Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Loyalist Base, near the Caucasus Mountains.


It was one of those times, when MacTavish secretly suspected if Kamarov had a sixth sense of knowing when any single one of his comrades were either dead or dying. Five years ago, his men had come to his own rescue in the Altay Mountains, while he had been the one who had removed Anya from the FSB's clutches in the nick of time. And now, he had saved Ghost and Roach from sudden death at the hands of Shepherd.

"Very difficult to bring the two of them back," Kamarov said, shaking his head as he looked at the two of his subordinates with Price. "But they are almost as resilient as Anya, it seems…" Anya… that girl could have lived, but she had chosen death at the end, after fighting so hard to survive. "Speaking of Anya, where is she?"

MacTavish put a hand on Kamarov's shoulder and said, "She's gone, mate. Killed herself, right after she killed Shepherd."

After hearing those words, Kamarov just sighed. "At least it is a fate that she had chosen for herself," he replied. Anya was strong, there was no doubt about it, but there was this sense of… conflict rooted deep within her, so much so that she needed to be free of it. "Those nightmares would have driven her to the brink, anyways."

"Nightmares?" it was Price's turn to ask. "What nightmares?" He had not known about Anya having any nightmares at all… "How bad were they?"

"Bad enough that my doctors had to prescribe some powerful sedatives to calm her down after," Kamarov answered. "When she left us, we told them that they were painkillers for her wounds." He did not know what she had seen, but he knew that they had brought her much pain. But still, those nightmares were ones that she had claimed for herself… She knew that it was the risk that she had to take when she had taken Shepherd's offer… "Well, it is too late to talk about the dead now, my friends. Anya is now in a better place. We need to focus on the living."

The living… It was a sheer miracle that Ghost and Roach survived. "Let's hope that Anya would watch over them," Price said, especially Roach. That boy was one of the unluckiest soldiers that he had ever seen, and still, he could make it out alive… "Especially when we have things to do."


The sleek Porsche Carerra came to halt before the one of the many ancient structures in the Kremlin, where the doors there would lead him to the shortest way to the President's meeting room. Although it appeared as if he was of little importance now that the Ultranationalists had seized power from the Loyalists, he had been there so many times that he could memorize the actual number of windows in that place.

He could remember, the very day he had been "ousted" out of the that very meeting room, but it had seemed so long ago. Heck, the past three days had been an eternity for him… Don't worry, Makarov, he seemed to hear her voice in his mind, as seductive as the first moment he had met her. You have all of them wound around your finger. Knock'em dead, tiger.

His footsteps, they remained as calm as ever as he started to stride deeper and deeper into the vast complex of antique chambers, now armed with the latest array of security technology. This was the residence of the President of Russia, after all. When he stopped, he was faced before a set of ornate double-doors, guarded by two men in suits.

They did not need telling who he was. Quickly removing the M9 from his jacket pocket and setting it on the nearby table, he nodded to them. There was also no need for Makarov to do anything else, because one of them knowingly entered the room beyond the golden-hued doors to alert those that were inside.

Just a little more… Just a little more and he would not have to face those bureaucratic fools in that room…

"Sir, Makarov is here," Vorshevsky's aide spoke into his ear. The President of Russia immediately stiffened. That man, was more than a monster with a highly specialized brain for warfare and terror. This man was the reason why he has a seat of power in the Kremlin, and the main reason why the Ultranationalists have a stranglehold on Mother Russia as a whole… This man had deceived the world into thinking that he was only a mere terrorist, but he knew, that one day, Makarov would unleash his true talents.

And now, now that his little agent, Maria Allen had died, it seems that Makarov seemed more eager to shed his role in the shadows. Now that Shepherd was gone, there was no one that could stop him, and that was when Makarov would seize control, he just knew it. But what was about that girl that had garnered such a change for Makarov?

"I apologize for my tardiness, gentlemen," Makarov said after bursting into the meeting room. "But the funeral affairs of the dead must be completed." He did not need to explain further, all of them would have known anyways. This man had harbored the woman sent to leak information regarding their operations back into the United States, and he had the audacity to come back to them… Only Vorshevsky knew why he had kept her by his side, and only the President knew that "Anya" was more than just an agent for his use.

One of the men sitting at the table, the Minister of Defense, was not pleased. "Vladimir, we heard that you had personally protected Maria Allen from the US CIA," he said. "Have you gone crazy, or do you not know the meaning of danger?"

Makarov rolled his eyes. "She was the one who removed Shepherd for us at the cost of her life, Ivan," he replied. "I suggest that you speak of her with a little more respect." In truth, he had already expected such a reaction from that man. He was careful, and even more distrustful of others as he had been. "Our goals coincided with one another, and I saw no reason why we should not work together."

"Rumor has it that that you have even acquired a little lover to warm your bed," another voice was heard saying. Makarov would rather forget who that person was. "Too bad, we did not have a chance to get to know her…"

Vorshevsky knew it would take much more that a snide remark to take Makarov down. "Kurkov, please," he chided, and the man immediately stopped. "Allen had done us a great favor, and we should not tarnish her memory with any more harsh words." Still, there were men in that very room who still did not know the nature of their own party's affairs, and yet, they were all part of the "inner circle" of the Ultranationalists, which Makarov had been supposedly ousted from.

"Alright, let us cut to the chase then," Ivan said, standing up from his seat. "Why are you here, Makarov, and what you do want?"

"Full command of our armies, Ivan," Makarov answered simply. "With that EMP in Washington DC, the Americans have managed to even the scales, and stop our forces there from taking the White House. Without a doubt, they will now start to drive us back, and try to burn Moscow within an inch of her life." And that was what they could not afford. The one weakness of Russia now, was that once you rule Moscow, you rule all of Russia, because of the scattered population of the country. It was what they could not allow to happen.

Silence crowded the room immediately, just how Makarov liked it. Walking towards the seat that should have been his, and had not been filled since five years ago, he looked at each and every single one of them. He knew that they were hanging onto his every single word. "Have you ever heard of the wise saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend?" he asked them again. "If you wish for me to slaughter every American son who dares to defile our Great Mother, then I shall need full command of our armies, not limited to the Spetsnaz."

"And how confidant you are of yourself that you can win this war?" one of them asked. A very good question indeed… or so he had thought.

He could only shake his head. "Understand that whatever we try to do, the army of the United States of America is still the strongest military force there is," he replied. "After all of you have so foolishly concluded that you would just march into the East Coast as retaliation for the attack on Zakhaev International Airport… You might as well have handed Moscow to them in a red ribbon. What we can do, is to stop them from taking Moscow."

They did not even know that it was he who attacked the airport, those ignorant fools. The only one there who knew, was Vorshevsky, as well as Viktor and Anatoly, who could never be bought from him anyways. Makarov had contacted him regarding Shepherd's offer, and Vorshevsky was almost certain that he would have expected Russia's armies to just invade the United States the very moment Allen's identity had been confirmed, given the tensions between both countries.

Each one of the men in that room started to bob their heads and nod one by one… It took very, very little to convince them, indeed. With a few more well-placed sentences, a few maleficent glares here and there, and it would be a done deal. "Gentlemen, I will head into the battlefield myself if I have to," Makarov added. He had always been a field man. Every single one of his operations had been carried out personally, unlike others he could easily name.

Of course, they knew of his military capabilities, which were only beginning to peak during the last days of the Soviet Union. He had graduated from a prestigious military academy, and had caught the eye of Imran Zakhaev very, very early on. However, it was only when he had joined the Ultranationalists that he had showed his true talent, not only in military pursuits, but was also highly well-versed with the twists and turns of the underworld. This man was able to source illegal weapons, and somehow or other, they would emerge to be perfectly legal when provided to the Government… Alejandro Rojas' arms deal with him was a fine example of this.

Cold precision, heartless bravado and utter determination made this man who he was. They knew that they had no other choice, because he had been the perfect candidate for the job. Knowing the Spetsnaz, they would follow this supposed-madman to the very brink of the world, while he was the one who had moulded the image of the Ultranationalists from being mere terrorists and political dissidents to the protectors of Russia…

"Does anyone have anything to say against Vladimir?" Vorshevsky asked. Once Makarov had set his eyes on something that he wanted, there was nothing that could stop him. This had always been the truth. "Very well, from tomorrow morning, he shall be the Supreme Commander of the army, his former military ranks recovered."

Makarov merely nodded. This was only the first step to a greater beginning. Anya's vengeance might have ended, but that of his own, had not. He would make sure that the Americans would think twice before ever trying to test the full anger of Russia, it had been fully roused.

"Make sure that you do not disappoint us, Vladimir," Vorshevsky added, his words all for mere show. "The hopes of Mother Russia rest upon your shoulders now."

"Oh, you know me so well," Makarov replied, slightly rolling his eyes.