Following the events of "Scorched Earth":
Sandman grabbed Grinch's rifle and pushed it down, waving off the attack. "We can't risk it!"
The helicopter flew away, taking Vorshevsky's daughter with it.
"Overlord, negative precious cargo," Sandman continued with regret. "We lost her."
"Sandman…"
Sandman turned to see Frost collapse to the ground, unconscious. "Frost!" he said frantically. "Shit! Grinch. Truck. Help me!"
Truck came running down the hall as Sandman and Grinch gently rolled Frost over. He had a large chunk of wooden debris imbedded in his skin just below his right ribcage.
Truck checked his pulse. "Still alive," he said with relief. "But he needs medical attention."
"Overlord!" Sandman said again. "We need med-evac now! Frost is wounded! He's unconscious!"
"Rodger that," Overlord said after a brief hesitation. "The German's are giving one final push. We can have someone to you in three minutes. Standby."
Sandman looked down into the streets below. The Germans are putting up a good fight. We can wait.
"Wait a minute," Grinch said. He turned and gave Sandman a look of confusion. "The door exploded outward with you in front of him. How did he end up with wounded when you barely have a scratch?"
"I don't know," Sandman admitted. "He shouldn't have a wound unless… Truck, help me get his vest off."
Sandman and Truck gently removed Frost's vest, careful not to touch the piece of wooden debris still imbedded in Frost's skin.
Sandman held up the vest, gently probing the hole with his fingers. Glass and small bits of metal fell out of the various layers.
There were also a few extra cuts around Frost's wound.
"The building," Grinch guessed. "When the building fell there was glass everywhere. His vest must have gotten damaged. That's how the wood got through."
"Overlord," Sandman said impatiently. "What's the status on our evac?"
"Close. Get your man ready."
…
Derek 'Frost' Westbrook slowly opened his eyes. He looked around and saw that he was in an office cubicle that had been turned into a makeshift hospital room.
There were people moving outside the cubical, speaking frantically. French.
"Ramirez?" Derek called. "Grinch? Truck?"
Grinch came around the corner. "You look like shit," he said with relief. "Welcome back. Don't bother trying to get up. The doctors said that's a no-no. Thanks for the scare by the way."
"Grinch, knock it off," Truck ordered, walking into the cubicle. "Or you'll be the next patient in here."
"As you wish, Truck," Grinch said giving Derek a sly wink. "All joking aside, you did great. You've gotten us through some crazy shit the last few months."
"You did scare us," Truck admitted. "How you feeling?"
"Like shit," Derek grunted, tapping his fingers on the bed. "Are you guys all good?"
"Yeah," Grinch answered. He looked down and sighed, speaking quietly. "But some bad news came in."
"Ramirez said he'd like to tell you," Truck said.
Derek looked away. Someone didn't make it.
"Look," Truck said, getting Derek's attention. "You did great. Grinch and I have to get ready to go. We'll see you when we get back."
"Where are you going?" Derek asked.
"To end the war," Grinch replied simply. "Adios, amigo."
Truck and Grinch left the cubicle.
Shortly after, Ramirez entered and stood in the corner. "You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," Derek answered. "What the hell happened?"
Ramirez laughed. "Well, somebody decided not to mention having a ripped vest after a building fell on us. When the door exploded, you were wounded by some wooden debris."
"I saved your life," Derek argued lightly.
"That you did," Ramirez agreed, tipping an imaginary hat. "Anyway, the doctors managed to get the wood and glass out, but they want to keep you here for a few days."
"So what happens now?" Derek asked.
"The rest of Metal has been sent out on assignment," Ramirez said after a moment. "We think we know where Makarov is keeping the President Vorshevsky and the girl. We tracked her cell phone all the way to some mines in Siberia. Makarov must be getting sloppy."
Derek tried to sit up.
Ramirez gently pushed him back down. "Don't even think about it," he ordered. "You need to rest up."
"I hate being wounded already," Derek muttered.
Ramirez ran a hand down his own face. "Well I don't mean to make it worse, but some news came in. Captain MacTavish… died in the line of duty."
Derek looked away in grief and let out a breath. "How?" he asked calmly. "When?"
"Two days ago. He was trying to take down Makarov," Ramirez answered. "There was an explosion. MacMillan wasn't able to contact me until a few hours ago. I'm sorry, Derek."
Derek closed his eyes and let the news sink in. "Well, MacTavish went down fighting," he said after a few seconds. He nodded to himself. "That's what he would have wanted."
Ramirez placed his hand on Derek's shoulder. "I've gotta go finish saving the world. We'll get drinks when I get back, yeah?"
Ramirez turned to walk away.
"Ramirez," Derek called.
Ramirez turned back to Derek.
Derek smiled. "Good luck."
Ramirez walked back into the room and clasped Derek's arm. "You too. Stay frosty."
After Ramirez left, Derek fell asleep for a short time. When he woke up, the doctors told him he was free to move around. Unsure of what to do next, Derek walked through the makeshift hospital. Eventually, he found the section of the building where civilians were being treated.
"Do you speak English?" Derek asked one of the doctors.
The doctor nodded.
"My blood type is 'O-Negative'," Derek said calmly. "Where do you need me?"
