Chapter 4 - Transitions

Soap sat at a desk and observed the card he had obtained from the mystery woman, whom he recognized but couldn't place a finger on. It had been a full week now since he had received the card, and since then, he hadn't heard from Price either. It nerved him not knowing the old man's whereabouts, or even if he was just alive and well. He ran his tongue over his teeth and leaned into the desk to return to writing in his journal. The feeling of indecision was eating at him. If he decided to join the TTF, he doubted the S.A.S. would take him back a second time, and he was afraid to take that risk. However, he was also feeling rather depressed staying at Credenhill while he waited for his updated paperwork to get processed. That was another thing, what was taking so long? They allowed for him to return and stay to train incoming F.N.G.'s , despite not technically being accepted back in.

He had the urge to take a smoke break with one of the Villa Clara cigars Price had handed him before leaving, but at the same time, he felt like saving it for when he got to see the old man again. So he decided against it and then allowed for his thoughts to wander. What was the best thing to do? What was the safest choice? He assumed Price had taken the job offer and immediately set off, especially after finding out from Soap that he had tabs that were being kept on him.

Suddenly, he felt a vibration reverberate off of the table; his eyes followed the source and landed onto the phone next to him. His hand was swift with anxiousness to grab it up; narrowing his eyes at the number, he realized it was a number he had never seen, and it was too long of a number to be from a phone. Not missing a beat, he answered immediately.

"Hello?"

There was a brief silence before a man's voice sounded from the other end. He had a smooth voice. "John MacTavish." Before Soap could answer, the man continued to speak. "Or do you prefer, Soap? Price told me that you usually go by that. Whatever suits you."

Soap blinked and took everything in. "Who is this?"

"Samson Dresden. Team leader to the Darkhorse division; one of four branches to the Titan Task Force. We passed each other up the other day at the pub. It's good to see you back to proper health."

Soap rubbed his brow and sighed. "Alright, Samson. What is it that you want? Why are you all finally breaking your mysterious character?"

He could almost see the nod Samson was giving in response. "You deserve to know everything, Soap. And it's been a solid seven days since we were in contact; it felt like a decent time to check in. I figured you were having doubts, as would anyone, it's an uncomfortable position to be in-you aren't the first. So, I'm all ears. What do you want to know?"

"Who are you all?" Soap was quick to reply; he was ready for answers.

"By now you know that we go by Titan Task Force. The TTF isn't owned by any government or military. We're a private company that deals with the messy stuff. Not everyone wants to send military personnel in; it's expensive and no one wants to risk losing men. So, we get contacted and paid to do the nitty-gritty tasks. Drug lords, sex traffickers, petty terrorists; we like to think we can put a halt to potential threats to prevent them from developing into something bigger than just 'petty'."

Soap listened carefully.

"Think of it as a...balancing act of justice and order. You will never see us doing anything harmful to innocents or to the general welfare. We simply intervene when government wants a cheaper way out."

"You all sound like mercenaries to me," Soap proclaimed with low voice.

Before speaking, Samson took a moment of silence. "That word gets tossed around a lot. As it should. The difference is, we don't deal with criminals. We handle the criminals, but you won't see us working for them. That brings me back to the whole...justice and order idea. Private contractors is a more fitting term. Plus, we aren't outlawed that way."

Soap nodded. "And what do you want with me?"

"Well, we were involved with the Russian resistance. We provided a lot of reinforcements, soldiers and equipment, when things got rough for you all. You personally didn't see us much; we were dealing mostly with a different set of people, and we encountered Price more frequently than we got to with you. So we're somewhat familiar with your past and your skills; initially, Price grabbed our attention. Our commander...he isn't in the best of health. What better person for a job like that than Price? Then, Price swears by you. We have some documentation on you. You've seen quite a lot. We need people like that."

Samson took a second to ponder his next set of words. "We lost several members not too long ago. During the war. We need soldiers again now that the war is behind us and we can resume with our previous tasks. We see you as a unique asset, and your talents can be utilized again. Wouldn't you rather see the action again, instead of be stuck at Credenhill, constantly being analyzed and judged? But I digress...the S.A.S. puts out some incredible soldiers, and we are seeing an opportunity that we can't pass up."

"And what about the women? The one who stopped me on the street?" Soap inquired.

"That was Ricochet, our reconnaissance sniper," Samson answered calmly.

Soap didn't have a response ready and allowed for the information to sink into his head. The offer was steadily becoming more interesting. Finally, he was ready to speak. "Alright, Samson, you have my full attention. But before I do anything, I need to speak to Price."

Samson didn't hesitate to pass the call off to Price. There was several moments of silence that Soap found himself sitting in, but eventually he heard Price's rugged voice.

"Still running over things, are we?"

Soap exhaled and rose from his chair. He suddenly felt restless and wanted to pace around while he talked. Hearing Price's voice again was uplifting. "Price, I'm just overwhelmed. I don't know what to expect-"

"Think of it like this: it's a highly organized, well-profited business that deals in the stuff we used to handle back in our day. Just take the intensity level down a notch. Everyone here is ex-special forces or military. There's military grade weaponry and equipment. Honestly, it's fitting for where we are finding ourselves, Soap."

"Price, you haven't been there long enough to actually experience anything real yet." Soap could hear a growing commotion in the background on Price's end. It sounded like the engine of a small plane starting up.

"You're right, I haven't. But I know professionalism and organization when I see it," he heard Price suddenly sigh. "Soap, I'm going to have to break off communication with you. I don't want anyone uninvited in my business. Listen, son. You do what you want. Don't do something just because I'm doing it-"

"Wait, Price-"

"Soap, you have the card. Contact them whenever you need to. We're currently stationed by the English Channel awaiting the arrival of the cargo ship to take us to Croatia. Time of departure is tomorrow at 2100 hours. That gives you roughly 31 hours to decide."

"That sounds like an ultimatum. If I'm not ready by then I never get to hear from you again?"

Price paused momentarily. "It'll be quite some time in between the communications." Suddenly the commotion on Price's end increased, making audibility on Soap's end difficult. "I have to go now, Soap."

"Price-" then Soap heard the connection break. He lowered his phone down and stared at it with irritation. "Damn it." His eyes scanned the space of his corridors; his mind paying little attention to what his eyes were showing him. He let all of what just transpired to absorb into his thoughts, where he began weighing his options. Sure, he had a solid day to run over things, but even then it still felt like he had very little time to decide.

Soap threw a change of clothes on and left the room to go run some courses. After a few hours of running courses, showing newbies around the camp, and doing exercises, he had been ordered to report to the main office. He figured it was news of his processed paperwork for reentry into the S.A.S.; he could feel his stomach churn with uncertainty as one of the men from the camp grabbed his attention and beckoned for him. Following the man, Soap's eyes stared intently at his surroundings as his mind honed in with thoughtfulness.

Eventually, Soap found himself sitting before Oliver Lowe, the major at Credenhill. Little did Soap know that his old man was sitting in the same position just a week before. The scenario was eerily similar; with Lowe staring from across his desk into Soap's face, the one lone soldier standing nearby, then of course, Robert Clarke, the therapist. Soap felt the three men's stare bearing down on him. He returned the stare and waited for someone to speak.

Lowe peered down at some papers before him before finally pulling his eyes back up to meet Soap's stare. "John MacTavish. We've heard of John Price's disappearance. Do you know anything about this?"

Soap's eyes flashed with a sudden annoyance. "Is this supposed to be about my paperwork or an interrogation?"

The major sat his hands atop his desk. "It's just a simple question, lad. We haven't seen or heard from Price in over almost an entire week. We knew you had a close relationship with him, and we're simply checking to see if you've heard from him."

Soap moved his head slightly to the side where he continued to stare out of the corner of his vision. He wasn't in the mood to talk about any of this, and he could tell the major was playing the game of ignorant innocence.

"You all seem to care an awful lot about the old man." Soap's voice was deep.

Lowe nodded. "We care about all of our men."

"Enough to follow their footsteps? Did you ever consider that the man was trying to enjoy his retirement?"

"We have reasons to believe that the man didn't just simply settle down somewhere cozy." The major said as he sat back in his chair.

Suddenly, Robert Clarke felt the need to chime in. "Price needs to have his whereabouts checked. He's mentally unstable and spastic-"

"Clarke," the major raised his hand to halt the therapist's words. Soap's eyes landed on the therapist in the corner with irritation. "John, we got wind of Price getting in contact with...a private company. Something we don't condon. Do you know who he had contact with?"

Soap's eyes landed back onto the major. The Scotsman was caught off guard. "I have no knowledge of that."

"You sure?" Clarke spoke up again.

Soap glared at him, "I'm sorry, but who the hell is this muppet?" He gestured in the man's direction.

Lowe rubbed his chin and waved off the comment nonchalantly. "Robert Clarke, he's one of the therapists assigned to Credenhill."

"He talks an awful lot for just a therapist. I thought therapists were supposed to listen to their clients, not talk over them." Soap stated flatly. "Also, I need to know why you all don't trust Price. He's done nothing but bring honor to us."

The major eyeballed Soap. "Price is indeed an honorable person, but he has a history, and we owe it to him to offer him support and assistance whenever he needs it."

"If he clearly needed it, he'd be here right now." Soap was growing impatient. Credenhill offered people and a place he once trusted, but he was now questioning just how necessary is was for him to stay put.

Once again, Robert Clarke had to put in his two cents. "Price is too stubborn to admit when he has a problem-"

"For fuck's sakes, can you please have him remove himself?" Soap barked.

"He stays," Lowe disclaimed through a thick mustache. Immediately, Soap eyes locked onto him. Soap was suddenly feeling incredibly unwanted and outlandish.

Finally, Soap knew where he wanted to be. He was hit with a realization that things were just different-changed, and never to be the same again. So instead of fighting it, Soap was going to let the wind of fate carry him where he needed to be.

Soap was ready to wrap up the conversation. "Why don't any of you trust us?"

"We do trust you, we just need to keep an eye on our men. We know that transitioning is hard." Lowe responded with very little genuine concern in his voice. All eyes were on Soap.

He straightened his posture and returned the stare. "So you do that by following them around, tracing them, and tapping into phone calls?" He was met with stillness, so he decided to continue, "Do you all think I'm an idiot? At least try to change up the faces that are following me around. I'm actually rather disappointed...I trusted this place."

"MacTavish, the Royal Army got involved. We couldn't tell them to back off." Lowe proclaimed openly, something he probably shouldn't have done but he was beginning to feel for the man.

Soap nodded steadily. "I'm under the impression that Clarke over there isn't even a therapist." Yet again, Soap was only met with silence and blank expressions; the only thing different was the amused grin that crept onto Clarke's face. Feeling no longer entertained, Soap's spirits dropped. "I'm done talking. Let's talk about my application for reentry. Are they processed yet?"

The major glanced down at his hands where the papers sat. "No, they're still processing-"

"Good. Cancel the processing." Soap began to rise.

"And where are you going? There's still much more to discuss." The "therapist" commented. Soap stared daggers into him as he moved for the door.

"No, I'm done." With that, Soap made his way swiftly for the door. "I'll grab my things and be on my way." He removed himself as quickly as he stood and found himself standing outside. The day was actually sunny today. Even though Soap felt disheartened he was warmed by the bright, yellow rays of the sun that shined onto his body. He heard the door open behind him, he figured it was the soldier who was once inside, and was now following him out to escort him to his belongings. When he glanced over his shoulder, not only was it the soldier, but Robert Clarke as well.

Clarke caught up to Soap and walked by his side. Soap didn't like how close he was next to him.

"John, you can't just leave." Clarke claimed.

"Watch me." Soap broadened his strides, but Clarke kept up. "Will you bug off, wanker."

"No need for the name calling-"

Soap suddenly stopped and turned to face Clarke, he stepped closer as his aura overcame Clarke's. The man felt Soap's overwhelming presence bearing down on him, but he was holding his ground. "Listen, you've done nothing but disrespect Price and myself. We've seen and been through a lot of shite. I don't need you, or anyone else for that matter, snooping around in my business and insulting my character. Now back the fuck off."

The soldier stepped forward, but Soap could easily tell that he was still a F.N.G. Soap returned to walking, and figured he was clear with his message. Clarke remained stationary while the soldier followed Soap's footsteps.

"Don't do anything you regret, MacTavish," Clarke shouted after him. Soap ignored the comment and made his way towards his things that were locked up inside his dorm.

Once Soap made it back to his room, he switched out of his workout clothes and quickened his pace. He suddenly felt very anxious. He snatched up what little belongings he had, threw the gym bag over his shoulder, and made his way for the exit. The soldier continued to accompany Soap until they reached the perimeter of the gates, where Soap sent nod in his direction.

"Good luck, lad." Soap said as he began to walk down the road. The young soldier watched with observant eyes before rounding on his heels to return to the base.

Soap moved swiftly as he fumbled for his phone. He stared at it momentarily before peering around at his surroundings. He probably needed to call a taxi, he considered walking all alone down a secluded road wasn't the best thing for him to do at the moment. Soap still felt watched, he was disappointed, and to top it off, he felt a bit lost. At this point, he figured 'fuck it, I got nothing to lose', and he was finally willing to reach out to the TTF. Knowing Price would be present was heart-warming, and he was eager to fight along side that man again.

So he hit up a taxi and met up with it 4 km down the road from Credenhill. The day had luckily been gorgeous, he lucked out on that one because 8 out of 10 times he would have been walking in rain. He let the taxi take him as far as he could afford, including the tip, before hopping out and returning to striding through the streets of Gloucester. He had no cash on him and had to search for an ATM. He refused to use a card. Soap didn't want to take any chances. His legs moved him quickly along as he placed a hat atop to his to hide some of his appearance. His size alone could easily give him away, but he stayed alert.

Finally finding an ATM, he withdrew all the cash he had, kept his M9 handgun hidden away, and found a lonely bus stop to wait at. While he stood silently, he considered calling the number on the card, which he was now keeping close to his side. However, at the moment, Soap was still rather paranoid and wanted to play it safe and save it for the next bus stop. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he glanced at his watch; a shadow casted from his hat veiling his face. He figured he looked potentially sketchy. Standing at a bus stop, wearing a hat, a hoodie and jeans, tapping his foot, carrying a large bag, all while trying to resist the urge to glance at his wristwatch.

After a ten minute wait of looking over his shoulder and playing with the ends of his hoodie, the bus arrived to take him to the next stop, where he would then make several calls. He paid a fee and found a lonely seat near the back, where he spent the next 35 minutes with a 6 year-old girl staring at him from over the seat. His eyes stayed focused on the images out of the window, but he couldn't completely ignore the little girl's big brown eyes.

"Sophie, don't be rude." Her mother then tugged on her shirt. She blinked once at Soap, he couldn't resist flashing her a quick smirk before her head disappeared over the side. He sighed and allowed his head to rest back against the seat. He looked at his watch. It was Tuesday and the clock read 1828 hours. It had already been a long day and he was ready to find a place to crash. Soap would have preferred visiting his mother one last time, but he was on high alert and knew stopping by there would be an easy move to predict.

The bus eventually made a stop near the town of Bristol. Soap took his leave as the mother and little girl stood as well to walk towards the front of the bus; the little girl kept turning around to peep at him. Like all moms, the mother couldn't ignore how much her daughter was staring the man down behind them. The little girl was drawn towards Soap's size and his calming, blue eyes.

Once outside, he began searching for a hotel to crash in. He was somewhat familiar with the area; he had made several stops here during his reign in the 22nd Regiment. After twenty minutes of strolling, he came by The Horseshoe bed and breakfast that he swiftly walked towards once it came into sight. Luckily, it was a weekday, meaning the likelihood of there being an available room would show a higher chance. Soap brought himself inside and found himself standing in the foyer of a quaint, little cottage. A lady in another room caught the movement in her peripherals and went to greet the guest.

Soap's eyes ran over the wallpaper and the crown molding near the ceiling.

The middle-aged woman approached. "Can I help you, love?"

His eyes found her quickly. "Aye. I'm looking for a room. The cheapest one available will do."

She smiled up at him. "We have two single rooms available at the moment. Which one would you like?" Her English accent was thick.

"Doesn't matter. Surprise me."

She nodded and went off to grab a key. "I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you," Soap replied as he followed her little steps up the stairs. She had a certain skip to her step; she was a jolly woman who had experienced a lot of joy in her life.

Once to the room, she unlocked the door and pushed it open for him, and gestured for him to continue. "Staying all alone, darling?"

Soap walked through the threshold. "Aye."

Her small hand found his arm. "Don't hesitate to get me if you need any assistance. I'm the caretaker, so I stay here every night. I'm on the first floor all the way to the back."

He thanked her, gave her quick nod, and once she walked off he hastily closed the door and found a comfortable seat on the edge of the bed where he immediately reached for the card and his phone. His blue eyes ran over the surface of the card; his right hand gripping the phone tightly. Swallowing hard, he began to dial the odd number.

Bringing the phone to his ear, he waited and listened to the ring back of the call. On the second ring, someone answered. But it wasn't a voice he recognized. It was a raspy voice, but nothing like Price's.

"What's up." The voice said.

Soap blinked and paused. At first he was afraid to answer. "Is...is Samson there?"

"One second."

So Soap waited momentarily before he recognized Samson's voice on the other end. "Soap?"

"Samson," Soap spoke with his deep voice and bit his lip. "I-I accept your offer."

"Terrific. We're departing tomorrow at 2100 hours. There's a private dock back in the wooded area near the southwestern channel border in Dorchester. We have to leave right on the dot…"

"I'll be there." Soap instantly replied.

He could sense the content smile that pulled across Samson's face. "Welcome aboard." But before Samson hung up, he had to a few more things to say. "Soap, our intelligence source has picked up some interference in our lines. Thankfully, they were able to block the signal, so this call is fortunately not being tapped. However, we do have to change our method of contact. I'm giving you the codename 'Themis' to use. T-H-E-M-I-S. Send a text to 1-96887-2. Use those hyphens. Our computers will pick it up, then we can set up a new connection with you. Once that's done, we should be able to talk freely, should you need it."

Soap quickly used the scrap paper and pen on his nightstand to write down the information. "Got it."

"Take care, Soap. Your old man is...well he looks excited for someone as battle-hardened as he is."

Soap heard a click and followed up by setting his phone down and getting it set up with a charger. He sigh and crashed into the bed. There was something about Samson's voice that was just...promising. Soap no longer felt worried or nervous, in fact, he was thrilled. Oddly excited.

He quickly remembered his mother, and used the phone in his room to reach her. Keeping the conversation as short as possible, he told her how he was leaving again.

"John...but you just got back," his mother sighed into the phone with disappointment.

"I know, mum. But...it's who I am, I have to be on the go."

The call was silent for moment. "Listen. If I have to bury my son for real this time, I'm going to go into cardiac arrest. You do what you have to, son. But please...please...just stay safe. Ok?"

Soap breathed softly into the receiver. "Ok, I will try."

"No, you will be safe. Say it."

A small smile pulled at his cheeks. "I will be safe, mum."

"Alright. Good." She replied. He could hear the sorrow in her voice, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. "I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. Good night, John."

"Night, mum."

With that call finished, Soap hopped into the shower and hosed off quickly. He dried off, got dressed into his previous clothes, then slid into bed where he was met with a sleepless night. His mind eventually drifted off, and didn't stir until late morning.

The sun was in his face as dust particles danced around in the glow of the light. His eyes slowly peeled open. He blinked then suddenly jumped from bed as a certain thought hit his mind.

What time is it. What time is it. He found his wristwatch as he cursed. It was already past 1000 hours. He had little money on him, no car, and would rely heavily on buses to get to his destination. Plus he had to eat whatever he could if the opportunity even presented itself. Grabbing all of his things, he rushed out his door and down the stairs where he quickly paid and left to wait at a bus stop.

Soap yet again, found himself glancing at his wristwatch, foot tapping into the pavement. His stomach growled, but he ignored it.

Eventually, the bus arrived and he'd start his long trek towards Dorchester. But, growing hungry, (and irritated at himself for not having grabbed breakfast while at a bed and breakfast) Soap hopped off at the stop at Townbridge, where he took a quick break to grab some brochures of the area and shove a protein bar down his throat. He bought a water and a pomegranate-blueberry drink, and was yet again finding himself standing aimlessly at a bus stop. He had to utter a groan of annoyance as he continued to wait the next hour for the bus to arrive.

Once the bus arrived, he hopped aboard and was willing to completely stake out the entire trip towards Southampton, where'd he, of course, had to transfer buses. Soap was constantly glancing at his watch; it was near impossible to break his eyes off of the watch's surface. It was already nearing 1400. That left him with 7 hours of time to work with. But something in his gut told him he'd be late. Between all of the waiting around and constant bustle, he could just sense the time of departure creeping up on him; the watch was a cruel reminder.

Soap spent the next 3 hours hopping on and off buses, and waiting around for their arrival mindlessly. He was a competent and concise man; it irritated him knowing he had no control over the buses' late 20 minute late arrivals or the speed at which they drove. The buses made their way through Bournemouth and eventually ended in Dorchester. Soap ran off of the bus, nearly knocking a man over who cursed at him through gritted teeth. Soap could only apologize as he began making his way through the small city. My God, did he have to piss. With that in mind, he made a quick pit-stop, grabbed another water bottle and a small snack at a local gas station. He pulled his phone out, and using the number Samson provided, he sent 'Themis' to the contact number. Soap was willing to wait it out until he received some form of feedback, which he quickly got after a 30 second wait.

His phone began to ring as he quickly answered it. "Hello?"

He heard an all too familiar voice. "Soap, we have new communication setup," it was Price. "What's your ETA?"

Soap panted as he jogged in between people. "Fuck. I have no fucking idea." He looked past all of the different faces. "Hopefully right on time, I have very little money on me. I can take a cab out as far as I can afford. From there I'll have to go on foot. Where's the dock?"

"Hmm, we'll send you the coordinates." Price responded as Soap waved for a cab. He quickly jumped into the back seat and told the driver to take him as far southwest as £233.87 could take him. The driver looked around confused, and just began to follow orders.

"Alright, Echo says it's been sent. You should be receiving it momentarily." Price stated with a flat voice as he continued. "Soap, if you aren't hear the ship will leave without you."

Soap nodded with understanding. "I know."

"That means hurry your muppet arse up." With that the call ended. Soap's phone immediately buzzed as he peered down at it. He now had coordinates and a reliable map to go off of.

He felt incredibly rushed and was craving a smoke break, but twiddling his fingers, bouncing his knee up and down, and biting his nails would have to suffice. He ran his hand through his dark hair and uttered a long sigh. The cab driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Soap met his eyes, quickly causing him to look back at the road.

"Where-where exactly are you trying to go?" The driver inquired.

Soap had just closed his eyes to rest, but they were quickly peeling back open at the sound of the man's voice. "Um, just towards the channel."

"I can't promise I can get you close-"

"That's fine," Soap commented with a short tone. "Drop me off whenever the £200 mark nears. And drive fast." He ordered blatantly and returned to placing his brow in the palm of his bear-of-a hand.

The driver just nodded and returned his concentration to the road. In the matter of 50 minutes, they man informed Soap of the upcoming stop. Soap sat up and reached into his pocket where he quickly gave the cab driver everything he had left and pulled himself out from the backseat. As the driver drove off, Soap glanced at his watch. He was running out of time, and fast. He scratched his nose and bent over to stretch his body out; the muscles that covered his body began to loosen. Bringing himself back up, he took a drink of water and began jogging down the beaten road, and under the canopy of thick trees.

Soap jogged and jogged and jogged. He wasn't going to stop and his stamina knew no bounds. It was nearing 2100 hours; several beads of sweat built up around his brow and neck. The sun was gone, and Soap was left in the near dark, with only an occasional streetlight to brighten the path. Luckily, the man always came prepared, and had a small LED flashlight at his disposal. He doubled checked the coordinates and determined he was getting close; his eyes began checking for any signs of a private side road of some sort.

Finally, he spotted a gravel path that had been blocked off by a gate and a ten foot tall chain-link fence. One lone streetlight lit up the gate. It screamed secrecy. He sighed and jogged up towards it where he began looking for a way through. The damn gate was locked, he had to curse under his breath. Guess he was going to have to climb it. He glanced one last time at his watch; it was 2058 hours.

"Fuck a duck," He grumbled as he began scaling the fence.

Once to the top, he dropped down to the other side and began sprinting with all of the speed he had; gravel and dirt kicked up from his heels as he pushed off of the ground. Eventually, he passed up the treeline and into a clearing. It was dark but the long dock, surrounded by a barracks and a warehouse, was cast with shadows by the line of lights that ran alongside the docks. The water glimmered, and off in the distance, he spotted the cargo ship's many lights. He threw his arms up into the air and placed his hands atop his head.

He was late by two minutes. He dropped his hands and reached for his phone, dialed the number, and waited for someone to answer. Finally, the call was picked up.

"Did you change your mind?" Price's voice was laced in mild amusement.

"No. I'm standing at the docks."

Price chuckled. "Still a muppet."

"Yeah, yeah-can you turn the boat around and get me?"

"I can't, but someone else can," Price replied smoothly. "You better start working on your promptness."

Soap sighed and smiled faintly. "Those fucking buses-"

"Whatever you say, Soap. We're sending a Little Bird your way. The pilot is Shorty, she'll ask for a codename. Just say 'I'm a muppet' to verify that it is indeed you."

Soap sat silently for a moment and shook his head.

"Got that?"

"Aye…"

"Good. Hang tight." With that, Price ended the call.

Soap put up the phone and finally caught his breath. His heart was still racing from all of the rushing and anticipation. After a short wait, he could hear a helicopter's engine and propellers ignitionating off in the distance; the sound echoed off of the trees and building sidings.

He stood patiently as the AH-6J Little Bird reached him and steadily landed with graceful precision. Soap approached and met eyes with a female pilot who stared at him with little amusement. She rolled an imaginary object around in her mouth before nodding in his direction.

"What's the password?" She had dark, warm brown hair, round but pretty features, and a facial expression that yelled professionalism.

Soap blinked in her direction; he could see her raise an eyebrow at him.

"Password? I need to know that you're not a poser."

Soap exhaled heavily. "...I'm a muppet."

"Damn straight," Soap recognized the voice as Price's and met his eyes from the back. He smiled in Soap's direction, and Soap couldn't help but return the gesture. He boarded the chopper and Shorty quickly set off back to the cargo ship.

I'm trying to move the story along. OCs will be introduced next chapter as well as the first mission.