Nine
Staryy Oskol
60 miles South-West of Voronezh
Republic of Russia
Every meter seemed a mile, every minute and hour. His emotions never interfered with his work, he tried to live a double life; but he knew it wasn't possible. This time he feared he'd lost to his emotions, lost to his now more present sub-conscious. To beat emotions, you have to face them. He now understood that.
He never did believe in fate, he didn't believe paths crossed for a reason,
everyone has a fate, but everyone can create it. Sam Fisher did just that.
Third Echelon was a path he'd chosen from the beginning, a path in which he devoted his life for the good of others. Define good?
Saving American citizens by taking the lives of others? The balance clouded Sam's mind, though never did he let it crush him, instead he justified his thoughts and got on with it.
Each action has a consequence, defined on intentions of good or evil, leaving an outcome of praise or justice.
Justice was what Sam believed in.
The Osprey's engines dimmed to a light hum as it dropped in altitude, gliding through the frosty Russian air. Fisher walked to one of the Osprey's side windows, peering out to the mountainous region drifting on in the background, the crystal blue lakes and snow covered farming regions in the foreground.
The cabin door opened as William walked out with a coffee in hand. "Almost time." William said looking out over Fishers shoulder. Fisher nodded. William took a sip then asked "Geared up?"
"Check."
"Good... want a coffee?"
Fisher shook his head then leant against the cabin wall "No thanks, bad habit... on a patch."
William raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"I don't like coffee."
"Oh..."
Fisher walked to his locker and pulled out a bottle of water, then raised it to Redding. "Water is the life saver, not the gun."
Bird's voice came over the PA "Sam, we are in range."
Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes, before striding to the locker and pulling out the chute. Redding walked over and helped fit the pack, tightening the straps and checking the harnesses. Once fit, Fisher walked into the cockpit and patted Bird on the shoulder; he looked up at Fisher and winked before reaching for his hand, "You watch out there 'ay mate." He said in his Australian accent.
"Just like old times." Fisher grasped his hand and shook it hard.
"Old times die hard."
"We are not dead yet."
"You're bloody right mate. Sam, you call, I'll be there."
"Better be you bastard." He let go of his hand, patted the co-pilot's head then left the cockpit to Grim standing with her hand outstretched. Fisher stopped and looked at her hand, then grasped it looking her in the eye. "Thankyou... for everything." She smiled and pulled him in for a hug. "You know... if Lambert saw you do this..." She pushed away and laughed.
"He'd kick your ass not mine."
"Exactly." She laughed again then breathed in deeply.
The bay door pressurized and lowered with mechanical creaks and hums, followed by a burst of windy cold air filling the cabin. The 'ready' light clicked once to red, then orange.
"So what now?" She asked looking out the door.
"Now... now I jump out of a plane."
"And kick some poor guy's ass."
"Precisely." He looked at Redding and shook his hand, "Till next time."
"Till next time." William replied.
The ready light flickered then turned green.
He turned toward Grim and reached for her arm and squeezed lightly before walking to the end of the ramp. Fisher turned for one last look at Grim, then said "Don't leave town." before leaping backwards off the ramp into the vacuum awaiting.
