Following the events of "The Gulag"

"Ahh! Bullocks!" Price exclaimed as he quickly closed his eyes.

Upon reaching the helicopter, he had forgotten how long he'd been underground. It had been years since he'd seen the sun.

Soap, or Captain MacTavish, as everybody had been calling him, chuckled. "Eyes and sunlight don't agree after five years. Not right away at least."

Price sent an eyeless glare in Soap's direction and kept his eyes closed.

"Anyone got a pair of sunglasses?" Soap asked.

There was a moment of silence.

Price knew that everyone in the chopper was staring at him.

"Thanks," Soap said a few seconds later. He placed a pair of sunglasses into Price's hand.

Price reluctantly placed the glasses over his eyes. Once they were in place, he opened his eyes and looked at the floor. He slowly raised his gaze and looked at the snowy mountains and then the sun, admiring the view for a moment.

Within minutes, his eyes were adjusting well enough. All those flash-bangs he'd endured over the years allowed him to adjust to new light quickly.

Then Price caught his reflection in one of the windows.

He looked ridiculous.

Price tore off the glasses and set them down on the seat next to him.

Price looked up to see Soap grinning.

Price pointed his newly reacquired pistol at Soap. "Not. A. Word."

Price looked around at the man he had punched earlier. The soldier was busy placing a small bandage over his nose.

"Sorry," Price said lamely.

The man nodded. He grabbed a bag from the shelf above him and took out a laptop.

Price looked at Soap who had grabbed a spare pistol and placed it in his holster.

Soap sat next to Price with a sigh. "Welcome back. I might as well introduce you to my team."

"Give me the highlights," Price said, skipping further pleasantries. "Have heard anything from Nikolai? He and Kamarov were the last people I saw before…"

"Nikolai didn't want to join the One-Four-One," Soap with a hint of regret. "But he's around. I had to call in a favor to get us out of Rio. Long story."

Price nodded.

Soap motioned to the man across from Price. "This is Gary 'Roach' Sanderson. Technological genius and a good soldier. He's not perfect, but he's invaluable in the field. My second-in-command, Simon 'Ghost' Riley is in the other chopper. Advanced in hand-to-hand combat and smartass extraordinaire."

"Sounds like his brother," Price grunted.

Soap hesitated, confused.

Price looked down. "Gaz told me about his two brothers," he said sadly.

"His other brother is in Washington," Soap said, lowering his voice. "It's bad out there, Price. How much do you know?"

Price stood, grabbing an overhead rack for support. He gazed out a window on the side of the helicopter. "Everything," he answered. "After Zakhaev's death, I was captured by a Russian named Makarov. He told me all this would happen. I was hoping he'd fail."

"He didn't," Soap said running a hand through his mohawk.

Price turned back to Soap. "We'll deal with him soon enough."

"We're all after the same man," Soap said, standing up. "We get him, we can end this war and clear the U.S.'s name. Unfortunately, we don't know where he is."

"We have a more pressing problem," Price said, lowering his voice. "The guards by my cell mentioned a submarine. I also heard the word nuclear. It's gotta be close. Makarov put me in there. When he learns of my escape, he might order them to use the sub's nuclear arsenal. The man doesn't like to be challenged."

"Then our first priority is that sub," Soap agreed. He turned to Roach. "Find it."

"We don't have much time," Price added. "Five, maybe six hours tops."

"Captain," the pilot interrupted. "A SEAL from Hornet Two-Two wants a word."

Both Price and Soap moved toward the cockpit.

Price did a double take and then sat back down, remembering that he was no longer a Captain.

…

Soap flicked a switch in the cockpit and spoke loudly. "You're on speaker."

An American voice came through the speakers. "Captain MacTavish, this is Westbrook. I know this is short notice and probably a bad time, but I'd like to request assistance with a transfer. The United States is in flames. I feel that I would be more useful back home."

Soap glanced at Price who was watching him curiously, as if testing him.

Soap sighed. "Derek, I understand. I can't say I wouldn't want the same thing, given a choice. When we get back to the oilrigs, we can make the necessary calls. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"And Derek?"

"Sir?"

Soap looked out a window at the other helicopter. "Stay Frosty. Even when the world is burning down around you."

There was a moment of silence before Westbrook spoke again. "Yes, sir."

"You handled that well," Price said in admiration as Soap sat down next to him. "F.N.G.?"

"No," Soap said with a chuckle. "But I was hoping he'd join the One-Four-One soon. I wanted him to get a little more field experience. With this war, he's going to get it no matter where he is. I don't want him to have any doubt in his abilities. You and I both know the dangers that come with doubt."

A new voice came through the speaker. "Captain, this is Ghost. Where to next?"

"I'll brief you over the private com," Soap replied. "But for now, we have a new member and leader of the team. Captain John Price."

"I served with your brother," Price said, standing up. "He was a good man. I'm looking forward to seeing you in action."

"Likewise," Ghost replied. "Try not to get captured again, sir."

Soap shook his head walked toward the cockpit to talk to the soldier privately.

…

Price stood and moved to the other side of the chopper, sitting down next to Roach.

The soldier was looking at his laptop. There was a single screen up with three words.

ACQUIRING SATELLITE SURVEILLANCE

Price nodded to himself. He's good.

Roach looked at Price.

Price leaned forward. "Can you get a hold of someone for me?"

…

MacMillan was exhausted. He'd been in meetings all day. The reports from the United States and around the world were getting worse.

The more killing there was, the more anger was produced. The more anger there was, the more casualties there were on all sides.

That was the endless cycle of war that MacMillan had always hated the most. He knew that the One-Four-One was doing everything they could to take down Makarov. But at this point, he didn't see what good it would do.

Hopefully MacTavish will bring back some good news. All MacMillan knew was that the team had made it out of the gulag with Prisoner Six-Two-Seven.

As if on cue, a communications officer entered the room. "Sir," the man began with a salute. "A member of Task Force 141, designation 'Roach' requests video communication."

MacMillan tilted his head, confused. MacTavish usually reported to him. "Transfer the feed to my office."

MacMillan entered his office and turned on the computer monitor in the center of the room. He sat in a chair and took a moment to compose himself.

Seconds later, Roach appeared on screen.

The connection was a little blurry.

MacMillan leaned forward. He must still be in the chopper.

Roach nodded at someone off screen.

"Good work on freeing Six-Two-Seven," MacMillan began. "So what's next? What information are we going to receive and how are we going to get it? Interrogation? Bribery? What does Six-Two-Seven have on Makarov and how can we use it against him?"

"That's an awful lot of questions for a five-year prisoner of war and an old friend, Mac."

Mac let out a breath of relief. "What took you so long?"

"The world pushed me down a little harder than I thought," Price said as he took Roach's place. Price glanced at someone offscreen. "At least I left the team in good hands."

Mac noted the admiration in Price's voice and smiled slightly. "He's a pain in the ass just like you were," the older man promised. "Have you contacted Shepherd yet?"

"Soap is debriefing Shepherd," Price answered. He hesitated before lowering his voice. "Mac, I need to ask two things of you."

"Anything, lad."

"I want to officially lead the One-Four-One alongside Soap," Price said. "Second—"

"It's bad out there, John," Mac interrupted. "The United States is falling. There are Russian troops in Washington. The President made it out, but they were hit too hard and haven't been able to come up with a plan for a counterattack, I don't see how—"

"I have a plan for that," Price said firmly, cutting Mac off. "Shepherd is going to want me to go after Makarov. But he's not the main problem right now. Getting him will mean nothing if allied forces are being torn to shreds. I'm sending you schematics for a nuclear sub located near the gulag."

Mac's laptop chimed and blueprints appeared on-screen.

Mac raised an eyebrow. Nuclear weapons aren't Price's style.

"Mac, I'm going to war with Makarov, Russia, and maybe even Shepherd," Price said. "There may be certain actions that I have to take to ensure victory. The second thing I need is your trust and blessing to do that. Do you still trust me?"

"With my life," Mac said without hesitation. "What are you going to do, lad?"

"You'll know when you see it."

The screen went blank. Mac leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.