" The Family Ghost "

Day 3 - 14:32:12

CSgt Gareth 'Gaz' Riley (KIA)

22nd SAS Regiment

Georgian-Russian Border

"What do you mean they are better than us"

"Were you dropped on your head when you were a baby, look at your track record mate" Gaz was trying unsuccessfully to explain four man strike team tactics to the group of Russians in front of him.

He didn't like working for a terrorist organization, but he took solace in the fact that the men he was trying to teach were mostly poor formers or regular Russians who were just trying to feed their families.

The professional killers, the ex Spetsnaz and like kept to themselves regarding the British operator as more of a nuisance than an dangerous killer. Gaz had spent the last few weeks in Makarov's safe house on the Georgian Russian border.

Makarov had hospital equipment trucked in, and he brought everything but the kitchen sink. With the doctor Gaz knew as Svetlana monitoring his recovery he spent his first week in a drug induced coma, in a hidden basement tucked away under the armory.

All his minor bone breaks had been reset properly and his large gashes had been stitched up. The woman was a miracle worker, he spent the next two weeks under medical supervision, performing the doctors physical therapy instructions and resting, all the while taking nutrients and minerals to boost his recovery.

Gaz had regained most of the use in his right arm and hand, yet was not yet up to his old professional standards. There was no way he could match his record time in the shoot house like before. He had performed his own physical therapy when he was free, doing calisthenics and cardio. Gaz smiled when he emerged covered in sweat after running just two miles, back when he was in the Special Air Service he was running five and ten, and humping twenty with a sixty pound rucksack.

He was up to fifty pushups half of his original hundred, and unfortunately he was not permitted to do sit-ups do to a rib that had to been reset when it healed improperly.

Haircut, a fresh shave, and new clothes made Gaz feel way better than he knew he looked.

In between workout Makarov visited him, asking him answers to questions about special tactics and weapons.

"What does it do?"

"Just what I said, it's a new assault rifle platform…it kills people"

"Your trying my patience English"

Gaz answered his questions exactly as he asked them, no more, no less.

"one four one, is probably using ex SAS and SEAL's…wouldn't be surprised to see a few Force Recon blokes, or even Green Beret's."

"We know, I want to know about their tactics"

"have you tried Google"

"Mr. Riley, do you remember our deal"

"Do I look like a Yank mate?'

Makarov had given up trying to pry about Captain Price and Gaz's days before he had gotten shot.

It wasn't as if Gaz had given him complete shit, he had given him plenty of useful viable information. Problem was is that Makarov already knew most of the information he was receiving. Makarov had left a few days ago without warning, he said he had business to take care of and took most of his professional killers with him. He left Gaz with orders to help train new guns, and when he got back he better have information Makarov could use or he would catch a bullet in the only eye he had left.

Gaz only smiled and told him he would miss him then blew him a kiss, which only caused Makarov to leave fuming. He still fully expected to be stabbed in the back sooner or later but for now he was just happy to not being tortured every other day.

Now Gaz was trying to give the fng's a few useful tips that he felt would at least allow them to run away safely in combat "Your SAS training is nothing compared to what the Spetsnaz go through" A Russian smoking a cigar in the corner spoke with a deep accent.

"Maybe so Ivan, but I've killed plenty of your boys to know that beating your trainees with a shovel is the wrong way to train soldiers" Gaz replied

"So your pitiful excuse for training makes you better than us, with your free thinking, and new age democracy?" The Russian stubbed his cigarette out onto the counter and walked over.

"If you mean freethinkers who wont blindly follow their leader into a death trap and refuse to retreat because they are stubborn and dumb then yes" Gaz held his ground as the Russian advanced toward him. "Its called honor and pride, you shameful excuse of a soldier" The Russian was now face to face with Gaz"

"No its called being a dumb ass, but then again" Gaz looked over the big Russian "the Red Army did always like them incredibly god damn stupid.

"I will make you regret your words Imperialist swine!" The Russian grabbed Gaz by the collar of his jacket and lifted him a few inches off the ground. The Russian was at least eight inches taller than Gaz's six foot two height, and definitely weighed at least sixty kilos more.

"You might want to reconsider that?" Gaz had un-holstered his Sig Saur P220 45. pistol he had tossed the one he had used at the torture camp in Siberia. He couldn't bare to handle it and acquired a new matte black Sig Saur from Makarov's armory and currently was pressing it in-between the Russians ribs.

He carried the pistol it every minute of the day ever since he gained consciousness, he didn't trust Makarov or any of his goons, not even the good doctor who always had that caring look in her eye. "We settle later" The Russian lowered him to the ground and retreated upstairs.

Gaz watched him leave holstering his pistol he walked downstairs to the armory and grabbed a G36C his all time favorite rifle, ear plugs and several magazines for his rifle and a few clips for his pistol.

Walking out the door he came face to face with the Svetlana "Where are you going?" She stopped in front of him. "To shoot a little bit" She crossed her arms "do you really think that's healthy in your condition" Gaz moved around her "Don't worry Doc, Ill be back in time to flex my muscles for you" He hopped over the porch railing and headed into the forest" its physical therapy you svolich!" she yelled after him.

He smiled glad he could get her flustered, usually she was an ice cube. He made his way up through a forest trail a mile or so away form the estate. Scrambling through thick underbrush he came to a small couple hundred yard clearing, there were small tin cans and soda cans evident of his previous shooting. In fact as he set up his makeshift range, he realized his shooting was the only thing that had been up to his former standards, with the exception of his deft movements he was just as accurate as before.

He brought a silencer because last time he practiced without one. Believe it or not a silencer slowed down a bullets velocity, meaning it made shooting at long ranges trickier.

Plugging in his earplugs and screwing on the silencer he began to plink away. He hit most of his targets excluding a few misses at the cans positioned at the four hundred yard line. He stayed on the rifle for about a half hour then switching to his pistol, last night he threaded the barrel to accept a silencer and screwed it on practicing fast movements and quick reloading he finished another half hour on his sidearm.

Saving a mag for his rifle and clip for his pistol he packed his stuff up, bending down to tie his shoe he took out his ear plugs and the sound of gunshots and explosions buffeted his ears. Turning around smoke was billowing up from the direction of the cabin. The sound of rotors blasted in his ears and Gaz turned to see American choppers heading southwest.

Slinging his range bag over his shoulder he sprinted as hard as he could in the helicopters direction. They sped ahead of him but he continued running as sweat soaked his clothes. Muscles straining he hopped a small ditch and fell rolling down a hill into tall grass just outside of a clearing.

A Chinhook troop carrier had landed and men fanned out towards the forest and started shooting. Little bird gunship's hovered overhead and let out a downpour of lead as their miniguns dumped their ammo into the forest. Realizing before he jumped up he was wearing Russian fatigues, Gaz began unbuttoning his jacket. The bullets stopped and over the rotor wash he could make out an British voice, and a American.

"Do you have the DSM!"

"Right here sir!"

"Excellent, that's another loose end"

Gaz threw his jacket down and lifted his head above the grass, to see two SF men hand over an object to an American officer.

The man produced a revolver and a shot rang out, one of the men dropped and the other turned in disbelief

"Roach!".

The man tried. to unholster his sidearm as he too was shot by the American.

Gaz crouched down realizing he just witnessed the murder of two British special forces members at the hand of an American officer.

Peeking above the grass he watched as the little birds peeled off and the men boarded the troop chopper. Two men remained as they dragged threw the bodies into a small shell crater, as they poured gasoline on the bodies. Stars could be made out on the officers uniform, as he lit a cigar. "General stars"

Taking a puff the man looked at the cigar as if he was pondering his decision. Grasping it between his forefingers, he flicked it onto the bodies and they lit aflame. The men boarded the chopper and the general turned waving for them to take off. The general boarded the chopper and watched the flames as the it lifted off and flew off into the sky.

The mans voice was nagging at Gaz, he had heard it before. He waited until the choppers were far enough away to burst into the clearing. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, a smell he had long since grown to hate. Throwing his jackets over the burning men he smothered the flames putting out the fire.

They both wore similar gear which was now singed and in some places burnt through. One wore a baklava, and the other wore a traditional tactical helmet. The man wearing the baklava suffered minor burns to his face, and the sunglasses he wore were partially melted to his faced over the ears, the baklava had burned through in a spot to blister a patch of skin on his cheek. The other who was wearing no facial protection and had the sleeves rolled up to his wrists, was badly burned on his face and hands. Both were bleeding profusely.

The voice nagged at him, he reached around the man with the skeleton baklava's neck and pulled out a pair of dog tags. The words made him go into shock…Simon Riley, checking his pulse it beat weakly. Snapping back into reality he dropped his rifle, and grabbed each man by the drag strap on their combat vests.

He half jogged backwards through the forest, his muscles screaming in agony as he pulled them up a hill.

Simon Riley, my brother why would a Yank General kill him?

Gaz dragged them up the steps, leaving them at the door. Clearing the estate with his pistol he caught sight of bodies, destroyed furniture, the smell of blood clung to the air. Stepping over the dead body of a SF soldier who had scarecrow written on his helmet he lifted the grate at the bottom of the armory, only to come face to face with the barrel of a shotgun.

"Doctor, its me" He watched her emerge carrying a Striker with a bandolier of shells slung over her shoulder.

"Gareth, your alive?" She looked at him suspiciously "How?" she held the shotgun at chest level.

"No time Doctor follow me" he went to walk out of the room but the barrel of the shotgun, wedged itself in-between his shoulder blades.

"No, your not going anywhere, I don't trust you" Her eyes narrowed.

"There's, two dying men out there, one of them is my brother, doctor…Svetlana, I need your help" slowly holstered his pistol and held his hands high. She lowered the shotgun the suspicion gone from her face now replaced with concern "ok"

He dragged his brother and the other man into the armory and down the stairs to the Intensive Care Unit, hospital equipment that had saved him. Svetlana worked fast checking their pulse and preparing equipment. Gaz helped her when he could but she just made him sit down.

Svetlana frowned looking at him with sadness "Both pulses are weak, I can operate on one first…the other probably will not make it"

His decision was already made, no matter what he would save his blood first. God bless the other man.

The doctor got to work injecting anti clotting agents and prepping for surgery, she worked at lightning speed, and was soon cutting into Simon Riley with a scalpel. Gaz watched impassibly, watching her work, and looking at the other man bleeding on the floor. Gary Sanderson was his name, he had pictures of his family and kids in his wallet. Yet he still chose his brother over him.

Svetlana muttered under her breath "Punctured lung, third degree burns, massive tissue damage, Jesus…"

Gaz watched her work concern etched in her face, she was too nice of a woman to be working with Makarov. Gaz wondered what would happen once he found out what happened.

Gaz leaned against the wall falling asleep, the last thing he remembered was her deep blue eyes looking over at him.

Authors Note - It was hard making this chapter work, You can be the judge. Also I would like to now if you guys think Roach should live…I just don't know. Don't know either if there is gonna be any "slash" between Gaz and the good doctor. Any suggestions help.

Please read and review - Anticleides