 3 PARA. Here's his record".

Taking it, Price opened it up, to reveal the face of one John MacTavish, and began reading through the details of MacTavish's military career.

Firing Range, Stirling Lines, Hereford, Herefordshire, England, Great Britain, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
September 14th, 2011.

The doors to the firing range opened and in came a 6"2' tall, mohawked Scot, who looked around and saw many operators at the firing stations, firing away at the targets, before he continued on and headed towards the counter, where a young man in the new MTP uniform was typing away on his laptop at such a rapid pace.

Stopping before the man, former Sergeant now turned Trooper John MacTavish coughed his throat and got the man's attention, "Erm, excuse me".

Immediately, the young man looked up and brightened up, "Ah, Trooper. Glad to have you here. The name's Lootz. Just fresh off Selection, I'm correct?"

"That's right. I'm to be in, Air Troop of A Squadron?...", before 'Lootz' nodded his head, "Yes. Captain Price's unit. Unfortunately, Price is meeting the Colonel at the moment. However, his second, Gaz, will be with you in a bit. He's just over at the Killing House, so it might be a while before he gets here. But when he' does, he'll give you the tour, show you the ropes. So if you could just wait here for a bit, that'll be great".

Seeing a chair to the side, MacTavish sat down, and waited for this 'Gaz' to arrive, trying utterly hard to pass the time with an out-of-date copy of The Daily Mirror, only for him to get so bored, that he got up and asked Lootz, "Actually, will anyone mind if I go down to the range and get some practice in?"
He shook his head, "Nah, go for it. More practice, the better I say. Which weapons do you want?"

Not a usual question that was asked in the Army, but MacTavish still asked, "What have you got?"
Lootz stood up and indicated towards the weapons mounted on the wall behind his counter, "Well, the heaviest we'll give you here is an assault rifle, but we do have submachine guns and pistols".

Taking a look, MacTavish could see a bunch of empty spaces.
A good chunk of Heckler & Koch MP5s were missing, presumably currently being used in the firing ranges.
And there were no SiG Sauers or even a Browning.

But there looked to be a bunch of Glocks, as well as M1911s, Walthers and a pistol with a tactical light.

Then looking at the assault rifles, he found himself laying eyes on the M4 Carbine.

When he was ready, MacTavish indicated the weapons to Lootz, "I'll take that pistol with that tactical light and that carbine over there".
"Ah, the Heckler & Koch USP and the Colt Canada C8SFW, right?"

Lootz caught MacTavish's blank look and explained, "Yeah, we don't use M4s. We use the Colt Canada C8, or in army speak, the L119".

Then he got up and got the weapons, handing the empty-weapons over to MacTavish, before saying, "Just sign off on here for them", indicating to a sheet of paper that he now had in his hands and held to MacTavish, who put down the weapons and then got a pen and signed in the places that Lootz indicated to.

Afterwards, MacTavish noticed that Lootz still hadn't handed him a magazine or two, but thankfully, the man anticipated his next question and handed him around 4 magazines for each weapon, before saying, "Alright, just head down to an empty firing station, down on the range, and you're good to go".
"Thanks".

But before he could set off, Lootz stopped him, and handed him some yellow foam earplugs and ballistic goggles into MacTavish's hands, before sitting back down and continuing to type on his laptop.

MacTavish then got himself and his weapons down to the nearest, emptiest firing station, which had the number 4 above it.
Putting down his weapons on a tabletop, MacTavish then saw the ear-muffs hanging on a hook, and got them off, before rolling the earplugs to compress them and then fitting them into his ears, before putting the ear-muffs on, which instantly muffled the sounds of gunshots all around him.
Then, he slapped on the goggles onto his head, and over his eyes, before getting a paper target, and putting it on a rack above him, pressing the button to extend the target out to halfway, before then getting his weapons and loading a magazine into each of them.

Putting down his pistol on the tabletop in front of him, MacTavish then held out his Colt Canada C8SFW, which had no optical sights, but did have iron sights.
And after checking over the weapon, MacTavish then got into position, counted 'one, two, three', before bringing up his weapon and firing.

Then, MacTavish stopped when he heard, faintly, on the loudspeaker, "Station 4, cease fire and make safe your weapon. I repeat, station 4, cease fire and make safe your weapon".

Putting on the safety catch, before pulling back the bolt of his C8 and catching the unfired round from the chamber with his hand, and then releasing the magazine, Soap put the weapon down and got his pistol, doing the same procedure.

Putting them all down on the tabletop, MacTavish pulled off his ballistic goggles, earmuffs and earplugs, to hear the sound of clapping, before someone spoke behind him, in a distinct Londoner accent.
"Quite a smooth sidearm transition, MacTavish. Very impressive".

Turning around, MacTavish saw the leaning form of a brown-haired, green-eyed man with a faint beard wearing a baseball cap and a tactical vest over a sweater and MTP trousers and non-regulation boots, who looked like he had been observing MacTavish's performance on the range for quite a while.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Lieutenant Gavin Franks. But you can call me 'Gaz' for short".

Then the name clicked in MacTavish's head, "Oh, you're the 'Gaz' who's supposed to take me on a tour, show me the ropes, well, according to Lootz over there", indicating over to the man behind the counter, who was still there.

'Gaz' nodded his head, and said, "But I must say, a bit of a great start, if you can shoot like that".
"Sir?"
At MacTavish's query, Gaz headed over to station 4, then pressed the button to bring the paper target back. Once it arrived, he tore it off the rack, to point it out to the new Trooper, "I mean, those groupings. Those sort of groupings, usually we have to wait a few weeks or months of training to get newbies fresh off selection to get those groupings. But you look like a quick learner, so you'll be fitting in well, when we get to be the CT Squadron".
"Thank you, sir".

Soon turning his head over to Lootz, Gaz shouted to him, "Hey, Lootz! Me and MacTavish will be on our way, Put away his weapons, will you?"

And without waiting for an confirmation, Gaz led on, and MacTavish followed him, towards the doors to the outside of the firing range, just as Lootz was now making his way towards firing station 4.
Once outside, MacTavish asked, "Why's his name Lootz, sir?"
Gaz chuckled, "Yeah, that's an old nickname from civvie life. Stuck with him right even in the Regiment. Apparently, he joined the Army after getting into bother with the Police, and that nickname is in reference to the loots of stolen goods he used to nick. As in Loots, but with a Zed. Get it, MacTavish?"
"Yes sir".

But as MacTavish continued following Gaz, he then asked, "So, where we off too, Leftenant?"
"First things first, as part of showing you the ropes in the Regiment, I'm taking you on a visit to Sergeant Newcastle, who'll give you a lesson in demolitions. Then, you'll meet Watson, who'll give you a lesson in various specialist weaponry. Corporal Quinn is going to give you a crash course in signals. Then Corporal Branagan will teach you some medical training. And finally, you'll meet the rest of the Troop, who'll be at the Killing House".
"Understood, sir".
"And one thing, you might want to ease off on the 'sir, yes sir'. You may be still fresh from the Paras, but trust me, we don't go for a lot of that rank and file stuff that the Regular Army worships. Just call me Gaz. Gaz is fine".

Silence fell, as MacTavish followed Gaz towards wherever he was going, and this silence persisted for a good long while, until he could see a slight grin form, and then, "Say, I want to ask you something, MacTavish, if you don't mind".
"Sure. Ask away".

A pause and, then, out of the blue, "how did you get a name like Soap, anyway?"

Oh, for the love of...

And so it begins.

Here is the first proper instalment of the Task Force 141 series, an adaptation of Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.
So, be prepared with familiar aspects of the game, but don't expect it to be too much of a carbon copy.

But there will be a Cargo Ship, there will be Marines, there will be War Pig, there will be AC-130s and there will be a farm, that much I can promise you, and many more.

Anyways, don't forget to leave a review whenever you can, and see you next time!