August 14, 2009
Task Force 141 Headquarters, Undisclosed Location
David Mason
He tested the mobility of his arm just out of MacTavish's line of sight, wanting to be ready for whatever was coming. The captain had been visible fuming since the revelation of what Price really had planned, and while he didn't really know the man, David was betting that there was a coming explosion. In fact, he was counting on it.
After years of living with first his father and then Uncle Woods, David knew well how to hide his emotions, but he was just as furious as MacTavish. The nuke was heading for a satellite over D.C. and while the resulting EMP effect would knock the Russians off their feet, it would also kill thousands of people on both sides. Price had aimed to cripple the Russians, but he had done it at great cost to their own side. Worse yet, Price's tone when he'd finally responded to Ghost's yelling had been smug, like a man getting revenge on someone who'd tormented him for a long time. That thousands of people had died for one man's revenge was sickening.
The 141 filed in an hour before midnight, Archer in the lead. David met the sniper's eyes and was startled by the grim ferocity he saw there. Toad, right behind him, looked just as angry and while Ghost's eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, the man's posture screamed fury. Frost looked numb, the other American's eyes wide with what David could only define as horror, and Roach seemed to sink into the shadows but the fury he saw in the other man's eyes surpassed David's own.
Price was the last one into the room, expression professionally blank. For a moment there was complete silence, the tension like a heavy blanket keeping them all in place. Then MacTavish took a single step forward, looked Price in the eyes, and said, "You lied to me." His voice was cold and blank, betraying nothing of the raging inferno David had seen in his eyes since the 141 had been successfully evacuated from the area.
"I did what was necessary," was Price's matter of fact reply.
Ghost let out a low, rumbling growl in response and David found himself quickly reassessing the situation. Wolves in human skin didn't look enough different from ordinary humans to but their senses, and their strength, was superior to any ordinary human's. That meant David would put in his two cents if necessary but it would be best if he stayed out of this. Roach had no such qualms, snarling, "You killed thousands of innocent people."
"This is war," Price replied, sounding almost smug in his assessment as he turned to shoot Roach a scathing looking. "Sacrifices have to be made." He turned back to face MacTavish and then looked past him, straight at David. "Mason understands that, don't you?"
David stepped forward, out of the shadows he'd been lingering in, and let the anger that had been boiling in him loose. "Why should I? Because I helped massacre hundreds of innocent people in the name of a CIA cover," he hissed. "No, I don't understand it. You killed thousands of people, men and women fighting for us, all in the name of stopping the Russians." He paused, fighting down the urge to shove past MacTavish to punch Price, and added, "There are better ways to end a war."
Price turned to MacTavish then and said, "What about you, Soap? Do you understand what had to be done?"
"I understand that I can't trust you with a command position right now," was MacTavish's level reply. Then he glanced around the room and added, "Shepherd is getting us intel on finding Makarov. We'll regroup at six hundred hours and plan our next move from there. Dismissed."
There were nods and Mason slipped past Price's still, stiff form, the last of the men to reach the hall. He was surprised to find Roach waiting for him, Frost and the others lingering a little further down the hall. The younger man waited until the door shut behind David before saying, "Thank you, for what you said in there."
"I don't need to be thanked for telling the truth," David replied bluntly, expecting his sharp edges to drive the younger man off, as usual. Instead it earned him a slight smile.
"Still, thanks." David gave Roach a hesitant nod and watched him go, joining Ghost, Toad, and Frost in their trek to their respective rooms.
Archer waved them on and, once the group had rounded the corner, he turned to David and said, "Not very good at making friends, are you Mason?"
"Most people don't really want to be friends with me," David replied dryly, thinking of all the people that had tried to befriend him in the name of advancing their careers.
"With a personality like that, I can see why," Archer jabbed in response but there was no malice in the Brit's tone. Instead the statement was relaxed and playful, friendly mocking, and David took it as such.
"That's really not why," he responded candidly.
"Oh really?" The sniper's arched eyebrow told him to continue and, after a moment of serious consideration, David leaned against the wall with a sigh.
"I'm not used to this," he admitted, staring past Archer at the wall. "Not used to people not already knowing." A wry smile curved at his lips and he turned to meet Archer's eyes. "My father was a CIA BlackOps agent. One of the best. His name comes with connections, and most people want to use those."
"So you act like a prickly bastard to keep them away," Archer finished and David nodded. "I'd imagine it works fairly well too but you can drop the act now. None of us care." David shrugged, not wanting to explain that growing up in Fairbanks, Alaska, having his mom die when he was six and his dad when he was eight, and then moving in with Uncle Woods in a completely different state had put a damper on his friendship making ability. "Or you can keep up the porcupine imitation," Archer continued, as if it didn't bother him a bit.
The corner of David's mouth quirked up and he pushed himself up off the wall, hiding the pained grimace caused by using his bad arm. "If Shepherd's coming up with intel on Makarov's hiding spots, you might want to get some rest," he advised as the two of them made their way down the hall.
Archer stopped then, turning to look David in the eyes, and asked, "Do you know something we don't?"
"Nothing I want to share," was David's immediate, almost instinctive reply.
"But it has to do with Shepherd," the sniper guessed.
"I don't trust him," David said and, at the prodding of what felt like a cold hand on his shoulder, stepped around Archer, heading towards his room.
"Mason," the sniper's voice called after him and he turned back, looking over his shoulder. "Take your own advice. Get some rest." David nodded in acknowledgement and then opened the door to his room, stepping inside.
In complete darkness he stripped off his shirt and shoes before slipping under the covers of his bed. It was a fight to force his eyes to close, knowing that there were nightmares waiting to ambush him the instant he did. It took almost an hour for him to calm his breathing and stay still long enough to drift off. When he did, the dream waiting for him was not the one he'd expected. Instead of the images of Zakhaev International Airport, what was awaiting him was a clinical looking hospital room.
David was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, eyes scratchy and dry from all the crying he'd done. His father was dead, Jason Hudson was busy with CIA official reports, and Uncle Woods was drugged up in the hospital bed the boy was sitting by. David felt all alone, lost at sea, but his eyes were too dry to allow him to cry anymore. That was when it arrived.
It looked like a man, if a person with half their flesh melted off could still appear human. Any agonized wail burst from its lips as it flowed into the room, Stopping inches from David. So close he would have been able to smell its breath had it still been breathing. David let out a little cry of terror, shrinking back in his chair. The noise disturbed the drugged up Frank Woods, who let out a little moan and shifted restlessly for a moment, but otherwise no one came to check out the noise.
The figure flickered, like a television image obscured by static, and leaned closer to plead, "Help me, please." The only sound that could escape David was a breathless whine and it took that as permission to lean closer, placing a human hand on one arm of the chair and a melted one on the other. "Please," it begged before David jolted awake, shaking all over.
A gentle hand was running through his sweaty hair and Avery's little girl voice was singing "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem". David stared with wide eyes into the darkness as Avery sang, "Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight." He shivered at the mournful, haunting sound of her voice, curled int a tight ball, and fell asleep to small, cold fingers running through his hair.
Morning brought a video conference between the 141 and Shepherd. There were two men Archer informed him were Scarecrow and Chemo. The latter looked a little battered and bruised but his alert eyes said that he was ready for action. Shepherd was scanning over all of them with cool eyes that went even colder when they fell on David. "It's been a tough week, gentlemen," he said at last. "We've lost more than we ever dreamed, but we will recover. I've got a blank check and we're gonna use every cent of it killing Makarov." David's eyes narrowed at the mention of the blank check, wondering if this was what Shepherd had wanted all along. The man had to have had a motive for starting this mess. Had it been for the money?
"Despite what the world may say, we are not savages," Shepherd continued, forcing David to push his questions to the back of his mind in order to keep track of what was going on. "We don't kill civilians. We use precision." That comment earned Price pointed scowls from many of the soldiers around him that both the captain and Shepherd ignored. "There's an evil man hiding in these shadows and we're gonna bring him to justice."
Shepherd's face vanished from the screen, replaced by a satellite image. Marked on the map was what appeared to be some sort of safehouse on the Georgian-Russian border and a vehicle boneyard located in Afghanistan. "These are the last safe havens on earth for Makarov and his men," Shepherd said and David felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. He trusted General Shepherd less than he did a poisonous snake at this moment, and the whole situation felt like a trap.
"Sounds like we have to be in two places at once," Price commented.
"Impossible?" was Shepherd's return jab as the man's face reappeared. He was looking at Price, as if waiting for the man to take command, and David felt his stomach sink towards his shoes. The last mission that Captain Price had led had resulted in the deaths of thousands. He doubted this one would go much better.
"Not for the One-Four-One," came Price's confidant reply. Shepherd nodded once and then cut the connection.
The moment the general's face was gone, Ghost turned to MacTavish and said, "Fifty-fifty chance to take out Makarov, eh?" The Captain nodded once. "Permission to take the safehouse with Roach?"
"Granted," was MacTavish's swift reply. "Price, Frost, Chemo, and I will take the boneyard. The rest will go with you and Roach."