Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish
Task Force 141
4 KM to the Monastery, Petropavlosk.
"Don't worry, Roach, you'll get through this mess," he told Roach, who looked more and more uneasy as the mission continued. The kid had survived through Kazakhstan and Rio, and he knew that there was no doubt that he would make it through Petropavlosk. He was called "Roach" for nothing.
Roach nodded his thanks, and looked towards the sea. The sun was beginning to rise, although dark clouds surrounded them, approaching from behind the Monastery. But no one had the time to admire the scenery, the raw beauty of the land that was Russia. The only thing in their minds was their mission, and it was to get Prisoners 627 and 628 out of the Monastery, because they might have information regarding Makarov's future plans.
"Six Fleet's moppin' up, time to move in," he continued, addressing all of them now. "Long history, this building, not much of it pretty: started out as an actual castle with a dungeon, built to withstand any siege. Building survived every brutal winter, it's occupants… they weren't so lucky…" He puffed out some smoke on his cigar and continued, "The Monastery… didn't survive the purges. Over the last century, it's played host to anyone the government didn't want, but couldn't kill. Place is filled with living casualties of the last war which… I'd swore I thought we'd won."
At that moment, there was a slight change in MacTavish's usually hard expression. It reminded Roach of regret and something else… nostalgia, maybe.
"But I suppose that it's a day at the races," MacTavish added further. "You back the losing horse and this is where you'll end up. 627 and 628 are the pieces of meat that Makarov wants, so let's cut 'em loose."
Prisoner 627 (Formerly known as Capt. John Price, Task Force 141)
The Monastery, Petropavlosk
"Did you get it?" Price asked the very moment he saw Anya being manhandled back into the cells. She gave him no indication at all, but she turned towards the guards that brought her there, her back facing him, and shouted various Russian vulgarities towards them. While she was doing this, he felt something scratching against his arm, the rounded edge of something plastic. It was a flash drive, which he quickly took from her hand and slipped it into his pocket.
When the guards left, she sighed and turned back to him. "I told you that I could," she growled, re-tying her hair with the strip of cloth that she had ripped off the sheets of her cot after she had regained consciousness. "Makarov's men aren't actually the brightest tools in the shed."
Price actually chuckled at her words. "You should know," he told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Anyways, do you know what they're gonna do to us?" he asked her. It seemed to be a rhetorical question, so she just shrugged and shook her head. "Apparently, they want to kill us before anyone that's not Russian can get their hands on us."
Anya rolled her eyes on that comment. "Trust Makarov to stand by his words," she added bitterly. She had never believed that he would actually give her a 24 hour window to decide if she would actually continue to work with him, but she knew that there was a chance that he already anticipated her answer. She would never, ever turn her back on her country, on the side of reason as well, for that matter.
As they spoke, their fellow prisoners were rounded up to be shipped into another prison. There were speedboats waiting on the lowest levels to carry that mission out. They listened closely to what the guards were shouting towards one another, and as Price said, it did not bode too well for them.
"Orders from the top: transport who you can, and kill who you can't!"
They were already rounding them up, starting from the western wing. It would be about a few hours before they could get to Price and Anya, who were down at the east wing, near the sewer system and the old lunchroom, two hours minimum.
"Let's just hope that we make it in time," she told Price and sat down on the floor next to him. "I'm sure that the two of us are not the people who Makarov hates the most." That had been more of a hidden prayer than it was a comment, and this time, Price hoped that she was right. The two of them would not be of use to the world dead.
Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson
Task Force 141
The Monastery, Petropavlosk.
MacTavish had announced that they would arrive in 30 seconds, and he looked out towards the horizon for the umpteenth time.
Their retinue was escorted by two F-15s as well as another Little Bird that was armed with guns. The fighter jets took out a radio station before flying off, while the armed Little Bird advanced with them. The Monastery soon came into view, a massive structure of circular walls with turrets every few meters. A few of them even had SAMs on them, but to no avail; for their Little Birds were able to go far too close for the missiles to even hit them.
The armed Little Bird, Hornet Two-Two flew past them. Within seconds, the whirl and roar of its guns being fired could be heard. A watchtower was felled within moments, alerting the entire gulag of their presence. Soon, men began to line the walls and man the turrets, each of them endeavoring to take them down, the intruders to their fortress.
"All snipers, this is MacTavish," MacTavish announced. "Standby to engage," he told them after telling the pilot of their Little Bird to stabilize the helicopter. "All snipers clear to engage."
Roach quickly cleared the turret with the SAM from any Russians that might be there, and thus, they moved from turret to turret, and just when MacTavish spotted four hostiles on the next one, an F-15 they did not recognize fired on it and flew past their helicopter it top speed, so much so that they were thrown off balance due to the resulting air drafts.
"Hang on!" the pilot exclaimed in his efforts to balance the helicopter, and managed to do so with due haste.
"Shepherd, get those fighters to cease fire immediately!" MacTavish said to Shepherd through the comms. He was not liking the chance of being fried by the US Navy on that mission at all. "That was too close!"
Luckily for them, Shepherd's reply was quick. "I'll try to buy you some time," he said, although things did not look optimistic. "Two people in a gulag don't mean much to the Navy at this point."
"Bloody Yanks!" Ghost interjected. "I thought that they were the good guys."
"Ghost, cut the chatter and stay frosty!" MacTavish warned just before the Little Birds landed in the middle of the courtyard. "Go, go, go!"
Both teams quickly began engaging whatever hostile foot-mobiles that came towards them, most of them stationed on the second levels nearest to the main entrance of the gulag itself. "Two-One is in position for gun run," said one of the pilots, and MacTavish acknowledged it.
"Copy, Two-One," he replied, and focused the laser of his weapon on the second floor, marking where Two-One was supposed to shoot. "Lasing target on second floor!" Two-One fired the guns it had, effectively removing all threats that would bar them from entering the gulag. Once they no longer had bullets raining down on them from above, they took the chance to get into the cells as fast as possible. "This is it, we go in, grab Prisoners 627 and 628 and get out!" he told his team. "Check your corners, let's go!"
Once they were underground, their troubles increased immediately. Not only they had to scan each and every cell for 627 and 628, they needed to make sure that not only themselves, but the prisoners did not die as well. "There's the control room up ahead, I can use it to find the prisoners!" Ghost said, bringing half a solution to their problems. "It's gonna take some time…"
"Copy that," MacTavish said, agreeing with Ghost. It should lighten their loads dramatically, although they would be one combatant short. "Roach, we're on cell duty, follow me!"
Roach followed without question, tailing MacTavish with every step he took. "Lead the way, sir!" Descending the stairs that led towards the cells, Roach knew that it was impossible that they would find the two prisoners on the first level. However, he saw something that made his heart sink. There were splatters of blood in each and every one of those cells, those that had already dried, and even some fresh ones…
"Alright, I'm patched in," Ghost announced with confidence. "I'm tracking your progress on the security cameras."
"Do you have the location of the prisoners?" MacTavish asked, whilst shooting one hostile right in the eye. His skill as a marksman was near legendary, and Roach could only hope to one day even have half the amount of skill that the Captain had.
"Negative," was Ghost's answer. However, he had something for them that did not dampen their spirits as much. "But, I've got a searchlight tracking hostiles on your floor. It should make your job easier." In fact, Ghost received a chorus of thanks from his teammates.
Prisoner 628 (Formerly Known As Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen, Task Force 141)
The Monastery, Petropavlosk.
Alexi was there to deliver his last taunt to her before he decided to kill her and Price as well. "I am here to personally wipe that smug smile from your face," he elaborated. "No matter what you do, you have failed to buy yourself time to escape."
With Price next to her, Anya said nothing, only shrugging at him. Alexi was never a problem for her, alike a mosquito that drank too greedily from the hand it first fed upon. However, she knew that he would not even dare touch even a hair on her body without Makarov's orders. "Just kill us and be done with it," she interrupted him, rolling her eyes. "Be a man and do it fast."
Her words incensed Alexi, so much so that he grabbed her by the collars of her clothes , causing Price to stand up to defend her. She did nothing, nothing but stare Alexi down. "You won't survive for long," he told her. "Even if your friends make it in time to save you, you will not make it out of here before your own countrymen reduce this facility into a pile of rubble," he whispered to the two men who followed him and walked away from them laughing his head off.
She sighed and looked at Price. "He's afraid that killing us himself would cast himself in poor light to Makarov, so he brings his own dogs to do it," she told him. They were unarmed, but they were not helpless, and more importantly, they were not going to sit there just waiting for their turn to die. They were willing to fight it out, and make sure that they stayed alive.
"What can they do?" asked one of the guards to the other. "Their hands are cuffed!"
"I'd like to have a go at the woman, if you know what I mean," the other said. Anya punched him in the face before he could say anything. Enraged, he returned the blow but Price got to him first. "You will pay for this!" he shouted once he was able to get Price off him, but there was no one there to listen to him. The other guard was already attacked by Anya, who managed to get his AK-47, which she used to bludgeon him on the head before shooting him right in the stomach.
Price, on the other hand, managed to use his handcuffs to strangle the guard he had punched earlier with his handcuffs, but that was the least of their worries. They could hear several new voices from the wall nearest to them, and it seemed if the owners of those voices were going to blast it open. They had no choice but to ignore it.
Once the wall was breached, and the guard dead, Anya threw the weapon to Price, who punched the nearest newcomer to him and aimed it right between the newcomer's eyes. "Drop it!" ordered yet another. It was a voice they both knew, a voice that they had not heard in a long, long time. They did not need anyone to tell them who owned that heavily Scottish voice. It was Captain MacTavish.
"Soap?" Price asked, wondering if the many years in the gulag had addled his eyesight. However, that was not possible, even Anya reacted to his presence.
"Price… Anya?" MacTavish asked, as if making sure that they were real, and not one of the many souls who had perished there. Those behind him quickly got to their feet and made sure that Anya was alright, which was proof enough for Price that she really was part of the 141. "This belongs to you, sir," he added, as the man Price hit helped himself up. A M1911 changed hands, followed by another explosion over their heads, causing rubble to fall on them. "Come on, we gotta get the hell outta here, move, move!"
They all ran, and as they did, Anya could not take her eyes off one of the men that came to rescue them. It was a long time since she had seen him, but… she knew that she would have to take the chance. "Sanderson, is that you?" she asked, and the man nodded.
"Allen? You're Prisoner 628?" Sanderson replied. "How the hell did you end up giving Makarov shit?"
Anya did not have a chance to reply. "More running, less talking!" Price chided them as they ran towards the end of the tunnel. They could even see the helicopter that was going to bring them far away from the crumbling facility.
"There's the chopper, get ready to jump!" MacTavish instructed, but alas, the tunnel collapsed right before they could even pause.
"There's a cafeteria back there," Anya told them. "Maybe we can find a way there!"
Without hesitation, all of them turned back and sprinted towards the cafeteria that Anya had indicated. Right in the center of it, was an undetonated bomb, which created a whole in the ceiling. It was big enough for all of them to pass through single file.
"Six-Four, where the hell are you?" MacTavish beckoned towards the helicopter that was supposed to secure their exit.
"Bravo Six, there's too much smoke, I can't see you!"
As the conversation continued, the Monastery began to quiver and quake once again. "Roach is down!" MacTavish exclaimed, and Anya looked towards her left. Sanderson, or, Roach, as MacTavish had called him, had been hit by a piece of fallen concrete, and Price was the one who got him out of that mess.
"Whatever you're gonna do, Soap, better do it fast!" Price shouted towards MacTavish, who fired a flare through the hole in the ceiling. It was a good thing that he did so, because the helicopter's pilot was able to see them, dropping a SPIE rig down the hole when he noticed the flare.
They did not need MacTavish or Price to tell them what they should do. The very moment the rig came down, all of them hooked themselves onto the rig and let the helicopter fly them out of danger, and just as they were ascending into the Little Bird, Anya could see that the exact force of the US Navy was sent there for the counterattack.
Even with the fury of an entire nation, Makarov's malice could not be covered. America had walked into a trap that he had set for her a long time ago, and no one from that proud nation ever noticed it, not even her. She knew now that she had been given a chance to survive to rectify the effects of her failed mission, and she knew that she must put everything she had in preventing Makarov's victory, and she pledged to do so, no matter what it took.