Private First Class Joseph Allen lay on the ground in agony. He was an undercover agent for the US Army Rangers, and he had been found out. He'd been on a mission posing as Russian terrorist "Alexi Borodin", teamed up with the very man that he had been sworn to bring to justice; Vladimir Makarov. He didn't know why he hadn't just been allowed to kill him; he'd earned his trust being. Four months running terrorist ops with Makarov had him proving his loyalty over and over again, killing civilians, his brothers in arms, surrendered and wounded soldiers of all types of races and nationalities. He hated every minute of it. He'd been told that he'd need to give up himself in every way, including; his way of thinking, his morals and his sanity if need be. The US Army had made sure he knew how important it was that he became what he had sworn to kill, a terrorist. So here he had been, going up in an elevator onto the top floor of an airport with Makarov and two other mercenaries, pulling out RPD's and L86 LSW's from black duffle bags that we had brought in through the basement parking garage, shooting all the guards. This was to be the biggest act of terror that he had ever committed while with Makarav. It was also supposed to be the worst.
"No Russian"
Those were the words that set their plan in motion. The elevator doors would open and the first thing that we saw were a lot of civilians checking through security and two security guards standing at ease and looking around for trouble makers. One had glanced back and saw the four people armed with guns and instantly put two and two together and drew his gun and yelled for them to freeze. He was the first that Makarov killed. After that they mowed down anyone in their path with their machine guns. Women, children, men, old, young it didn't matter all were killed and none were spared. Makarov led the way and Allen followed, bile rising in his throat the more people he killed. He forced himself to maintain a calm and expressionless face while he pulled the trigger over and over again. He forced himself to ignore the faces contorted in pain, anger and fear as he walked past the corpses of those that had been slain in cold blood. He forced himself to not think about the dreams of those that he had cut down, the families that would be missed at Christmas and the children that would never have another birthday and he pushed away the tears that were coming. He'd grieve later he promised himself, as soon as Makarov was behind bars or dead he would grieve for every single person he had killed while undercover. He continued to walk and shoot, taking his finger off the trigger to reload, and he did that as slow as possible without compromising his cover. They walked to the top of the balcony, spread out along the top and rained down hell on the civilians below. Continuing their rain of bullets they walked down the stairs firing the whole time and finally there were no more targets to Allen's relief. But they were not done. Makarov led them at a run to the outside of the terminal and there they met riot police with riot shields and tear gas and machine guns. Allen and the terrorists didn't stop for nothing; they mowed down the police as well. When all laid dead or dying at their feet they ran to the garage where there was a getaway vehicle waiting for them. The two mercenaries got in the back first; Makarov tossed his gun in and followed them in. As Allen reached up his hand to join them a mercenary spoke to Makarov.
"We've sent a strong message with this attack Makarov."
"That was no message,"
Makarov took Allen's hand and as he was pulling him up pulled out his gun and shot PFC Joseph Allen in the neck before letting him fall back down.
"That was a message!"
Lying in agony on the floor living out his last few moments the only thought that he could think was
Oh God, I'm so sorry.