Day 2- Home Sweet Home

Hereford, England

2200 Hours

Major John Price preferred the officer housing on base. It was comfortable and convenient in case he needed to gear up for an operation. Lightly decorated with the necessities along with a few personal touches, it was his home. In his living room, he kept a globe that was actually a hidden bar. John poured himself a finger of brandy and sat down in his recliner, his custom M1911 on the table next to him. He liked the feel of the 1911 and had acquired another one after the events in Prague.

He was finally alone and he preferred it that way. Through his many years of service, the one thing about being a survivor was that you survived, no matter who fell around who or how many. His mind drifted back to Prague, four years ago. Soap was bleeding badly through his jacket and Price was yelling at him to hang on. Yuri had watched helplessly as the one man who Price had trusted and called his friend, managed his final words.

"Makarov…knows…Yuri." And he died right after that. Price had screamed and called his name. Tears in his eyes, he had placed his M1911 across Soap's chest.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

Price snapped back to reality, his tumbler about to slip from his hand. He downed the fiery smoky liquor in one gulp and went to pour himself another as he recounted the last few years to keep his mind occupied.

Upon killing Makarov in Dubai, Price had spent only a brief time in the hands of the UAE security forces. With the reinstatement of Task Force 141, he was officially protected by the British government and was released back to the UK. For his role in finally ending the terrorist threat of Makarov and the Inner Circle, Price was awarded the Victoria Cross as well a promotion to Major. He was also moved from operational status to his current post as commanding officer of the SAS training regiment as well as executive officer of Task Force 141. Price recalled the young Liz Allard and how she had impressed him in both ability and resourcefulness over the last few months. She had taken everything the Regiment and Price could throw at her, and she had come away with flying colors.

Allard had come to Price by way of the Intelligence Corps, which she had been serving with in Afghanistan. The mission she was on had gone wrong, her sergeant and source had been ambushed and brutally murdered. She survived 5 days in the mountains on her own with Taliban fighters on her heels and along the way had laid multiple traps and ambushes for them. An SAS team had finally recovered her, with only a pistol and half a bottle of water in her possession.

Price had requested an interview with her once she returned to Kandahar and began the arduous process of recruitment into not only the SAS but eventually TF 141. She had taken the life of an operator like a duck in water. Eventually she was slated to be a leading member of the task force but for now, she was designated Bravo Team. His primary field commander for the 141 was an SAS Captain named Sean Keller. He had known Keller back during the days of Imran Zakhaev, and he was a solid operator and good man to have your back. Along with Soap and Color Sergeant Gaz, Keller had led his team to reclaim the nuclear missiles silos that Zakhaev had seized. To add to his proven operational record, Keller had been with the 141 since its inception and had accompanied the unit on most of its missions against Makarov and the ensuing Ultranationalist threat.

This time Price sipped at this brandy and savored the taste, rather than down it like a shot. Age and time was showing its wear on him, his distinct beard now almost white and more wrinkles were showing around his green eyes. But he knew he could outshoot and outfight even his best operators, a feat he weekly accomplished. He would never contemplate retirement, but the end of the last war had seriously brought that thought to mind. While Price would give everything he had to next generation of warriors, he had become tired of it all.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. Slowly putting the sifter down on the table, Price went for his .45 on his table. Outside his house, he could have sworn he heard the sound of an engine being turned off and doors opening. The movements were quiet and practiced, not wishing to attract his unnecessary attention. Gripping his 1911 firmly and moving towards his living room window, Price ever so slightly pulled back the curtains. A large black SUV was in the street in front of his house, its occupants in full tactical gear and suppressed weapons. Moving using hands signals, the six men moved towards his home and fanned out to encircle the house. Professionals, he thought and well armed too. There was an awful familiarity about these men, their gear and the way they moved like predators circling their prey.

He stepped back from his window and quietly made his way to his bedroom and reached under his bed for his Benelli M4 Super 90. Grabbing the box of shells and loading them swiftly, Price brought it up to his shoulder and waited. Sure enough, one of the commandos entered his line of sight outside his window.

"Good evening" he said and fired. The roar of the shotgun boomed through the house and exploded the window pane and into the head and chest of the commando. He was thrown backwards with his face a bloody face, dead before he hit the ground. Jumping through the broken window, and peering down his Benelli he fired again this time taking another soldier in the chest and legs, dropping him.

"Cutter, status!" came a shout from around the corner. Americans, he realized. Before he could finish a thought, the cough of a suppressed weapon being fired caught his attention. Rolling into the hedge for cover, the rounds followed his movements tearing away branch and bush.

"Target is on the move, two men down. Pursuing at will." He heard a voice say and the sound of a weapon being reloaded. From his concealed positions, Price low crawled through the verge hoping to get around his pursuers.

"Have Ramirez and Cates load our dead onto the vics. We can't have any trace we were here. Price will not be allowed to escape, otherwise this op is blown. Understood?"

"Roger, sir. I'll radio Oxide and push another team to us, have them cordon off the area."

"Negative, too much attention will blow us all. Pursue aggressively and without hesitation. He must die. Move out." The commandos split and helped move the corpses of their men, while the others moved towards the darkened hedge. From the position of his belly, Price opened fire and caught the approaching commandos full in the chest. Pressing the advantage, he stood up to fire the last shell but was instead met with a force that wrenched the shotgun from his hands and punched him square in his face.

Seeking to break his death grip, Price smashed his fist on the commandos forearm and drove a hand into his unprotected throat. Stepping into Price's attack, the operative locked his arm and hip tossed him hard to the ground. Coming back from the momentary stun, he kicked at his assailants' knee but missed. Attempting to get up, Price had the wind knocked out of him by a hard fist to his solar plexus. The commando then drew a SOG knife from his vest and stabbed at him with full force. While still reeling from the hit, Price still managed to roll away and kick his attacker in the side of the head and leap towards him. Grabbing his knife with both hands, Price slowly drove the knife back towards the soldiers chest as the futilely attempted to break the hold. The knife went easily into the neck with a soft gurgle and the life seeped from his eyes. Price dropped him to the ground, trying to regain his breath.

Just then, another SUV pulled up to his house. He immediately drew his 1911 and aimed it at the exiting occupants. He was just about to squeeze the trigger and quickly recanted.

"Ho! Friendlies!" came the harsh Sheffield accent of Sean Keller. He sprinted towards price wearing a black sweater, camouflage trousers and vest. His M4 at the alert, he began to check Price for wounds.

"I'm fine, mate. Look,this is some bad shit here. These guys were Yanks."

"Americans? Why the hell would Americans hit you, on our turf?" Liz Allard had also joined him, wearing similar attire.

"I'll show you." Price replied gruffly and took them over to one of the dead commandos. Rolling him over and showing them a shoulder patch on their left arm. It was a Spade patch with the words "UMBRA CERTVAE".

"I don't understand, who are these guys?" Allard asked, puzzled.

"They're called Shadow Company. They were General Shepherd's private army in Afghanistan and when he killed Ghost and Roach in Georgia. Guessing they want payback for Soap and I taking him out."

Keller was inspecting the body of another commando, pulling off the spade tab and keeping it.

"This is some pretty heavy stuff, Price. Why did Shepherd need his own personal guys? He had the whole bloody US military behind him."

"No soldier in their right minds would have gone along with Shepherds plan and its insane endgame. He needed men who no longer existed, disavowed operators who would do the worst of his dirty work like kill our allies and start the next World War. That's where Shadow Company came in. We though most of them if not all of them were taken out in Afghanistan or just disappeared when Shepherd died. Seems they were just waiting till the world forgot about the last few years."

"That's not all, Price. We received a call through our secure intel network from callsign Red Hammer for Black Viking. That was your op name, right?" asked Liz. Prices stiffened at the name Red Hammer. Yuri.

"How the hell is he alive? I saw him take a bullet to the head!" he nearly shouted at Keller.

"Who is Red Hammer? What does he know?" Keller glared at Price.

"Its Yuri, the Russian who helped us take down Makarov. I saw him shot by the bastard, just before I finished him off. Where is he now?" Price began heading for the Shadow Company SUV.

"He was in prison just outside Dubai but escaped after an attack on the prison. Said it was the Ultranationalists. Right now, he is in Haifa awaiting extraction. We going to get him?

"Bet your arse we are. We take care of our friends." Price climbed into the SUV and opened up the onboard laptop to begin combing through it. It detailed the assault plan and how they were going to cover up Price's death as an accident, several pages of intel detailing past operations involving Shadow Company as well a roster of personnel involved in this operation. Several more documents detailed the recent coup by the resurgent Ultranationalist Party.

"Get all this back to base, and keep this attack quiet. Get Walker over here with his team and clean this mess up. Looks like we're going to war again, boys and girls."