Reflections
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
P.S. This comes from Price's POV. Added some parts which may contain references to other works.
We have a new mission. Task Force 141 must secure a route to a docked submarine in Russia. I nod. I understand.
As we go into the plane, I start to reflect and think.
The plane takes off. Clouds are soon all I see.
I look at Soap. He's holding his pistol, a new M1911. Fresh, new and recently cleaned. I saw him cleaning and polishing it an hour before we took off. He looks back.
I ask if he's ready. He nods, and resumes looking at his weapon, gripping and holding it in different ways, looking down the sights, and examining the pistol closely, observing every minute detail. Trying to get used to the feel of it, I think.
I look at my own M1911. Quite a bit of age, this one has, and it was still in mint condition. I've heard that Soap would clean and polish this more frequently than his other weapons. Quite a statement, considering every weapon that he has, from the simplest to the most complex, were in tip top shape. They were always clean, well-oiled, and they practically gleamed with polish. I've forgot to thank him.
I say, "I never did thank you for keeping my pistol in mint condition."
Soap says, "You're welcome." A slight grin appears on his face, but vanishes quickly, only long enough for me to notice. He resumes his actions.
I think. I recall the stories I hear about Soap and the rest while I was gone in that God-forsaken gulag.
First, I'll deal with my former mentor, MacMillan. I miss his guidance terribly. He was the best sniper and the best ghost I had ever seen. Even now, fifteen years later, I still haven't beaten his record. No one has.
When we landed at home base, and had some short R and R, I ate, showered, and took a short walk around.
When I got to the shooting range, I saw two other SAS. One was coaching the other on sniping. The sniper did well, shooting quickly and accurately. He hit all the targets, with all bullets finding their way to their respective bulls-eyes.
The coach said, "Nice. MacMillan would be impressed."
A big grin appeared on the sniper.
Apparently, I've been told, MacMillan's skill as a sniper had become legendary, to the point that hearing the phrase, 'MacMillan would be impressed', was generally, albeit unofficially, considered to be the one of the highest, if not the highest praise one could get.
I miss his advice and his crack ups. That scene in Prypiat will be in my mind always.
He got up and took down a tango with a bash from his rifle. A bash from his rifle. He said to the man, "Oi, Suzy!" beforehand to get his attention.
Quite unorthodox. Guess that's when I took my fancy to unorthodox attacks. Hey, if it works, it goes.
He had a bit of a wit too. I can remember him saying that the MREs we had were tasty, making his chest hair grow.
I had to admit, he knows the importance of morale. Quips about laundry, his losing connection to the mothership and his "If it's not Scottish, it's crap!" I chuckle inwardly.
I hear stories about Soap too. I look at him.
He, Roach, Ghost, and the others are taking a power nap. I should too. I need my strength. I will, but later.
Apparently, Soap has gained some similarities with me.
He appears to smoke before missions, like me.
He saved his new guy, on his first mission with him, like I saved his. Only difference was, I saved him from falling off a helicopter, while he saved Roach from falling off a cliff.
He also had been using unorthodox techniques, like yours truly.
I heard from Roach that while on that mission with Soap in Kazakhstan, he took down a tango by tackling him, slamming him to the wall, throwing him down, pinning and subduing him, and finally stabbing him. Reminds me of... well, me and MacMillan.
I also heard from Roach that while on that oil rig, when he took down a tango, he used a one arm shoulder throw and shot the guy while he was on the ground.
Of all the takedowns he could have used, he picked a one arm shoulder throw. I remember MacMillan's rifle bash. Hey, if it works, it goes.
He also has a right-hand man: Ghost. Mine was Gaz.
Ghost is a lot like Gaz.
I see a lot of Gaz in him: the wit, the accent, it's like they're practically voiced by the same guy.
Sometimes I wish that when Ghost takes off his mask, I sort of wish that the face I would see would be Gaz, smirking like the cheeky bastard that he was.
God. Gaz. Gaz was a good soldier, a good man, a good comrade, and a good friend.
It was a shame to see him die like that: helpless, without a fight, shot while he was trying to stand up.
Good thing Soap killed Zakhaev.
That one-armed bastard. I should have shot him twice.
I follow Soap and the others, and I take a nap.
I wake up. Time to jump. I check my gear, take a deep breath, hold it in, and jump.
I count the seconds until I feel the reassuring jerk of the parachute.
Problem was the wind. We were blown in different directions.
As I land, a shrug off my parachute, fold it and wait for orders.
I hear Soap on the radio. He could not find Roach due to too much interference.
I say I'll find him, and off I jog.
It feels strange. As I run, I feel like something was turning. Not literally, mind you.
Like I had received something from the past, and in the future I would pass it down.
I find Roach. I confirm to Soap, and off we go.
I order Roach to follow me, and stay out of sight.
In quick fashion, I find tangos.
As if by reflex, I rattle off the statistics: how many men, what they are armed with, do they have dogs, among others.
I hear Soap say that he hates dogs.
I find myself say that these dogs were nothing compared to the ones at Prypiat.
I tell Roach to have patience and to not do anything stupid.
I hear a convoy. I say to Roach to get out of sight.
The convoy passes, and we see that two of them have stopped for a smoke.
I tell Roach to take one, and that I would take out the other.
He complies, and we take them both out.
We see the dog and his handler, and two more tangos. Again, I order Roach on what to shoot.
I tell him to take out the dog and his handler. He does, and I kill the other two. Both times, I say a well done. This time, I had added a "beautiful" to it.
Then it clicks. The things that I am doing here were the same things that MacMillan did when we were in Prypiat.
Giving orders and supporting a protégée. In this instant, I had become my mentor; I had become MacMillan.
Likewise, through his actions, Soap had become myself.
So that was what it was. Each generation yields to the next, leaving behind some legacy.
When Roach takes command and finds himself in this spot, in a two-man team, him and a protégée of his very own, chances are, he would sound and act just like me and Soap.
It happened to me while I was under MacMillan, and it happened to Soap while he was under me.
Hell, it even happened to Ghost, in a way. In a way, he had become Gaz.
Chances are it will happen to Roach too.
Chances are, when he becomes a Captain, he will become Soap, me, MacMillan, MacMillan's CO, the CO of that CO, and the COs of the COs of the past.
I shake my head a little, grip my weapon a bit tighter, and focus on the mission.
This reverie can wait. There's a war that needs to be stopped.
And I already have an idea on how to do it. One that involves that submarine.
I can only imagine the looks on their faces when I execute it though...
R and R.