Prologue

Well gentlemen, welcome to the 1st Army Research Division.

You have all been picked for a very important, classified unit. Know that nothing you ever see or do in this unit is to ever reach the outside world. For the sake of security when on operations where it may be required, you will be given unit markings, and other information to act as a cover for dealing with both foreign and American personnel you may encounter. It's very important that you keep total secrecy about this unit.

Now on to your mission gentlemen: North and South Vietnam.

We already have plenty of advisors over there, gentlemen, and it's inevitable that we're going to start slugging it out with the Vietnamese if something doesn't happen soon. That's why we're sending you boys in ahead of any real combat units. You've got what could possibly be described as the most important black ops mission of this century.

You're going to kill Uncle Ho.

"Operation Red Light"

August 9th, 1962

Sergeant Adam Setser

1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"

Hanoi, Vietnam

The basement was dingy and full of cigarette smoke as I slowly woke up. A few bare bulbs illuminated the stone walls and dirt floor that the ten of us had been calling home for the last three days. Our superiors back in the US had provided us with some local contacts for the sake of this operation that had also gotten them the info we were now using. They had agreed to house us, help us get to the airport once we had hit Ho Chi Minh's car, and one of them would be flying the plane out of the city to safety for us.

So the plan was simple. We had discovered that 'Uncle Ho' was going to be attending a party that was set up by an apparently close friend of his in the military. After having already snuck in to North Vietnam's capital, we had discovered when exactly it was that he planned to head for his friend's house, and had planned out an ambush to kill him. From there some of the local contacts would guide us on the shortest ways to the airport, and then we would get out of there to the safety of a debriefing.

Sitting up from my "bed" of bags of rice, I looked around at our team. The first man to catch my attention was 1st Lieutenant Eddy Baker: our squad leader. After him was Staff Sergeant Louis Moscerra: a former Marine who I served with when I had fought in the Korean War. Finally there was Sergeant Phillip Costa. He was an Army airborne trooper and medic who I had instantly struck it off with when we met in for the first time a few months ago.

The other people were ones who I had only had the time to really learn the names and ranks of, without really having gotten to know them yet. Regardless, I knew them well enough to trust them with my back for this operation. We had to, really: this operation couldn't afford any errors in it or the whole thing would fall apart. That was the last thing we needed when we were in the middle of enemy territory, with only one way to really get to safety.

"Good to see you awake, Adam." I heard Staff Sergeant Moscerra chuckle.

"Yeah: rise n' shine sleeping beauty." Sergeant Costa grinned.

"Oh, shut up." I retorted, reaching in to my vest for a cigarette.

I glanced at my watch once I had lit up my cigarette. It was ten o' clock in the morning.

"So are we headed out soon?" I asked, looking to Lieutenant Baker.

I watched him glance at his own watch with an almost grim look on his face.

"Yeah: we better get going." He looked to Staff Sergeant Moscerra "Go get Chu." He ordered.

Chu had been our primary local contact. He had allowed us to stay in the basement of his home and he had provided us with a pilot for our extraction: his own brother. Besides that, he had pulled a few strings, and managed to find people who were willing to fight for us. Once we had hit Uncle Ho's car, they would work with us to get to the airport, and then we would fly out of the city to safety. I couldn't help it but I kept going over that plan again and again in my head. I guess I was just getting nervous as time ticked away.

"Are you okay?" Staff Sergeant Moscerra shook me with a hand on my shoulder.

I looked over and gave him a simple nod.

Our set up was a simple one. Lieutenant Baker and four members of the team, including Sergeant Costa, would stay up in an unused apartment we were using for the operation, and fire down in to the street. Staff Sergeant Moscerra, myself, and the other three members of our team were currently hidden in the alley across the street while on the same side of the street as Lieutenant Baker's team was six of our local fighters. We would hit the car from three different angles to make sure that all of its occupants were dead.

We just had to wait for Lieutenant Baker and his team to open fire before we would.

"Are you ready for this, Louis?" I asked, crouching down behind him.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess." He grunted in reply.

I shoulder my M1 Carbine, leaning one shoulder against the brick wall. Lieutenant Baker's team would open up first with the two Stoner machineguns that we had brought with us, then we would all hit Uncle Ho with everything that we could. Most of us were using M1 Carbines, a few of us had AK-47s, and I think some of the locals were using leftover rifles from when the French still occupied the area. Overall we weren't the most heavily equipped strike team in the world, but I had a feeling that we could chunk enough lead to get the job done right.

"Isn't he supposed to be coming through here soon?" I heard the Corporal behind me groan.

"Shut up: he'll be here soon enough." I snapped, not even bothering to look at him.

"Yeah, just be pat..." Staff Sergeant Moscerra wasn't able to finish his sentence.

The distinctive sound of the two Stoners broke out, their muzzle flashes coming from a third story window. At that moment, we began rushing out on to the streets, past the crowds, and out on to the sidewalk. When we came out there were three cars, with the center one being the one that we were told Uncle Ho was in. I raised my Carbine and fired indiscriminately in to the cars until I had emptied three magazines in to it. Then suddenly things started to go down-hill as we heard the sounds of approaching sirens: too close.

North Vietnamese police cars appeared at either end of the street and came screeching to a stop, their occupants jumping out, and drawing their weapons. I instantly realized that this must have been a decoy set up for an occasion like this. Staff Sergeant Moscerra wasted no time in signaling us to run in to the alley. We had to get out of there fast! Thankfully our egress plan didn't require the two teams of "Trustees" to meet up until we had reached the airfield. So that meant that outside of the counter-ambush, we were still partially on plan.

"We have to get out of here!" I heard the Corporal from before yell.

"Quit talking and just run for it!" I ordered.

We began moving through all sorts of alleys and back roads with sirens seeming to always be just one step behind us the whole way. A few times I could hear bullets whizzing by while panicked civilians ran every which way with no idea what to do when armed "capitalist devils" came running through their neighborhood. Everything was passing in a blur as we ran. A market, some old mama-san's kitchen, and a café of some kind all passed in a blur. I don't know how it happened, but when I looked back I saw that we had suddenly lost two members of our team.

"Louis, we're down two!" I called to him.

"There's no time to go back for them!" He yelled back.

"But..." I heard the Corporal begin to protest.

We came to a stop in the L-turn of an alley, stopping to take a breath.

"He's right Corporal: we all know what we signed up for." I was low on breath, panting.

Sirens were ringing out all over the city and I could hear people running around in panic.

"Come on, the airfield isn't too far away now, I think." Staff Sergeant Louis Moscerra breathed.

"Let's just hope we can make it." The Corporal said with a grunt.

"Don't speak like that Corporal." I would have snapped, but I didn't want to waste the time.

We began moving out again, slower this time, and approached the mouth of the alley cautiously with Staff Sergeant Moscerra taking point. He peaked around the corner and scanned for cops or soldiers as best he could through the crowds. He gave me a thumb up and then we ran out in to the street. I raised my Carbine in to the air and fired in to the air, scattering the crowd. I wasn't exactly multilingual but I knew enough Vietnamese to communicate on a basic level.

*"Hãy ra khỏi đây! Trả giá!" I yelled.

Even though I sounded pretty mean when I told them to "get out" I had a feeling that my gun had more influence on them at that moment. As a path cleared for us we quickly ran to a small side-street. We knew the general direction to the airfield and I just kept hoping that we could make it in time. If we didn't then that meant we would get left out in the open with no support. We were told that since our unit was experimental, the chance of rescue would be almost none if we were captured, and we had all accepted this job knowing that risk. Now though, that it seemed so present and possible it was beginning to scare me.

"Let's move!" Staff Sergeant Moscerra barked at us.

We burst from another winding maze of alleys on to yet another street. We were given a break, however, because we were now looking at the front gate of the airfield. It had already been cleared out by Lieutenant Baker's team because there were dead Vietnamese police officers on the sidewalk and street. We went running through the gate as fast as we could, towards the hangers. We could see the plane taxiing out of one of the hangers and Lieutenant Baker's squad was currently suppressing anybody who tried to impede our progress.

I could hear sirens pulling up to the gate and moments later bullets were whizzing past us: tearing in to the tarmac. I could see the plain getting closer, closer, and closer still. Then suddenly I couldn't run anymore. A burn spiked up through my right leg and I suddenly lost all sense of balance. I was barely able to stop face-planting in to the tarmac. I saw Staff Sergeant Moscerra stop for a moment and look back to me. When I looked up to him, I instantly knew what had happened. It seems like my luck hadn't panned out.

"Get out of here Louis: I'll be alright!" I yelled over the gunfire.

I rolled on to my back, using my good leg to avoid any unnecessary damage. I supported myself on one arm and drew my Colt .45 handgun from its thigh holster. I wasn't really "aiming" at the police moving up from the gate but I could tell I hit some of them as I fired. Unfortunately I only had three magazines. Not to mention that for some reason I couldn't stomach the idea of suicide all that well. So in the end I found myself surrounded by three very angry looking Vietnamese police officers who were all pointing their service pistols at my face.

**"Tôi đầu hàng!" I exclaimed, raising my hands above my head.

A boot to my face was the consciousness-robbing response from one of the officers.

The room was unassuming. Its door was a plain white, thick wooden fixture with a keypad lock that only about a dozen people knew the combination to on it. It was the kind of room stuffed so far back in one of the rarely traversed halls of the Pentagon that you wouldn't really remember it if you passed by the place. Inside it was dark, with only a single lamp on an oak wood desk illuminating a small portion of the room.

The man sitting behind the desk was a heavy-set, barrel-chested man. He was wearing a tailor-made black suit, with its coat hanging from a coat rack in a nearby corner. To those who worked with the cigar-chomping man, he was known simply as the Director.

Across from him was a skinnier man, with round-lensed glasses, and a dark gray suit; suspenders going over a white dress shirt. He was a paled skinned individual, with skinny fingers, and thin pale lips. He held a thick manila envelope in one of his hands and the other held a halfway gone cigarette to his lips. The lenses of his glasses reflected the light from the desk lamp as he leaned back in to the chair in front of the desk. He was known to some rather ominously as the Doctor.

The ashtray between them on the desk was a sign of how long the situation had already gone on: filled with ashes, cigar stubs, and cigarette butts. The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and acrid smoke that drifted towards the vents.

"It was a total failure, Director." The Doctor said with a dissatisfied look on his face.

"How bad, Doctor?" The Director asked with a thick Texan accent.

"Two agents dead, two captured, and worst of all..." He leaned forward "...Ho is still alive."

"So it was all a decoy?" The Director asked "They knew we were coming?"

"I don't think they were expecting us personally, Director." The Doctor explained.

"What do you mean?" The Director asked with a grunt.

"I have a feeling it was just a security measure for any attempt on his life." The Doctor sighed.

"So who were our agents?" The Director asked, snubbing the remains of his cigar in the tray.

"Corporal Anthony Solberg and Sergeant Phillip Costa were both killed." The Doctor sighed "Private Jeremy Creed and Sergeant Adam Setser are both MIA: assumed captured."

"Any chance of rescue?" The Director retrieved a new cigar from a desk drawer.

"Not likely: if we ever see them again it won't be for a long time, Director." The Doctor sighed.

"Well then..." The Director reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose "What now Doctor?"

Author's Notes: Howdy, all! I decided that my original Trust story was a little...messy. As a result I've decided that I will rewrite it in to two stories. The first will take place around the time of the Vietnam War and the Cold War after the Trust's founding at the end of the Eisenhower presidency. The second story (which I will start after this one) will be in the Modern Warfare universe. Also, for those who are gluttons of punishment for their eyes: I will be leaving the original one up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Call of Duty, or any logos/affiliates thereof. The Trust, it's members, and the specific events of this story line were all created by me, however.

* = "Get out of here! Now!"

** = "I surrender!"

It should be noted that all translations are provided by possibly inaccurate online sources.