"This is bullshit!" Nikolai shouted angrily.
Nikolai had remained with Kamarov in the five years following Zakhaev's death. Kamarov was also one of the few men Nikolai still trusted. Neither was happy about the war. After the slaughter at Zakhaev International, they were stationed on the western edge of Africa where they would be deployed into the United States if the Russians needed reinforcements.
"The United States wouldn't do this!" Nikolai continued. "They never wanted this war!"
"I agree," Kamarov admitted. "But there's nothing I can do about orders except to defect and I'd need a damn good reason to do so!"
Nikolai gave up, kicking over chair and stomping out of the building. He walked out past the runways where pilots were busy working on the various aircrafts and moved into the barracks.
After taking a deep breath, Nikolai sat down on his cot and turned on the T.V. His eyes went wide and he turned up the volume.
"…pursuing a group of men, through Rio de Janeiro after they allegedly opened fire on the local militia. Nobody knows if this is related to the massacre at Zakhaev International. But some speculate that because there were several Americans found dead in the favelas that…"
Nikolai wasn't interested in the story itself. It was what he had seen. As the video looped, Nikolai knew for sure.
A group of men turned toward a handheld camera. One had a skullface mask. The other had a mohawk and a very familiar looking pistol on his hip.
Nikolai leaned forward. "Son of a—" The Russian's cell phone started to ring. Only one man knows this number. Nikolai grabbed the phone. "Da?"
"Nikolai, it's Soap."
"I'm on my way."
Nikolai ended the call and left the barracks after grabbing his laptop from underneath his cot and stuffing it into a duffle bag. Could be useful later.
Nikolai headed straight for a Pave Low on the runway.
There was a mechanic twice Nikolai's size walking around the chopper with a wrench in his left hand and a rag he was using to clean the window his right hand. He had just finished checking and fueling the aircraft.
The mechanic stopped by the right side of the chopper when he saw Nikolai approaching. "You're not authorized—"
"Save it. I'm taking the chopper," Nikolai snapped, instantly realizing that the other Russian would be a problem. "It would be unwise to try and stop me."
The man took the bait and swung his wrench at Nikolai. Nikolai ducked under the blow and grabbed the man's arm. Using the momentum of the swing, he plunged the wrench through the open sliding door of the chopper before kicking the door closed.
The door hit the wrench, tearing it from the mechanic's grasp. Nikolai ducked the mechanic's follow up punch and kicked in the side of the man's knee before ramming his head into one of the windows.
The mechanic's nose broke on impact and sprayed blood onto the window. The man fell and squirmed on the ground, cursing as he held his nose.
Nikolai picked up the fallen rag, wiped off the window, and deposited it next to the man before boarding the chopper.
As Nikolai's chopper rose into the air half a minute later, Kamarov's voice came over the radio. "Comrade! What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Consider me a defector," Nikolai answered calmly. "An old friend called for help. You want to try and shoot me down, go ahead. Pray you do not meet my friend. I won't be able to stop him from killing you this time."
…
Kamarov took the hint and ordered the pursuing soldiers to stand down. He ignored the puzzled looks of the officers in his charge and sat down in a chair, contemplating his next move.