No Thank You

Private Wells cursed his horrible luck. What had started as a simple 'pick up this guy and head back to base' had turned into a full-scale firefight with dozens of Russians and a couple of BTR's. Another example of military intelligence screwing you over. The Russian's had them pinned, and had killed off the entirety of the squad's leadership. Leaving Wells the high-man on the totem pole, a position he by not stretch of the imagination wanted. With the small chance of anyone being in range of his transmission he sent the distress call again.

"This is Private Wells of Bravo Company, we're pinned down by a substantial Russian force and need backup. Repeat, we need support!"

Foley looked from the Humvee radio, to Dunn and said "Punch it,"

"Roger that," returned the Corporal, the Humvee slowly gaining speed.

"Sarge, we got any idea what we're up against?" asked Allen, clutching his M4A1 Grenadier as if it was a small child.

"No clue," with a grin he added, "Hope you like surprises."

"Yeah, well I don't like surprises that can get me killed.." muttered Allen, unsuprised the Army hadn't given them quality Intel.

Ramirez's scanning of the buildings on either side of him went from passing glances to him jumping in his seat at every passing shadow.

"Alright, guys I'm gonna take a shortcut." said Dunn, pulling the bulky vehicle into the residential area of town.

Foley swiveled in his seat to face the two in the back, "Check your weapons and ammo. We're going in hot."

Noticing the look on Ramirez's face, Foley nodded and added "Ramirez, stick with Allen. He'll show you the ropes." The Private could only nod.

This whole 'moment' was shattered by the sound of grinding treads followed by Dunn shouting "Holy Shit!"By this point, the rest of the squad had already disembarked from the vehicle. Leaving Allen alone, either god hated him or he just had extremely shitty luck. Because of all the things that could happen to him at that moment, he was left with a jammed seatbelt. His mother had always preached the use of the seatbelt because it would save his life, now it was going to be the death of him.

The day had arrived, it was the day that Nikolai arrived. But Nikolai was having a bit of trouble getting to his friends. His trouble started with the receptionist.

"What is the nature of your visit, sir?" she asked.

"Um, I am here for my friends." he said, trying to loosen the collar of his leather jacket.

"And who might your friends be?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye. This was discomforting for the former Soviet soldier. The reason was his ex-wife had done the same thing, and it always seemed like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Ever since then, he'd had trouble with women. And today was no different.

"Soap," he blurted out. Then mentally punched himself for using his friends nickname.

"Can I have his real name, not his nickname."

"John, John MacTavish." he said, hoping it would end her prying questions.

"Sir, he's in the maximum security wing. I'm gonna need some id." she said.

Fumbling through his pockets he found his pilot's license. Trembling he handed her his card.

"Sir, this card only gives your name as Nikolai. What is your last name?" she asked.

"My name, you want my name?" he asked, just to make sure she was entirely serious about what she was asking of him.

"Yes, your name." she said, clearly irritated with his 'little game'.

Leaning in close, so the security camera in the corner couldn't see him, he drew his M9 from underneath his coat. Pointing it at the receptionist, he said "Now could you please lead me to my friends?"

Slowly, she stood and then nudged the other receptionist. Who happened to have fallen asleep on the job. After telling him to 'get off his lazy ass' she motioned for Nikolai to follow. The journey the Taskforce's cell had been a short one, until a guard questioned Nikolai's presence in the maximum security wing. Scooping up the receptionist he used her as a human shield waving his handgun around to keep the officers back while he slowly walked to the 141's cell.

Thankfully, Nikolai had planned for this type of situation and had filled a backpack with handguns.

As Ghost grabbed a Glock from the bag, he noticed the money spilling onto the floor. Grabbing a bill off the floor he asked "What the 'ell kind of money is this?"

"Soviet ruble." shouted Nikolai, in between yelling at the officers to get back.

"Even if you would have been able to get in here without alerting every single guard, you brought money that isn't even used in this country anymore!" he screamed.

"You told me to bring money for bail, last time I was in Russian. They used those."

"Ugh, forget it. Let's get out of this shite-hole."

"What? No thank you?" muttered Nikolai.

No, I am not dead. Thank you very much. But I did have a difficult time thinking up plot ideas for this section. Odd given Wolverines! is one of my favorite levels in campaign. As always, Read and Review!