This story follows up with the events after MW3. I wanted to fill in what happens with everybody after the fact. I do not own any Modern Warfare characters.
Chapter 1 - Urgency
"Price…you need to know." Soap's voice croaked as blood filled his throat. Price looked down at him, he could see the light in his right-hand man's eyes slip away. "Makarov….knows….Yuri." Soap's body went limp as he fainted from the increasing blood loss.
The old man Price shook his head with distraught as his strong hands found Soap's shoulders. "No, no, no, no, no! Soap!" Price's heart raced as he shook his dying friend and shouted with disbelief.
Suddenly, the resistance leader quickly approached Price's side as Yuri stared dumbfounded. "Price! You have to go! Now!" His hand found Price's shoulder, which was something Price was in no mood to feel.
"Get off of me!" Price barked as he shoved with all of his force sending the man fumbling backwards. The old man turned back towards Soap and exhaled heavily as the reality sank in. He lifted up the iconic pistol Soap had used to murder Imran Zakhaev with, and sat it gently onto Soap's chest. He lowered his head and murmured softly, "I'm sorry."
Right after giving him a slow pat, Price removed Soap's journal from his vest, head still hanging as his thoughts became lost in emotion. Soap was all he had left, and now it appeared he was gone.
Interrupting the silence, heavy gunfire from the enemy chopper began to shatter through the windows. Price, Yuri, and the remaining resistance lowered their heads and began to scatter.
"Price! This way!" The man from before yelled. Price, not wanting to move, forced himself to sprint away from his fading friend. Yuri followed close behind where they were led to a staircase leading to some underground tunnels.
What the two didn't know while leaving the scene was that reinforcements had been called in several moments before. These reinforcements consisted of Nikolai and his Little Bird, elite warriors involved in the resistance efforts, and a Bell UH-1 Iroquois completely fitted and mounted with a deadly array of firearms. Nikolai and the reinforcements landed and ran for the building containing the remaining soldiers of the resistance.
The young woman piloting the Iroquois lowered her eyebrows into a glare. "Eat lead, you crazy sacks of shit." Triggering the M158's mounted on the wings, the Iroquois launched a barrage of projectiles at the Ultranationalists chopper, sending it into flames and spiraling backwards into the ground. It was followed by a massive explosion which wiped out nearby Ultranationalists. She began clearing the area of the wave of enemy units that were converging in on the location. The reinforcements she had dropped off were also taking aim. Amongst them were several Americans assisting in the righteous cause.
All while this was occurring, Nikolai led a medic towards the table Soap had been sat on. His blood covered the table and had began to drip from the sides.
"There! There he his!" Nikolai shouted as he ran with the American medic. Both of their hands were full of medical supplies, amongst them was a defibrillator and several plastic bags of blood, ready for a transfusion.
The medic paused by Soap's side and checked for a pulse. It was present, but it was fading fast. "Shit. We're gonna lose him. We gotta stop this blood loss."
Nikolai began to rip open Soap's vest. "We have to find the wound and get pressure on it."
It was immediately apparent where the blood was coming from: Soap's stomach. Shrapnel had gotten lodged deep within his flesh. If they were all lucky, the sharp metal would have barely missed the aorta, increasing their chances on saving the fading man. Nikolai reached for his medical tools as the other young man reached for gauze, bandages, and sutures.
Suddenly, Soap's chest had stopped rising. The young medic caught the lack of movement and followed through by placing two fingers in the crane of Soap's neck.
"Shit." He said as he fumbled to reach for the defibrillator. Soap's pulse had shifted drastically.
Nikolai peered up swiftly from the task of removing some shrapnel. "What is it, Shawn?"
Shawn's green eyes flicked up in Nikolai's direction. "He's going into cardiac arrest."
Nikolai stopped his current task at sealing Soap's wound in order to assist Shawn with the new top priority. Once a charge was running through the defibrillator, Shawn raised the two static charged pads above Soap's motionless chest.
"Clear." Shawn said out of habit. A jolt shot through Soap's body, but nothing. Shawn rubbed the pads together. "Clear." Again, nothing. "Fuck, don't give up, big man."
Nikolai wiped sweat from his brow. "Come on, Soap."
Shawn exhaled heavily. "Clear." And as they say, 'third time's the charm', Shawn was able to restart Soap's dying heart, but they didn't have long.
"Fuck yeah," the young man placed the life-saving machine down and reached for a new tool. It was a large syringe, that read tranexamic acid on the side; it was a foamy compound which was formulated to stop heavy bleeding from an open wound when the only other option left was drastic measures.
Nikolai and Shawn's eyes met, both bore similar expressions of determination. In the background, the sound of war was dying down as the Ultranationalists retreated from the scene feeling satisfied with their efforts.
"Alright, Nikolai, get the rest of that metal and debris out of him, we'll administer this mixture, it'll slow the bleeding down, and then we can give him a quick stitch job. We don't have enough time to make this perfect."
The trustworthy Russian nodded approvingly and began the tedious task of removing the shards from Soap's abdomen. There was one shard though, that was most vital to remove, and it was roughly 4 inches in diameter. Even though it was likely the cause of the man's impending doom, it actually helped in the aiding of slowing the blood flow down. The irony was deeply painful.
The two men worked with such sharp focus they hadn't even noticed the dying commotion around them. Most of the resistance had decided it was time to make a break, whereas the reinforcements that had arrived chose to stay behind and keep guard.
Over the radios, they heard the female pilot buzz in, "The traffic is clear. We're going to begin making rounds to set up a safe perimeter."
"Copy that," one of the Americans had replied. He was a sturdy looking man, who stood to be about a solid 6 feet tall. He had almost solid black hair and calming green eyes. The man bore a very odd similar appearance to that of the rough looking man standing next to him, and even the young medic, Shawn.
Everyone watched as Shawn rolled up Soap's sleeve and began to get him set up for a O blood type transfusion.
Instantly, Nikolai sighed with relief. "Ah, got it!" He suddenly lifted a large metal shard into the air for the room to see, many of the onlookers were shocked by the size of shard which came from the injured man's core. At that point, Shawn had gotten Soap set up nicely attached to a plastic .5 liter bag of blood and immediately began to let the blood enter Soap's vein. The man had gotten cold and clammy, you could just sense the death looming over him; it was a very disturbing sensation.
Shawn began to help Nikolai with the large syringe, which they inserted into Soap's wound. Had Soap been conscious, the pain would have been unbearable, but he instead was cashed-out as he hung onto a thread of life. Instead of noticing the pain, the little thoughts he had were dancing around in a spiritual trance. In his conscious, he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or fading. At one point, he had let go of everything, just completely willing to let the pain and misery end. However, fate had something else in store for him, and as he stared into the whiteness, he felt a quick jab into his chest. It caused him to jump as the jab continued two more times before the whiteness faded and he found himself in a dream state again.
The two men began aiding each other in the stitching up of the open wound. The sutures would be deep and the recovery time would be a long one. Shawn's eyes suddenly found a large scar on the wounded man's slowly rising chest. It was a nasty looking scar, and Shawn could only imagine the things this man had seen. He immediately felt even more compelled to aid in the man's revival; the need to see this man back in the fight was strangely empowering.
The young medic narrowed his eyes as his white vinyl gloves collected blood onto them. "Once this is done, it should be safe enough to move him into a chopper. But he needs better medical attention," he peered up at Nikolai. "Know a place?"
Like clockwork, Nikolai answered, "Da-there's a small town several kilometers from here. The town consists of loyal villagers, and they can provide the more appropriate medical attention. I can drop you two off there."
Shawn nodded, but then looked towards the blood bag. It was draining fast; he took a deeper notice of the blood that had came from the man. It was already beginning to start the first stage of coagulation. The young man was amazed.
Returning to his work, he stated, "You know, the adult human body can sustain 40% or more blood loss and still live. That's anywhere from 3 to 5 liters of blood. Of course, the person has a much higher chance at survival as long as immediate medical attention is applied."
The American with a deep scar on his left cheek next to the dark-haired man by the window couldn't help but snicker. "Shawn, how about you get back to work instead of informing us with useless facts."
Shawn looked up with irritation. "That's not useless information. One of these blood bags holds .5 liters; this dude has obviously lost quite a bit…"
The man with the scar simply waved Shawn's words away with disinterest and Shawn could merely utter a sigh.
Then, their radios buzzed. "I need an ETA down there." It was the female pilot.
"Five minutes," Shawn had answered before anyone else could even open their mouths.
"Copy that. LZ will be in the Prague town square, located half a klick to your southeast. Over."
This time, the darked-haired man responded, "Copy that." He moved his M16 back up to an offensive position. "Get your gear together, we're leaving." With that, the reinforcements and the remaining resistance grabbed up their guns and gear.
Nikolai and Shawn began to grab up Soap and the supplies, when a young woman approached with an APR338 sniper rifle thrown over her back. Loose honey-tinted curls had fallen out of her pulled-back ponytail and now sat in her watchful eyes.
"Shawn," she spoke. The young man looked over at her as him and Nikolai lifted Soap. "Will he make it?"
Shawn paused and could only shake his head and shrug with uncertainty. "He's in severe critical condition. Most likely has some internal bleeding in addition to some broken bones. He apparently had a good fall. Mind grabbing that stuff for me?" He pointed towards the medical supplies.
She nodded and packed up the supplies and threw the bag over her shoulder. Staying closing behind, she held Soap's blood transfusion bag in the air as they ambled towards the LZ with as much speed as they could muster.
The three made it to the LZ where the Iroquois sat in addition to some Humvees. Once inside, the group of them set Soap down on a heated blanket to ensue his body heat would remain at an optimal level. Shawn and the honey-haired woman joined his side as Nikolai leaned in closer to say something over the sound of the spinning propellers.
"I'm heading back to my Little Bird. Tell Shorty to follow me and we can get Soap to that town I mentioned earlier," his voice was muffled but still remained audible. Shawn gestured his head in understanding and turned to the female pilot in the cockpit. While he clambered his way to the front, the young woman took a seat by the American dark-haired man from before. Her eyes found Soap's helpless body as his chest managed to maintain a weak excuse for rhythm. His face bore a stressed expression. She pulled her attention in the direction of the cockpit where she saw Shawn point and Shorty's head bob in agreement.
Shawn returned to Soap's side and began to prepare a second bag of blood for him. "His body is sucking this in. He's taking it well. No negative side effects...at least not yet…hopefully it doesn't fuck up his bone marrow."
Suddenly, the inside compartment of the chopper fell quiet, aside from the roaring blades, as the pilots gave the clear and lifted into the air. The pilot, accompanied with a co-pilot, caught sight of Nikolai's Little Bird and began to follow after.
After a twenty minute flight of flying at a speed of 180km/h, they found themselves in the closest neighboring quaint town of Mělník. Even though it was evening time, they could look out and see the glistening, mirrored surface of the water held within its many canals and the neighboring river. They were certain the sound of the roaring chopper scared the villagers awake and frightened them for cover. At this point, Soap had already powered through a second bag of blood and the coloring of his scarred face was returning, which was promising; his skin had a honey-glow about it. Despite being promising, the young man was still not in the clear.
Shorty was eventually able to find a secure clearing to land on after journeying around the town in search of an appropriate, temporary helicopter pad. Once landed, Shawn, Nikolai, the blonde-haired woman, and two other Loyalists assisted in getting Soap to the nearest hospital. They trekked for ten long minutes, following the lead of Nikolai, before they came up to the Mělník Hospital and Polyclinic, located in the southeastern portion of the town.
Rushing inside their eyes met with the receptionist as she jumped up from her position. Her face was painted in fear at the sight of five soldiers running in. Nikolai began yelling in Czech at the woman, shaking her out of her trance. She fled to the back where she quickly returned with a push bed and a nurse. As they got Soap secured into the push bed, Nikolai conversed with the nurse, filling her in on the situation. Not wanting to question anything else, they took Soap to the back where the top of his motionless head disappeared behind swinging doors.
The five soldiers were left standing in the lobby, a bit upset they were denied permission to follow, but they knew it was necessary. Shawn sighed and turned to Nikolai who was still breathing heavily to catch his breath.
"What's the plan now?" Shawn inquired with wondering eyes.
Nikolai rubbed sweat from his brow as he shook his head. "I have to go find Price and Yuri. Knowing Price, he's out for blood, and he's going to need someone to settle him down. Price needed Soap for that." He blinked with exhaustion. "I still can't be certain Soap will live through this, though. He looked terrible back there."
Shawn could only nod in agreement as the other three stared into Nikolai's face.
"I need to go find Price. He'll need my help. So I must go, but I'm afraid to leave that lucky Scotsman here alone. We need to know if...if he doesn't make it." Nikolai suddenly looked down. He was a battle-hardened warrior who was beginning to obtain a tear in his eye.
Knowing what had to be done, Shawn agreed to stay.
"I'll stay too," the fair-complected woman said. Shawn looked over at her.
"No, Ricochet. You don't-"
"No, I insist." Her aqua-tinted eyes found her friend. "I don't want you here alone. We need to stick together."
Shawn blinked with bemusement, and finally gave a very faint smile in return.
Nikolai's eyes rolled over each of them. "I already talked to Dmitriy and Liev. They agreed to stay for a week. These two can help with the more complicated translating if you need it. Liev is actually from here, fortunately, so he'll be able to assist you all with the knowing of the area."
Ricochet and Shawn thanked the two Loyalists for their contribution. Luckily, both Liev and Dmitriy were ready for a little break anyways.
Seeming pleased, Nikolai patted Shawn's shoulder. "Good work today. You all have my best of wishes. Keep Soap alive for us. God knows we all need it."
"When are we able to get picked up?" Ricochet questioned with concern. "How long should we have to stay? Until he's able to move again?"
Nikolai thought over that inquiry, because it was something he hadn't thought of. Finally, he came up with something. "We'll keep in touch. Also, Shorty should be able to come back to get you all soon once she refuels and finishes her original duty." He rubbed his chin. "Other than that, just watch over Soap. When he comes to I'm sure he'd appreciate some people who at least know his name."
With that, they all reached an agreement and Nikolai made his way for the exit, leaving the four soldiers of the resistance left to all gawk at each other with little words to say. What they wanted to find was some food and shelter. They were all tired and the tension was creeping up their backs like a vicious snake.
The night was growing late and fatigue was taking over their bodies. Liev and Dmitriy were ready to head off towards Liev's old house back from his childhood where his grandparents still lived. Shawn and Ricochet felt compelled to stay, and they couldn't say why. It was just the way Nikolai stared down at the injured soldier with sadness filling his eyes, the two Americans could just sense the despair swirling around him. So the thought of leaving the hospital without getting some form of feedback, even if it was grave news, made them feel guilty. Shawn had put his heart and soul into the revival of Soap, and he wanted to see the man at least open his eyes.
Ricochet and Shawn made a mutual decision to stay in the lobby where they both wiggled restlessly, despite being absolutely exhausted. They were both determined to stay.
As several hours passed and the morning drew near, Shawn was stirred awake by a gentle hand falling onto his shoulder. His eyes slowly peeled open and he was met with the face of a stern looking man with intense eyes staring at him. He was dressed in mint green scrubs and a long white coat. The man had the typical doctor look to him.
The man opened his mouth and spoke in Czech, "Are you the ones that brought the soldier in?"
Shawn sat up completely and blinked. "Can you speak in Russian, please?" He asked in the Russian tongue he was more familiar with.
The doctor nodded and repeated his previous statement in Russian.
"Yes, we brought him in. How-how is his doing?"
The man stared deeply into Shawn's eyes as he pulled back and rubbed his chin. He gave a heavy exhale. "He's hanging in there, but he still is not in the clear. Several broken ribs, a broken collar bone, a broken wrist, a concussion, internal bleeding, internal bruising, and we're still finding bits of debris through the portions of the skin."
Ricochet opened her eyes and pulled her head up sleepily. Shawn swallowed hard. "May we go back to see him?"
The doctor thought on this and bobbed his head while he pondered. He gestured with approval. "Sure. Follow nurse Ivana to the back. She'll be able to assist you."
Shawn and Ricochet followed the doctor's gesture and saw a small, dark-haired nurse standing by the swinging doors. The two of them stood and made their way for her. She nodded as they approached and turned through the doors to lead them to the room Soap was set up in. It was oddly still and quiet for an emergency room, and the two Americans' stomachs churned with anxiety.
The nurse finally paused and outstretched her right arm which directed them into room 8. Ricochet and Shawn rounded the corner and were met with the still body of the wounded Scotsman. He was hooked up to oxygen, an IV, a feeding tube, and a heartbeat monitor. The image was like something out of a tragic movie.
Feeling somewhat uncomfortable and out of place, the two of them held their spots. The nurse, Ivana, shifted uneasily in her position by the door. "We're moving him to an intensive care unit soon," she said in her native Czech tongue.
Ricochet and Shawn couldn't understand much, but could take a guess.
"What's the next step for him?" The blonde haired woman asked in Russian with curious eyes.
Ivana twiddled her fingers and switched to a Russian dialect. "Once we get him to intensive care, he should recover faster. We need to move him to treat his internal bleeding more efficiently."
Shawn and Ricochet nodded in unison. Finally, Shawn gained enough drive to walk over towards the bedside where Soap lay. The man was in a heavy sleep with his eyes clamped shut. He still appeared to be suffering an internal battle deep within the chambers of his dreams; if he was even having any. The feeding tube protruded from his mouth and the heartbeat monitor beeped steadily. Ricochet joined Shawn's side as they blinked slowly in Soap's direction.
Eventually, Shawn heaved a sigh, "Well, we've done all we can for now. We should probably find Liev and Dmitriy."
Ricochet agreed and with that, the two Americans slipped out of the room with an eerie depression looming over them.
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