"…are you still waiting for another war?"
Price's eyes snapped open, the words of his sub-conscious forgotten. There was a large man leaning over him. Sound returned as well, though it was still hard to decipher.
The man above Price looked to the side and started speaking… Russian!
Price sat straight up, grabbed the man's throat with both hands, and started squeezing. Price gritted his teeth as his chest started to burn painfully. The pain only made him squeeze harder.
…
Kamarov kept patting Price's outstretched arms, unable to say a word. The medic in the helicopter tried in vain make Price let go. He shouted at the helicopter's pilot.
…
Still in his startled state, Price only saw this as calling for reinforcements and tightened his grip on the Russian's neck.
…
The pilot shouted a reply and gave the medic control of the helicopter with short instructions.
…
Price loosened his grip slightly. That voice…
Another man leaned over Price and placed a hand on the S.A.S. soldier's right forearm, speaking English.
"Price, you are not thinking straight," the man said frantically. He pointed to himself. "Friend. Nikolai."
Vaguely recognizing the Russian talking to him, Price loosened his grip enough that the Russian he was choking could draw in short, ragged breaths. Nikolai slowly turned Price's head so that he could see the man on the floor close to the cockpit.
Price saw the man's face and everything came back to him.
The car chase.
The explosion on the bridge.
Watching as Soap gunned down Zakhaev.
Price's own death.
Price immediately released Kamarov who collapsed into one of the seats, gasping and coughing.
Suddenly exhausted, Price laid back down and looked at Soap. The younger soldier was unconscious and injured, but his chest was rising and falling rhythmically. He had a new scar above and below his left eye.
Soap still held the pistol in his right hand.
After a couple minutes of resting, Price leaned up and saw his bulletproof vest was lying off the side. When he lifted his shirt that had been cut open when he was unconscious, Price saw stitches in his chest.
Price knew he was in a helicopter but wasn't sure how he got there. He looked at Kamarov and tried to figure out some sort of an apology.
Kamarov raised a hand. "It's okay," the Russian said with a small cough. "I had that coming for deserting you after Zakhaev's son died."
"What about Gaz?" Price asked.
There was a long silence.
Kamarov finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Price. Zakhaev killed him."
"It's not your fault," Price said, looking away. Yet another good man is dead because of me.
Price slowly rose to his feet, heading to the cockpit. He looked over Nikolai's shoulder and saw that they were in a large canyon. Mountains locked them in on either side. There was a small river below.
"Where are we?" Price asked.
"Seven miles from the border," Nikolai replied calmly. "We'll be safe soon."
Price turned and looked down at Soap before looking at the medic. "You speak English?"
The medic nodded.
Price sat next to his wounded companion. "Give me a sitrep."
"Your friend in the cockpit convinced Sergeant Kamarov to come along for an evac mission," the Russian explained in English. "Nikolai made it clear that we were going to be missing a helicopter either way. When we got to the bridge, you were unconscious. I managed to get your heart going. But I had to apply stiches to your head and chest. Luckily, your vest stopped most of the shrapnel."
"Will he make it?" Price asked, looking at Soap, somewhat afraid of the answer.
The Russian medic slowly nodded. "Your friend was barely conscious when we arrived. He requires more medical attention. But we need to get to our safehouse. It has the equipment he needs. After that, he'll be fine. However, the scar on his left eye is permanent."
Price nodded and looked around the helicopter. It was empty except for the five of them. "Where are the rest of your men, Kamarov?"
"We needed room to work," Kamarov answered. "The rest are in the second chop—"
BANG.
A large shock-wave rocked the helicopter.