Sometimes, life wasn't fair at all.
Nope, life was a bitch that slapped you right in the face and spit on you. Then, she would throw you into the nearest flaming pit and roast you until you were tender on the inside, all juicy and ready to be served to your enemies with gravy on the side. He knew it better than anyone.
Perhaps you would think that he should not be having such thoughts. After all, he is considered by many to be a great hero of the modern times, those that knew anything about him at all anyways. This was because everything that he has done, they were so highly classified that out of the Pentagon and the vestiges of the British Ministry of Defense, not a word were to be said about them. However, that did not mean that the soldiers themselves knew nothing about them.
He could hear them speak behind him, when he was undergoing that "specially tailored" round of officer training when he had returned from the Loyalist infirmaries in Russia, how he had been the only survivor of a gruesome and deadly battle, how he had killed the leader of the Ultranationalists himself with only an M1911. In the eyes of those who had the curse or the privilege to see what he had done, or even know of them, they were what made him strong, and the perfect candidate for this job.
Just a year after that harrowing experience in the Altai mountains, those beautiful mountains which remained green even in the heart of winter, in that land where the cold never ever beat down the spirits of the soldiers that wage war in her name, he had been approached by an American officer of rather high rank… A middle-aged man, old enough to be his father, and yet, young enough to understand that strange spark in his clear blue eyes that portrayed the pain and the strength that a soldier has to bear, no matter what.
"Son, you're the only one that can handle the job we're gonna hand to you," the officer with the graying hair told him. They were in the office of his own superiors, who seemed to know that American. Strange though, the SAS rarely had any dealings with the US Army Rangers, the unit that this man commanded as well. Thus, he looked at the American with a cocked eyebrow, although he did not speak at all.
The silence was so great at that moment, and so was the tension. Freshly declared clear of survivor's guilt, he was fit and ready to enter the field again, but not as the man that he once was. No, "Soap", the FNG was gone, gone with those who had lost their lives in the mountains. The Captain would take his place, and he knew that the old man sought him out for just this reason alone.
"We've seen your performance during the Second Russian Civil War," the American continued, "and frankly, I've never seen a finer soldier like you. You're resilient, highly adaptive, and most of all, you know what it takes to get the job done. With your expertise and talents, there's no doubt that you'll be able to head…"
Oh no, he was not ready to lead anyone. Not at this moment, not at this time. "Sir, with all due respect…"
The old man would not take no for an answer. "You are a Captain, son," the American said. "From now on, you're gonna lead an international task force of elite soldiers. Recruits are gonna come from all across the world, nothing but the best soldiers, and you're gonna be ready to lead them into the field."
And he thought that he was just reentering the field as just another soldier.
It was an opportunity of a lifetime, really. But was he ready to take on the mantle of leadership? Was he ready to even take that responsibility. Oh yes he was. He was ready for anything, thanks to what he had been through. "Yes, sir," he said, sighing. He was screwed, really. He was going to lead a whole company into ruins, and he would be taking the blame this time.
"You won't be alone in this one, kid," the old man added, giving him two more files. "These two are gonna be your Lieutenants." How can there be two XOs in one unit? Was the man crazy, the two of them would tear the unit apart in no time! He knew the other SAS guy from afar, of course, coming from the same faction and all, but the other one…
Let's put it safely that the other Lieutenant was a woman. A woman who had a last name that even he took a look at and gulped. The Algrens were not only famous in America for their ultimately bad-ass prodigious family, where generation after generation served as soldiers, and this one, with a record like that…
"Welcome to the 141," the old man said. "You leave for the main base in Russia tomorrow afternoon."
HAN: Well, I'll try to focus this ficcie on Soap's point of view, shall I? Still, if you hated the Red Dragon (and the Redux), please STAY AWAY! There's no real point of y'all coming in and tearing it apart using the same arguments!
