Though he was miles from home and a soldier disavowed, Price will never allow himself to forget.
In honour of Remembrance Day.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Modern warfare characters nor do I make any profit from writing this.
'Lest We Forget'
It had been exactly one month since Soap's death, one gruelling month where he'd saved lives, and lost three friends in the process, almost four. Yuri was recovering well from the RPG near-miss, he'd be back on his feet soon enough. He'd wanted to be home for this day, to remember with dear friends and brothers in arms; but damn bureaucracy didn't move fast enough, Vorshevsky had tried, but there were more important matters for politicians to discuss than one tired old soldier.
Ninety-eight years since that day in France, when the first great global spilling of blood had come to an end, the last moments of The Great War, the war to end all wars, supposedly. If only that had been true, it would have meant no need for men like him, but it hadn't; he'd lost a grandfather to the second, and a brother to the third.
He wondered if all those brave men who's fought in the mud and trenches of places like Passchendaele, and Ypres, who lay in Flanders Fields, beneath the poppies, row on row; had thought that this would be the future, Europe in ruins again, America as well, all because of the mad ambitions of one man. Those who do not learn from the lessons of history will be forced to relive them, he hoped the world learnt it this time, so never again would the will of a single man bring such bloodshed and sorrow.
He glanced up at the screen, a smile twitching on the corner of his lips as he spotted a familiar face, Mac, wreath in hand. They'd spoken yesterday, after losing so many men to the attacks on London, there was no way he was not going to attend, even with his bad leg he'd stand for the entire service.
Price recalled going to the Cenotaph as a child, marching on this very day in memory of a man he shared his name with, a grandfather he'd never had the chance to meet. He'd returned as an adult many times, just as he did to the clock tower in Hereford; it was good to remember the conflicts of history, even as the men and women who'd lived through them faded. As the years passed those who had fought in this was would die, but the world would never forget their courage and sacrifice, this day made sure of that.
"You shouldn't be alone," Price turned to the doorway, Nikolai, a poppy on his shirt, "Come with me," Price didn't have to energy to argue as his good friend, one of the few he had left, led him through the deserted corridors of the Loyalist base, and into the common room. It was filled to capacity with every Loyalist on the base, even Yuri and the other injured, all with a red poppy on their breast.
"We will never forget," Nikolai whispered as he pinned a poppy to Price's shirt; the old soldier couldn't help but smile at the touching scene, trust Nikolai to get hold of poppies for 11th November, he and all the others wore them with pride. He laughed as Nikolai struggled with the pin, muttering to himself in Russian, he'd looked to have had a few goes with his own,
"Thank you my dear friend," he said to the pilot, "To all of you," he told the assembled room, "My brothers," the BBC announcer signalled that it was almost time, someone had hooked the internet feed into the lounge television, there was a time difference, but this was important to Price, it was home,
"I'm sorry you couldn't be here Soap. I promise I will never forget you, any of you."
Miles away, in a place he called home, a clock struck eleven, a gun sounded, and a nation fell silent.
