Twelve hours before the events of Modern Warfare 2:

The Purpose and Legacy of the 141:

We are the most powerful military force in the history of man. Every fight is our fight. Because what happens over here matters over there. We don't get to sit one out. Learning to use the tools of modern warfare is the difference between the prospering of your people, and utter destruction. We can't give you freedom. But we can give you the know-how to acquire it. And that, my friends, is worth more than a whole army base of steel. Sure it matters who's got the biggest stick, but it matters a helluva lot more who's swinging it.

This is a time for heroes.

A time for legends.

History is written by the victors.

Let's get to work.
"Let this be a guide to the service and sacrifice you give to the world. For it is your job to forge a better future." - CAPTAIN John Price

Captain MacTavish stood looking at the plaque on the wall for over twenty minutes, lost in his own thoughts. To some, these are just words to get the newbies excited. MacTavish shook his head in frustration. Unfortunately, that is what it's used for now

MacTavish stood before this plaque not for wisdom or to be reminded what he fought for, but to show respect. To show respect for one of the men who had spoken the words carved upon it.

Captain John Price was the last founding member of Task Force 141 to die in the line of duty. It was Price, Griggs, Vasquez, Shepherd, Foley, and MacMillan that had written these words years before the unit's creation.

These words are what all those in the service fight for. They should be honored. MacTavish gazed at Price's name. As should the men who died so that the One-Four-One could come to be.

"I see you've developed the same tradition as I have, lad."

MacTavish turned to see MacMillan walking toward him. MacTavish gave the older man a quick salute before turning back to the plaque.

MacMillan stopped beside the younger soldier. "John and those boys left a damn good legacy."

MacTavish grunted. "I just wish Shepherd would attempt to live up to the words and give us real missions that affect the future rather than using it to boost the morale of his new troops."

"The nuke hit the boys in the United States hard," MacMillan said gently, placing a hand on MacTavish's shoulder. "If there is another war and their military has to act, they'll need that morale boost."

"I joined so that nobody would ever have to go through a war like that again," MacTavish argued. "That's why this task force was created."

"You're missing the point, lad," MacMillan said with a sad smile. "Shepherd is just as restless as you are. He's using whatever he can to keep everything going. He doesn't mean to disrespect the memories of the fallen. Like you, the war has never ended for him."

They stood silently for a few seconds.

MacMillan patted MacTavish's shoulder. "See you at the meeting, lad. And try not to piss Shepherd off this time. I have to work with the man more than you do."

MacTavish smiled slightly as MacMillan walked away. "Good luck with that."

…

As usual, MacMillan and Shepherd were the first to arrive at the meeting.

In the center of the room was a rectangular table with a few files on it as well as a projector.

Shepherd was watching news reels from Russia.

In the five years since the Civil War, Russia had elected a new President.

Shepherd grunted.

MacMillan looked up from the notes he had brought for the meeting.

Shepherd took out a cigar and lit it. "The more things change, the more they stay the same. After all the death and fighting they have just another President."

"The war is over," MacMillan said with a slight shake of his head. "We were sent in to neutralize the big threats like nuclear weapons and madmen. We did our job, Shepherd. We didn't have to change the course of Russian history. We only had to minimize the deaths of our friends and allies."

"It wasn't worth it," Shepherd said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "We fought and bled alongside the Russians. We should have known they'd hate us for it. We were shunned while the Ultranationalists were forgiven for their sins."

"Russia is no longer our main concern," MacMillan argued. "Unless they are a threat to us or everybody else, we should let them be."

"Locations change," Shepherd continued, ignoring MacMillan. "The rational. The objective. It's the same in Russia. Yesterday's enemies are today's recruits. Train them to fight alongside of you and pray they don't eventually decide to hate you for it too."

"Just remember that Vorshevsky and Russia itself isn't the threat," MacMillan said, glancing at the news footage. "It's the remnants of the Ultranationalists that are trying to stir up trouble."

"Trouble?" Shepherd snapped, shooting a glare at MacMillan. "Because of what happened forty-eight hours ago, the United States is at risk. That's more than trouble."

MacMillan looked at his papers and didn't reply.

Shepherd fingered a file on the table. "Boundaries shift, new players step in," he said to himself. "But power always finds a place to rest its head…"

…

Captain MacTavish entered the room. It seemed that everybody was in attendance. Roach and Ghost followed him in a second later.

Now Shepherd was glaring at MacTavish. "This information is top secret and classified. They don't have the clearance or my authorization to be here."

"These are two of the best members of the One-Four-One," MacTavish replied, taking a seat. "We've been through countless missions together and I trust them with my life. Whether they are in here with us or waiting outside until I tell them everything later makes no difference to me or to you."

"This is unacceptable," Shepherd grunted, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray.

"This is trust," MacTavish corrected calmly. "The men you work with need to know everything they can before a mission. Something that's not relevant in a carefully stated briefing can become essential knowledge while in the field. That was Price's wisdom and I agree with it. If you have a problem with that, then feel free to relieve me of my command. Otherwise, let's get this started so that we can get to work."

MacMillan shook his head with a slight smile as he continued to look at the files in front of him.

Ghost and Roach took their seats without a word.

"Fine," Shepherd snapped. "It's your call. I hope you can count on your men to stay silent in the face of… extensive pressure."

All the men in the room understood the grim insinuation should they be captured by the enemy.

"Sounds like we're going to be getting some action," Ghost said, sitting back in his chair. "Something big must have happened."

"I'm allowing you to sit in on this meeting," Shepherd said sharply, glancing at his files. "But while you are here, you will keep your mouth shut. Understood?"

Ghost glanced at MacTavish.

MacTavish nodded.

Ghost nodded in return. However, the obscenities that he muttered under his breath made Roach grin.

"We've got three points on our agenda," Shepherd began. "The first is that there are Ultranationalist insurgents moving outside the Red-zone in Afghanistan."

"Do you need me to send a few of my guys over?" MacTavish asked. "Derek Westbrook could help."

"No," Shepherd answered. "I'll go there myself. There are few candidates at the base for an operation that I'm setting up. I want to pick the right man for the job. I'm heading out this afternoon."

MacMillan looked curiously at MacTavish. "Why Westbrook? He's not part of the One-Four-One and there are plenty of other members who would happily go."

"I want Derek to get some more experience with the SEALs before he qualifies as a candidate," MacTavish answered. "Until then, I'll keep him around when they're not using him. What's next on our to-do list, Shepherd?"

Shepherd grabbed a file and slid it down the table to MacTavish who shifted it so that his team could see its contents. It contained a computer rendered picture of a man. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties and of Russian descent. However, he could pass for American as well.

"Vladimir A. Makarov," Shepherd said gravely. "He's a mercenary thug who considers himself to be a patriotic and honorable man. He's anything but. Countless terrorist attacks, bombings, extortion, kidnapping, torture, pretty much any crime we have a name for. If we're not careful, he could become one of the most dangerous men on our watch lists."

"This man hides his tracks well," MacTavish observed. "But this is quality intel. Did you convince Nikolai to go back into the field?"

"No," MacMillan said regretfully. "But not for the lack of trying. He still maintains that he only owes a favor to a good man named Soap."

Roach looked from man to man, obviously confused.

"Long story. Don't worry about it," Ghost said to his teammate. He turned to MacMillan. "How did you come by this information?"

"That's just it," MacMillan said. "We don't know. It came to us with Russian encryption codes. We are able to decode it given time, but our best techs couldn't trace the source. Regardless, everything checked out. Makarov could be a real threat. He has resources and informants everywhere. He also has more hiding places than anyone can count."

"Any additional intel?" MacTavish asked.

"We still have one more code to decipher," MacMillan replied.

"We're working on getting a man inside Makarov's Inner Circle," Shepherd added. "We need someone who doesn't have much of a record but is qualified to work in the field."

"That's who you're looking for in Afghanistan," MacTavish guessed.

Shepherd nodded.

"Well, I can tell you that's the best place to look," Ghost said with a slight nod. "Sergeant Foley thinks like the Captain here. He loves outcasts."

Roach rolled his eyes as Ghost gave him a pat on the shoulder.

MacTavish leaned forward. "What's the real reason we're here, Shepherd?"

Shepherd turned on the projector. A moment later, it showed a computer rendered video of a satellite orbiting the Earth. Seconds later, the satellite was shot down. The image enhanced and showed the debris being traced to the mountains in Kazakhstan. The video continuously looped.

"Two days ago," Shepherd began. "The U.S. Satellite containing the A.C.S. Module was shot down. Our people spent the last twenty-four hours tracing it to an airbase in the mountains of Kazakhstan."

"What's the A.C.S. Module?" Ghost interrupted.

MacTavish leaned back in his chair. "It's a computer device that allows the United States' security measures to differentiate between their planes and those of foreign invaders," he answered. "It's prevented warfare on American soil for years. If hacked—"

"Captain MacTavish!" Shepherd said sternly. "I would appreciate it if you didn't openly spew classified information about my country's defense system!"

MacTavish stood. "And I'd appreciate it if you would show a little more respect to the team that's about to get it back for you. The One-Four-One is for the greater good of everyone, not just one country," he said firmly.

Shepherd looked away in frustration and lit another cigar.

MacTavish sat back down. "Now, as I was saying. If hacked or duplicated, the United States would be open to an aerial invasion."

"That's right," MacMillan confirmed.

MacTavish took a deep breath and stared at the projector. "We have to recover this thing quickly. If anyone succeeds in hacking the A.C.S. Module… this will be the beginning of the end."

"When can you leave?" Shepherd asked.

"I can be ready within two hours," MacTavish said, already formulating a plan. "I need to get an evac team together. Roach and I will infiltrate the base and recover the A.C.S. Module. Ghost, I'd like you to remain here to greet the new member Shepherd brings back from Afghanistan."

"You got it."

"I think we've covered everything for today," MacMillan said as Shepherd shut down the projector. He turned to MacTavish. "I'll head back to London now and see if I can't get you an evac team quickly. Dismissed."

Once in the hallway, MacTavish turned to Roach. "I know you're pretty good with computer tech, so I want you to get back to the barracks and get your gear ready. Then find out as much about the hardware in the A.C.S. Module as you can. Go."

Roach moved off in the direction of the barracks to get ready. MacTavish and Ghost walked slowly behind him.

MacTavish turned to his friend. "How's your brother doing?"

"Actually, I talked to him a few hours ago," Ghost said with a smile. "He was transferred to Washington D.C."

"Who'd he piss off?" MacTavish asked with a chuckle.

Ghost laughed. "It's not like that. He volunteered. He said something about trying to get closer to one of the girls he met there. But at least we get to do some real work."

MacTavish grunted as he reached his office. He stopped at the door and turned to Ghost. "I'll see you when we get back. And don't wear the skullface mask when you meet the new guy. It's a little intimidating."

"No promises," Ghost replied.

MacTavish walked into his office and reached under the desk, grabbing a metal case. He punched in the code and the case clicked open. First, he grabbed out a few cigars. They were the same kind Price had smoked before every mission. Next, he grabbed out his Captain's pistol and its holster. Here we go again.