Sorry for not updating! I've been really really busy lately. Instead of giving you guys a whole bunch of bad excuses I'll just write this thing, all right?

Exodus

August 13, 2016

Pvt. Jenna Moore

1st Bn., 75th Rangers Regiment

Northeastern Virginia, USA

The convoy had dropped off the Rangers, and they had split up to help contribute to the ongoing evacuation efforts. Jenna was tasked with going on the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters evacuating civilians and providing medical attention to the injured. Sgt. Foley, Cpl. Dunn, and Pvt. Ramirez, whom she would otherwise be fighting beside, had a different mission to carry out. They had to take out anti-aircraft artillery that threatened Moore and the evac choppers.

Ramirez was busy lasing targets for Honey Badger, a Stryker IFV, to engage. He noticed a civilian car driving madly down the road towards the Rangers, dropping its cargo, running over a few people (Rangers and Russians alike) and finally hitting a barricade, inexplicably exploding.

I don't think physics works that way, Ramirez thought as he pointed his laser at another target and ordered the Stryker to open fire.

Natalia had rallied the remnants from the attack earlier and met up with Russian forces whose aim was to prevent evacuations of American civilians. A field promotion to Corporal later, she was given a bit more authority, ironic given her personality. Not like she had a choice.

Something about the entire mission seemed wrong. Stopping the Americans from getting innocents to safety was absolutely detestable. But killing people was pretty much the primary goal of the invasion anyway, and there wasn't much Natalia could do to stop it in the first place. Follow orders, end the war so the entire shitstorm could be over.

She listened intently on the radio to figure out where she could set up an ambush. The Americans probably were trying to get to the anti-aircraft positions so the evacuations could actually make it out of the area. The network of guns kept the entire sector locked down, and not a single aircraft was able to penetrate the shield.

"Be advised, any units in the AO. This is Tiger 4-1, we are taking heavy casualties from an armore- DAMMIT GET DOWN GET DOWN!" Natalia heard. Another voice replaced the first, the person on the other end probably was hit and his comrade got a hold of the radio.

"Listen up, whoever's out here, we have a Stryker armored vehicle and some hostile soldiers assaulting our position. Anyone who can hear this, they are heading east and if they manage to get past us then there will be no one between them and our AA."

"Tiger 4-1, Tiger 4-1, this is Poacher 3-1. My unit is available and we can provide support," Petrova responded.

"Negative, 3-1. We can't hold this position much longer, you'll be too late anyway. We're falling back to security checkpoint Leonid. If you can meet us there we'll be damn grateful."

"Roger that, Tiger 4-1. We have possession of a sentry gun and can assist you, over."

She turned to the men standing around. She took out a map and explained the half-assed plan she threw together.

"I, um… well, we're going to meet up with Tiger 4-1 at this checkpoint. There, we can intercept the enemy Stryker team and stop them from killing our AA. I'm not exactly sure what else to say," Natalia mumbled.

Why the hell would they even trust me to do shit like this? I'm a goddamn grunt! They just promoted me and expect to come up with stuff on the spot? Why's it gotta be me?

Jenna hit her head on the side of the bird for the fifteenth time. The crew kept taking fire from Ivan's double-A and as a result had to make some really violent maneuvers to not get shot down. In fact, the two other evacuation choppers were taken out already, cutting down the capacity of people they could rescue. Ironically, the other two had the big red crosses painted on their sides, while the remaining one was completely plain regarding its livery.

"Geez, hope Foley gets rid of those damn guns already, no telling how many concussions we'll get today," Jenna complained.

"Heads up Moore, we're landing at evac site Delta. We have some injured there who take priority," the crew chief nodded.

The pilot expertly guided the helicopter to the makeshift landing zone, papers and debris being whipped around by the rotors. Jenna hopped out and squinted, putting on her helmet. Barely anyone made it to the evacuation zone, and it was pretty depressing. To make matters worse, it seemed that the entire post was abandoned – either its personnel deserted, or were pulled for some objective and never returned in the first place.

"We're your ride out!" Jenna announced, waving at the crowd of people forming around the Blackhawk.

"Moore, we can't take all of them," the crew chief frowned. "And we're not a medevac bird, none of us are near prepared to deal with anything that bad. Get anyone who's not too hurt on board, we're gonna have to leave some behind."

"Fuck that. If any of them have to stay, then I'm gonna stay," Jenna replied with a shit-eating grin. "Nobody's watching this place, and someone's gotta keep it running and the Russians away from it."

She turned to the civilians and started herding them on board the helicopter, smiling as she helped them up. They all seemed so weary, and she was hoping that maybe offering at least a bit of hope to them might improve the whole situation. She couldn't help but feel like it was a lost cause, but she felt some kind of obligation to handle the situation herself. The last two people were a young woman and her toddler daughter.

Jenna's eyes lit up and she quickly dug through her admin pouch for a stick of gum, which she offered to the kid. She ruffled her hair, and the child responded by hugging her leg and clutching the gum like it was the one thing she wanted most in the world.

"Thank you so, so much," the woman said, giving Jenna a tired smile. "She really looks up to you guys."

Pvt. Moore placed her hands on her hips as the UH-60 took off and headed for base. She was starting to feel like maybe she was doing something good in her pathetic life for once. The girl in the window raised her tiny, delicate hand, and Jenna waved back with a quiet giggle.

"At least some of these people can make it out-!"

As if on cue, a couple bolts of light came from behind the skyline, tearing through the aircraft's tail. The rotor explodedand it spiraled out of control, crashing into a house a few buildings away and bursting into a fiery wreck, smoke billowing into the air. The crash was visible from the evac station. Jenna quickly advised the remaining civilians not to look, but they just stared in awe, gaping. Pretty much everyone was dying, and an eerie air of hopelessness came over the station.

"No…" Jenna whimpered, her voice trailing off, a kind of indescribable rage filling her chest. "WORTHLESS SONS OF BITCHES, THEY'LL PAY! I'LL FUCKING RIP THEIR COCKS OFF AND CHOKE THEM WITH 'EM, EACH AND EVERY ONE! GODDAMN IT, CAN YOU GIVE US A CHANCE?"

She collapsed to the ground, letting out a pained scream. She sobbed, watching a few teardrops fall and stain the asphalt.

No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't show weakness around the civilians. She was supposed to be a person they could count on, someone to look up to in the darkness. The digital uniform was definitely bright enough to be that light.

Well, guess that's why I wear it.

"Ladies, gentlemen! I'm Private Jenna Moore, US Army Rangers!" she declared, choking back her emotions and throwing her medical pack to the ground. "I promise all of you that I WILL get you out of here safe! You can count on that!"

She turned towards the sight of the burning house, the chopper's fuselage poking out.

"I'd bet my life on it."

"Sentry gun is active!" a Russian engineer shouted. Cpl. Petrova and her men had set up at the checkpoint just as the Stryker was approaching. The gun spooled up and sent lead flying towards the Rangers trying to thin them out. Natalia spotted a guy who didn't get dropped by the sentry and fired a few rounds into his face.

"Aww crap, they're pushing us back!" a soldier panicked. He decided to turn around and run away.

"Hey, Petrova! Deserter, what are you doing about it?" a sergeant yelled. "Well? You going to shoot him?"

"Hell no, that's not happening, sir!"

He took his own weapon and thrust the barrel into Natalia's neck, growling, "Do it. Not one step backwards."

Not really having a choice, she raised her handgun and killed the deserter. While all of this happened, the Rangers had cleared the nearby buildings and were ready to move through the checkpoint. Ramirez pointed his laser at both Natalia and her superior and ordered the Stryker to open fire.

Noticing the red dot on Cpl. Petrova's face, the sergeant leaped in the way of the bullets and pushed Natalia down as the .50 caliber rounds tore right through the concrete barrier, his body armor, his torso, and his organs. Of course, the bullets plowed on and came out the other side of the mangled corpse. The armored vehicle then proceeded to drive right through the checkpoint.

"Dammit! Guys, hurry up and RPG that asshole!"

A barrage of rockets flew at the IFV, pounding it into a smoldering hunk of metal.

"Honey Badger is down, I say again, Honey Badger is down!" Sgt. Foley shouted as the burning crew pounded on the walls, screaming. "Be advised Overlord, we have passed Checkpoint Lima and are now proceeding on foot into Arcadia, how copy?"

"Solid copy, Hunter 2-1. I have new orders for you. This comes down from the top, over," Overlord replied.

"Overlord, send it."

"Your team is to divert to 4677 Brookmere Road after you have eliminated the triple-A. Check back with me once you've completed your main objective."

"Busting our ass to get these guns, now we got to do this?" Dunn complained.

"Too right, Corporal."

What looked like an AC-130 suddenly went down in flames and crashed in the general area of the address they were given.

"Hey, look. I bet that's an AC-130, man," Dunn said.

"No way. They don't fly during the day, that sucker's a C-130," Ramirez corrected him.

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Let's just get this over with."

An old couple hobbled up to Jenna as she knelt over a teenager, pressing a pad of gauze into his shoulder to help stop bleeding from a bullet wound. Jenna instructed his mother to keep applying pressure.

"Excuse us, ma'am."

She turned around and faced them, taking off her gloves and nodding. She immediately took note of the elderly man's angered expression and the cap he wore indicating him as a WWII vet.

"We met some of the goddamned commies on our way here, assholes shot at our car," he said with a raspy voice, his hand trembling as he held up an old M1911 handgun with its slide locked back. "Bunch of 'em, a whole squad, looked like."

"We weren't the only ones trying to get here. Had a truck full of folk being driven by some of our boys get left behind," his wife added.

Damn, Jenna thought, looking at the entrance and seeing their dinosaur of a car parked in front next to a Humvee. "Everyone who can fight, guns are in that vehicle! Sir, I hope you don't mind, I'm taking her for a spin."

"Ahh, do I look like I give a fuck?" he dismissed her.

"There's… a can of Monster, you might… want it," the teenager offered, weakly pointing to his backpack.

Jenna fished it out, jammed it in her dump pouch, and took off towards the car armed with nothing but the M9 pistol she came with. She drew it and racked the slide, slamming it onto the dashboard as she got into the car.

"Ain't no Hachiroku, but it's gonna do!" she said, cracking open the can and chugging its contents as she slammed the pedal.

Whatever it was, thing was rear wheel drive, at least. For something so old, it felt kind of good to drive it.

"God, I'm making such a stupid mistake, CHRIST'S SAKE!" Jenna snapped, rolling open the window and tossing the can at a burning Russian jeep.

She pulled into an intersection, and saw maybe eight Russians on her right behind cover and engaging targets just beyond her view. She slammed the brakes and lurched the car to the left, opening the door and jumping out with her pistol in hand. Seemed like they were exchanging fire, and somebody on the other side was shooting back.

One of them took note of the suddenly-appearing vehicle and tapped his buddy on the shoulder, approaching it cautiously. Jenna sat still behind one of its tires, deeply inhaling as she braced herself. When she heard them get close enough, she popped up and snapped off five shots at the first soldier, the fourth one barreling through his forehead and sending him crumpling into a heap. But where was the other guy?

She caught a glimpse of him flanking the car through the rear-view mirror. She pointed her gun at him and fired twice before twisting her head and body in his direction. One of her bullets hit him in the shoulder and stunned him, and she finished him off with the rest of the magazine while he struggled to transition to his sidearm. Some of their friends took notice and opened fire on the car, sending her back to cover. A C-130 went down in flames overhead.

"Ugh, what am I supposed to do now…?" she panicked, looking into the car and catching the glint of metal coming off of something inside.

She reached for it, her hands wrapping around a heavy, wooden object. Pulling it from beneath the seat, she found an intact M1 Garand battle rifle in her hands. The greatest implement of battle ever devised, in Patton's words. Old man was packing, that was for sure. She leaned out from the bumper end of the car and sent two .30-06 rounds at the closest enemy. One of them completely severed his jaw, and he flailed in agony on the ground as he clutched at his face. Jenna pulled back and aimed through the windows of the car, this time unleashing three shots to down another soldier.

They responded with a burst of lead at her position, puncturing the car's doors. When she found a small gap in their fire, Jenna came up from behind the hood and finished off her clip. The eternally satisfying iconic ping of the clip flying out of the vintage rifle indicated that she was dry, and she ditched it as she broke for cover behind some nearby sandbags. She swapped her M9's magazine for a fresh one. While the enemies were focused on her, it seemed the Americans they were fighting had an opening to push up.

They wiped three of the remaining enemies, and Jenna rushed the last man. She popped a handful of 9mm parabellum rounds into his body before another soldier put him out of his misery with a single shot from his M4A1.

A few seconds of making sure they were clear passed before Jenna turned back towards the friendly personnel, the civilians down the road reluctantly coming out of cover. The soldiers were donning Crye G3 uniforms in Multicam, Crye CPC vests, and Ops-Core FAST helmets, a surefire sign that these were some operators not to be fucked with.

One of them approached, pulling down his balaclava and taking off his goggles. Jenna thought he was really cute… What the hell? No time for that. But those eyes of his… they were a shade of blue that… why was the sky trapped in his eyes?

"Callsign Frost, Metal 0-4, Delta Force. Who the hell are you?"

"I, um, Private Jenna Moore, Hunter 2-1, Rangers. Thanks for the assist."

Another one of the guys stepped in.

"Damn coincidence, we were headed to you with a bunch of these civvies. We got an HVI with them, and we need to get them out of here. Evac station nearby?"

"Sure thing, you guys got a ride?"

"Yeah, just got blockaded back there," Frost said as his teammate headed for the truck. "Come with us, we'll pull around the way you came."

"Come on, we gotta get going! Frost, she doesn't wanna give you her number you dipshit, hurry up and get in!" a soldier, presumably his teammate, jeered from the truck as it pulled up.

Frost blushed a bit (well, underneath the mask he pulled back up) and climbed in. Jenna got in the back and nodded at the people inside. Thing was completely packed.

"What the…?" the driver muttered as they drove by a couple of corpses on the road leading up to the evac site.

Jenna watched the Humvee come into view, the WWII vet chomping on a cigar as he sat on its mounted M2 .50 machine gun, gazing off into the horizon. Jenna smirked and raised an eyebrow.

A CH-47 Chinook descended on the helipad, and the crew chief urged the civilians inside. Jenna and the Delta guys helped bring everyone in, and it was more than enough room to fit them all plus the injured. The elderly man slapped Jenna on the shoulder as he stepped on. The HVI was escorted on board, flanked by the special-ops soldiers.

"Looks like your friends did a good job killing that AA," Frost remarked. "Watch yourself out here."

Jenna nodded as the ramp pulled up and the bird flew away. She sat down on a nearby crate and buried her face in her hands.

"I know I technically have a girlfriend," she told herself. "But damn… he was hot."

Pvt. Kozin was quite winded. He had, after all, had to sprint his ass to the wreckage of the C-130 before the Americans did, like he was ordered. So, opening the fridge in the house he was in, he grabbed a carton of milk and tried to pour it through his gas mask. Milk all over the place. When that didn't work, he started to pry it off.

He never got it off.

The Rangers had already arrived, and quickly shot him down. Dunn snickered a bit.

"No crying over spilled milk…"

Upon moving upstairs, something was evidently wrong. A tattooed Russian soldier lay dead at the door to the panic room, and the HVI himself slumped at the back of the room with a Desert Eagle and a briefcase. As Moore checked the bodies, Ramirez checked out the surroundings. A chessboard on a table with a teddy bear in one seat caught his eye.

"Huh. King's in checkmate, the bear won," he muttered.

"Yo, Dunn, Foley. Look at this guy. He's out-of-place if you ask me," Moore said.

"Yeah, those tats mean he's no average soldier. No insignia either," Dunn replied, eyeing the corpse.

"I want photos for G2, Dunn. Ramirez, get that briefcase. What's left of it," Foley ordered. "Overlord. The HVI is dead."

Natalia once again found herself in charge of remnants. The Rangers were the enemy, but she had to give them credit. They kicked ass.

A couple of soldiers had deserted as a result, and her misfit unit was basically brushed off by command and told to investigate an American plane knocked out of the sky. Some shit about an HVI and intel.

"All right, get on your feet. Command wants us to hump our way to this house. You can't miss it, there's a huge-ass aircraft on fire in front of it," she told her troops.

Natalia was quite frustrated. What the hell were they thinking, putting a Corporal in charge? She didn't know how to lead.

Finally at the house, the soldiers not-so-expertly cleared it as Cpl. Petrova strolled through the house, looking into rooms and whatnot. They noticed a Spetsnaz guy dead at the fridge with an empty carton of milk in his hand.

Natalia went upstairs and immediately froze upon the sight she saw. The door to a panic room was ajar and another soldier was dead in front of it, already attracting flies. The maggots, thankfully, weren't there yet. Inspecting the corpse, she thought she recognized some aspect of him. No, not the tattoos. His face was familiar.

It finally hit her. She fumbled around her vest a bit, pulling out a small envelope with a handful of photos in it. Sliding them out she began to file through them, and found the one she was looking for. It was a photo of one of the terrorists suspected in the Zakhaev International Airport Massacre, named Viktor.

"Found you, asshole," she muttered.

Peering inside the panic room, she noticed another body slumped at one of the walls. This one was probably American. She bent down and picked up a Desert Eagle the man had in his hand and inspected it. It would definitely go for a pretty penny if she sold it sometime, so she decided to take it herself.

Why did she hear gunshots going off downstairs?

"Petrova! Get down, we have Americans in the house!" a soldier shouted, coming inside and gesturing outside the door.

"Get back out there and kill them yourself!"

"U-Understood."

He stepped back out and closed the door. The corporal locked it for good measure, admittedly feeling really afraid, cowering in the corner.

BANG! BANG!

The muffled sound of more shots and the thump of a body hitting the wall and sliding down could be heard from within the panic room. Natalia nervously pointed her AKS-74 toward the entrance.

The door suddenly was kicked down and a handful of men filed in as she dropped the gun and immediately raised her hands in the air. Surrendering? What was she thinking?

"On the floor!" one of them yelled in Russian.

She recognized them immediately. Multicam uniforms, facial hair, advanced helmets, light vests, and unfamiliar weapons, the telltale signs of JSOC soldiers. Were they Navy SEALs? No, they wear different uniforms. Definitely Delta Force.

"Do you speak English?" the Delta soldier inquired.

"Да. I-mean, yes!" Natalia responded.

Dammit, why did she say "da" instead of "yes!?" She learned how to speak English when she was younger, and spent years perfecting it to the point where she was pretty fluent. She busted her ass to learn it, and she said "da" instead of "yes."

"You're coming with us, then," the man responded, forcing her to the ground as another soldier ziptied her. Interestingly enough, the guy cuffing her wasn't as rough as she had expected. Instead, he gingerly put them on, as if he was trying to be polite about taking a POW.

They took her out of the house, where a helicopter was waiting. Everyone got on and she was put in a seat where everyone could watch her.

"Sorry about this," the soldier whispered as he inserted a needle into her arm, putting her to sleep.

He returned to his seat and sat down, taking off his mask and helmet, sighing with relief. War was a tiring job, after all.

"When they gave us intel they were moving in on this place, I thought we'd snatch some Spetsnaz badass. Didn't expect this pretty little gal. I would tap that – no, I would double tap that. You, Frost?" asked the soldier sitting next to him. He wore a light chest rig, a ballcap, and a pair of sunglasses as opposed to the heavier gear everyone else had.

Frost remained silent.

"Ah. You having dirty daydreams about that Moore chick?"

"Man, Grinch, look who's talking! You're the one who wants to bone the POW, you sick pervert!" an African-American guy called from the opposite seat. He was cradling an LMG, and his emotions were actually noticeable due to his lack of eyewear.

"Grinch, there's no need for this kind of conduct, especially involving a prisoner. And Truck… stop trying to start shit with Grinch! Why can't you two be like Frost?" their commander, Sandman, scolded. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was essentially a mom in charge of a bunch of rowdy kids who played army.

"Naww, it's fine, Boss. If they were like me, they would have girl troubles too," Frost joked.

Derek Westbrook was his real name, and he was a Sergeant. He got the name Frost when he first ended up alongside Team Metal, and didn't quite warm up to them quickly enough. It took a while to earn his trust, but the name stuck.

When the military started reforms during the Russian Civil War, they didn't just focus on getting female soldiers into combat arms roles. There was a calling for more special operations members after the brass noticed their effectiveness during the war. However, there was a shortage of volunteers. After all, no one wanted to go and fight after the nuke killed so many troops.

The rules were bent – yet again. This time, the minimum age to apply to Delta Force was lowered from 22 to 18. However, the standards were still the same.

Derek wanted to do something with his career. He didn't want to be a plain grunt, cannon fodder to be thrown at the enemy. (For this reason, he resented General Shepherd as a commander.) Instead, he wanted to be the best of the best, and the opportunity to join Delta Force was too awesome to pass up. He applied, hoping that he could actually succeed. The odds were against him, being barely into his 20s without any special operations experience.

He pushed his hardest… and nearly failed. The selection process for Delta was made to root out not only unfit material, but also the "Gray Man" who merely met the standards instead of rising above them. Westbrook was nearly that Gray Man, if not for his exceptional shooting, which barely pushed him out of that zone. Thus, he ended up making selection anyway.

Westbrook didn't expect that he would be sent on any ops any time soon, especially because didn't feel as if he were good enough to legitimately get into Delta Force anyway. Instead, his superiors made him train harder so he technically was up to standards.

Well, the US ended up going into Afghanistan yet again and he was more or less forced into Team Metal (who was one man short) and began operations.

The Tier 1 Alpha Unit rotated out of the sandbox about a month before the Russian invasion and in turn was readily available to participate in the defense.

For all intents and purposes that was how Frost managed to encounter two certain people he would be seeing a lot of in the near future.

Bleh. One 3000+ word chapter. I think it turned out all right, considering how I had some trouble getting ideas for it. I really don't want this fanfic being a recap of the MW2 campaign. Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm introducing Frost from MW3 as a character in this fic. Heck, you might not even see him again! Nah, that's not convincing at all, considering I took a few paragraphs to give him a backstory. But keep reading and somewhere down the road you'll see where this all comes together. Trust me, I have this sorta planned out. Hope you guys are enjoying this. Woo.