Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish
Task Force 141
Task Force 141 Land-base, Location Classified
When Anya entered Shepherd's office, Soap was already there. With them, was another man, whom she had never met before.
"Ah, the woman of the hour," Shepherd greeted. "MacTavish has just told me the excellent results you've produced this year."
"Thank you, sir," Anya returned, shooting a quizzical look at Soap, but for some reason, he did not return her eye contact. Something was coming up, and she did not like how Soap looked.
"Anya, this gentleman over here, is Colonel Dimitri Batkin," Shepherd introduced the other man to Anya. "He was the PIC of the Russian Special Forces but has decided to work with us. I'll tell you the specifics later. He has made a deal with the US in exchange for his retirement and has presented to us a vital opportunity."
Batkin looked at Anya up and down and wasted no time. "Corporal Allen, the general wants you to infiltrate Vladimir Makarov's Inner Circle," he announced. "With my recommendation, of course."
"With all due respect, Colonel, if you are able to recommend personnel to Makarov, why couldn't you use your own men?" Anya asked. Something did not feel right here. Task Force 141 was created just to hunt Makarov down, they knew that he was ex-Special Forces, they knew everything about him that was on his file. If they needed someone on the inside, what difference would an American or a Russian make? "The honeypot is the oldest trick in the book. It'll never work."
It would have seemed that it was her protest that made it even more clear that she was the ideal candidate. "From what we know, Makarov is looking for someone whom he can share his plans with, someone who can take the reins when needed," Batkin added. "That's where you come in. We need someone fresh, someone whose record he cannot already obtain, that is why I can't use my own personnel."
"Allen, your eye for strategy is what caused these impeccable results," Shepherd said, pointing at her file. "You also speak fluent Russian. There is no one else more suited for the job that you. You are right, the honeypot is the oldest trick in the book, but that is exactly why we need to use it. The bastard would never know what hit him."
At that moment, Shepherd made it very clear. They were reaching a point where they could not have advanced further. Ever since the failure of Operation Kingfish, they had lost Captain Price, and Makarov was still as active as ever. If they needed to throw a woman at him, they might as well throw the one that they had in their hands.
Anya was silent. Her time serving as an Army Ranger and in Task Force 141 made it very clear that Shepherd did not care about his subordinates. She could not even fathom the possibilities if she had been compromised, and without support. If she died on the field, she would die as Makarov's associate, and all her time that she had served, would have gone to waste.
"Allen, think of the Intel that you would be able to provide from the inside," Shepherd pressed on. "You'll save more lives, amongst your brothers, and outside."
Soap and Anya exchanged glances. "Sir, Anya needs time to consider," Soap bargained. It had not been fair of Shepherd to appeal to Anya in that way, not when Shepherd would do anything that it took. He had heard of that kind of speech before, and he was not having it.
"Of course," Shepherd replied. "How much time do we have, Colonel?"
"A week, nothing more." Batkin said. "I need to make my own arrangements as well."
"Excuse us, gentlemen. I'll talk to Anya about this," Soap said, and ushered Anya out of Shepherd's office with him. They went to his instead. "Anya, you don't have to do this," he reasoned. "You go out there alone, and no one knows if you're coming back."
Anya sighed. "You say it like I have a choice, Captain," she replied. "You heard Shepherd." She was not a patriot, but above anything, Anya had come to embrace the camaraderie and sense of belonging in the 141.
"Lassie, what they are asking for is impossible. They can't ask you to do this."
"Do you think I don't know that?" Anya returned. She raised her hands to Soap. "Captain, my hands are shaking... I know that if I go there, it's a one-way ticket to hell."
"Stay then," Soap pleaded, suddenly holding her in his arms, as if it had been the most natural thing to do. He had never seen Anya so afraid. He did not know what came over him to do that, but when he saw her shaking, her eyes widened in fear, he knew he had to. Anya did not reject him. "Tell the general that you won't do it." For a split second, Anya savoured the warmth that his body provided. He felt it because he could feel her arms around him as well. "No one will fault you for it."
"You know I can't," Anya replied, gently pulling away from him. "If by being there means that it's one less chance for you boys to get killed in the field, I will do it."
"Anya..."
"I'm sorry, Captain," she apologized. "I can't refuse this mission."
Soap looked at Anya as she slept, remembering the day Anya was roped into Operation Honeypot. He remembered how scared she was, but she still went, praying that her efforts would not go to waste. In the year when she was with Makarov, they had been able to progress much more than they could in the four years since their foundation. They had found weapon caches, they stopped Makarov's human trafficking efforts, they even found the base where the Russians copied the ACS module. It was all thanks to her.
Yet, even now, they were still grasping at straws. Soap saw how much she pushed herself, even now. She reminded him of himself after the Second Russian Civil War, especially since they were the only ones remaining in the 141. That was why he had decided to help her walk out of the despair that was taking her. If she needed him to hold her, he would. If they can be afforded time to be alone, he would take it.
They had gotten into a habit of sleeping next to each other, even if it were sleeping bags in a hangar bay. Anya had slept much more soundly by his side than she could alone, and the others were more than willing to give them the privacy if they could.
"John?" Anya asked, stirring from her sleep, her eyes still closed.
He took her hand in his. "I'm here, love," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "Go back to sleep."
She must not have been fully awake, because she said, "Yes, Captain," out of habit before going completely quiet, becoming sound asleep once again.
Soap chuckled quietly and would have done the same if it were not for Price shouting towards them.
"Soap, Anya, wake up!"
"Yes, Captain!" Anya jolted up.
"What's wrong, Price?" Soap asked after helping Anya to stand.
"Anya was right."
All over the news, were reports of chemical bombs that blasted through Europe. London, Hamburg, Rome, Madrid, and Paris were all blasted with the same chemical bombs that left Sierra Leone. Once more, that feeling of guilt and helplessness overcame Anya. She was silent, but her breathing became shallow. Soap knew that there was no time to offer her more comfort than an arm around her shoulders and did so until her breathing became regulated.
Just as the news of the chemical weapons broke out, there were reports that Russian soldiers were swarming all of Europe, appearing in the same cities where the bombs went off. It was a full-scale invasion.
"He's got control of the whole Russian Army now," Anya said, after she had calmed down. What she had predicted came true. With Vorshevsky gone, Makarov now had the support of the hardliners in the army that would have been reined in by the President. "No one would be able to stop him if we don't to something quick."
"I've got to call Hereford," Price said, and went on to make a call to the SAS headquarters on his laptop.
"Identity yourself," demanded the caller on the other end.
"Mac, it's John," Price answered, and placed the call on loudspeaker so that Soap and Anya could hear it as well.
"It's Major-General MacMillian," Soap told Anya in the background. "He's the Director of the British Special Forces. He led the mission with Price to assassinate Imran Zakhaev twenty years ago."
"We've put a lot of names on the clock tower, lad," MacMillan replied. When someone who served in the SAS were killed, their names would be inscribed on the clock tower in their HQ to honor their service.
Price did not have time for sentiment. "It was Makarov!" Price interrupted. "The bastard slipped through my fingers in here in Sierra Leone. What does MI6 know?"
MacMillan was cautious. "You're on everyone's shit-list John. There's no way I can give you clearance." Ever since the death of Lt. Gen. Shepherd, both Price and Soap were on the most wanted lists in every NATO country. Only Anya fell under the radar, because her status had been listed as KIA after the attack on Zakhaev International Airport.
"Don't give me that!" Price spat. "You still owe me for Pripyat, and I'm calling it in."
MacMillan relented. "Alright," he said. "We've traced the delivery freighter to an outfit in Bosaso, Somalia. It's run by a nasty piece of work called Waraabe." Waraabe's profile and location were then sent to Price. "My hands are full, with the bleeding at home, so you're on your own, son. Good hunting."
Soap walked over to Price. "What's the security look like?" he asked.
"Strictly second division," Price answered. "Local triggermen guard the compound."
Frowning, Soap added. "We'll stick out like bollocks on a bulldog. Stealth is not an option."
"Then we'll just kick in the front door," Price concluded. "Tell Nikolai to ready his men."
Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen
Task Force 141 – Disavowed
Bosaso, Somalia.
"Just move quickly and we can snag Waraabe before he bolts," Price briefed through the comms as he drove the open-top Jeep Wrangler through the beach and towards Waraabe's compound at the end of the docks.
"The sandstorm's moving in fast, we only have one shot at this!" Soap added.
"Bravo Team, take point through the gate!" Another Jeep accelerated past them with Price's instructions.
Soap looked out and spotted Nikolai's Hind. "Nikolai, soften 'em up!"
"Missles away," Nikolai returned, and fired missiles towards the gate.
Soon enough, they were at the gate. "Targets ahead! Engage, engage!" Price said and got off the Jeep. "Anya, take care of the gunners on the rooftops!"
"On it, sir!" Anya replied and got into position.
"They're targeting us with mortars!" Price warned.
"Nikolai, we need air support!" Soap shouted.
"Moving into position now."
"Yuri, you've got control, light 'em up!"
Taking control of the remote turret on Nikolai's hind, Yuri destroyed the mortar pits and most of Waraabe's men around them.
"Rooftops are clear, Captain Price," Anya announced, "Thanks to Yuri and Nikolai."
"Good, let's move!" It did not take long for them to arrive at Waraabe's compound. "Bravo Team, secure the perimeter," Price said. "Yuri, Soap, Anya, let's find this bastard."
Waraabe was not hard to find. The man cowered in his office, and even tried to throw his men at them once Yuri and Soap breached the door. However, Anya shot him in the leg, and he rolled over a pile of boxes.
"Gasmasks on," Price said while Soap threw him a can of the chemical weapon that had been lying around in one of the boxes, giving the others time to put on their gas masks. "Look familiar?" Price asked Waraabe, holding the opened canister before him.
"No... please..." Waraabe pleaded.
"Where's Makarov?" Price demanded cooly. "Tell me, and it's yours."
Waraabe kept reaching for the gas mask, but Price kept holding it away while Soap added pressure by stepping on his injured leg.
"Our contact was a man named Volk!" Waraabe gasped. "We never met Makarov!"
"Where's this Volk?" Soap asked, but Waraabe struggled to answer, as though he was calculating his chances. "Time's running out, mate."
"Paris!" Waraabe shouted, half in fear and in pain. "He oversaw the delivery in Paris!"
With that answer, their mission was complete. Soap and Anya exited through the back while Yuri watched Price pick up his pistol and aimed it at Waraabe. "Wait!"
Price shot him in the head. "This is for the boys at Hereford," he said, and went to join the rest outside. "Nikolai, Waraabe broke. We have what we need. Ready for exfil."
"Almost there," Nikolai replied. "The LZ looks clear, but that sandstorm is moving in fast."
Soap agreed. "That storm is massive," he said, looking up on the horizon.
"The last thing we want is to get caught in it," Price said. "Let's move."
"So, you think that Waraabe is telling the truth about Volk?" Soap pressed further.
"He was telling the truth," Price said. Those that valued their life, clinging onto every last breath, those told the truth because they saw nothing to be gained by dying, whether it was out of cowardice or pragmatism. "I'll bet Makarov's life on it."
They could see Nikolai's Hind up ahead, a comforting presence amongst the chaos of their surroundings. However, things were not as they seemed. When they were just a few dozen meters away from Nikolai, one of the Loyalists were shot down.
"Sniper!" Soap warned and saw that Waraabe's men were swarming around them. "Ambush!"
"Anya, get out of the open!" Price warned Anya, who was still in the middle of the road, trying to take out the gunners on the balconies around them. "Nikolai, change of plans! Head to the secondary LZ!"
"Sandstom's coming in fast, I won't be able to land when it hits!"
"Just be there!"
They took a turn to the left side and arrived just at the building nearest to the secondary LZ. It was half-built but was open enough to navigate to.
"Get away from the scaffolding, boys!" Anya announced as she shot the wooden scaffolding nearest to them down to bring down three of Waraabe's men that were congregating there. Yuri, on the other hand, was already on the rooftop of the same building, using Nikolai's remote turret to clear the rooftops of targets.
Still, they were running out of time. The skies were becoming a deep rusty red, but Nikolai still could not land. "I'm hit!" he exclaimed when the tail of his Hind was hit by a rocket. Every single one of them saw the helicopter spin out of control.
"Jump!" Soap shouted to the men after Price found some ropes to repel down with.
"Nikolai! Do you copy?" Price asked. There was no response. They were now right in the middle of the storm.
"What the bloody hell are we going to do now?" Soap asked.
"Echo Team, Nikolai's bird is down, and the sandstorm is on top of us! We need emergency exfil."
"Roger. We'll contact you when we get a fix on Nikolai."
"Anya!" Soap called for Anya when he found that she had gone silent too. "Yuri, did you see Anya?"
Yuri shook his head. No one could see anything in that sandstorm, much less Anya. "The last time I saw her was at the base of this building," Yuri answered.
"Captain MacTavish, I found Nikolai and Team Two, but there are hostiles all over us!" came Anya's reply over the comms. It was probable that Anya did not make it to the top of the building in the first place.
Price heaved a sigh of relief. "Hang on, we're almost there!"
Soap, who had complained that he could not see two feet in front of him, was seen running as fast as he could toward Anya and Nikolai's direction. "There's Nikolai's chopper!" he exclaimed, seeing the still-turning blades in the distance.
"We're approaching your position from the south," Price said, and found everyone in one piece, including Nikolai.
"Our girl, Price, she's a very good shield, eh?" Nikolai teased while Yuri helped him to stand. "Took out three hostiles in five seconds, seven tops! I saw it with my own eyes."
Anya rolled her eyes and continued to press on with the rest of the team. "Echo-2, we've got Nikolai, and we're heading to the exfil point."
"Follow me," Soap instructed, and led the way out of the compound to their destination. Once they saw the vehicles that Echo-2 managed to secure, Yuri helped Nikolai onto one of them with Price, while Soap and Anya got into another. "So, if Volk's in Paris, how are we getting there in the middle of a bloody war?"
"We can't," Price said. "But I know who can. I've sent him a message when we were at Sierra Leone." Three years ago, Operation Kingfish was manned by not only Task Force 141, but Delta Force as well. Price and Soap both fought with Master Sergeant Sandman and Staff Sergeant Derek "Frost" Westbrook.
"Have I heard of him before?" Anya asked. With Shepherd gone, she could not even think of what contacts they would have left in the US that would, not only believe them, but would even lend them a hand.
"You have, Anya," Soap said. "It's Sandman. We were in Operation Kingfish together when you were the FNG."
Anya nodded in understanding. She then produced a few sheets of paper that had been stuffed into her boot and passed them to Soap. "Captain Price, Captain MacTavish, I found the HQ of Fregata Industries, while you were interrogating Waraabe."
What Anya had handed to Soap appeared to be shipping manifests. Fregata Industries was cloaked as a logistics company, where the weapons made by Rojas would be shipped to locations in Africa as a staging point to arrive in Europe. "It looks like we're going to Prague," Soap concluded after reading the manifests. "Good job, lassie."