Warning! This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them.
Note from Sassy: So, back into the swing of regular reviewing, here I am with more NSD for you, the key scene that I've been promising for a while. It's full of action though, which as we all know is not my writing forte, so I hope you'll forgive me if it reads a little bit more stunted than usual. And whilst I'm sitting here with my fingers crossed, hoping that you'll like it, I guess I should get to replying to your awesome reviews! :)
xGhostxStealth: Thank you! I'm so glad that you liked the countdown and I just hope that the cliffhanger was worth it all here. I hope the action is all you want it to be, and I apologise in advance if I suck at it a little… Thank you for the review!
UrgentOrange: Thank you sweetie! Every so often I like to try something new. I'll get my beta profile set up for you too whilst I remember. :)
VerityA: Haha you keep telling me and I never believe you. WHO does that remind you of? I am convinced this isn't going to be as exciting as your hoping for, but none the less, here it is… *Worries*
Cynder fan: Well I have a rambling style of writing that makes all my series pretty long. But thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)
xStealthxSniperx: Haha true, foreshadowing is a nice aspect in writing. I hope this chapter isn't a let down for you! As for Markov and Ghost…well its not going to be easy, but only time will tell. :) Thank you for the review!
Reeserella: Well I believe in variety…after all, smut and serious stuff go together in real life eh? :P I will pay for the Kleenex though. As always thank you for your review. :)
CallofBooty: Thank you! I was convinced that my plot would be full of plot holes… Cheers for the review, you're very kind. :)
SarkastinenNasse: You make perfect sense as always. :) Thank you so much for the lovely review, I'm so glad that the way Soap and Ghost are going is still keeping you interested. They're a married couple really with all the arguing. And I am so honoured that I inspired you! *hugs* I shall keep an eye out for your writing then? :)
And now…its time for more NSD… *Drum roll*
"Chyort! You're fucking cheating, I'm sure of it." Erik grumbled, slamming his handof playing guards down onto the table with frustration. He gave the younger man in front of him an evil glare, watching as he swept up his lost coins with a smirk.
"Just lucky, my friend." Anatoly grinned, adding his winnings to the pile. He gathered up the cards in his hands, shuffling them idly. "Another game?"
"I think I'm done."
"Trus…" The younger man laughed softly, leaning back in his stiff wooden chair. He glanced at his watch. "Two hours left…what else is there to do?"
"Right now boredom is better than you bankrupting me." Erik grunted his voice gruff as he hastily lit a cigarette. He glanced to his left, eyes flickering momentarily over the security monitor as he did so. There was nothing there of interest, just as there was never anything outside…
"All this fucking hiding…It's been a year, the man hunting us is dead…" Anatoly rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up so that they were resting on the table, crossed over at the ankle. He was as young and rash as Erik was old and experienced, filled with all the idealism and invincibility of youth.
"What else would you have us do?"
"Fight!" Anatoly laughed as though the answer was obvious. "We are already losing our stomach for this war, you heard Makarov. That gad Vorshevsky hasn't got the balls…he fears for Moscow too much."
"And you claim to know better than Makarov?" Erik chuckled, smoke leaving his mouth in short bursts. "You should mind what you say, Anatoly."
"I don't understand why the others don't challenge him. I'm not the only one getting impatient."
"But you are the only one without sense." Erik sighed, stubbing out his cigarette and giving Anatoly a serious look. "The others know that challenging Makarov gets us nowhere. Only Yakov has that kind of power…"
"And he's not here, is he?" Anatoly scoffed. "The last we heard of him was two months ago…He half clears out the base and then disappears?" The younger Russian rolled his eyes. "For all we know he could be dead and we're next."
"Where's your optimism?" Erik smirked. He leant back in his chair, hanging his head back and closing his eyes. "Do me a favour, Tolya…if you don't have anything nice to say, keep your mouth shut."
Muttering under his breath, Anatoly tore his gaze away from Erik, instead looking over to the security monitors, almost desperate for a diversion. He yawned, eyes resting on one of the screens out of habit, his eyelashes beginning to mesh together automatically as he fought to keep his own eyes open. Just two more hours. Two more hours and then there'd be relief and he could finally just sleep…
"What?" There was a flicker of movement through the trees and Anatoly jumped instantly. It had almost been like a shadow, but sure enough, two seconds later there was another flicker of movement, as if someone was running past the camera at speed. Anatoly sat up straight, kicking his partner under the table. "Erik!"
"Huh?" Was the only, groggy response he received.
"I've seen something…on the monitor."
"Your mind's playing tricks on you…forget it."
"I…" Anatoly shook his head, puzzled. He watched the screen again for more movement, but when there was none he felt the heavy pattering in his chest begin to ease, waves of almost reluctant relief washing through him. Maybe Erik was right. Settling back in his chair, Anatoly tried to force himself to relax, although his eyes remained fixed on the monitor.
In a fizz of white noise, one of the monitors turned black.
"Chyort!" Anatoly hissed, standing instantly and diving straight for the screens. "We've lost camera three…"
"Impossible…" The word might have come out calm but he had Erik's full attention, the man standing up and joining his side. "What exactly did you see?"
"Nothing this time…it just blanked." Anatoly ran a hand through his hair. "They could have cut the power feed…"
"They?"
"I told you…I saw movement!" The younger Russian shook his head. He'd been in many combat situations but he sure as hell didn't like the feeling that he was being snuck up on. Almost to unnerve him further, camera two turned black right before his eyes.
"There's someone out there…" Erik was reaching for his rifle almost instinctively.
"Russians?"
"Maybe they're finally onto us." The older man shrugged. "But it doesn't feel right…they wouldn't pick off our cameras one by one..." He turned round just in time to see camera one flicker off, leaving them surrounded by blank screens. "They're getting closer."
"What do we do?"
"Radio Makarov….warn him. If they're assaulting the bunker then-…wait…" Erik held up his hand, silently gesturing for silence. He could hear voices outside the bunker…a countdown. "Fuck!" Overturning the table in front of him the older soldier knelt behind it, levelling his gun. "They're already breaching…get to Makarov, now!"
"But-"
"Just fucking run!"
The breach was a flurry of intense emotion; quick reflexes and the element of surprise the only real things determining who lived and who died. Gunfire awaited them immediately and they'd dove for whatever cover they could, Price and Soap cutting down the man knelt behind the table in their crossfire. Once he was silenced, the firing stopped, but Ghost could see another man, sprinting down the corridor, his arms and legs the image of frantic motion. He didn't hesitate in raising his ACR and putting the target down with two in the chest and one in the head.
The body collapsed into a tangle of limbs.
"Room clear!" Mactavish yelled behind him, but everyone was on full alert still, checking their corners and making sure the room was secure. Price was kneeling by the fallen body of Erik, his hands examining it efficiently.
"F2000, couple of frags and an M9. No sign of a radio or comms system." He stood up slowly.
"Any flash bangs?" Soap asked quickly, watching his back.
"Not by the looks of it…but keep an eye out." Reaching up to his ear, Price pushed on his earpiece gently. "Nikolai, breach 1 successful. Give me a sitrep, over."
"Price!" There was a flurry of gunshots over the radio. "We have breached but are meeting heavy resistance…" He yelled something loudly in Russian that the others couldn't make out.
"Can you handle it?"
"Da, my friend..."
"Roger that. Try to keep them busy…Team one pushing through now…" Price nodded quickly to the rest of the team. "Let's move out. Watch your corners…this place is a bloody labyrinth."
They moved on, Price taking point with the others following and Ghost bringing up the rear. There was distant gunfire in the air and assorted yells in Russian, but the area of the bunker they were in was relatively deserted, dimly lit and eerily quiet, the only rooms stemming off the corridor seeming to be empty storerooms and bathrooms…
"Targets!" Price's voice was suddenly an angry echo around them and the team scrabbled for cover, using the crates that lined the corridors as shields. There was a rattle of machine gun fire around him and Ghost straightened up slightly, peering around his cover. Five tangos with bleary eyes and not stood in full body armour. It was his guess that they'd stumbled across the room that was being used as their barracks.
"I'm reloading!" Soap yelled and Ghost fired practically over his shoulder, taking out one of the men who was unfortunate enough to have been left with no cover. Riley calmly watched him fall and then picked another target, suppressing him with a stream of intense fire forcing him to move into the open corridor where Price made quick work of taking him down. A hasty flash bang was thrown into what had been the barracks, followed by a rally of gunfire from Price and Markov, killing the disorientated men efficiently. The fire fight had been brutal yet short lived, Makarov's men tired and stumbling, far more likely to make mistakes than Price and the others. It was an almost unfair advantage to take, but in battle it was also a harsh reality.
"Price…come in….Price!" Nikolai's words were strained, but at least the gunfire around him had seemed to have stopped as his voice rang out again across their comms. "Two of my men are hit…"
"What's their status?"
"Wounded. But they are in a bad way…Artem is with them." He paused briefly. "I am on my own, my friend."
"Then sit tight…Nikolai. That's an order."
"Have you found Makarov?"
"No…but if he's here he can't be far." Price shook his head. "Hiding until the end…"
"Then I will help you find him."
"No!" The force in Price's voice was not to be undermined. "You've lost your back up and you're no good to any of us dead. Stay with Artem…cover his back. We'll go on alone."
"Then…good luck, my friend…"
Turning around to face the group quickly, Price shed his mask, throwing it to the floor and wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. "We're on our own."
"And no sign of Makarov…" Soap grunted almost bitterly, kneeling painfully beside one of the fallen bodies, salvaging their ammunition.
"The west side of the bunker is reinforced…" Ghost recalled a rough sketch of the blue prints stuck in his mind's eye. "If he's here then that's got to be where he is."
"Then that's where we need to be." Price nodded. "We have the north and south exits covered, for a base this size we must have already neutralised most of his men…but don't let your guard down." The older Captain's eyes seemed to be focused on Markov more than anyone else. "If anyone's still alive out there then they still know this place like the back of their hands…"
He hadn't been asleep when the explosions had hit the bunker. He'd heard it all, from the frantic screams of his panicked men, to the gunshots that ominously ended their lives. Not that it mattered. Those closest to him were always going to die. It was just a matter of when.
As Makarov had sat in his room, he'd contemplated the next few hours. His men might have believed that it was the Russian army, but he knew differently, the camera security feeding to monitors in his room as well as the sentry's room. He'd seen them be disconnected methodically, one by one, heard the familiar rumble of frame charges breaching the bunker. This was not the Russian army blundering into his base. It was something far more precise, more specialised than that. It was Price, the ghost that Makarov had half been expecting for the past year.
He didn't know if Price understood, but Makarov knew plenty. He and the Captain were like two sides of the same coin, both ruthless in sight of their goals, both old, experienced soldiers who had seen every side that war had to offer. They were both hell bent on revenge, on vengeance. Shepherd had only been the start.
He'd known the instant that he'd let him survive the Boneyard that in some way; Price would be the death of him.
Calm, collected as he always was, Makarov had paced his room, contemplating his options. The adversary he prided himself on knowing so well would have been careful to leave him no avenue for escape and that made fighting with his men a doomed, undesirable option. He would not make it so easy for Price to simply run into his waiting trap. It was better to wait, to draw the Captain in as far as he could and as a result force him to sustain as many losses as possible.
Makarov laughed at the thought, sitting down on his iron bed, the springs creaking under him, the inorganic, metallic sound breaking the silence around him. There hadn't been any gunshots for sometime and he bargained that few of his 23 closest men remained, most cut down in their barracks or as they tried to clear an escape route. He smiled. Their loyalty was at least a true reflection of the power of their beliefs, of the real spirit of the Ultranationalist party, the faith that Vorshevsky had so easily forgotten. They had proved the president was little more than an opportunistic fool already.
Reaching inside of his jacket, Makarov pulled out his M9 handgun, eyeing it curiously. He felt its familiar weight in his hand, checked and rechecked that it was loaded, the click falling heavy on the quiet air of his room. Satisfied he lifted it to his skull, pushing it hard against his temple so that it wrinkled his skin. His thumb clicked off the safety with no hesitation and he took in a deep breath, filling his lungs for a final time.
No. It was a coward's death and after all he had fought through and for, Makarov believed that he deserved better than that.
The safety was snapped back into place on the gun and he threw it across the floor with distaste. He didn't relish the idea of giving Price the pleasure of killing him, but taking his own life would be like bowing out before his grand finale. He'd vowed years ago that he would see his work out to the bitter end and even with the threat of capture, interrogation and most likely execution, that vow stood steadfast in his mind. The promises Makarov had made to himself had always been and would always be the most important.
He heard a brief spatter of gunshots, louder this time, nearer. They didn't continue for long, more a firing squad than anything else and this time Makarov could hear voices, English, speaking outside the door. There was one final barrier to go, however reinforced it might have been. A bitter smile pushed across his features. At least the waiting was over.
When a huge explosion shattered through the door, showering him in debris, Makarov instinctively pressed his body to the floor. When the distinctive 'whoosh' of a flash bang sounded around him, he screwed his eyes shut, but he was too late to avoid some of the flash, his retinas burning at the backs of his eyes. He winced, but he did not move, did not speak, determined to avoid the embarrassment of trying to right himself whilst so disorientated. As his vision returned he sat up, kneeling, the only figures that he could see shadows in his strained eyesight. He blinked hard as one of the shadows approached, the familiar silhouette of a gun appearing in front of his blurred vision. Makarov allowed himself a self satisfied smile. If he was about to be executed he would rather bite down on the gun barrel himself than beg Price for his life…
The smile almost made him want to pull the trigger.
The others had seemed surprised that Makarov was alone, but Price was not, this last act of defiance making logical sense in his mind. His gun pointed firmly at Makarov's face, Price pushed forwards, pressing the barrel firmly against his forehead. He allowed himself a weak smile, before glancing quickly around the room, noticing the gun on the floor and nodding to it quickly.
"Markov…the gun." The younger Russian moved to retrieve it and the figure in front of his gun laughed gently, their body shaking underneath the barrel.
"Price…" Makarov practically smirked. "…You're late."
"Quiet…" The Captain pushed forwards with the gun, watching as Ghost moved around to the back of Makarov. "Stand."
"I don't take orders from you…"
"I said…" Price swiped his gun across effortlessly, hitting the Russian hard in the jaw, the metal colliding forcefully with his lip. "…Stand…" Another, dark laugh sounded in the room and Makarov spat out blood, but this time he complied, standing slowly so that he was eye to eye with Price, the gun now pressed firmly to his temple. Ghost was immediately moving forward and frisking him for any weapons or explosives. When he was satisfied that none were present, he pulled his arms back roughly, the cool, metallic 'click' of handcuffs fastening emanating into the room.
"Not going to finish it, Price?" Makarov smirked, adjusting his shoulders to their new position. He squinted, almost as if he was trying to read the Captain, his mouth forming an 'O' shape almost in realisation. "…I see…of course. You still need me…"
"You have a lot to answer for." Price shook his head. "And it's not for me to judge..."
"But you hate that don't you?" Makarov laughed, pushing his head further into the barrel of the gun. "You've waited all this time…come so far and now you just want to end it. One bullet…just like with Zakhaev."
"Price…" Soap's voice was filled with warning, his features suddenly concerned. "Don't…"
"Do you take orders from him?" Makarov practically scoffed, his eyes never leaving Price's. "You've lost your bite…old man."
"And you've lost…" Price smiled satisfied, his tongue tracing across his teeth as he clicked off the safety catch on his gun.
"So kill me." Makarov half shrugged. "Finish it. It doesn't matter. Because that is the most beautiful thing about a dream, any dream, mydream. Yes, you can kill the dreamer…but you'll never kill the idea."
"…Price…" Mactavish was stepping forwards this time, one hand outstretched.
"Quiet, Soap." An unnerving, practically reflective smile spread across Price's features and he twitched his finger across the trigger of his gun, one eyebrow raised as he surveyed Makarov's expression. No one dared move or speak, the room enveloped in a tense silence.
There was a loud 'crack' and Makarov instantly crumpled, the butt of Price's handgun hitting him squarely in the back of the head. The Captain let out a deep sigh, blinking hard as if he had just had to rely of every inch of restraint that he possessed to not gun Makarov down right then and there. He let out a soft laugh, almost of relief, turning to Ghost quickly. "Get him bagged up and out of here." The lieutenant nodded and moved to place a sack over Makarov's unconscious and bleeding head.
"I thought you were going to kill him." Soap said softly as Ghost and Markov dragged their target's unconscious body from the room. He and Price had stayed to gather intel and we're ripping maps and newspaper clippings from the room walls, stuffing the paper into their pockets.
"I know what you thought." Price shrugged dismissively.
"Did you think about it?"
"I had a gun to his head…and we both know I'm capable." The older Captain gave him an almost disappointed look. "Of course I bloody did."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because even though I wanted to, Soap, I never would. That bastard is the core of all of this. I kill him and sure, it's finished. But do that and I immediately screw the world over. He's Shepherd's last loose end."
"But what do we do with him now?"
"We hand him over…give the Americans and the Russians the pleasure of dealing with him themselves." He laughed darkly. "It's kind of fair really."
"How?"
"Think about it. A global war was started by two men…one Russian, one American. When the truth comes to light, it turns out that each side is just as guilty as the other…"
And so, Makarov is captured and it all seems to be going so well. But is it? Only the next chapters will tell. Eitherway, I cannot deny that this fic had fed off your constant support and lovely reviews, so if you'd like to tell me what you thought…well, then I would adore you forever more. :)
Until then, thank you for reading! :D
-x-S-x-