Sup peeps?
To accommodate my game playing career, I've decided to make a CoD fic.
I just finished playing MW2 on Veteran (Bitch was hard too) and I found myself really connected to the characters, in particular Roach, Soap, and Ghost.
Anyways, I wanted to really create that same bond in my writing.
This story will mainly revolve around four original characters I made by the names of Steven "Deadeye" Ihde, Ephrem "Bubba" Yarich, Shane "Dozer" O'Connor, and Ali "Kat" Olson.
This first chapter is really just to introduce you to the characters, so enjoy.
(I pretty obviously don't own any copyrights etc. used in this fic.)
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Afghanistan
August 1st 2008
1st Sgt. Steven "Deadeye" Ihde
The man laid there, completely still. Under a large piece of cloth designed to help him blend into the desert environment, he took long deep breaths. His rifle, camouflaged as well, was in his grip. His high powered 10x scope showed both the HPT (High Priority Target) and his informant. After 2 weeks of almost no movement it was time. He made a few calculations and adjusted his scope. The two targets were in a tower surrounded by a small fortress. The place was heavily guarded, thus why they called him in. He pushed a round into the chamber of his DSR-1 sniper rifle. In his opinion it was the perfect rifle. It had almost the same range and accuracy as a comparable .50 cal, but wasn't nearly as heavy.
Deadeye was a lone sniper. Most snipers worked in pairs, one being the spotter. But Deadeye hadn't worked with a partner since Iraq 2 years ago. But now it was time. After half a month, here it was; the big moment. He took a deep breath as his trigger finger got ever closer, his thumb switched off the safety. Bang. The .338 Lapua Magnum round gave his shoulder a push as the bullet fired. Never taking his eye off the scope, Deadeye watched the bullet fly into the head of the HPT. He could almost see the look on the face of the other. Quickly working the action, he fired his second round, going straight into the informant, center of mass. He chuckled slightly as he worked the action again. Thanks to the silencer, he had a good few hours before anyone knew a thing.
Deadeye stood and stretched. He quite literally hadn't moved in 2 days. The most he had moved was to go to the bathroom. Strapping his rifle to his back, he proceeded to jog 3 miles. After about half an hour he found a nice secluded spot (Not that he wasn't in the middle of the desert) and sat down in a small alcove. He took out his radio and called in to HQ. "HQ, come in this is Deadeye over." His voice was gruff. He scratched his face and beard. That itch had been killing him.
"Deadeye this is HQ, what's your status over?" He got as a response. Taking a breath, Deadeye began.
"Objective one: Sabotage enemy fuel reserves; Objective complete." He had done this several days prior. "Objective two: Eliminate High Priority Target and his Informant if possible; Main and secondary objectives complete."
"Copy that Deadeye, send us your coordinates via PDA and we'll have you out of there in no time, over and out." Deadeye sighed and laid back, taking out his solar powered handheld computer. He sent in the coordinates and took a well deserved rest.
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Iraq
August 13th, 2008
Lieutenant Ephrem "Bubba" Yarich
The small squadron made their way through the tight streets of Iraq. Children, civvies, lots of things around that you wouldn't really want in a firefight. But if it was going to happen it was going to happen. Bubba kept an eye out, holding his SAW Machine gun closely. A SPAS-12 Shotgun was strapped to his back. The other members of his squad: Doc, Hyde, and Harley, followed closely. Bubba was an excellent squad leader but a bit of an oddball. He didn't have the best eyesight, and was the kind of person who didn't know when to stop being funny. There had been a time when he was covering a fellow force member and telling jokes the whole way. Bubba was good, but not great.
There was a reason Bubba had earned a reputation for being a terrorist magnet. His squads on average were attacked 2 or 3 times more than anyone else; most likely because of all the larger and consequently slower men in his squads. Hyde had gained the nickname for being not only a good 6 foot 5, but having a sort of slouch in the way he walked (Mr. Hyde? Get it? God do I have to spell it out for you?). An odd fellow, he talked little. Doc was a medic so it was self-explanatory. Harley loved motorcycles so that made sense. All of them were beyond 6 feet tall. Bubba's squadrons had gained the nickname 'The Giants' due to that fact.
Bubba had a painful headache and honestly was hoping that today would be normal. The unmistakable crack of an AK-47 sounded out, causing panic in all nearby civilians. Jinxed it. Bubba thought. Raising their weapons, The Giants proceeded with caution. Several of the powerful 7.62mm bullets landed nearby, prompting the soldiers to jump behind small houses on either side of the road.
Bubba used hand signals to direct his soldiers. He had Doc stay down in case of injuries to others, Hyde climbed to the roof of a building for a better view, and Harley provided covering fire. Firing in short bursts, Harley covered Bubba as he sprinted to cover behind a car. Setting up his SAW on top of the car, he fired relentlessly in 4-7 round bursts, keeping the enemies pinned down. Armed with an M101, Hyde searched through his scope, looking for whoever may have fired. After firing several shots, Hyde gave the okay and the squad relaxed. They moved to the spot and found the dead bodies of several would-be terrorists. Doc called it in to HQ as something caught Bubba's eye. Stepping over a small puddle of blood, he reached into the coat pocket of one of the terrorists.
His hand came into contact with exactly what he thought he'd seen. A map. The map was of the very town Bubba was in. It was covered in writing, symbols, and lines, all of which made it very hard to decipher. Thinking that it might be important, Bubba turned to Doc. "Hand me the radio."
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Belem, Brazil
August 10th, 2008
Ali "Kat" Olson
Chowing down on her 'Meal Ready to Eat', Kat wasn't feeling too good about herself. She had been assigned to this squad just weeks ago and already hated it. Kat was a very good-looking girl. She had blond hair tied into a ponytail, blue eyes, she was skinny but not too skinny, and had just about everything else a guy could want (I won't go into detail). This of course led to some very compromising situations. Her entire squad was filled with 3 large men. Despite outranking, and on most occasions outperforming, them she was treated harshly. Sighing, she crumpled up the package and put it away. The other squad members were sitting a little ways away, joking around with one another. Kat always despised that kind of person; the kind that never took anything seriously. Her squad members: Stag, Psyche, and Skull, embodied everything she hated.
Shortly after their meal, Kat received a transmission. "Raven 3, this is command central do you copy, over?" Kat picked up her radio.
"Command central this is Raven 3, I copy, over." Kat released the button, allowing command to talk. Finally some action. She thought.
"Raven 3 we have news of a weapons deal in your vicinity, how copy, over?"
"Good copy command central. What do we got on our hands, over?" Kat replied. The others in the squad quieted down.
"A well known weapons dealer codename: 'Big Blue' is making a large weapons deal with local terrorists. We have reason to believe that these terrorists are planning a large scale attack. Suspect will be wearing all blue, approximately 5 feet 11 inches tall, Latino. Terrorists may be armed with hidden weapons, there should be approximately 6. This deal will be taking place in the market, exact coordinates unknown. Keep your eyes out for a blue truck with Big Blue in front of it. This truck's back end will most likely be covered by a tarp. This is all known information Raven 3, how copy, over?" Kat listened carefully, writing a few things down on her note pad.
"Good copy command central, Raven 3 out." She put down the radio and slung her pack onto her back. Picking up her M4 SOPMOD, she turned to the other squad members. "C'mon boys, we got things to do." The boys put on their weapons and gear and followed suit. Kat and her companions didn't exactly blend in. In fact, they got a lot of funny looks. Not that she cared too much, but some of them didn't look too friendly. At last they got to the marketplace, which was rather crowded. Not the best place for a shootout, let's hope they go quietly. Hey, she could hope right?
They came upon the specified truck in about 12 minutes. Big Blue stood in front of it, and looked at his watch. In no time at all, the terrorists arrived, 4 of them as opposed to what HQ said. They all had covered faces and hats. Concealed weapons wouldn't be the best term: Pistols and knives clearly protruded from their pants and shirts with no effort to hide them. Skull took up position on a rooftop with a scoped M16, Stag got behind cover with his SAW in case he needed to give covering fire, Psyche blended with the crowds. Kat quickly hid her M4 in her pack. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her ball cap down over her face and strode calmly over to Big Blue. Big Blue was distracted with talking to the terrorists and didn't notice her approach.
She tapped him on the shoulder once she got within arm's length. He turned to him. "The fuck do you want?" He said with a Spanish accent.
"We need to talk." Blue looked confused but asked the terrorist group to stay put for a moment. The two walked behind the truck and Kat pulled off her cap. "You're under arrest, so let's make easier on you and them and just do what the hell I say." As Blue was about to make a break for it, Kat drew her .44 Magnum and put the end of the barrel right between his eyes. Blue put his hands up. "I've got a sniper on the roof and two other guys to back me up. You run and you're dead. Tell them to put their weapons on the hood as well as what I told you." Blue nodded and walked over to the terrorist group. After speaking to them for a moment 2 put their guns and knives on the hood. The other 2 ran. Both were shot by Skull before they could get far. Psyche came literally out of nowhere and cuffed the two terrorists as well as Big Blue.
Kat picked up her radio and called HQ. "Command central this is Raven 3. Primary objective: Capture 'Big Blue', objective complete. Secondary objective: Capture suspected terrorists: Objective complete, two killed, 2 captured. How copy, over?" Kat said. After a moment HQ responded.
"Good copy Raven 3. We're sending in a chopper and clean up team now. See you then, command central out." Kat put down her radio and sighed. Finally some rest after 5 weeks in Brazil. She holstered her .44. A good day's work was complete.
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Volgograd, Russia
August 11th, 2008
Shane "Dozer" O'Connor
It was a good 70 degrees, pretty hot. These were Shane's thoughts as he walked down the streets of Volgograd, Russia. The Irishman was an odd fellow, standing about 6 feet tall. His nickname: Dozer had been given to him when he had tackled an assailant despite being unarmed and the enemy having an AK-47. Dozer was laughing all the way to his destination (Silently that is), because he realized that he was being watched. He had seen numerous Spetznaz snipers on rooftops as well as a few spies throughout the crowd. Dozer had a good eye for these things. He ran his hands through his curly red hair and took a deep breath. Ahead was possibly the biggest moment of his life.
Dozer stepped into the abandoned warehouse and had to let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit place. Five men stood next to one another, the one in the middle was wearing a suit and the others wore similar suits but had Kevlar vests over them and were armed with AK-103s. The man in the middle stepped forward, his arms behind his back. He had short-cropped white hair and a wrinkled face. Demetri Sidorov was his name. He put his hand out and Dozer shook it. "I see they sent you Shane." The man said in a thick Russian accent. Dozer nodded. Demetri signaled and one of the men patted him down, removing his silenced M1911A1 pistol and combat knife from his side. The man also took his extra magazines and his cell phone. Dozer was left with nothing but his leather jacket, jeans, and boots.
"Now we can begin, yes?" Demetri and Dozer sat at a small table, the men behind Demetri. Demetri set a suitcase on the table. He opened it and turned it towards Dozer. The suitcase was actually a military-style computer. Dozer pulled it towards him and began working. Demetri expected him to be entering pass-codes so as to infiltrate the Pentagon's files. Dozer was actually running through what information the computer held. The computer had hacked files from the US government, Russian missile launch codes, political information, and more.
Dozer in this mission was undercover. He supposedly worked for a Russian corporation in America which was leading America to its downfall. In reality Task Force 141 had taken this corporation down and reestablished its connections, acting to be the business. They had sent Dozer to speak to Demetri, a former client of the company, who was trying to get American military files. Dozer had a tendency to not show when he was lying, leading him to be very good in undercover missions. Dozer closed the case, at which point a confused look came over Demetri's face.
Dozer quickly grabbed the suitcase and kicked over the table, knocking one of the guards over and protecting him from the initial hail of bullets. The other three men began firing at him but the heavy-duty steel table protected him. Dozer weighed about 200 pounds and could bench the same. It showed as he picked up the table and used it as a shield to get to the knocked over guard. He grabbed the man's AK-103 as well as his own weapons that they had confiscated. He loaded his pistol and poked his head out, taking several pot-shots before ducking down again. Dozer saw Demetri trying to escape. He grabbed the AK and fired it blindly until he heard the older man cry in pain. Out of ammo for the Russian rifle, he picked up his pistol again.
Dozer poked his head out at various angles, drawing their fire until they were out of ammo. One man leaped over the table but was quickly dispatched by way of a .45 round to the chest. Dozer, being resourceful, used the table as a battering ram to smash into the other two men. They were both easily bowled over, not seeing the move coming. Dozer made quick work of them: Stabbing one in the throat, and shooting the other right between the eyes when the man tried to draw his pistol. Dozer wiped off his hands and shoved all the lifeless bodies into the corner, covering them with the table. He grabbed the suitcase and proceeded to speed-walk out.
Knowing he was under watch by elite Russian soldiers, and would receive no back-up, he used back alleys as much as was humanly possible. At last he made it to Volgograd International Airport. There a private jet awaited him. When he finally sat comfortably into his seat, he let out a sigh of relief. All that was left now was an easy ride back to the good old US of A. However, all Dozer could think was: Please don't let it get lost in baggage.
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Whew. Sorry it took so long.
I actually started this quite a while ago but have been rather busy.
With band practice, school (though not at the moment), friends, and my recently taken up sport of free-running, I've had little time to write.
Anyways this story will be a side-project for the most part but each chapter will likely be very long so I hope you enjoy.