A Beer with Heroes.
Day- XXX
London
'Soap' MacTavish
22nd SAS Regiment.
It had been two weeks since the 'incident' that had almost led to his death. Two weeks of being stuck in a drab hospital on base being attended to.
He thought he was going to die.
Two weeks of sitting around and waiting and trying to piece together the events of that day that now seemed so long ago.
He could have sworn he was going to die that day. When the Helicopter took out the bridge that they were traveling upon, to almost send them careening to his death, only to jump from one collapsing structure to the other until he reached the other side.
Only to be faced with a large number of tangos getting out of cars in front of him. He fired a constant, but yet lethal in its precision, stream of bullets. He fired and killed many of the enemy.
But he knew, right then and there that he was going to die. It was his last stand.
Especially when their command came back to Captain Price and told them there was no way they could get air support.
Then he knew. And he was satisfied and content in the knowledge that he was going to die. He had done his duty, he had saved the world, stopped the missiles and ensured that Forty Million people could continue to wake up and eat their breakfast cereals and pleasure themselves. He ensured that they could go to work and continue to live fat and happy, or painfully monotonous lives. As the case may be.
There was a poetic justice to it.
The brave SAS heroes fresh off from saving the world making one last heroic stand against impossible odds.
Of course God, or the fates, or whatever controlled the universe had other ideas. A blind, and brief moment of hope. The Russian loyalist forces said they were going to save the embattled commandoes that just helped save their country.
Of course the call went up the tanker was about to explode.
And if the Russians had only gotten there a minute earlier they might have fulfilled their promise.
But instead the thing blew up, he was knocked senseless, his weapons were slammed away.
He watched dazed and helpless as Sergeant Griggs tried to carry him to safety.
When he failed to do that he picked up his weapon and tried desperately to fend off the enemy.
Of course he had to die, he had to take two in the chest. Or maybe it was just one.
Then he watched as Imran Zakhaev, their main target, the man who Price inexplicably missed all those years ago, he watched as that very man put a bullet right between the eyes of his best friend in the unit.
Gaz.
Practically stuck the barrel of the gun right on top of his head.
And then the bastard was going to do the same to little old me. But he stopped and turned around as the helicopter behind him exploded due to the Russian Loyalists finally arriving, Price rolled his teammate a gun, and the rest is history.
Of course that history was relegated perfectly into the back room annals of secret Government struggles. Kept hidden and secret.
It was a cruel and twisted irony in its own way. On the one hand he did not want to be known and knew the dangers in being that way. But in another it would have been nice.
But the news report described it succinctly. There was a struggle in a Russian political party and that nuclear tests were conducted by the Russians. Immediately they were condemned by the UN which the Russians fired back that they fell into established protocol.
Game. Set. Match.
That struggle in a political party was in reality a secret war where the fates of over forty million Americans hung in the balance. And the reason there was a leadership struggle at all was because he put a round into that specific individual that held that position previous.
Of course the world could never know.
And here he was now, in a pub.
Gaz, Griggs and Price had suggested that they go out for a beer, or some other alcoholic beverage when it was all over. Water was the suggestion of Price when he discovered that Griggs might have taken them to America, or rather that is what he described the American beverage as.
Griggs did not mind.
Now Gaz and Griggs were dead.
And Price? God only knew where he was. He was officially MIA, and if Soap had the wherewithal to find him he would have turned Russia upside down looking for him.
But of course he could not do that.
So here he sat, alone in a pub.
He was staring off into space alone with his own thoughts. And in so doing was drawing the attention of several of the patrons. Of course he had a large patch on his left cheek disguising and attempting to conceal a bruise and a cut from the fight.
The patrons were starting to stare at him, suspiciously and curiously studying him to see who he was and what his reactions were.
Finally a waitress had a look of sudden enlightenment on her face as she realized he had not been served.
She walked at a brisk pace over to him and ripped the pen out of her hair bun.
"Hi my name is Stacy and I will be serving you today." She yipped cheerily.
He nodded at her barely acknowledging her presence.
"I will have four pints of ale, separate pints." he ordered her, giving her a stern look at the end of that statement.
"OK." She said uncertainly, not knowing what the problem was and why he specifically ordered four separate pints. But if she got him the drinks in quick order then he might tip her well. And besides he was kind of cute.
She picked up the menu and left heading for the bar where the bartender was watching the two of them and then her as she made her way back to him.
"She's kind of pretty." The rough voice of Captain Price mused, more to himself.
"Yeah, why didn't you ask her out? What's wrong with you mate?" Gaz asked suspiciously.
"Oh come on leave the boy alone can't you see he is preoccupied?" Griggs chuckled to himself.
"With what I wonder?" Gaz gazed at the American intently.
"With our deaths of course." Price grumbled.
"Oh come on he is SAS, he can move on, he is supposed to be a tough commando." Gaz protested. "He cannot let a simple thing like our deaths bother him."
Before Soap could respond to the barrage of words around him the waitress arrived with his drinks. She laid them out in front of him and then nodded at him.
He grumbled as he laid out the beers, one for each of his friends.
"Ah one of our stoutest ale each." Price mused looking at his glass. "Now the American can learn what real beer tastes like."
Griggs laughed heartily at the suggestion.
"So tell us lad what is really bothering you?" Captain Price asked.
Soap took a huge pull from his drink before setting it down lightly to not disturb the contents. "You are missing sir." he grunted lightly, no need to draw attention to himself…any more then he already had.
"So it is about that?" Gaz asked chuckling.
"I knew it." Griggs announced, grinning.
"Well son you have to get over it." Price ordered.
"I know." MacTavish agreed. "But it is hard. You took care of me and trained me, a man that I look up to." He stared at Price. "You are a man that I greatly admired as being the best Commando in our unit." He stared at Gaz. "And you are my American friend. The first of your breed that I have ever known, that I looked to as a comrade in arms, and wished we could have worked together and known each other more." He nodded at Griggs. "Now I won't get the chance."
"There are other members in the Special Forces community." Gaz grumbled.
"Of course there are…but…but…we saved the world. We bonded." Soap pressed.
The three of them chuckled wolfishly at those comments.
"Well…" Gaz clapped him on the back… "you did it. You survived and now you have probably more actual combat experience than most of the SAS, you are senior. Why they should give you your own team soon."
"Oh!" Griggs barked. "That would be the day. Little Newbie is all grown up."
"Besides I saved your life. When that kid tried to shoot you. Don't tell me it was all in vain I would hate to have the thought that I let good intelligence go to waste." Gaz teased.
"That was a beaaauuuuuttiiifffuuulll shot man." Griggs whistled nodding in acknowledgement.
That thought struck Soap like an iron blow. Tears welled up in his eyes and he had to choke them back. He would not do this in front of his friends, but they knew because they were manifestations of him.
"Cheer up soldier. You cannot be like this! You do this and you die. On your feet and buck up." Price barked at him.
"Yes sir." Soap grunted before finishing off the rest of his first Pint. He then asked for another from the waitress who passed him by. She looked at him uncertainly given there were three other pints out on the table.
"You know," Soap started, "we were supposed to meet in a London pub for drinks."
"And here we are." Griggs said, looking at them chagrinned.
"You remember what I told you? Well what the real me told you… out there in the real world?" Price probed.
Soap shook his head.
Price continued. "I told you were one of the best new recruits that I have ever served with. And I meant it, you will do just fine Soap."
Soap nodded. He was still not over it but he did feel better.
He thumped the table, giving the group one last look before leaving. He took his last drink with him and wolfed it down.
He went to the cashier and paid for the drinks.
On his way out he put an arm around the pretty brunette waitress and asked her out. She accepted eagerly and thanked him.
He left the pub with a grin on his face, putting on his sunglasses and getting in the car.
The mood of his driver only soured more as he saw the good state of his charge, Soap. His frown deepened, being forced to wait in a car for well over an hour as his charge obviously got the chance to drink alcohol.
But he started the car, and took Soap home.
And onto further adventures.