Prologue
2005.
Near an Iranian border.
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"This we'll defend."
The U.S Army's motto had never rang more true to Lieutenant Elias T. Walker than it had the day of that fateful battle.
Blood and sand clung to his cracked skin and chapped lips, his eyes and muscles ached from fatigue, his hands had gone numb from death grip he held his weapons in. Fear and nerves had dissipated and left him sick with dread. Dread that if they didn't overcome impossible odds and end the fight here not only would his children be left orphaned but this war would soon reach them. The military was Elias' life. But, so were his sons. His duty to his family and to his country were the only things that kept him moving, allowed him to lay among the bodies of his fallen allies, and drove him to keep fighting alongside his comrades-in-arms.
He repeated the motto and the Army's core values to stay grounded. It helped to at least take the focus off of the pounding and ringing in his head. Once he finished the silent recital he moved on to the names of his sons and the promise he had made to be home soon. Then the oath he'd taken to his country. He rattled them off one by one in his head. He didn't stop. Not even when the faint sounds of soldiers speaking in Arabic grew louder and louder. Not even as a sharp whistle from his commanding officer filled the air and he sprang up from beneath the bodies he'd been hidden under.
He could hear startled, confused cries from the soldiers but they were dead before they could react to the assault. By the time help would come, Elias and the others would have slipped back beneath the corpses that littered the desert and disappeared as quickly as they had surfaced. Swift and silent and deadly. The enemy had easily overpowered them before, and now they faced the same terror they'd inflicted upon the American soldiers.
By all odds, that night should have been Elias' last. The fact they had even survived as long as they had was a miracle in and of itself.
The fifteen that remained of the original sixty, fourteen still on the battlefield, against a force of just over four hundred. It had been five hundred just three days before. But the numbers of the American special forces meant to defend the civilian hospital had dwindled more than that of their enemy. They'd had to come up with a strategy. They sent away one of their own to evacuate the hospital, scouted their surroundings, and used the darkness and dead to their advantage. It was survival. They used what skills they had, the stealth they were trained to attack with, and suddenly the tables had turned. The enemy numbers dropped, more soldiers fell prey to their assault, and there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
They had run out of ammunition at the six hour mark. They had done all they could to preserve their ammunition, but after nearly four days it ran dry. They resorted to using their knives after that. It was just as effective, if not more up close and personal than any of the combat had been the last few days. Elias and the others had roughly the same strategy. They cut at tendons and arteries, disabled their enemy before they moved in for the kill, quick and precise, disappearing into the sand and blood that helped shroud them. The sharp, metallic taste in Elias' mouth stopped fazing him faster than he would have liked. Most of the blood spatter on his uniform didn't belong to him.
A few of them resorted to using their bare hands to crush, choke, and snap their enemies' necks once their blades had dulled beyond the point of being useful. The more brutish among their ranks suffered this plight, namely the USMC Captain that shared the command with Elias, Gabriel Rorke, a young and scrappy Navy SEAL, Thomas, and a Marine they called Ajax. Elias, along with a eerily quiet and skilled 17-year-old Marine named Keegan managed to make their blades last longer. They made their cuts count, aiming for what they needed to cripple and subdue the soldiers that outnumbered them. Eventually, though, their blades would give out too.
The night seemed to never end. But eventually the desert stilled.
The sky had started to shift from pitch black to a dull, dark blue. The quiet was unsettling for a moment, but as the group got to their feet and surveyed the death and destruction around them the atmosphere shifted. Painful, hard-earned, bitter victory. Pinks and purples eventually streaked across the sky as the group stumbled around the bodies of their fallen friends and foes alike, a thorough search as they lost the advantage of darkness. If they hadn't succeeded in their mission after that night, there wasn't any hope left. Elias refused to accept that.
They found only one of the enemy soldiers still alive, trembling against a crumbling wall. He had to have been no older than their younger members. He clutched his weapon tightly to his chest and babbled something in his native language, something that Elias was able to translate with his rough grasp on the language. He called them demons. Ghosts. As though they were a force of evil, vengeful spirits instead of very skilled yet desperate soldiers. More like frightened animals that had been backed into a corner. Yet the whole night Elias could recall frightened conversations before the enemy met their demise, exchanging stories of the invisible, silent enemy that was picking them off – like ghosts. Now the boy was left repeating those words to himself. He shuddered when he saw them, but threw down his weapon and scrambled to his feet, uttering a frantic prayer as he raced away. Maybe he was hoping they'd have mercy on him.
Elias let him go. He watched him race off before he turned away without a word, Keegan along with him. Gabriel admonished him for being soft, but the look on his face told him that his heart wasn't in it – he knew just as well as Elias and the others that they'd won the battle, perhaps even the war. And for a man like Elias, someone that wasn't in it for the kill count or the medals, that was good enough for him. They made their victory march away from what remained of the hospital, leaving the destruction behind to return to their awaiting allies back at their base. And as they stalked along, the enemy soldiers' words seemed to ring true. Somehow.
They returned changed. As though the sand and blood had anointed them anew. Elias could feel it. The shift in the air and in himself. Born from this change and their victory was a new task force of the surviving fifteen, congratulated and rewarded for their efforts. He didn't know it then, but all of those men would become the difference in life and death for him. They'd fight their way up his list of priorities, beat out only by his children. And they'd be the only force that kept their country from collapsing into ruin. Silent heroes, either cursed or blessed depending on their perspective. Ghosts.
Eventually, Elias was able to clean up, sit down, and talk to his boys. The fact it was only a choppy video call meant nothing to him. It was still the only reward he needed. This time he could promise them without any shadow of a doubt that he was going to return. They grinned and cheered, practically bursting with excitement. And that made everything he'd been through worth it. His boys and the men he fought alongside had gotten him through that battle, both a reminder to keep him grounded throughout the hell that he and the others fought their way through. Serving in the shadows was a small price to pay to protect both of those things, he decided.
What he didn't know then was that that battle had marked what would become the beginning of the end. The middle east collapsed over time, the political climate shifted, South American nations were forced under one banner and one alliance. And everything started to fall apart. The Ghosts became the only thing keeping the US in one piece. And they would become its undoing, too.
12 Years Later
July 10th, 2017
San Diego, California, United States.
Logan Walker, for as long as he could remember, wanted nothing more than to be like his brother and father. He and his brother, David, were too young when their mother died to have many if any memories of her at all which meant that their father was their entire world – he and the men he served alongside in the military were the only family that the two boys had. The men they loved and admired most were soldiers, they grew up on stories of elite soldiers (that they'd fondly dubbed "ghost stories" as a nod to the unit's alleged moniker), and the military had been a part of their lives for as long as they could remember, so naturally the only course of action for them was to one day enlist.
It had been their dream since they were old enough to talk. Their father brought them up on army values before they were even old enough to understand what they meant, and they begged him to teach him everything he could. They had only briefly gone to school before their father's schedule demanded something more flexible, thus began their homeschooling, and once that started they had plenty of time to prepare for their future. Their childhoods had been spent camping and hunting in all types of weather, but with the catch that they had to learn to survive in those kinds of environments. They learned not just how to survive, but how to thrive. Weeks of backpacking, long hikes, hunting, fashioning their own weapons, learning all manners of resourcefulness. They trained practically their whole lives for the hope of enlisting.
To the outside observer, it seemed like some sort of cruel punishment or sick torture their father forced them to endure for years. But the truth was, he allowed them to and taught them those skills because he loved them. They could quit at any time, take a completely different course, and there would be no judgment from him. He waited until they were old enough despite their pleas from an incredibly young age, and he was with them every step of the way to teach and guide them. He was always there if they needed him. Always there to help and protect them. He was their father and their greatest teacher and they loved him. They wanted to be like him. They wanted to do something great and meaningful with their lives.
By the time they reached their teen years they'd had an unconventional childhood but a no less happy one. The best thing to come of that, in Logan's opinion, was the bond that their family developed. The three of them were close. Far closer than most. For as long as Logan could remember, his father and brother were by his side. He trailed after his brother like a shadow. They were each other's best friend. And the two of them were able to read each other and their father like an open book. It was as though they'd invented their own sort of language, one where talking wasn't necessary – they could pick up on the slightest shift in one another's moods, what they might be thinking, what they might do, all without ever having to say a word. Logan took it for granted growing up, but little by little he had started to realize how special that kind of relationship with his family was. He liked the way things were in their family. Where he didn't have to be loud and obnoxious all the time just to be heard.
Unfortunately, that bond did come with a depressing price. Courtesy of a two year age gap between the two brothers. On the day of his eighteenth birthday in March that year, David up and enlisted and shipped out not a week later, which left Logan behind to keep growing up while his brother got the chance to put their lifelong skills to the test and fulfill his half of their dream. Logan was happy for him, beyond happy even, but he was restless without David around. One good thing to come of that, though, was that Logan had a few extra years to prepare and their father took every opportunity to take him out camping or on hikes to keep him occupied in his brother's absence. That and school at least did something to fill the void left behind by his brother. And considering the fact that their father had become even more attentive than he already was, Logan guessed David being out of the house felt strange to him as well.
They saw him when he wrapped up basic training at the start of June, just in time for summer vacation. He had to ship out to his AIT assignment at Fort Benning right after he graduated, which made the visit incredibly short lived. Logan understood, and he had other things to occupy his time. He wasn't about to make his brother feel bad just because he happened to be a bit depressed. Besides, it wasn't as though he couldn't send him letters. He made peace with the fact that that was just his brother's life now. And soon enough it would be his, too. It had taken him a while, but he adapted.
The fact that Logan had eventually gotten over it and settled into a new routine made his father's surprise for him all the more surprising. His sixteenth birthday was in early July, and he hadn't expected anything more from David than a letter or, maybe if he was lucky, a nice, long video call. You weren't really allowed leave during AIT. He had prepared for absolutely nothing from him. He didn't want a big deal to be made, just a dinner with his father and maybe a movie, and he'd just idle the day away. But when his father had called him to help him bring in groceries, Logan left the living room just to find his brother standing in the front doorway with a grin on his face. Evidently, their father – who had retired early and instead worked a contracting job in supply or something along those lines – still had some influence. He pulled some strings and got David (who had recently gotten the 'cool' nickname 'Hesh' that he'd come up with to stick outside of Logan and their father teasing him with it occasionally) a little over a week of leave.
A week that went by faster than Logan would have liked.
It was early in the afternoon on the last day. Their father had taken them for a hike in the woods that butted up against their neighborhood. It was an almost perfect summer day and they wanted to make the most of it. They were on their way back when Logan, knowing that his brother was going to have to ship back out the next day, decided that he was going to stall for time. Somehow he convinced his father and brother to take a break once they were maybe fifteen or twenty minutes from the house, give or take. They had exchanged a look that told him they were onto him, but they'd always had a hard time saying no to him. They took up positions among some rocks and got situated, and Logan had asked to hear one of their father's stories to further pass the time.
There was always a new story with him, somehow. He'd told them countless stories, some of them even firsthand experiences, but their favorites were always his 'Ghost Stories'. There was just something about them that enthralled them. Of course, they'd gotten more skeptical of the stories the older they got, or at the very least suspicious that there was more to it, but they were still fun. He told them all like vague legends, even after they were old enough for the novelty of spooky sounding stories to wear off, and he always had a certain look in his eyes when he told them. The one he told them that time was an old one. Probably the oldest one he'd ever told them. He probably just picked one he could get through quickly to appease Logan, not that anyone would hear Logan complain about it.
It was the story of the special forces unit that had been assigned to defend a civilian hospital, only to be severely outnumbered and overpowered by the enemy forces. But they fought bravely and relentlessly for three days until only fifteen remained. Then they used the sand and darkness and dead bodies to their advantage. They hid in waiting until the enemy approached. Then they lunged out from the shadows and up from the sand and cut the enemy down one by one just to disappear again, and they repeated the process until the enemy had been confused, scared, and crushed. One slipped away just to be found traumatized in the desert, mumbling about a menacing, unbeatable force of American soldiers that had supernatural combat abilities. Ghosts. That's what he called them. And thus, the legend that shaped Logan and his brother's entire lives was born.
Their father finished the story and looked between the two of them. He had a smile on his face, one that looked almost proud, and he locked eyes with Logan. "Well? Good enough story for you?" he asked him with a light chuckle. "Been a while since I told that one."
"I think it was more fun when we were kids," Hesh commented with a snort. He held his hand to his face and ran his thumb across his lips, having spent the story staring at the ground in thought. He dropped his hand to his other arm, which hung across his knee, and looked over at their father. "I mean, c'mon, you're telling us all that really happened?"
"So the legend goes," their father said in his best narrator voice, as if they were little kids he was trying to scare with a campfire story. "Don't tell me you lost your sense of wonder and humor back in boot camp." He looked back at Logan with a playful twinkle in his familiar brown eyes. "Guess he's too big and bad for us now, Logan."
"I thought it was fun," Logan replied with a shrug as he cocked his head to one side and gave Hesh a look. His words were almost flat. For his brother and father, though, they picked up on the traces of different emotions whenever he said something. He spoke at an even level, not quite a mumble but nowhere near as loud as the two of them. To outsiders, he'd always been soft-spoken and mild-mannered. Never quite as talkative as his brother. Never quite as expressive, either. It wasn't an issue for the people that he considered family. That's why Hesh was able to tell Logan was joking as he nonchalantly added, "Dad's right. You're just boring now."
"And you're a dirty traitor," Hesh said with a chuckle. Logan actually managed a smile at that. However, Hesh wasn't about to let their dad evade the original topic. In fact, he had a look about him. One that Logan had noticed more and more as time went on. His usual curiosity, yes. But there was almost…suspicion. No doubt their father noticed it, too. "C'mon, Dad. You don't honestly believe that story's true?"
Their father's expression flickered for just a moment. His smile faded, but he just blew a breath from his nose and got to his feet as he looked between the two of them again. Hesh's expression was almost a challenge. One that their father took in stride. "Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do. Stranger things have happened." He chuckled. He looked Logan's way again before he turned and started to march back up the path that led back to their neighborhood, lightly patting Hesh's shoulder as he passed him. "Now c'mon, enough sitting around. Let's head back to the house. You've gotta pack. And all of us need a shower before I get dinner started."
Hesh and Logan were quick to follow, though Logan grumbled and grunted as he sat up. By now the sweat they'd worked up on their hike had settled and done its job to cool them and the breeze offered a pleasant relief from the hot summer sun, the only downside being how sticky Logan's skin felt as a result. He almost didn't want to go, mainly since it meant Hesh's packing was going to be finished sooner rather than later. But he wanted to get the grime off of him as soon as he could. He could also feel hunger pangs in his stomach. The mention of dinner had almost been enough to make his mouth start watering. Their dad won that battle, he decided. On account of near starvation. Maybe that was the real reason he had been so willing to sit down and tell them a story.
Although all three of them had perfected the art of sneaking through brush completely unnoticed, that refreshing breeze wasn't on their side that day. Granted, they hadn't been trying to hide. They were upwind and a deer caught their scent. It startled with a rustle and crunch of the underbrush, which drew Hesh and Logan's attention towards the source of the noise. Just in time to catch a doe bound across the creek that ran at the base of the slope. It disappeared in a flash of brown as quickly as it had appeared. It wasn't the first or the last time Logan would ever see a deer, especially in these woods, but he had been naturally drawn in by the sound. Another distraction for him to fixate on. Even if just for a few seconds.
Their father's footsteps halted and Logan guessed he probably followed their line of sight, but he didn't give them the chance to get distracted. "Let's go, boys. Enough stalling," he said, though he didn't sound irritated with them. Their attention snapped back to him. "Shake a leg."
He began up the path again, taking long strides to get himself further up the sloping path. Hesh glanced over his shoulder at Logan, motioning for him to follow, then he jogged after their father. Logan sprang up from the rock he'd been resting against. He took a breath and marched after his brother and father. He fell in step behind Hesh, matching every step he took exactly. A habit of his that he developed as a child. When he was younger he used to have to stare at the ground to follow in his brother's steps, and make deliberate effort to do it, but eventually it became almost automatic. Now he did it without having to think about it.
They resumed their hike, but the stillness of the afternoon was disrupted by a sudden shaking. The whole ground shook. Logan stumbled off balance but caught himself, his brother recovering faster and reaching out his arm in front of Logan's chest as though that was going to protect him from the quake. It wasn't the first time they'd ever experienced an earthquake after spending their whole lives in San Diego. All things considered, it was actually small compared to the ones they were used to. The earth shuddered before it settled again, just like always. Logan shook off the odd feeling he got.
His brother got his bearings again, letting out a light chuckle. "Whoah. Little tremor there," he said. "Haven't felt one of those in a while."
"Yeah, we haven't gotten any big enough to feel for a while," their father commented, grunting as he trotted down the slope in the path. He sounded as though he was smiling as he added, "Y'know, those things used to freak the hell out of your mother. She grew up in Texas – tornado didn't faze her, but a little earthquake and she'd lose it."
"Well, they aren't really fun," Logan murmured. He'd never liked them. He was used to them, yes, but in the sense he learned to live with them and tolerate it. His mother died when he was barely a year old and yet it always seemed the two of them had a few things in common. He didn't really have an opinion on that.
"Don't think anyone would disagree with you on that, buddy," his father commented with a shake of his head and a light laugh. "I'd take 'em over a tornado any day, though."
They marched along a few more steps, the path jutting up into another steep climb. They were on the home stretch. Logan knew the path well. As the three began to climb up the hill, the earth shuddered underneath them again. Not as harshly as it had done before. It didn't knock them off balance that time. An aftershock, more likely than not, but Logan still tensed at it and felt his stomach twist into knots. He swallowed down the feeling as Hesh and his father continued on, unbothered. "Another one," Hesh commented. Something about his voice when he said it made Logan wonder if he shared in his nerves. "Guess we'll probably get a couple more of 'em before everything settles down."
"Yup. You know how it is. It'll be over soon enough, just gotta give 'em time to settle down," their father replied. That was what usually happened.
A sudden gust of wind whipped through the trees, smelling of damp soil and rain. But Logan also picked up on a different smell. Smoke. Maybe a barbeque or bonfire someone had lit in their backyard. At least, that was what the optimistic side of him said. He couldn't see his brother's face when he spoke, but he sounded as though he'd picked up on the same thing. He didn't go outright and say it, though. "Huh. Wind's starting to pick up, too."
They followed the path as it winded up the slope. The end of the path was within Logan's sight, the power lines that ran through the neighborhood visible through the gap in the treeline. They weren't out of the woods, though – both literally and figuratively. Another tremor shook them off balance, and Logan was barely able to keep himself from hitting the ground, and the smell of smoke hit him once again. There was a distant boom. Logan had lived through several earthquakes in the sixteen years he'd been alive, but after being quite literally shaken to his core, something just didn't feel right. He felt the onslaught of motion sickness as he stumbled along, trying to get his composure again, but his stomach didn't settle.
Hesh and his father must have been able to feel it, too. Their father glanced back at them. That was perhaps one of the only moments in Logan's life that he remembered seeing anything close to fear on his father's face, but he masked it well and simply picked up his pace. Hesh helped Logan get back on balance and then nervously called out to him. "Dad?"
"That didn't feel right," Logan said. His voice wavered slightly. It gave away his nerves, but only just. He moved closer to his brother, but both of them hesitated as their father just pushed on. He didn't say anything. Both of them knew something was wrong. They just didn't know what yet. "Dad? What's wrong?"
"Let's just get back to the house and make sure nothing got damaged," their father said. He seemed to be doing his best to keep it together, but Logan picked up on the edges and undertones in his voice. He knew his father. He just had never heard or seen him like this before.
Neither of the boys questioned it, though. Their father broke into a jog and they did the same. They jogged down the path and vaulted over an old, fallen tree that had been sitting on the path for as long as Logan could remember, and they raced up the path as it shot up and to the edge of the treeline. The sky seemed to flash and then go dark all at once by the time they reached the road at the top of the slope and broke out of the woods. The earth shook and rumbled beneath them again. The smoke in the air was overwhelming now. Not only could he smell it but it was visible. It was like a dark shroud had suddenly descended on their neighborhood. A chill ran down Logan's spine, but panic didn't seize him until he picked up on his father and brother's now visible, unhidden fear. They'd all seen the damage done by earthquakes before. But this wasn't caused by an earthquake.
People and cars shot past them and the earth shook forcefully. Another flash. Logan felt himself thrown off balance again as he crashed into his brother and nearly knocked them both into the road. Hesh caught him once again, ever the dutiful protector, and winced against the light as he pulled him to his feet. Their father made it to the middle of the road, looking wildly around at the various, massive explosions from almost every direction. Like a bombing, not an earthquake. Over the deafening boom that followed the flash, Hesh cried out, "Dad, what's happening?!"
"Shit…it's ODIN. It's ODIN!" There was fear and fury in his voice. Logan furrowed his brow, too stunned by the fact he'd been repeatedly tossed about like a salad to make sense of what their father was saying. He raced off down the road, towards their house, and Hesh and Logan followed without any hesitation as he shouted an order over his shoulder, "Get to the house boys! Now! It's an attack, not an earthquake!"
They chased after their father and weaved between their neighbors as they filed into the streets. They ran as fast and hard as their legs could carry them, until Logan's lungs were burning. He suspected that it was from the smoke rather than the running, though. They followed the street that would lead them to the back part of their property, making it up the road in a matter of seconds. Hesh's voice rose up over the chaos as they ran, catching up to their father and matching his pace. "What're you – hey, careful!"
A truck sped around the curve and Logan felt his brother harshly yank him by the back of his shirt while their father skidded to a halt and threw his arms behind him. He instinctively put himself between the two of them and the vehicle, not that it would have done much, and once the coast was clear he took off again. Logan and Hesh followed just like before, Logan able to feel his pulse pounding in his skull at that point. Around them the neighborhood had already started to crumble to pieces. Vehicles and people sped along the cracking road, lampposts and electrical poles started to tip and fall towards the ground, the Spanish-style houses of their neighborhood started to break apart at their foundation. All the while smoke burned Logan's eyes and darkened the sky overhead, dimming the sunlight. More tremors, more explosions. Dark explosions and bursts of flame and smoke. It was like the start of the end of the world.
They were reaching the base of the hill that their house sat atop. Logan could see the two lights that decoratively marked the edge of their property – the back pathway. As they drew nearer, their father shouted to them, "You boys get to the house and grab your packs! We're leaving! I'm going for the truck!"
"But Dad –" Hesh started to protest. The slight crack in his voice scared Logan.
"Just do it, son!" their father practically bellowed at him. As their boots hit dirt instead of asphalt, their father split off and leapt over the gate as he headed for the other end of the long driveway. Before he was out of earshot, he called out to them, "It'll be okay! Just get in and get out, I'll be right there!"
"Yes, sir," Hesh said, though Logan noticed he seemed to steel himself first. They watched their father go. Logan watched him go. His stomach refused to stop twisting itself in knots. Then Hesh turned to Logan right before he raced towards the already crumbling stone wall of their backyard. "C'mon, Logan, let's go!"
"Right behind you!" Logan called out. His throat was already hoarse from the smoke. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the strain of the mad dash they'd made for the house having nothing on the years he and his brother spent doing what was essentially survival cross country for practically all their lives. That didn't mean his muscles weren't already threatening to give out on him. That was the result of nerves rather than fatigue.
He followed his brother up the path and the two of them clambered over the wall. The familiar sight of their house came into view, an American flag hanging from the balcony, their outdoor furniture already knocked over. The water of their pool was filled with debris that hadn't been there earlier that morning. And the vibrant green of their backyard looked dull. He didn't have time to dwell on that, though, laser focused on their back door. They cleared the yard in no time, both of them choosing to spring from the ground to the steps instead of wasting their time stumbling up the stairs. Hesh beat Logan there and already had the door open by the time Logan made it to the top.
The ground shook and Logan nearly fell backwards down the steps just as his foot hit the top, but Hesh grabbed him by the arm and hauled him inside. Logan leaned over, his hands gripping his knees. He forced himself to straighten back up as he heard Hesh slam the door close behind them. As if that was going to keep them safe. The house shuddered and shook, the glass from the windows and various knick-knacks had already started to break and fall to the tile floor. It hadn't started to fall down on top of them yet but if those explosions and tremors got any worse they'd be done for.
Logan brushed some stray glass and dust out of his hair and coughed as Hesh's boots crunched across the debris. His brother had a panicked look on his face as he ran his fingers through his own brown hair, grabbing a fistful of it. "What the hell is going on? What kind of an attack was Dad talking about?" he said, coughing out a breath of his own. He marched into the house, opening the doors that led to the front entryway before he turned to head upstairs. He was talking aloud the whole way. "How the hell would ODIN have anything to do with this…?"
"What's ODIN?" Logan asked him as he followed his brother up the stairs, both at a jog. Something dawned on him. Something that up until that point he'd completely forgotten about. "Wait, hang on, isn't that that…satellite thing Dad was telling us about a few years ago?"
"Yeah, it's one of the military's pet projects…but for it to fire on us…" Hesh trailed off as he forced open one of the hall closets. "Never mind, we'll worry about that later. Here." He pulled out their packs and two Army issue duffle bags, tossing one pack towards Logan. It hit his chest with a heavy thud and he had to compensate for the sudden weight, not that he had expected it to be empty – they always kept supplies, weapons, clothes, and anything else packed in case they ever wanted a spontaneous camping trip. It saved them the hassle of having to plan and pack. They could just grab it and go. And one of the duffle bags was also meant for emergencies, while the other belonged to their father in place of the heavy packs they had. As Logan caught the bag, Hesh threw his own pack around his shoulders with a grunt, then tried to carry both of the duffle bags on his own. "I've got Dad's stuff, just get downstairs."
"I can handle it." Logan grabbed the other duffle bag from Hesh's arms. His brother opened his mouth to protest, but Logan wasn't interested in hearing it. "Don't argue, I've got it. You can't carry all that weight by yourself."
"I think you're forgetting which one of us is an actual soldier," his brother said, forcing a breathy laugh out. He gently grabbed the back of Logan's head and guided him forward, letting him take the lead. "Alright, c'mon. Let's get outta here."
The two of them hurried downstairs, getting jostled by the shaking of the house the whole way. They made it downstairs and into the foyer just as the ground gave another violent shake. The weight of the bags made it harder for Logan to steady himself and he fell forward, landing on his hands and knees as his vision went cloudy from a sudden burst of smoke and sparks. The sound of wood and tile breaking apart and falling around him told him to keep his head down. He and his brother both coughed and staggered to their feet. Logan's lungs and throat were burning as he tried to croak out his brother's name. "He–Hesh? David?"
As the smoke and dust settled he could make out his brother's shape ahead of him. "I don't think this place is gonna take much more of that," Hesh coughed out. He pressed forward, making it up the steps that led to the front door. "I'm not gonna let you die here, c'mon!" He raced to the double front door and tried to open it, just as Logan jogged up the steps, through the flaming debris from their collapsing home. He felt a pang in his chest. Fear, dread, and grief all at once. Fear that only grew as Hesh was unable to open the door. "Dammit, it's jammed!"
"Think we can force it?" Logan asked him, trying to swallow in spite of the tightness in his throat.
"Guess we'll find out. Help me out," Hesh said and Logan got into position across from him, bracing against the front door. "You ready?" Logan just nodded and prayed he had the strength to get the door open. He prayed both of them did. His brother took a breath and raised his voice, "Three, two, one, push!"
The two of them threw their weight against the front door and it was forced open. The sunlight was blinding to Logan after his eyes had adjusted to the dimness of their house but he sprang forward blindly alongside his brother. He squinted, his vision adjusting, just in time to see a flash of light from the sky as a projectile streaked towards the ground. It made impact at the base of the hill their neighborhood sat atop. For a second it was like the world held its breath. Then it split apart at the seams. A sickening rumbling and groaning filled the air as metal, asphalt, and dirt were torn into pieces and kicked up by the shockwave of the explosion and Logan and Hesh instinctively stumbled back with arms braced over their faces. The crumbling settled at the edge of the sidewalk in front of their yard before everything started to dip into the newly formed crater.
"Holy shit!" Hesh spat out, but he didn't hesitate before he leapt over one of the widening gaps in the road. And Logan didn't hesitate in following him. Over the sounds of utter destruction as they ran, Hesh called out to him, "We're gonna be okay! We just have to find Dad and we'll get outta here!"
"What if Dad can't find a way back to us through all of this?!" Logan couldn't help but ask. He didn't really want an honest answer. The thought terrified him. Less afraid that their father would leave them behind – if he was still alive, he would find a way to them – and more worried that his attempt to get back to them would get him killed.
"We'll find a way!" Hesh called back. "I promise! He's never let us down before!"
Logan tried to reply but the sounds drowned out his already quiet voice. Even to his own ears. Adrenaline kept them going as they tried to navigate the unrecognizable streets they used to know like the back of their hands. They jumped across gaps in the earth, dodged burst pipes that were filling in the ever growing fissures, raced through houses that were caving in on themselves. As they ran Logan could hear his brother's urgent shouts of encouragement, though they were faint over the sound of distant explosions. It was as though it was never ending. He wondered when their luck was going to run out, if it hadn't already. The odds of them making it out seemed to dwindle more and more.
They slid down a slanted chunk of road, though it was more like they slipped and took control of the situation, and Logan could feel his skin burning from the impact. His muscles screamed out in pain. His chest and throat burned and he felt as though he was on the verge of puking from motion sickness. He followed his brother through every turn, staying close with him out of fear of them being separated. He was already fearful for their father's safety. The last thing either of them needed was to lose sight of one another. They stumbled along, running off pure instinct and adrenaline. But the path ahead was cut off. They could jump into the growing landslide or onto the roofs of houses caught in it and hope for the best. They took one look at each other, Hesh shouted something about needing to jump, and they both prepared themselves for whatever happened next as they jumped for the slowly moving structure below.
The tile roof gave out underneath Logan's weight as soon as his legs slammed into it and he was promptly dropped to the hardwood floor below. The tile fell on top of him, adding to the debris scattered throughout the abandoned living room. The house had already split into two. It wasn't as if the roof wasn't going to be destroyed eventually anyways. Pain coursed through his body. He was lucky it wasn't worse, but the bags had cushioned the fall. He rolled off his back and forced himself to get to his feet. His brother scrambled up as well and helped Logan steady himself before the two of them bolted out of the house through a broken window. Hesh called out for him to get above ground. Lucky for them they had to go through a second house to actually get there.
They raced through a basement and up the stairs as Hesh slammed through the remainder of a drywall. In front of them, another projectile shot across the sky. Logan spat out a string of curses his father would have scolded him for had he been there at that exact moment. Hesh just grabbed one of the straps Logan clutched at like a lifeline to urge him out of his stunned stillness. "We'll get through this, just keep running!"
As if Logan needed the reminder to spur him on.
The road ahead had started to level out. It was settled compared to everything they had run through. It looked as though they were almost in the clear, but as they reached the top of a broken, sloped piece of road with a clear stretch ahead of them, another explosion went off close by. They both skidded to a stop, but it was too late for them to backtrack. A tanker truck was thrown into the air and sent flying towards them, and Logan tried to stumble backwards as Hesh dove for the ground below. Logan's reaction time was too slow. The tanker landed several feet from them, but the blast from the fuel that ignited sent a shockwave that he couldn't get clear of. The force collided with Logan's body and he was flung backwards.
He felt nothing but pain. Pain everywhere. The world was black for a few seconds and his ears rang so much it felt like it rattled his skull. He heard his brother shout his name. He opened his eyes and tried to focus his vision, but everything was blurred. He could make out his brother kneeling beside him. He could see the various cuts and scrapes that he sported, along with a worried, desperate look on his face. "Logan?! Logan! Shit!" Hesh shouted. Logan felt one of his hands on the base of his head, holding him up. Panic had started to creep into his voice, but Logan was too out of it to notice at the time. "You're alright! You're alright, just stay still!"
He always had been the unlucky one between the two of them.
Through the flames, the shape of a pickup truck came into view. The driver door swung open and their father practically launched himself out and raced towards them. "Hesh?!" he called, and Hesh squinted as he tried to focus his own eyes through the smoke. When no response immediately followed, their father's shouts became more desperate. Forceful. He switched to Hesh's real name. "David?! Logan?! BOYS! Answer me! You alright?!"
"Dad!" The relief in Hesh's voice was so clear even Logan picked up on it. He felt a dull ache of relief in his own chest but he couldn't move or talk, so he couldn't share in the relieved laughter that Hesh managed to force out. He pulled Logan's arm over his shoulder and lifted them both to their feet as he started the slow approach towards their father. "Dad, thank God! We're alive! Logan got caught in that blast, but he's still breathing!"
"Shit, Logan!" Their father sprinted the rest of the way, closing the gap between them. He cupped Logan's face and tilted his head towards him. "C'mon, Logan, look at me, son. Can you hear me alright?" Logan thought he managed to nod, but the terrified, desperate look on his father's face worsened and he guessed he didn't. Still, their father kept it together. "Just help me get him to the truck, now! We gotta get out of here!"
Logan numbly stumbled along as his father and brother guided him along, barely aware of his own legs moving. Everything happened in short flashes. As the truck got closer, Logan felt his legs give out underneath him as the world went dark again. Next thing he remembered was the familiar feeling of being lifted into his father's arms and carried, albeit awkwardly considering the fact he almost matched his father's height at this point. His brother kept his head from hanging. He was aware of that. His father's voice rang in his head again. "You're gonna be alright son!" he shouted, though his voice was strained with effort and concern.
"Hold on, boys!"
Eventually he felt the hard surface of the truck bed. The bags had been taken from him. He heard them thud against the bed after his brother clambered in. His brother's shoulder came to rest against him and he heard his heavy breaths as he recovered from the run. Then their father slammed the door shut and gunned it. He opened his eyes again, his head pounding. Hesh sat beside him, eyes fixated on the sky overhead. Through the back windshield Logan could see his father switch between keeping his eyes on the road and watching the destruction on the city below. Although he knew he shouldn't have looked, Logan did anyway, and watched as the projectiles rained down on the city miles away from them, leveling it right before his eyes.
He tilted his head up, following the trails into the sky. Then everything around him disappeared into darkness.
The first thing Logan was aware of as his consciousness returned was how much pain he was in. His head and eyelids felt heavy and his muscles ached and burned. There was a pounding in his head and a ringing in his ears that he wanted nothing more than to try and crawl away from, but he was too sore to move anything. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt. The only thing that offered him even a minor bit of relief was the stiff bedding he was apparently laying on. It felt like a hospital bed. It smelled like a hospital bed.
The second thing that he became aware of was his father and brother's presence in the room. Muffled sounds told Logan he was in fact in a hospital, and it was a busy one at that if the various pages being called over the PA system were any indication. He heard a TV in the room with him. It played at a low volume but it was enough to stifle the sounds outside. Channels were switched through at a rapid fire pace, each and every last one of them sounding like fragments of the same news story. As they were flipped through, Logan tried to piece something together from the limited information he was able to register.
Click.
"...the Federation of the Americas hijacked the U.S. Orbital Defense Initiative Space Station ODIN…"
Click.
"...kinetic rods from the ODIN station primarily targeted major cities, however most of the devastation occurred along the southern United States…"
Click.
"...an estimated twenty-seven-million casualties, and countless more injured or missing…"
Click.
"...two United States Air Force astronauts destroyed the station before further attacks could be launched…"
Click.
"...Federation broke the treaty signed in 2015 with the hijacking, and have launched a full scale invasion by way of the devastated southern areas. The Department of Defense has bolstered the remaining U.S. forces to fend off the attack and protect those assisting in evacuation efforts…"
Click.
"...the culmination of nearly twelve years of international tension and political unrest…"
Click.
"...the Federation of the Americas has officially declared war on the United States…"
"David, just turn off the damn TV." Logan recognized his father's voice. But there was a strain to his words that Logan hadn't heard since the week that followed the death of a family friend two years prior. He only snapped when he was near the end of his rope. He let out a sigh almost as soon as the words left his mouth. "I'm sorry, son."
The TV cut off nevertheless and Hesh let out a sigh of his own. Logan heard his foot tapping the floor at a rapid fire pace, fidgeting, and felt the fabric shift at the base of the bed as his brother placed the remote back down. He was quiet for a moment, then he responded to their father. "Why didn't you tell us things were this bad?"
"You two watch the news. You know what's been going on in the world," their father answered. He sounded exhausted. "This isn't anything new."
"Considering the fact we watched our entire city get leveled I'd say it is," Hesh almost snapped at him, clearly irritated. Logan guessed his anger was directed at the situation and not so much at their father. He let out a huff. "Sorry, I'm just…it's been a lot to take in."
"Yeah. I know." Their father, usually unshakeable, sounded like a completely different man. Logan finally mustered the strength to move, slowly shifting underneath the blanket, and he let out an audible grunt of pain that caught his father and brother's attention. The assault of light on his eyelids made his headache worse. But the sound of his father and brother getting to their feet followed and a second later he felt the calloused but gentle hand of his father pressed against his forehead. "Logan? You with me, buddy?"
"I…think so. I feel kinda dead…" Logan mumbled out. Both his father and brother let out relieved laughs and exchanged a look as they hovered over him. His eyes adjusted to the light and he grimaced. "Everything hurts."
"I'd be amazed if it didn't. You got tossed around pretty good," his father said to him, slowly running his thumb along Logan's forehead. A gentle massage that distracted from the migraine he had. "You need us to get the doctor?"
"No…" Logan tried to sit up, but the movement made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn't get very far before he fell back against the pillow. Frustrated, he squinted and took a look around. "We're not back home?"
They both hesitated, but his brother answered him. "No. Home…all of San Diego, actually, it's…it's gone." There was a complicated expression on his face. Several different emotions all at once. Underneath it all, he looked angry. He had his fists clenched at his side and there was a tic in his jaw. He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "But we're all okay. Except for you, but you'll be as good as new in no time, huh?"
"Where are we then?" Logan asked as he drew in a breath, stifling a yawn.
"Los Angeles Air Force Base. Or…what's left of it," his father replied. He sat down on the edge of the bed and retracted his hand from Logan's head. "The naval base at Point Loma was targeted, along with the fleet. I had to keep driving, get somewhere safe…the space center was targeted, but the full payload never hit, so most of the base was still in one piece." He paused and started to pick at the coarse fabric of the blanket. "Civilian hospitals are overrun with casualties, so I took you to the ER on base. They said you've got a concussion, we've been waiting for you to wake up."
It was then that Logan realized he was still in his t-shirt and the hand-me-down, military-esque cargo pants he'd been wearing during the attack. His arms and hands had been scraped and cut up, but he'd been cleaned up and patched up. The same went for his brother and father, though they seemed mostly fine other than some scrapes and cuts here and there. He tossed the blanket off of him and tried to sit up, his voice strained as he managed to speak up. "Are we still under attack?"
"Hey, sit back down. You need to take it easy," Hesh said. He moved around their father and put a hand on Logan's shoulder, pushing him back down. Logan winced and an apologetic look flashed across Hesh's face. "Don't worry about any of that."
"If there's a war I wanna fight," Logan mumbled. It might have sounded childish, but because of his physical state he instead just sounded delirious.
"You can't, son," his father said, a look on his face that Logan hadn't seen since he was a child, and Logan turned his head away from them, clenching his fist. He heard his father sigh. "You know you can't. Not in this state. And you're not old enough yet…you'll get yours, just be patient."
Logan let out a sigh of his own. Both of them went quiet until his brother's phone rang and all three of them jumped at the sound. Hesh sighed but grabbed the phone and answered it, crossing the room and stepping out into the hall. The only thing Logan heard clearly was, "Private Walker speaking." And the door shut behind him.
Logan already figured out who was on the other side of that call, anyways. It didn't take a genius. They would probably need soldiers, now more than ever. As if he could tell what Logan was thinking, his father gently patted his hand and offered him a reassuring smile. "Everything's gonna be okay, Logan. Don't worry about it."
But Logan wasn't good at not worrying.
His brother returned with a look on his face that told Logan he wasn't going to like what he had to say. And he didn't.
Everything changed after that. Logan was no exception.
Only 72 hours went by before Elias was meant to report to his duty station.
In that time, he'd been assigned temporary housing and had tried to get his youngest son settled in. Those three days were a new kind of hell. 'Housing' was a very generous word to describe the tent they were put up in, but he'd lived in worse conditions during his time in service and he'd made sure to never spoil his sons – if they could survive one of his camping trips, he knew they'd be able to survive this. His only gripe would be the fact he had to leave his child by himself in a potential warzone. The Federation wasted no time in launching their invasion. Elias knew it would be just a matter of time before they pushed their way up to Los Angeles to finish what they started, and Elias would have preferred it if his teenage son was not situated directly on the front lines.
He should have expected the attack. He'd kept an eye on the state of things ever since the Middle East had collapsed. The Federation had taken the entirety of the South American countries by force, united them under one banner, taking advantage of the opportunity presented to them – tensions had always been high with them. They eventually became too greedy, too power hungry. They had flourished economically while the rest of the world struggled, but they didn't stop there and little by little they had pushed further and further north, and the countries they conquered were unable to stop them. America picked themselves back up, and what remained of the free countries in Central and South America had enlisted the U.S.'s help in driving them off. But none of the operations succeeded. Elias had been on several of them. The Ghosts had been the key in keeping the Federation at a standstill, but their luck ran out too. A treaty was put in place after the assassination of their leader in 2015. That held them off for all of two years. They waited until America was caught off guard, and they struck.
Elias had always had a sense of duty. He'd spent his entire adult life in the army. He couldn't have been prouder of his boys for their desire to serve, but that didn't make sending David off to the front lines any easier. He shipped out again the day after the attack. He'd returned to complete his AIT school, then he would likely be dropped on the front lines to stave off the Federation forces and hold what little ground they had left, just like Elias. But Logan had only just turned sixteen at the start of the month. He was a complicated boy – he kept his cards close to his chest, but Elias knew him as well as he knew his own mind. He knew both of them. They were angry. Logan was already desperate to fight. Desperate to chase his brother and father onto the battlefield. Elias had a feeling that come his seventeenth birthday, he'd be expected to sign for him to enlist…and unfortunately Logan knew Elias well enough to know he wouldn't be denied. Elias had never just given his boys whatever they wanted. But as far as their life goals were concerned, within reason, Elias had always supported them unconditionally. Logan had already started his scheming. And Elias wouldn't stand in his way.
He'd left Logan at one of the mess tents that particular morning. He'd been especially quiet. More so than usual. And those big brown eyes of his hadn't seemed quite as bright. He told himself it was the result of the attack and the concussion he'd suffered – moderate brain injury, it had required some scans, but he'd been released – but Elias knew that his sudden, overnight shift in mood was just the beginning. Logan would make a hell of a soldier one day, but it wouldn't be in the near future, and that was the issue. Or part of it. Elias hated that he had to leave him. He hated that he had to lie to his sons. He hated that he hadn't been able to protect them from all of this, and he hated that he couldn't change the past. He could, however, change the future.
He looked around the room at the familiar faces he had been met with. All of them looked exhausted. The fight never ended for them, and some of them felt the strain with the attack. They had been a part of his life for so long, such a staple that his sons referred to them all as their 'uncles' and their kids referred to him as the same, and yet it had been hard to recognize them at first. He saw the casualty reports. He knew why. Thomas Merrick, one of their best, had received news that his wife and kids hadn't made it out of the attack. Ajax's fiancée along with his father and sisters had been killed as well. Grim's parents, Torch's daughter, Kick's brother…the list went on. Keegan hadn't suffered the same losses, but both he and Elias shared in their comrades' grief the best that they were able. Like Logan, Keegan had become even more quiet, but Elias had heard him muttering prayers under his breath from where he had sat hunched over before the others had arrived. Gabriel was long gone. He'd been dead since the operation against the Federation that had gone south, just two years prior. And now they'd suffered more losses, as though the Federation hadn't stolen enough from them.
It felt cruel. It felt personal.
Elias looked over them. Once fifteen, then twenty, and then cut down to a mere ten. They were Ghosts alright, and Elias could feel it in the most literal sense. He sighed and pulled out the skull patterned balaclava from his pocket. He stared at it for a while, debating whether or not this would be worth it in the end and if their group could handle something of this scale, but he thought of his sons and reasoned that he'd overcome shitty odds before. He sighed and cleared his throat as he crumpled the cloth in his fist. The Ghosts that remained all lifted their heads in a silent question, and he tried for their sake not to look rattled.
Time to put the mask on.
Author's Note: This freaking game completely wrecked me and there's too little content for it, and certainly not a good ol' fashioned expansion novelization. I personally was not gonna let that stand.
I know it's been ten years and everyone has a weird hatred for this game (because they're boring), but I absolutely loved this game. Ghosts became one of my new favorite games, hands down. It's not perfect by any means (more on that in a moment) but the story hit me hard and I had a blast with it (played it twice within a few days). I'm a sucker for family and also dogs, so of course I latched onto the entire Walker family and you can pry them out of my cold, dead hands. I loved them so much. But I wish we got more time to spend with them, more time to explore their family dynamic, same with the other Ghosts...so that's gonna be the main goal of this fic.
However, as I said the game is not perfect. For one the game takes place over roughly a month (June 6th-July 5th...one day shy of a month), which is a crazy short amount of time, and to top it all off some of the dates in the Rorke Files kinda cause things to get a little funky when you look at the in game mission dates. I made a whole rant post on Tumblr about how it drove me completely insane trying to figure stuff out (and the wiki has a bunch of specific birthdates with no source for them...so they're zero help because I don't trust them), but I wanted to space things out for the sake of downtime and character bonding and the like, so I'm compromising.
I won't get into the mess that the Rorke Files vs. the game vs. the wiki cause, but I'm going to have the story run from March-July. Since the birthdates on the wiki have no source, all of the birthdates here are my personal headcanons. The only year I'm taking from the wiki for this is the main campaign being set in 2027.
Second big thing I'm going to be doing is getting into the behind the scenes on both sides of the conflict. Next chapter is going to get into that some before we jump into the main campaign. Last big change...as much as I enjoy the Call of Duty games I've played, I don't do grim-dark stories. The vibe might feel a little different, and that's because I want there to be a future for these characters to be fighting for. Hope and meaning to their lives. No depression and nihilism in my household. The rating may change due to language and violence as we go on, though.
Anyways, I'm going to do my best to do the story justice and give these characters what they deserved.
I hope y'all enjoy!
