Prologue: No Russian

08: 40

PFC Joseph Allen a.k.a Alexei Borodin

Zakhaev International Airport

Moscow, Russia

"Remember - no Russian." said Makarov, just as the elevator door hissed open.

Together, the five men strode out of the elevator, each armed with a weapon. Kiril had a Striker, Lev carried an MP5k and Viktor and Makarov were both armed with an M4A1. Joseph Allen carried a M240 Light Machine Gun, and from the outside, was a picture of calmness and indifference. From the inside, fear and anxiety ruled, and his heart thumped with every step.

The five men stood side by side in a line, facing the throng of unsuspecting civilians at the airport security checkpoint. It had been a normal day at Zakhaev International Airport.

Until now.

As one, the five men raised their weapons and fired. At the same time, a cold winter engulfed Allen's heart. An impressive barrage of fire blasted through the groups of civilians, sending many of them to their deaths. Red liquid exploded and spurted everywhere. A few lucky civilians were wounded but not quite dead yet, and were now running for their lives, screaming all the while. Still firing, Allen aimed his weapon at one of them, struggling against its yammering recoil. His victim slumped to the ground just as the bullets rammed into him.

Allen turned to see that the other men – no, the other terrorists – had already taken care of the rest of the civilians. Nearly a hundred bodies lay at the ground before them. The scene before them was a perfect description of a bloodbath.

Murderer.

Allen's knees nearly gave way, he was ready to puke, and his hands were shaking violently. He was surprised that he could still hold on to his weapon. Oh yes, Private First Class Joseph Allen had killed before. He had been through countless battles at hot spots all over the Middle East. He had run down the streets of Afghanistan with his brothers and comrades, shooting down men with an assault rifle. He had taken lives, and he had seen lives being taken.

But this…this was inhumane.

Quickly, Allen forced those thoughts out of his mind, just as he had done last night, as he lay on his bed unable to sleep. He willed his body to remain strong, just as he willed his facial expression to change to a neutral, indifferent one. He had mentally prepared for this, and he was not going to fail.

If I don't do this, more people are going to die by this man.

Despite his best efforts, a cold pit of fear lingered in him.

Unperturbed, Makarov signaled for the terrorists to move forward. He cast a questioning look at Allen, who was falling behind.

"Anything wrong, Alexei?"

Allen reacted quickly. With another ounce of willpower, he kicked the body of a nearby civilian, and shrugged.

"Just making sure she's dead."

Keep up the pretense. Until he trusts you. Then you can blow the son of a bitch's head off.

Makarov smirked and continued moving. As one, the five terrorists strolled through the metal detectors, ignoring their warning shrills, and continued to execute civilians. Three security guards suddenly emerged from a nearby office, aiming their guns at the terrorists and screaming for them to surrender. Makarov casually lifted his rifle and ended their lives.

The terrorists continued advancing throughout the airport, killing civilians all the way. There was constant screaming from the civilians. Some of the more heroic ones tried to drag their wounded friends and families to safety, while the cowardly ones turned and fled or raised their arms in surrender. Either way, they all died. They passed a few eateries and shops, and also encountered another group of security guards, who were finished off quickly.

With each kill, Allen pictured Makarov in his mind.

It will cost you a piece of yourself. It will cost nothing compared to everything you'll save, the General had told him during the mission briefing.

Finally, they had reached the exit of the airport terminal. In just ten minutes, hundreds of innocent civilians had been murdered. Allen pretended to check one of the bodies, and took the moment to steady himself once more. Behind them was a trail of several hundred bodies.

Outside the airport, armoured vans arrived, and Russian FSB troops streamed out.

"They're right on time. Check your weapons and ammo." Makarov ordered.

Allen threw the M240 to the ground, and pulled the M4A1 rifle from his back into his hands. The M4A1 came with a M203 grenadier attachment, which would be far more useful against FSB troops with riot shields than the M240. Similarly, the rest of the group made their own adjustments to their weapons.

"I've waited a long time for this." the normally silent Viktor proclaimed, sadistic delight lighting up on his face.

Makarov smiled, a rare event for a man like him.

"Haven't we all."

Allen switched off the safety catch of his weapon, and took point, advancing down a flight of stairs towards the FSB troops. He led the group to a nearby warehouse and prepared to engage the FSB troops.

Makarov had filled him in on the tactics of the FSB the day before. As expected, the FSB troops put up a huge smokescreen, before advancing forward with their riot shields.

Lev and Kiril put down suppressing fire on the FSB troops, distracting them, as Allen switched to the M203, and fired a grenade into the middle of the FSB troops. The explosion rocked the troops, and sent several of them flying off in pieces. Those further away from the group merely stumbled, but were picked off with accurate shots by Viktor and Makarov.

Wasting no time, they rushed forward and took cover just in time as another wave of FSB troops arrived and opened fire. Utilizing the same tactic as before, the group put down suppressing fire as Allen launched several grenades towards the FSB troops, blasting them to oblivion.

Just as things were looking fine, a barrage of fire erupted from above. Instinctively, Allen dived for cover behind a jet engine of a nearby plane, the bullets missing him by mere inches. He saw that Vikor and Makarov were unscathed, taking cover behind a wall, while Kiril had a gunshot wound on his shoulder and was lying prone underneath an FSB armoured van. Lev lay on the tarmac, a pool of blood surrounding him.

"Man down! Contact, second floor windows!" Viktor shouted in a forced American accent above the loud gunfire. Allen grabbed a riot shield from a dead FSB troop nearby and rushed out into the open, drawing fire from the troops above. The impact from the bullets nearly caused Allen to fall backwards, but he steadied his stance and persevered on. Taking the signal, Makarov and Viktor fired several rounds into the second floor. Kiril crawled out from under the vehicle, but before he could assist, he was shot in the back, emitting a loud cry of pain.

Hurriedly, Allen moved to Kiril's position, guarding himself with the riot shield all the while, and dragged Kiril behind a nearby metal crate. The man's breath was laboured, and he looked to be near his death. It occurred to Allen that this was not one of his Ranger buddies who had just been shot. This was a terrorist, a murderer who had killed hundreds of innocent people back at the airport. Suddenly, Allen didn't feel like helping the man anymore.

"He's dead, leave him!" Makarov barked. Allen turned to see that the second floor was clear. He moved to join Makarov and Viktor, just as another armoured van sped towards them. The van stopped and its doors clambered open. Allen and Viktor prepared to fire their weapons, but before the troops inside could get out, Makarov tossed a cooked grenade into the van, which exploded just as it entered the van. A few bodies flew out, and the van was splattered with red blood. Just to be sure, Makarov threw another grenade into the van, and stalked off, smirking to himself.

"Thirty seconds. Go." Makarov ordered, and the three of them rushed towards one of the exit buildings.

A wave of relief hit Allen. It was all going to be over soon.

The three of them lined up beside the door, with Makarov in front, Allen in the middle and Viktor at the back. The barrel of Allen's gun was inches away from Makarov's back.

A thought occurred to Allen.

He could end it right here. All it would take was one pull of the trigger…

The General said not to kill him yet. But why not? I could end everything right now…

He made his decision and prepared to pull the trigger, when Makarov suddenly moved and kicked the door open.

"Alexei, take point."

Allen moved through the door, weapon raised. He scanned the hallway as he moved forward, towards the ambulance at the end waiting for them.

The ambulance doors opened as they approached and inside was Anatoly, another one of Makarov's accomplices.

"You sent a strong message with this attack, Makarov." Anatoly said.

Makarov motioned to Allen, and ordered, "Cover us while we get in."

Allen obeyed, aiming his gun at the entrance as Viktor and Makarov clambered into the ambulance. Once they were in, he turned and proceeded to join them.

"That was no messsage," Makarov said, as he helped Allen up.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and Allen felt a burning sensation in his torso. He looked down and saw blood gushing out of the wound. In Makarov's other hand was a M9 pistol.

"This is a message." Makarov smiled as he casually pushed Allen back down to the ground.

"How…?" Allen uttered as he looked up at Makarov from the floor, who had already turned away and was closing the ambulance doors. The ambulance drove off, passing several unsuspecting FSB troops who were closing in on Allen. He tried to push himself up, but he was too weak.

So this is how it ends. Hundreds of innocent people died, my cover was blown, even though I don't know how, and Makarov escapes.

He almost laughed, but blood spurted out of his mouth. After a few moments, his vision faded to black, and Joseph Allen, former Army Ranger and current CIA agent, was no more.

First chapter of my first fanfic. Hope it wasn't too bad. I was afraid that the action scenes would be monotonous, but I think I did okay.