Of Sacrifice and Love

by CallOfBooty

After acknowledging a mutual attraction for one another the night before "Loose Ends," Ghost and Roach immediately lead the operation on Makarov's safe house. Against all odds, they survive, and must come to terms with a relationship that neither of them quite fully understand. This is a sequel to a short story written five years ago, "Of Doubts and Dreams." [Ghost/Roach]

1. Reborn

Of Love and Sacrifice

I've been off the Call of Duty bandwagon for years but this pairing has always managed to linger in my imagination. I decided to write this sequel to "Of Doubts and Dreams" to coincide with the real world anniversary of "Loose Ends," which transpired on August 15 (or 16?), 2016 in the world of MW2. I guess writing this might be somewhat therapeutic since I adore the pairing.

I recommend reading my other short story, "Of Doubts and Dreams," and while I'm somewhat embarrassed by my old writing, it helps contextualize the present narrative.

s/6644947/1/Of-Doubts-and-Dreams

PS: This will probably be about 6-7 chapters total. I've already written most of the last chapter, but none of the middle ones. Expect updates about once a month, since I'm a fulltime grad student. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: Reborn

It's been a tough week, gentleman. We've lost more than we ever dreamed. But we will recover.

-General Shepherd

For Gary "Roach" Sanderson it was hell carving a clear path to Vladimir Makarov's safe house. He witnessed with horror as shrapnel shredded the flesh of Task Force 141 – his brothers – when they triggered a mine field. While Roach had quickly gone prone to avoid the blast radius of the mines, a few of his comrades received fatal injuries. An unexpected ambush from a nearby ridge dwindled the size of the squad members that remained. But there was no time to mourn, to grieve, for their lives would be expended in vain if the mission aborted prematurely. Bullet proofed vehicles had slowed the progress of the remaining strike force composed of Ghost, Roach, Ozone, and Scarecrow with Archer and Toad providing sniper fire from a distance. The team spotted the safe house, their destination, and charged forward, expecting and prepared for the worst.

Roach trailed Ghost, breathing heavily, exhausted. He still had to breach the front doors of the dwelling. Makarov's men sprayed bullet fire from nearby cover, yelling wildly in Russian. Roach sprinted and crouched behind a dilapidated truck. He aimed down his scope and squeezed the trigger of his rifle as an assailant took fire at Ghost, who was hauling his way to the safe house entrance. The gunman slumped across the ammo boxes that he had momentarily used for cover, moved no more, and Roach reloaded with the grim satisfaction that his aim had been sure.

"Breach and clear the safe house. Go! Go!" Ghost barked when the bullet storm the sounded across the grounds subsided.

Roach trampled the short distance to the wooden door. He nodded to Ghost before mounting the explosive, his head momentarily swimming with visions of Ghost from several hours before, intermingled with the troubled thoughts concerning Roach's personal doubts. A cold shower room, scar-riddled flesh, a confrontation which led to unanticipated reciprocal feelings of… well, respect? Admiration? Simon… has he really cared for me all along? And then the heat of their bodies colliding, the brush of stubble across his cheek, fingers caressing his body, the intense pleasure of his –

BOOOM!

Roach's vision was suddenly blurred with dirt and debris as the door erupted, knocking him back to brutal reality. Ghost charged forward and fired into the threshold, Roach followed suit. He aimed at a gunman who haphazardly hurried down a staircase and shot him until the body crumpled down to the floor.

Ghost trained his rifle on an office room to their right. Bullets riddled the wooden floor, inches from the two soldiers, sending wood chips flying into Roach's field of vision. Ignoring the debris, Roach concentrated on the source of the fire and spotted muzzles flashing from behind a flimsy desk in the disorganized office. Roach exhaled sharply, steadied his aim, and eliminated a target while Ghost disposed another. While Makarov seemingly had no shortage of goonies, the men were not well trained.

"Office clear!" Ghost yelled over the gunfire. "Let's go, let's go!"

Roach followed his lieutenant back to the staircase and down a hallway to the back of the safe house, recalling his concerns from the previous night about the mission. He desperately wanted to guard Ghost's every move, to be there for the unexpected, but each solider had their own specializations and mission tasks. Roach was the demolitions expert and if Makarov was absconding here he would undoubtedly hide behind a locked door. Makarov could be close.

Or, he could be in Afghanistan, in the old airplane boneyard, where Capt. MacTavish and Price will – no, it's better if he's here. I can't flounder because there's a chance that bastard might not be hiding in this shit hole. He's here and I'm fuckin' ready to take him down.

"Ozone, make sure no one leaves through the kitchen," Ghost ordered their comrade.

"Roger that," Ozone complied briskly over the squadron's comm channel.

Roach meandered quickly after Ghost through the estate and entered a kitchen that was furnished as a make-shift armory. Plastic tables stocked with ammo, explosive semtex, and miscellaneous contraband crowded the room. He found Ozone guarding the kitchen entrance with Ghost nearby.

"Scarecrow, gimme a sitrep," Ghost talked into his headset.

"No one's leaving through the front of the basement," Scarecrow responded.

"Roach," Ghost looked towards him, the face impossible to read beneath the balaclava and dark sunglasses, as the lieutenant spoke into his microphone. "Go upstairs and check any locked rooms on the top floor. Breach and clear."

"Yes, sir," Roach nodded, turned on his heel, and ascended the nearby staircase. He heard gunfire from below as he ran up the steps. The staccato of the bullets finding contact with wood and drywall intensified his resolve to eliminate the threats quickly and return to Ghost's side.

Don't let your feelings interfere… it's not what he'd want. Focus. Makarov…

The sooner the task force cleared the safe house and located Makarov's whereabouts, the sooner Roach's heartbeat would normalize. The sooner he would know that he had not failed the one-four-one. The incessant hammering in his chest nearly blocked out the death throes of dying men from the floor below.

"Dining room clear!" Ghost shouted over the radio.

Roach trained his rifle on the upstairs landing, heard angry Russian voices, and targeted two gunmen in a wooden hallway. He took cover behind the corner where the stairs and the hall met and sprayed bullets until the soldiers slumped to the floor. Roach proceeded, with caution, to check the unlocked rooms in the hallway but found nothing or no one of value. He hurried to retrieve an explosive from his tactical belt and placed it on the locked door for detonation.

Gunfire immediately sprayed from behind computers and boxes of the guarded room; Roach discerned two gunmen from the bright muzzle flashes. His rifle locked onto a figure that foolishly ran out from cover, firing wildly at Roach. He returned fire, sending a precise shot into the man's skull. The other tango was wounded from the explosion, taking pot shots from behind an overturned table. Roach crouched behind the door frame and fired at the wounded enemy until the body cried out in agony and keeled over. Roach cautiously stepped from his cover, rifle trained across the room, and quickly scanned the corners and bulky objects for hidden targets. No movement. He examined the faces of the dead men who were not Makarov and suppressed a sigh.

"Top floor clear!" Roach yelled hoarsely over the radio. He swallowed, his mouth dry and lips chapped, hoping to stimulate the flow of saliva, but he was too dehydrated from the exertion. Cool sweat damped his armpits but otherwise his skin was hot and itchy, the layers of jacket and tactical gear stifling. He had experienced worse discomfort on other missions – he would not soon forgot the bone chilling cold of Kazakhstan and the scorching heat of Rio – but the stakes were no match for the present mission. At least one floor of the safe house was clear with no sign of Makarov.

"Top floor clear, roger," Ghost confirmed. "Roach, go with Scarecrow and check the basement for enemy activity. Breach and clear. Go! Ozone, cover me."

As Roach descended the stairs from the top floor, he heard gunfire from Ozone and Ghost coming from elsewhere in the house. He momentarily yearned to assist, but he had his orders directly from his lieutenant. He marched back to the kitchen, and travelled down a set of stairs to the basement. Scarecrow was poised on one knee at the bottom floor, rifle raised at the adjacent hallway.

"I've got your back, Roach," Scarecrow greeted him. Roach nodded in reply, glad to have backup for the final sealed doors. Scarecrow was a good solider.

Roach observed a crumpled body at the end of the hallway. Scarecrow had already disposed of the assailants who had remained in the open. Roach placed an explosive on the nearest door. He fired shots into the opening as the wood splintered, his vision turned red as the bullets found contact with enemy flesh. As the dust settled and the blood pooled, Roach entered an impressive armory devoid of further hostiles. Time prohibited him from examining the weaponry; he had one final room to breach.

He proceeded to the hallway and placed an explosive on the remaining door, Scarecrow poised at the ready. It detonated and Roach fired at the scurrying figures at the back of the room. He could barely discern the movement through the debris but it was enough to make contact, the screams ensured that his aim was sure. He charged forward, using the haze from the explosion as cover, with Scarecrow on his trail. They eliminated two additional aggressors, neither of them Makarov.

The knowledge that Makarov was not in the basement provided little relief. The hammering in his chest intensified once more as a flash of anxious heat coursed over his flesh.

"Basement clear!" Scarecrow reported to the team after Roach failed to find his voice. No Makarov… heavy losses… I have a bad feeling about –

"Copy, basement clear," Ghost affirmed. "All clear. Squad, regroup on me."

The voice of his lieutenant snapped Roach back into the moment. Ghost is okay, and he'll know how to proceed… to make up for our losses. Roach and Scarecrow scrambled to meet Ghost in the kitchen.

"Scarecrow, photographs," Ghost commanded.

"Roger that," the marksmen replied. He retrieved a camera from his vest and proceeded to capture documents scattered on counter tops and tables.

"Shepherd, this is Ghost, no sign of Makarov," the lieutenant reported. "I repeat, no sign of Makarov. Captain Price, any luck in Afghanistan?"

"Plenty," Roach's radio crackled with the grizzled voice of the old warrior. "At least fifty-five guns here but no sign of Makarov. Perhaps our intel was off."

Fuck. To hell with this op – a fuckin' wild goose chase with no prize. Roach's stomach bubbled nervously. But as shitty as the situation was, he was relieved to hear Price's voice. At least he and MacTavish are alright…

"Well, the quality of the intel's about to change," Ghost replied confidently. "This safe house is a bloody gold mine."

Roach perked at that. He had not closely studied any of the paperwork scattered about but he had noted the computers. It was a lead they had to follow up on – anything that could point them to Makarov.

This time, it was General Shepherd who answered. "Copy that. Ghost, have your team collect everything you can for an operations playbook – names, contacts, places, everything."

"We're already on it, sir. Makarov will have nowhere to run," Ghost said, all grim sincerity.

"That's the idea. I'm bringing up an extraction force, E.T.A. five minutes. Get that intel. Shepherd out."

There was not a moment of hesitation from Ghost. "Roach, get on Makarov's computer and start a transfer. Ozone, you're on rear security. I've got the front. Go!"

"On my way," Ozone replied.

"Got it," Roach nodded. He admired Ghost's knack for quick and level-headed tactics. Alright, five minutes… that's all we need and we're outta here with the goods. We've got this.

"Task Force, this is Price. More of Makarov's men just arrived at the boneyard... Soap, cover me. I'm gonna slot that guy over there and use his radio to tap into their comms. Ghost, we're going silent for a few minutes. Good luck up there in Russia. Price out."

They've got a plan… we've got a plan, and extraction inbound. Roach exhaled deeply as he reloaded his firearm. His heartbeat had slowed since breaching the basement but the adrenaline of combat intensified every footstep, every crinkle of paper. He was on edge.

"Roach, connect the DSM to Makarov's computer," Ghost commanded, his gaze lingering on Roach for a brief moment of hesitation, before he charged for the front door of the safe house. Roach approached a series of desktop computers adjacent to the office and located the DSM. He secured the connection and read the tiny analog display: DSM v6.04 … working …

"DSM working," Roach called to the team.

"Roach, did you see the armory in the basement? Better stock up while you can," Ozone's voice buzzed from the radio.

Roach proceed back downstairs, passed the corpse in the breached doorway, and scanned the stock lining the walls. He retrieved a grenade launcher with a sight and slung it over his back. It added to the bulk of his assault rifle but he had no idea what was coming their way. He wanted to be prepared and he could not risk abandoning the DSM for too long. Roach pocketed ammo for the rifle and grenade launcher and spotted a few claymores. He clipped a few to his belt, the weight of his new acquisitions burdening his frame. Five minutes… just five minutes… and besides, we get attacked and the load ought to lighten as I go…

Roach rushed up the stairs as fast as his loadout allowed. He planted a claymore by the back entrance of the kitchen.

"Claymore planted at the rear," Roach informed his team.

"Any more?" Ghost called. Roach scurried to the front door of the safe house where Ghost stood at the ready. Roach handed a claymore to Ghost, their gloved hands brushed in the exchange. It was enough contact for Roach's stomach to flip momentarily. He had not eaten in hours but felt a pressure in this throat as if he had just gorged himself and his body wanted to reject the intake. Stress mingled with excitement, adrenaline mixed with the endorphins released in Ghost's presence as Roach momentarily recalled the other man's touch, the urgency of his rough and desperate kisses, the timid way he had explored and caressed Roach's body. He swallowed again but his throat remained stubbornly dry.

Roach muted his mic. "I've got the DSM covered… good luck, sir," He told Ghost privately.

Ghost nodded and made to plant his claymore just beyond the blasted doorframe. The lieutenant's voice crackled over the comm, "Makarov's men are going to do whatever it takes to keep us from leaving with this intel. We need to protect the DSM until the transfer's done. Use the weapons caches and set up your claymores if you've got any left. Defensive positions, let's go!"

Roach heard the acknowledgements of Ozone, "Ready to engage," and Scarecrow, "I'm in position" as he returned to the large, outdated computer where the DSM continued to download the encrypted files. It was delicate and would not take much damage to destroy the transfer should hostiles engage. For a moment, the forced intake of Roach's inhale-exhale was all he heard.

The silence lasted a matter of seconds. Roach heard ominous explosions in the distance.

"What the hell was that?" Scarecrow's voice was nearly obscured by the noise of approaching helicopter blades that thwumped through the air.

"Enemy fast-attack choppers coming in from the northwest," Archer radioed from his sniping position.

"Roger that. Enemy helos approaching from the northwest," Ghost confirmed.

Roach trained his rifle to the large windows in the office and spotted the helo as it swooped towards the ground. He saw armed soldiers preparing to disembark as he ran to the windows and fired his rile, glass shattering as the bullets passed through the cheap windowpane. A gunmen toppled out of the copter, dead, before his comrades leapt from the bird and returned fire.

"We gotta cover the front lawn!" Scarecrow yelled.

"No activity back here yet. I'm moving to the main windows, I need someone to mine and cover the driveway approach," Ozone replied.

"Roach, use your claymores on the driveway and pull back to the house!" Ghost ordered. Roach heard the fire from Ozone's rifle as he approached the windowed office and dispatched an enemy. Now, to assist Ghost with the front… Roach gritted his teeth and ran desperately.

Roach spotted and collected more claymores off the floor, stored with other supplies in a makeshift cache. He dodged incoming fire and bolted towards the driveway. Ghost was huddled behind the old truck that Roach had previously utilized for cover before breaching the safe house.

"I'll cover your ass," Ghost spoke to Roach privately as their rifles targeted the drive for threats. He said the same thing last night, after… well, words failed to describe their situation. Tryst? Fated encounter? Lustful rendezvous? Whatever it had been, Ghost's reference to the previous night was a private acknowledgement that he too recalled their meeting, and that he was unashamed, perhaps… fond of the memory?

"I'll be quick," Roach replied with a slight smirk which belied his nerves, a claymore in hand as he stepped out from cover. He trusted the man to have his back… But I didn't expect this much of a shit storm… He heard Ghost's fire as he planted several claymores across the breadth of the drive, only pausing once to check for threats, and saw a body crumple in the distance courtesy of a precision shot from the lieutenant.

"Squad, we've got the front secured with claymores," Ghost informed the task force. But it was no time for relief.

"Be advised, you have a large concentration of hostiles moving in from the southeast, they've just breached the perimeter! I'll try to thin 'em out before they get too close. Recommend you switch to scoped weapons, over," Archer barked over the comm.

Roach and Ghost were already running in unison. If Roach had thought himself exhausted before the approach of the oncoming assault, it paled to what he felt now. Adrenaline pulsed through his body but he ached under the load of the grenade launcher and ammo.

"Roger that! Everyone cover the field to the southeast! Move!" Ghost commanded, he turned and entered the kitchen.

"I got eyes on! Here they come! They're in the field to the southeast!" Ozone yelled on radio.

Roach passed Ghost, who was shooting from a broken window. The windows lining most of the safe house were already shattered. Roach spotted enemies creeping through the trees for cover as they advanced. Roach swapped his rifle for the hefty grenade launcher and took aim –

THUMP!

The grenade sailed through the air, landed near a small group of assailants, and exploded. Body parts flew among a cloud of smoke and dirt. The surrounding survivors scattered with shrieks and a slew of Russian profanities. He launched another grenade and managed to hit a few of the runners.

"I have eyes on additional hostile forces moving in on your position. They're approaching from the solar panels east of the house," Archer reported.

"They're moving in from the solar panels east of the house!" Ghost confirmed. Roach noted from his peripheral vision that he departed the area after eliminating the imminent threats from the southeast.

"Roger, I'll try to cut 'em off as they come through the trees," Scarecrow replied.

"Use your claymores if you have 'em. Plant 'em around the trail east of the house," Ghost suggested.

A slight moment of relief washed over Roach as he listened to the voices over the radio. Team's still here… and so is the enemy. But we're better. Roach turned and ran to check on the DSM progress. He saw the enemies pour through the front door. He knew it was too late to plant additional claymores… But at least the ones I planted out in the drive should reduce their numbers. Roach went prone to the floor, retrieved his rifle, and fired at the soldiers who were too focused on the computers to notice him. A Russian goon shrieked and collapsed, a stretched out arm that reached for the DSM fell limply. Ozone blasted another soldier.

Gotcha fuckers!

"Hostiles approaching from the west!" Archer barked from his sniper cover. Roach's momentary elation dissipatedwith the intensifying sound of enemy activity.

They just keep fuckin' coming… The size of Makarov's movement dawned on Roach in that moment. We can't stop them all. Hell, how much longer? As long as we make it with the intel in one piece…

"They must be by the boathouse, everyone over the west approach!" Ghost yelled.

"RPG team moving in from the southwest!" Archer was on the comm again.

"Got it! RPG team moving in from the southwest!" Ozone echoed.

"We got 240s and RPGs in the dining room windows, plus L86 machine guns," Scarecrow's voice followed.

"Roger that, use 'em to cut 'em down as they come through the tree line!" Ghost approved.

Roach had to act, boathouse or dining room… the threat of RPGs pressed him to the dining room window. If an RPG missile destroyed a computer or disrupted the DSM connection, the entire mission would be compromised, their sacrifices for naught. He again hefted the grenade launcher and took aim on the approaching forces as they appeared from the dense greenery. He squeezed –

PHHHHHHHZZZZAP!

Roach's peripheral vision saw the curling smoke, the approaching missile. He ducked, laid prone, as an explosion erupted on the wall twenty or so feet behind him. He listened, heard the hurried footsteps of the gunmen, and listened for the distinct sound of an RPG firing amongst the cacophony of the battle. Occasionally, he heard Ghost, Ozone, or Scarecrow shout the location of approaching tangos above the fray. But no sounds of RPG fire. He cautiously raised his head and peered above the window frame. He observed the location of the assailants, ducked again, readied the grenade launcher, and fired three times as he crouched and took aim above the shattered glass. No movement. He steadied his breath and reloaded.

He returned to the DSM to check for targets and heard movement on the property outside. They're still fucking coming… fuck! He ducked behind a sofa for cover as three Russians poured in through the open front door. He met their fire with a flash grenade, which gave him the advantage as they winced and panicked at the blinding flash powder and the ringing from the concussive shock. Roach readied his rifle and shot the men until they no longer moved, blood seeping onto their fatigues.

Ghost emerged in the adjacent room, running past the DSM. "Roach, the transfer's complete! I'll cover the main approach while you get the DSM! Move!" He ordered.

Gunfire still erupted around the estate, but they had the files, and now it was a matter of desperate escape. Roach discarded the heavy grenade launcher, ignored his aches, bruises, and cuts, and fled to the device. He scooped up the DSM and tucked it securely in an inner pocket of his jacket.

"This is Shepherd. We're almost at the LZ. What's your status, over?" The general asked calmly over the comm.

"We're on our way to the LZ! Roach, let's go!" Ghost yelled over the sound of his rifle, the bullets pecking away at Makarov's men who hid behind cover just beyond the safe house. Ghost started towards the extraction point, Ozone behind him, with Roach at the rear.

"Scarecrow?" Roach called.

"Killed in action," Ghost spat bitterly. "Let's go!"

Shit! Roach wanted to kill every last bastard on the property, wanted to see their corpses rot with decay. But he refused to allow his anger over Scarecrow's demise to cloud his judgement. The three men sprinted through the long grassy field that extended past the safe house. Roach spotted a large pond, a decaying fence, a wood barn.

If Makarov's men were out this far, they'd be using that barn for cover. Before he could warn the others, soldiers fired wildly from the backside of the barn. Roach scampered for a nearby tree, went prone, and lost sight of Ghost and Ozone. He concentrated on the desperate gunmen, who sacrificed precision and ammo for frenzied fire. He managed to take one down, reloaded, and noticed Ghost crouched behind a rusting tractor a few yards ahead of him. Ghost fired at the assailants and Roach heard gunshots from back at the safe house. Makarov's men had them flanked in essentially every direction.

Extraction close… not much further… Roach's body trembled as he attempted to steady himself in a crouch position, the fatigue taking a toll on his motor functions. But he was alert, hyperaware of every sound and movement around him. He fired back at the direction where he heard the gunshots and heard panicked yells and cursing.

"Let's move!" Ghost yelled, the lieutenant moved rapidly through the grass, passing large bales of rolled straw and farming equipment. As Roach ran, he saw the field transform into a rolling, downward hill and thought that perhaps they had escaped the worse –

Roach sensed the stress in Ghost's voice before he understood his words. "They're bracketing our position with mortars, keep moving but watch your back! Roach, I got you covered!"

Roach hesitated, heard the thunderous booms coupled with fountains of dirt that erupted across the landscape from mortar fire. He saw no sign of Ozone.

"Go! Go! Get to the LZ! Keep moving!" Ghost yelled, and it was the first time Roach could discern the uneven panic in the soldier's voice. Ghost was no longer charging ahead; the lieutenant was waiting on Roach to proceed first. "We gotta get to the LZ! Roach, come on!"

He peered down the hill and noted the gradual slope levelled into an open field. The landing zone. Safety. Home. And it was just him and Ghost. He swallowed.

"Ozone? Archer? ...Toad?!" Roach stammered.

"Roach, I'll cover you! Move! Go! Go!" Ghost grabbed Roach's bicep and shoved him forward hard, forcing Roach's legs to automatically break into a run with the slope of the land, the weight of his rifle and kit dragging him onwards, increasing his momentum.

Roach ran until the shadows of the tree line broke onto a sunny field. It's all happened so bloody fast. Ghost and Roach the sole survivors of a full assault on Makarov's safe house. They had lost so much to retrieve the files concealed in his jacket. Roach desperately hoped that whatever information was stored on the DSM that it brought about Makarov's capture, or better, death. He made to turn for Ghost, not daring to proceed forward without him. Fuck… I'll die before I lose Simon, too.

An explosion collided with the ground not five feet from him. Roach dodged, attempted to glance backward for Ghost once more, and another explosion missed him by inches. He felt the heat of the flash on his face –

When suddenly bright red and yellow burned in Roach's eyes before another explosion knocked him off his feet. He saw nothing but heard a ringing – a growing ringing that was joined by a loud, working-class accent. Roach managed a blink, a black balaclava with a grinning skull materialized over him as a strong grip forced him to sit up, and shoved an AK-47 in his hands.

"I've got you, Roach, hang on!" The voice bellowed. "Thunder Two-One, I've popped red smoke in the tree line! Standby to engage on my mark."

Fuck… must 'ave been hit with projectile from mortar… The pain was staggering; the intensity overwhelmed Roach. His ears rang and he could hardly discern the sounds of ensuing combat. Roach's heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest as he weakly lifted the AK-47, and fired at the muzzle flashes that emerged from the dark trees at the edge of the hill.

Roach suddenly lurched and long grass whipped at his face. He was being dragged backwards, away from the combat zone. Ghost.

Roach barely discerned a new voice over the comm. "Roger that. I have a visual on the red smoke. Standing by."

"Thunder Two-One, cleared hot!" Ghost yelled.

"Roger that, cleared hot. Guns, guns, guns."

Roach's vision faded but he continued firing towards the tree line. He wanted to black out, to rest, the shooting sapped his energy, but he could not – no, would not stop firing until they were on that copter. Ghost was risking his life for him, to bring him back alive. Roach had to cover their escape.

A Little Bird helicopter swooped low over Ghost and Roach, guns firing at the red smoke at the base of the tree line, the bullet spray killed the remaining hostiles. Roach fought to maintain his vision… but the dark was beckoning, if he could just rest a moment. He felt oddly warm and comfortable –

"Roach, hang in there!" Ghost's hand found Roach's and pulled him onto his feet. Roach slumped into his lieutenant and took comfort in the man's solid build as he leaned into him. Roach could hardly form a coherent thought yet alone maintain his bearings. He nearly slumped back to the ground, if Ghost had not placed his arm around Roach's back for support.

"Come on, get up! Get up! Get up! We're almost there!" Ghost encouraged Roach to move forward as the Little Bird landed ahead of them.

"Ghos- Ss – Sssimon," Roach murmured, inaudible above the sound of the copter's blades. Roach's own heavy breathing filled his eardrums.

General Shepherd emerged from the rear door of the pave low, "Do you have the DSM?" A few Shadow Company soldiers flanked the general. A vague sense of contentment and safety filled Roach, as it faintly registered that he had succeeded. The DSM was safe. He and Ghost had made it.

"We got it, sir!" Ghost replied triumphantly.

"Good, that's one less loose end," Shepherd replied, stoic, his eyes hardened into slits. Roach's eyes were heavy but he saw the quick flash of silver gleaming in the sunlight from a magnum-shaped object in the general's outstretched hand. Roach, weakened, incoherent, had no time to react –

BAAAANG!

Shepherd lurched backward at an odd angle, and Roach could clearly identify the magnum now, as the general's arms fell back with the momentum of his slumping body. The general attempted to speak with a thick gurgling sound as blood sputtered and pooled from his gaping mouth.

Roach saw everything in red and fell to the earth, a sharp, deep pain in his abdominal region.

"NOOOOO!" Ghost bellowed, turning to Roach, already on the ground. Roach's eyes clouded, but he managed to discern that Ghost was quick not to leave himself exposed. He raised his rifle at the faceless Shadow Company soldiers.

"Shots fired, shots fired!" a Shadow Company solider yelled, pulled his rifle on Ghost.

"It was sniper fire!" a soldier barked.

"The general?" another asked.

Multiple loud bangs rang out across the field. For Roach, it sounded far away, as distant as Price and MacTavish were in their boneyard op in the Middle East. He silently wished they were here, and blacked out.