Present day
Captain John "Soap" MacTavish
He ignored the soft jingle of his dog tags as he walked, the ground underneath his feet eliciting crunching sounds that were obscenely loud to his ears in the quiet of the afternoon. He stopped when he reached the ditch, still blackened and burnt even after more than a year of weather damage.
Nothing grew there, possibly because the ground had been coated in innocent blood.
MacTavish was overcome with emotion as he knelt down next to the ditch. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Guilt.
He couldn't tell which emotion was strongest within him.
He noticed there were no bodies, no bones, no evidence except for the charred earth. The bodies had probably been carried off by animals, or maybe local villagers had buried the two bodies. MacTavish hoped for the latter.
Even after hearing Shepherd admit to killing his friends, he still refused to believe they were gone. Back at their base, it was so different without them. It was a little too quiet, even though Ghost never made much noise, the surly, arrogant brit was easy to miss, along with his Sergeant, though annoying at times, was not easy to live without.
MacTavish constantly blamed himself. He entrusted Shepherd with his men's lives, told them that they also could trust him, and that mistake had gotten them killed. His mistake killed them. He should have listened to his Lieutenant when he voiced his distrust of the older man, but MacTavish had just brushed off his concerns as paranoia.
If he had only believed him, then they would still be alive today, and maybe Makarov would be dead already.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder softly. He looked up and relaxed instantly when he saw Nikolai's face looming over him.
"I'm sorry, my friend." He said, his accent thick and tone saddened, not at all like his usual self.
MacTavish shrugged, and looked back to the ditch. He picked up a small black rock and studied it in his hands, turning it over and over.
Nikolai glanced around the area, scanning for danger, then to his watch and back to the Scotsman in front of him.
"We must leave soon. Price will need us back." He said quietly.
MacTavish nodded.
"Aye." He said, his voice sounding stronger than he felt.
He took a deep breath and stood up, giving the area a quick glance before turning away and back to the heli, Nikolai right behind him.
MacTavish slipped the blackened rock into the pocket of his pants. Nikolai noticed the gesture, but made no mention of it, instead, he climbed onto the heli and into the cockpit, starting the engine and doing his usual pre-flight checks.
MacTavish sat down inside the bird, leaning his head against the cool metal walls. He closed his eyes to keep his emotions at bay. But no matter how hard he tried, that feeling of betrayal and guilt lurked, right at the edge of his mind.
He thought that killing Shepherd would help to rid the betrayal, but it didn't. Killing Shepherd didn't bring his friends back, it only made him accept the fact that they were...
He couldn't say, let alone think it. It's just a word, but it's a word that describes two very close friends and cohorts. So he shut his mind. He didn't think. He let it all fade to black, and eventually, he drifted to sleep with the gentle rocking motion of the heli lulling him.