Following the events of "Sins of the Father":
Soap reloaded his pistol.
"Target is on the roof," the helicopter pilot said. "He's all yours."
Our so-called leaders prostituted us to the west…
"I can put one in his leg, sir!" Griggs said, moving toward the Russian.
…Destroyed our culture…
"No, we can't risk it!" Price said quickly. "Hold your fire!"
…Our economies…
"Soap," Price continued. "Take his weapon and restrain him!"
…Our honor…
"You've got nowhere to run!" Gaz said to Zakhaev's son as the Russian took a step toward the edge of the roof. "Drop it now!"
…Our blood has been spilled on our soil…
Soap moved toward Zakhaev's son.
"No!" Gaz shouted.
BANG.
…My blood…
The son of the Zakhaev was dead before he hit the ground. A bullet fired from his own weapon tore through his skull.
…On their hands…
Soap froze.
…They are the invaders…
Soap shook his head. I should have been faster. I should have grabbed for the gun. Soap looked down, contemplating the repercussions of his failure to capture Zakhaev's son.
"Baseplate, this is Bravo-Six," Price said, the disappointment in his voice evident. "Zakhaev's son is dead. We're comin' home."
…All U.S. and British forces will leave Russia immediately…
"I know the man," Price assured his squad. "He won't let this go unanswered."
…Or suffer the consequences…
Soap continued to stare at the ground. Now everyone will pay the price.
Soap felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Price beside him.
"It's time to go," Price said quietly.
The trek back to the gas station and diner only took fifteen minutes. To all walking, it felt like hours. They all knew Price was right.
There would be retaliation. It was only a matter of time.
Nobody spoke until they reached their evac point. Everybody went into the diner where, not an hour earlier, they had staged an ambush for Zakhaev's son.
An unhappy Russian Loyalist bumped into Soap roughly. "Nice work, Comrade."
The Russian didn't even see the punch coming.
Soap landed a right hook that sent the man tumbling backwards into his fellow soldiers. When Soap went to follow up his attack, Griggs grabbed him from behind and attempted to pull him back. The Russians moved after Soap as Gaz got in the middle to protect his squadmate.
What resulted was a shoving and shouting match between both parties.
"Enough!"
BANG. BANG. BANG.
…
Everyone in the diner stopped and turned to see Price standing in the doorway, his pistol pointed straight in the air, still smoking. "What's going on here?"
"You need to control your men, Captain Price," Kamarov said angrily. "He attacked my comrade for no reason."
"Oh, that is bullshit!" Gaz shouted. "I heard exactly what your comrade said!"
"It's true, sir," Griggs interjected.
Price holstered his weapon and glanced at Soap before turning to Kamarov. "Get your men out of here."
"Are you not responsible for the handling of your own men?" Kamarov asked in frustration.
"He is my man Kamarov. And I will handle it. Get your men out."
Kamarov and his men moved out of the building and across the street to the gas station. Price looked at the remaining three men in the room. "Gaz, Griggs. You too."
"But sir—"
"Now, Gaz."
"Yes, sir."
Gaz walked past Price, as did Griggs, but not before patting Soap on the shoulder.
Griggs exchanged nods with Price.
Once they had left, Price turned and glared at Soap.
Soap went to walk past Price to leave as well.
Price blocked his path.
Soap once again came around with his right fist.
Price knew it was coming and backed up, catching the fist as it flew by before pinning it behind its owner.
"Let go of me," Soap said quietly.
"You're not getting out of this that easily," Price growled, ignoring the order. "So sit down."
Price spun and threw Soap into a chair that was leaning against the bar. When Soap tried to stand, Price put his boot on the young soldier's chest and pinned him to his seat. After ten seconds Price spoke again. "I'm going to remove my boot now. And you aren't going to move."
…
Soap did as instructed. He was no longer angry. In fact, he felt no emotion at all.
Price sighed, pulled a stool over, and sat down facing Soap.
"You need to lock your anger and fear in," Price said calmly.
Soap looked up to see an understanding look on his Captain's face.
Price continued. "It doesn't matter what happened. If you allow yourself to lose control, everything you fear can happen will happen. You will put you, your team, and our world at risk. And I can't allow you to do that."
Soap looked at the floor again, not believing Price.
Price did the same and there was silence for another minute.
"If anything, it's my fault," Price said with regret in his voice. "I was sent in to kill Zakhaev years ago. And I failed. Had I been able to make the shot, the nuke wouldn't have gone off and all those men would still be alive. We wouldn't be here. None of this would have happened."
Soap slowly looked at Price.
After a few seconds, Price pulled out his pistol and looked at Soap. "I never told you what happened after Pripyat."
Price braced himself as the chopper sharply banked to the left.
"Brace yourself! RPG on the roof!"
The helicopter swerved to the side again, almost dumping Price and MacMillan out of the chopper. Price lost his balance and grabbed onto the seat behind him, losing the pistol he had been using seconds earlier to hold back the Russians as he and MacMillan made their escape on the helicopter.
"Were out of danger," the pilot finally said. The back ramp of the chopper closed as Pripyat receded into the distance, leaving the soon to be dead Imran Zakhaev far behind. "Good work, everyone."
An hour later, a call came through for MacMillan.
"Satellite images have shown Zakhaev and his forces arriving at a known safe house," MacMillan relayed to Price. There was no anger or frustration in his voice. "They got him patched up. Shortly after, he boarded a helicopter. Current location and destination are unknown."
Price looked down and started going over many scenarios in his head. All of them led to a negative future.
"Price," MacMillan said quietly and firmly.
Price finally looked up.
MacMillan leaned back in his seat, favoring his injured leg. "You did well, lad."
"I failed the mission," Price muttered, almost under his breath. "Anything that happens because I missed the shot will be on me."
"One day you will learn that not every mission goes according to plan," MacMillan said with a chuckle. "You can't control nature, John. Your shot was spot on. The wind changes. You only do what you can do. Nothing more. nothing less."
"That's not the way I see it," Price said bitterly.
"Let me tell you something," MacMillan said, leaning forward again. "The strongest are those who can stand up after the world pushes them down."
After a few seconds, Price nodded, though he didn't fully understand or believe MacMillan's words.
MacMillan changed the subject. "This was my last mission, lad. I'm to be promoted to Director of Special Forces," he explained.
Price looked at him, wondering what he was getting to.
MacMillan grabbed the M1911 .45 pistol from his holster and offered it to Price. "Here. I think you'll be needing a replacement.
"That's your Captain's pistol," Price said, barely looking at the weapon.
"You are a Captain, son," MacMillan informed him. He continued to offer the pistol. "Take the pistol. One day, like me, you will find someone who is worthy of it. One who you think has the chance to change the world for the better, even if they don't think that themselves. Take it."
Price hesitated for a moment and slowly grabbed the gun, holding it delicately. He gazed out a window of the helicopter, his thoughts becoming his own. "I now understand what it was like to fail and what it will take to succeed. The world is my responsibility now."
Price placed the weapon snugly in his holster before looking at MacMillan. "Thank you, sir."
MacMillan nodded and leaned back once again, closing his eyes. "You can call me Mac."
"I may not be worthy of this pistol," Price confessed to Soap. "But I think MacMillan was right about one thing. The strongest are those who can stand up after the world pushes them down. I think that every soldier needs this trial, this… failure to be worthy of the weapon that I am holding."
Soap remained silent but didn't look away.
"When that day comes," Price continued. "I will be proud to pass on this pistol."
"Gaz or Griggs?" Soap asked as Price rose to leave.
Price paused for a moment and sighed. "I don't see myself in Gaz or Griggs."
Price briefly put his hand on Soap's shoulder before walking out of the diner.
Once outside, Price holstered his pistol, allowing his hand to linger by his hip. He nodded at Gaz and Griggs who were talking quietly off to the side.
"The war will be over soon, son," Price said as Soap joined him a few seconds later. "One way or another."