Title: The Price
Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 (Alternate Ending/Alternate universe)
Summary: Price is the one stabbed by Shepherd and rescued by Soap. Family is drawn into the battle as the last remnants of the 141 seek to complete their primary objective and put an end to WW3 before it's too late.
Warning: Violence, mention of torture and some profanity, reader discretion advised.
Disclaimer: Any character recognised from the Call of Duty Series is the property of the game makers. This story is written for no profit. Any opinions expressed by characters are not that of the author and do not intend to cause any offence.
Note: Reviews are appreciated, along with useful criticism. Apologies for any grammatical or spelling mistakes, I'm only human and computers aren't perfect.
Well, there's all the official stuff. This is my first story up, so I hope you all enjoy it.
-1-
A Shift in Fate
Price choked up water, chest heaving and lungs burning from the near drowning he'd just experienced. He'd shot at the Helo too late, by the time he'd lined up and fired they'd been too close to the waterfall, well and truly caught in its power. He'd yelled at Soap to back up, but the small Zodiac just hadn't had the strength to pull them back from the edge.
They'd gone over.
He rolled over as his head began to clear after being starved of usable oxygen; he couldn't see Soap anywhere; was he still in the river, drowning, begging for his help? But as much as he desperately wanted to search for one of the few friends he had left, there was a task far more important. One single objective:
KILL SHEPHERD.
It didn't take much effort to find the downed Pave Low; the hulking transport helicopter with its six rotor blades had been reduced to a wreck that would have made Nikolai cry. His knife put the two crew members out of their misery, as one crawled for the empty expanse of the desert, the other with a last click of defiance. Then Shepherd appeared from the haze, stumbling from the wreckage, fate hadn't allowed the crash to kill him, no, this blood soaked sand craved a battle. He swung out with his combat knife, stupidly; Shepherd had already spotted him, fleeing into the swirling sand. The coward, but he didn't get far; the Captain found him leaning against a wrecked car that must have become victim to the vicious attack of the sands for years, a silent witness to this chapter of their stories.
Price was a highly trained soldier of the Special Air Service, Shepherd a decorated US Army General. Price had gone over a waterfall; Shepherd had survived a helicopter crash. Normally they would have been evenly matched, but Price two days out of a three year stint in hell; three years of torture and abuse at the hands of Makarov's minions had taken a heavy toll on him. It wasn't really a fair match, Price thought as he went from one moment swinging his blade at the murderer, to staring up as the blade came down, its sharp tip and razor edge breaking through skin and the protective shield of his ribs, puncturing the delicate lung below.
Oh God! His mind cried, the pain matching that horrid day five years ago when success had turned bitter; that bridge had stolen his friends, and almost his life.
It was paralysing. He couldn't move, couldn't fight or flee as Shepherd loaded a single fresh round into the chamber of that damn .44 Magnum, Price was nothing but a loose end, like Ghost, and that poor boy Roach, he never had said sorry for punching him.
"Five years ago I lost 30 000 men in the blink of an eye, and the world just fucking watched, Tomorrow there will be no shortage of volunteers, no shortage of patriots,"
Just shut up and shoot me your bastard, don't try and justify this, you lost men, I lost friends.
"I know you understand."
Get ready Zakhaev, I'm coming.
He braced himself for the bullet, the silver barrel levelled towards his head; he'd failed, all his years of service, all the sacrifices he'd made, and he'd die a traitor. Shepherd's lie would be carved as truth to endure for a thousand years, while theirs turned to sand. It wasn't fucking fair!
"Price!"
Seemed fate had other ideas.
His eyes snapped to the side as Soap came charging into the midst, barrelling into Shepherd as he pulled the trigger, the bullet missed, kicking up dust beside his head. A swift kick form the Scot sent the gun clattering to the dirt nearby, the paralysis was gone and a surge of adrenaline gave him strength. Price dragged himself in agony towards the pistol, his fingers brushed the cold metal as Soap crashed to the floor in his view, and Shepherd kicked the gun away.
No! You f…
A boot cut off any further thought.
He felt numb, detached, as the world faded in and out, playing a juddering view of the battle before him. Captain MacTavish was taking on his General, his commanding officer, seeking revenge for the death of his men. He was fighting for his life. He was losing; the river and mad dash to save his mentor had sapped what little strength he had after the turmoil of the last few days. He couldn't let him down, on the bridge he'd given him his gun, but it was empty now, and Shepherd had seen to his knife, he had nothing to give him, except.
It burned. Every millimetre was paid for in blood and torment, but finally it came free, dripping with his blood. With a spin that he'd once told Soap was a pointless flourish he'd never need, he caught the tip. He might die, but Shepherd would be dead, and Soap would live to ensure that the truth was told.
By some irony Shepherd looked up the exact moment he threw the knife, and with sweet satisfaction it sunk deep into the man's eye, killing him instantly. He'd done it. But as he watched Soap's motionless, lifeless body, he worried that it had come too late.
"Soap!" He gasped, the other Captain hadn't moved, "Soap!" It hurt, but he dragged himself towards his friend, blood staining the sand as his heart pumped ever more of the precious fluid from the hole in his body, onto the thirsty sand, "Soap, wake up!" He begged as his vision wavered, the words tearing from his throat in a scream. The body shook with a hacking cough, the younger man finally waking. For a moment he stared at his former CO with blank eyes, which went wide as he saw the blood.
"Price!"
Soap's mind and body kicked into action, pain forgotten as the mentor rolled limply onto his back. It took only a split second assessment to see that Price was in a bad way, he was losing blood fast and the force of the blow must have cracked ribs. Pulling it out again hadn't done Price's condition any favours either.
"Come on Old Man, stay with me!" He begged, Price offered him a weak smile as he head lulled despite the coaxing, he was bleeding out far too fast. Warmth flowed over Soap's hands even as he applied pressure and dressings. His breathing came in wet rasps accompanied by red foam dribbling from between his lips. Soap knew what it all meant, internal bleeding, a punctured lung filling with blood, coming closer to collapse with each breath. Price was drowning in his own body, courtesy of his own blood. He tore open another field dressing and pushed down with all his weight, this time Price cried out, heels scraping at the dirt; Soap couldn't have been happier, the Old Man still had some strength left in him. The fresh dressing was saturated in seconds; he dug out the last and tied them off as tight as his tired and abused body could manage.
He met Price's eyes, the Captain was fading fast, and they had no way out of the bloody desert! He heard the thundering sound of approaching rotor blades and bowed his head. Shadow Company had come to finish them off; he just hoped they'd finish it quick, Price deserved that much. He pulled out a Morphine auto-injector, hoping to make Price's passing as comfortable as possible. But as he met eyes with his friend for what he thought would be the last time, he stilled his hand. The steely look in Price's eyes told him that he wanted to meet death with his eyes wide open and defiant, not in a drugged up haze. Soap gripped his hand and whispered a prayer he had not thought of since childhood,
Yee, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil…(1)
"I know you said this would be a one way trip," Soap's head snapped up at the sound of the familiar Russian accented voice,
"Nikolai!" He gasped, not quite believing his own eyes, Price had told him not to come back for them.
"Though it still might be, they'll be looking for us you know," With the pilots help they managed to get the injured Captain to his feet,
"Nikolai, we need to get Price out of here," Soap insisted over the roar of the blades,
"Da, I know a place."
(1) 23rd(22nd) Psalm
Draft of the next chapter is written, but it still needs work, hopefully I'll have it up in the not too distant future.