Author's note: Sorry for the delay in uploading. I've had a lot of stuff to do in real life, and so has my *amazing* beta reader, Frigyt. I'll try to get back to a regular uploading schedule; however, don't get ticked off if I don't post a new chapter in a couple of weeks.

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Chapter 3
Meeting the Locals

The bearded soldier jogged about a quarter-kilometer before he found a general store that wasn't barricaded shut. If this was an evacuation, then why did it seem as if the townspeople had been trying to keep intruders out?
He shot the padlock open with his M1911, and checked his corners with his carbine. Captain Price tensed up when he heard Russian voices coming from a nearby aisle. He ducked behind the checkout, and flipped open his heartbeat sensor. There was a faint image of sensor dots in the static; he looked harder. Suddenly, his radio emitted an ear-piercing screech, causing Price to drop the M4A1 with a clang.
They must have heard him by now, as their voices grew more tense.

From the Russians' perspective...

The two soldiers who were inside before Price barged in were Dimitri Barshai and Sergei Terasov.

Sergei Terasov was a 34-year-old Spetsnaz captain; a hardened veteran of the South Ossetian War of 2008, and the leader of the Spetsnaz's elite Fox Squad. He had buzz-cut jet-black hair, pale-blue eyes, a small fox-emblem tattoo on the upper-left of his chest, directly above his heart, and a well-trimmed handlebar mustache, and a thickset build.

Dimitri Barshai was a 27-year-old lieutenant in the Russian armed forces. He was rumored to have been assigned to Fox Squad thanks to his involvement in the Zakhaev Airport Massacre; he'd escaped death by a hair in the midst of the slaughter, and even managed to save a few civilians. He had shaggy light-brown hair, bright blue eyes, a medium build, and a certain air of mystery about him. He was the best marksman of Fox Squad.

The captain was wielding an AK-108 with Red-Dot Sight and GP-25 grenade launcher. His subordinate used a suppressed ACR with Holographic Sight. Both carried suppressed USP .45 side arms. Sergei wore dark grayish-green pixel-patterned fatigues, a pistol harness crossed over his chest, a black wool beanie, and a bandolier containing extra grenades and ammo slung over his shoulder. Dimitri wore a light gray combat jacket, a charcoal bulletproof vest, olive cargo pants, a black balaclava, a grayish-green radio headset, and a pair of red-tinted sunglasses.

A clicking sound was heard by the keen-eared Russians.
"Did you hear that, sir?" Dimitri said tensely.
"Yes, stay alert. There may be intruders here..."
"But...who? Surely not the Americans?" Dimitri questioned.
"It is not impossible, soldier. Let's sweep the area. I will take point."
Just then, a loud radio screech and clank came from the direction of the other entrance, the one that was locked tight with a padlock.
Dimitri jumped slightly, and Sergei put a hand on his shoulder to calm the nervous soldier. "Stay calm, Dimitri. You need to keep your focus." Sergei whispered, fingers running over his handgun's grip.
"Yes, sir." Dimitri responded, nodding.
They moved slowly and cautiously towards the source of the sound.
"Sickle!" Terasov shouted in Russian. It was a code word. The correct answer was sickle; any other response was a go-ahead for opening fire.
There was no answer.
Sergei moved forwards, edging carefully towards the checkout. He gasped as he was grabbed by the neck, and a knife forced its way towards his throat. He knew better than to struggle. Dimitri would open fire, potentially getting both of them killed.
"Dimitri, do not move." Sergei hissed.

His captor appeared to be another soldier. He had a thick, graying-brown beard, steely grayish-blue eyes, and wore a tan slouch hat, dark gray hooded combat jacket, drab military boots, and desert camouflage cargo pants. He had an M4A1 SOPMOD slung over his chest, an M21 EBR Thermal Suppressed on his back, an M1911 Suppressed holstered in a leg holster, and a heartbeat sensor lying on the floor near him.
"What do you want with me?" Sergei murmured in heavily accented English, as the other man stood up, maneuvering around the table to place him in a typical hostage-holding chokehold.
"Who are you? Who are you with?" Price growled into his ear, his thick beard rubbing against the younger captain's cheek.
"I am Captain Sergei Terasov, and he is Lieutenant Dimitri Barshai. We are Spetsnaz operatives-from Fox Squad."
"And I am Captain John Price, of the SAS. I'm sure you've heard my name by now...the most wanted criminal in the world."
Sergei's eyes widened as he heard the name. John Price? The very same John Price? He was no criminal, he was a hero, a noble-hearted man who took care of his friends.
"Sir? It's an honor to meet you in the flesh." Terasov said, his voice wavering slightly.
"What are you talking about?"
"You are the man who rescued my brother, Nikolai. Captain John Price of the SAS, I salute you."
The Englishman was speechless. Nikolai was this man's brother?
"You're his brother?" the bearded captain questioned, surprise evident in his tone of voice.
"Ye, he is my little brother. He told me much about you, and a man named MacTavish. I am greatly honored to be in your presence, sir."
Price released him, and Sergei turned about, revealing his face. Well, there was certainly a resemblance. The hair, the eyes, the facial structure; Sergei's face was a bit more sharply squared than Nikolai's, and he had azure blue eyes, rather than the pilot's dark brown, but they were clearly related.
"Do you know where Nikolai is, my friend?" the older Russian asked.
"He's in the hospital, watching over MacTavish. He was stabbed in the chest."
Terasov's face changed to an expression of dismay. "That does not sound good. Is he alright?"
"Don't worry yourself about him...he's doing fairly well. All he needs right now is some rest and plenty of fluids. You're coming with me?"
"Of course."
"All right. Before we go; is that guy safe? Or is he going to rat us out to Shadow Company or the Americans?"
"He has absolute loyalty to me. Whomever I follow, he follows. He will listen to your every order, Captain Price, as if it were mine."
The gruff Briton crossed his arms and nodded in satisfaction, glancing over the younger soldier.
"An extra pair of hands is always good. Welcome to the team, Dimitri." Price said, extending a hand to the young Russian.
"Thank you, sir," he said in smooth, unaccented English , shaking the older man's hand firmly.
"One last thing, I needed some food for Soap and Nikolai, so I'll grab that before we go..."
"No problem. We came here looking for supplies ourselves, since we didn't bring enough."
He glanced over the shelves quickly, picking up anything that looked to be easily edible, and had decent energy values. He ended up getting a pack full of instant noodles and soup-in-a-bowl...and, of course, Nikolai's jerky. Sergei shuddered slightly at the thought of putting up with food like that until he remembered the taste-or rather, the lack of taste-of Russian C-rations. Dimitri got a few large bottles of water, as well as plenty of batteries, a few emergency flashlights and radios, and a box of chocolate bars. His commanding officer raised a brow at this last item, and Lieutenant Barshai jumped to explain.
"It's for...uh, energy, sir!"
Captain Terasov sighed and hoisted his own food-filled pack over his shoulder, heading for the exit. "Let's go, Barshai, Price; no reason to wait around here."
The three left, heading back towards the hospital where Soap was recovering, packs loaded with much-needed food and supplies.