Captain John Price
January 21st, 2016
Dubai, U.A.E
He spoke with U.A.E officials, who were the first on the scene, but didn't waste his breath past explaining himself out of getting arrested. The simple, fat policemen's words were wasted on him, just as the massive amount of kilocalories they consumed a day were wasted on their impressive guts. It was only a matter of minutes before the real deal arrived, joint S.A.S and U.S clean-up task forces keen on keeping all things confidential until their respective nations were ready to release the news. Either way, Price didn't care. He finished what he had set out to do, and as he navigated back down through the very carnage he had wrought using makeshift lifts and stairs that authorities had quickly constructed, his mind drifted to the sacrifice it had taken to get him there. He thought of Soap, who just years ago had been the F.N.G in his unit, which had been largely wiped out. Then Roach and Ghost, whom he had not known well, but had considered good, sturdy Englishmen, let alone elite soldiers, betrayed by a faux ally. Grinch, Sandman, Yuri; all men he hardly knew personally, some for only months or weeks, yet had connected to in a way all soldiers do, in combat and in brotherhood.
He shivered, despite the relative warmth of Dubai, then shrugged it off. There was a reason why he didn't like to think in the past; it was easier to just forget and move on, honor their memories rather than dwell on them. He wasn't weak, after all. He had made it through all this, however great the cost.
He continued to walk, out of the lobby of the and across the bridge to his ticket out of this place. Even as he caught sight of the chopper that was to be his return ride home, Price thought about what he had to go home to...
...and the very thought made him want to keep walking and never look back.
6 MONTHS LATER
Captain John Price
July 17th, 2017
London, United Kingdom
19:17
"...And it is for that reason, we would like to issue this promotion and decoration on a true English hero...Major James Price!"
Amongst the applause and the praise and sheer emotion of the crowd's standing ovation, all Captain James Price could muster was a slightly less threatening grimace. After sitting through the Prime Minister's victory speech, rife with words like 'we' and 'our country', he was too sick to his stomach to offer much more. Like bloody hell 'we' did anything; it was the men and women in uniform who had made this possible, people like Price who put their lives on the line that saved this country. There was no 'we'. Yet on the stage there were only a handful of veterans, mostly crippled beyond any hopes of returning to normality, but for every sharp, polished uniform were at least 3-4 politicians there to congratulate them. Fucking disgusting.
Congratulate them on what? Doing their duty? What you were too chicken shit to do yourselves? What a load of rubbish. In Price's hour of need, his country abandoned him, and yet he still fought for it. He owed nothing to these people, who use brave men and women to further their agendas. He grew nauseous watching each man, including himself, being pinned with medals by men who did not understand what they stood for, or insisted that having a piece of shiny metal on your chest somehow validated their efforts all those months ago.
As he sat and the applause died down, he wanted so badly to spit to get the metallic taste in his mouth out, and by the looks of some of his comrades, so did they. He silently wondered if he looked the same as they did; strong, firm, but with eyes somewhere off in the distance, still in the line of fire where their fellows fell. Still there, in limbo, in that split second after their friends died, waiting for them to dust themselves off and get back up.
3 MONTHS LATER
Major John Price
October 1st, 2017
141 HQ, ?
09:20
"So whats the situation?"
Colonel Henry Brookshire looked at Price with a small mocking smile and a glint in his eyes from across the large oval mahogany desk in the undisclosed One-Four-One Task Force headquarters. He was sharply dressed, with his officers uniform pressed and ironed, with not a thing out of place...
"You come in here and ask the same thing every time, Price. Ever thought of changing it up for a change, mmm?"
...yet he didn't act like it.
Price looked at him with his cold grey eyes, analyzing him further. He was maybe a few years his senior, which was saying something; Price was no young buck. He had read up on his files; He had seen plenty of combat, but was perhaps more respected for his tactical abilities, playing more of a backseat role these days. Someone had to do it.
"Well, I'll change what I say when you do the same.", Price snorted in retort.
Brookshire chuckled. "There isn't too much I can do about that. We meet every week, and every week I have to let you down. There just isn't much going on that would warrant your level of expertise these days..."
Price began to stand when Brookshire interrupted,
"...However..."
Price immediately became attentive and the fog that had sat over his mind the last few uneventful months was lifted. He had hoped for a mission soon, something to do, someone to kill, so he didn't have to spend his nights alone, his nightmares keeping him...
"However, there was a curious bit of intel, if you're intereste-"
"I'm always interested.", Price interrupted.
"Well, take a seat and I can explain...The Iranians, as you might have noticed, have been taking full advantage of the crisis following the ultranationalist collapse. Whole stockpiles of tactical weapons and high-grade uranium have gone missing, and all signs point to the Iranians, but we have yet to confirm anything."
"So, whats the intel? Did you find something?"
"Not quite. What we did find was a transmission, from the higher echelons of the Iranian government. Apparently, there have been two failed missions to a remote area of Kazakhstan by the Iranians, who had tracked down someone who has been sapping off their signals. The transmission indicates that whomever has been doing this has access to their security and personal mainframes, and may have downloaded some incriminating data. Another mission has been ordered, much larger in size and support, to find and eliminate any leaks and tie up loose ends."
"Do we know who is behind it? The Americans?"
"Thats just the thing. We have no clue. Whomever it is, they must be working on their own."
"Great...a vigilante."
"I'd be careful Price. If you take this one on, we don't know who or what is out there. They may not welcome you anymore than Iranians."
"Don't worry about me. Whats the objective?"
Brookshire span away from Price in his chair. "We need those access codes, and whatever information may have been gathered. Maybe we can find out where those missiles went, eh? Either way, we can't let this information pass, nor can we let it fall into anyone else's hands...are you up for it?" Brookshire turned in his chair midway through his sentence, only to find Price halfway to the door.
"I want wheels up at 1100."
Brookshire smiled as Price opened the door and began to exit.
"Some patriots never die.", he mumbled to himself before turning back around in his chair.
-
Major John Price
October 3rd, 2017
Altay Mountains, Kazakstan
06:00
"Alright Nikolai, the drop point is just down there.", Major Price reminded Nikolai as they approached the base of Belukha Mountain.
"I know where it is, Price. But tell me again, what are you going to do when you get down there?"
Price grunted. "Easy, mate. What I always do."
"And just what is that, Price?"
"Win."
Nikolai chuckled. "How are you to track the target? I can only provide air surveillance for a short while. It is a long ride back to base."
"Not necessary." Price re-checked his magazines as the drop point came into view. "Whoever is behind this, they don't care if they are found. We picked up their signal hours ago. I've just got to follow the ping."
"Be careful, Price." Nikolai said after some time. "You don't have any back-up this time..." They landed in a small clearing, and Price exited the chopper quickly, to minimize the risk of being seen.
"...because you aren't as spry as you used to be." Nikolai came over loud and clear over Price's head-set.
"Cheeky bastard."
Based on his intel, the Iranians were supposed to be at least 2 hours behind. But about an hour into his hike up the base of the mountain, he spotted Iranian scouts and smoke from a local camp. He immediately dropped into a prone position, looking for more signs of movement in the trees. He counted three scouts, one about a half-mile away overlooking a forested bluff, the rest less than a quarter-mile away, speaking enthusiastically in Arabic. The two were less than 300 meters away. He sneaked another peak, making sure to hold his breath in the frigid cold. He checked his GPS. The signal was strong as ever, so the Iranians must be waiting for reinforcements to swarm the position. He had maybe an hour. He needed to decide how to proceed. He could go in, guns blazing, all fire and glory and wipe them out, and risk scaring away the target and alerting other patrols that may be away from camp. OR, he could continue stealthily and try and avoid the camp and the patrols as needed, and risk moving too slowly to beat the reinforcements. Decisions decisions.
He knew that whatever choice he was to make, he needed to do it fast. He didn't have much time...
Author message: You choose what happens. If you want to. Otherwise I'll do this shit myself.