Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen
Task Force 141
Eastern Siberian Coastline, Russia
"No sign of a ship, Chinese or otherwise," Anya reported to MacTavish, looking through her binoculars. They were in a shack that overlooked the coastline, sent there to observe a shipment that was suspected to have arrived from Shanghai into Siberia.
A few months ago, Anya had uncovered an unlikely alliance between their long-time target Makarov and known Chinese triad boss Frankie Chan when she was tasked to go undercover in Shanghai. Her mission was to infiltrate a well-known entertainment establishment known as Mr. Ma's Inn that had been a joint venture between Makarov and Frankie Chan since the fall of the Soviet Union. The inn was a front to one of Makarov's many human trafficking operations. Once that relationship had been uncovered, Anya quietly quit her job as the inn's payroll administrator and returned to their base.
Now, they were witnessing the results of the information that she had gathered.
MacTavish heaved a labored sigh. "Whatever it is, it must be important if the Ultranationalists are waiting for it as well," he replied.
"Can you imagine that Frankie Chan's operations are so large that he has his own fleet of cargo ships?" Anya commented, stretching her back. There was no further response from MacTavish, other than an agreeing grunt as he lit a cigar.
The sun was beginning to set, bringing in the cold as well. Two years since joining Task Force 141, she had gotten used to the banter that the team had going along, even the torturous training that they all had to go through, being the world's foremost special operations unit. What she had not gotten used to yet was that strange tension that she had going on with MacTavish ever since they first met at Fire Base Phoenix.
They were off-limits to one another in their line of work. It was plain and simple. Yet, nothing could stop her heart from skipping a beat or two whenever their eyes met. She knew that it was mutual, because she had felt the weight of his gaze on her as well.
"Anything on the radio?" MacTavish asked Anya after a long silence that seemed to have lasted hours. They were able to tap into the radio of the nearby Ultranationalist outpost since their arrival, but there had not been anything much to pick up on.
Anya shook her head. "They were complaining about how bored they were," she answered. "Someone's toes might have been broken off due to the cold too..."
"Anya..." MacTavish admonished with a raised eyebrow. For the umpteenth time, her sapphire eyes met his ice-blue ones, filling Anya with nothing but the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Luckily for her, she was not a giggling teenager with stars in her eyes and knew how to function professionally. She still knew what decorum meant. She was lucky that he did as well.
"I swear, it's what I heard," Anya returned in earnest. She knew that MacTavish had chosen her to come along not only because of her fluency in Mandarin and Russian, but also because she had experience in Frankie Chan's operations in Shanghai.
Another bout of silence crept past them. The longer they remained there, the more the sound of the lapping waves sounded like a lullaby. Anya was sure that she would have dozed off if nothing happened soon.
"Anya, look!"
MacTavish's voice caused her to jerk open her eyes. Before them was an aurora borealis, dancing in pinks, greens, and oranges, filling the entire horizon. Anya had never seen anything like it. She could feel their shoulders touching, but in the sight of such natural beauty, she chose to welcome it. Before long, she felt herself leaning her head on his shoulder. There was no one else around them, she reasoned to herself, no one else that she needed to answer to.
He must have had the same idea because she felt his arm around her waist. For the first time in two years, she felt the warmth of his body, and she could not decide what was more... exciting: her sudden forwardness, his reciprocation, or the Northern Lights before them.
When the lights subsided, the giddiness went to her head, and she even kissed MacTavish on the cheek. "Thank you, Captain," Anya said, still drunk by the sight that they had just seen. It was only once they were fully enveloped in darkness that she realized that she had just done. In a panic, she sought to move away from him, but MacTavish pulled her back towards him, even placing a peck on her temple.
"It's cold," he said without looking at her. "We'll need to keep each other warm."
His excuse had been blatant, but Anya did not respond. She did not know what else to say. She could feel her own cheeks burning, but she was sure that in the darkness that surrounded them, he would not be able to see how red they must have been. She was soon absorbed in a world of her own, surrounded by his warmth, the tickle of his beard upon her forehead... Butterflies soon zoomed about in her gut, making her heartbeat faster than usual, and her head tingle.
Anya caught herself before her mind wandered further. She did not need to think about what had not come yet. Whatever happened just then, whatever was happening now would not mean anything if they did not pursue anything in the future. They were grown adults; they knew the consequences of their actions. Yet, there was a comfort in that moment. Whatever had been building for the past two years seemed to have dissipated.
"Captain, I'm picking up some activity at the Ultranationalist outpost," Anya cut the silence down once she heard a flurry of activity in her earpiece. "The ship is approaching soon."
MacTavish nodded and released her. "We just need the ship's registration," he confirmed. "If it can be traced to Frankie Chan, your mission in Shanghai would prove the link between the Chinese and the Ultranationalists."
A convoy of trucks came down the road to meet the ship. However, there was something peculiar about the emblem that the trucks bore. Instead of the usual Ultranationalist logo was a black star enveloping a sickle and hammer on a red field, it was a crown encircled by an ouroboros upon a black field.
"That is not the Ultranationalist logo," Anya commented. In the two years of serving in Task Force 141, she had learned to differentiate the military of the Russian Federation and the Ultranationalist's, however slight the margin was. She looked towards MacTavish and passed him her binoculars. "I've not seen this logo before, have you?"
"What do you think?" MacTavish asked her in return, gently bumping her shoulder with his in encouragement. "You've got a nose for these sorts of things."
Anya took a deep breath while MacTavish took infrared pictures of the new logos they were seeing, as well as the ship's registration. "The ship's got Chinese flags, so it means that if they're Frankie Chan's, these would be Makarov's men. Either Makarov's marketing team is having a field day drawing up new logos for themselves, or there has been a schism in the Ultranationalist party. Makarov might be setting up his own shop."
MacTavish gave a grimace that signified that he was deep in thought. It was not entirely implausible. "You might be right. We do know that he's not the best of friends with the Russian President," he mused. By then, the convoy had already returned to the outpost, meaning that the coast was clear for them to make a move. "We'll run the ship's registration through our database when we get home. We've got what we came here for, Anya, let's go."
Anya nodded. "Calling for exfil, Captain," she replied.
Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish
Task Force 141
Task Force 141 land base, location classified.
MacTavish reported everything they found to Shepherd the moment they returned to their base. "The freighter that we observed is the Guilin, the flagship of Frankie Chan's cargo fleet," he told Shepherd, while showing him the photographs that were taken of the convoy. "What was strange was that the outpost was a known Ultranationalist outpost, but … it seems that a new player is in town."
Shepherd looked at the photographs and took a Sharpie that was lying around on the table and circled the new logo that neither MacTavish nor Anya could recognize. "The CIA's just received Intel that Makarov's been ousted from the highest circles of power in the Ultranationalist party by the Russian President, Boris Vorshevsky. He took all those that were loyal to Zakhaev for himself and formed this new entity he calls the 'Inner Circle'. This shipment that you saw, whatever it was, is proof that Makarov has made his first move."
MacTavish was the one that contributed to the demise of the Zakhaevs, the original leaders of the Ultranationalist party. He drove Viktor Zakhaev to suicide while pursuing the latter while he was the one that killed Imran Zakhaev, Viktor's father, and the head of the Ultranationalist party, a mere few hours later after preventing an all-out nuclear assault on the US eastern seaboard.
He thought that with the death of the Zakhaevs, the Second Russian Civil War would have ended in Loyalist victory, but the Ultranationalists won the subsequent elections. It was then when a portion of the Ultranationalist's own army, nothing but terrorist militia in the heyday of Imran Zakhaev, bled into the Russian Federation's armed forces, causing the conundrums that they faced currently. It was proof that there was always a bigger fish hiding in the shadows.
Tired of reminiscing on the past that could not be changed, MacTavish brought his mind back to the present. He pointed at the Inner Circle's logo and said, "Anya thought that this was the case. She guessed that there was a schism amongst the Ultranationalists."
Shepherd crossed his arms. "Our girl has the nose of a bloodhound," he commented, following MacTavish's remark. "Do you know what the snake in this new logo means, MacTavish?"
MacTavish shrugged. "No, sir," he answered plainly.
"It's an ouroboros. It symbolizes rebirth and evolution in many cultures," Shepherd explained. "Makarov's sending a message that whatever happened to him isn't permanent, that everything that goes around, comes around."
"If Makarov can form his own splinter of the party and still has access to Ultranationalist assets, it means that his influence in the party runs deeper than even what the Russian President knows," MacTavish surmised, adhering to Shepherd's train of thought with what he and Anya had learned in eastern Siberia.
"We need to know how deep that influence runs," Shepherd continued. "The sooner we get to the bottom of this mystery, the few wild goose chases we'll be set on. We wouldn't be losing as many men as we already have."
Shepherd's last sentence touched a raw nerve for MacTavish.
Two years ago, not long after Anya came on board, they lost Price in Operation Kingfish. The operation turned out to be a trap set by Makarov, who led them to a facility in the Karkonosze Mountains in Ukraine, where they discovered that Makarov was going after members of the British SAS team, Bravo Six, of which MacTavish and Price were the only survivors. Makarov had escaped the facility before they arrived, but his men had rigged the facility to explode and ambushed them while they were being extracted. Price had chosen to fight off Makarov's men while they boarded the helicopter that evacuated them but was wounded and captured.
They had not seen Price or heard from him ever since then. With Price gone, MacTavish had no choice but to take up Price's mantle to lead Task Force 141 in the field.
MacTavish reflected on what Shepherd said and instantly knew that the general meant. "You're wanting to plant a spy in the Inner Circle," he said, furrowing his eyebrows. "With all due respect sir, how are you gonna do that?"
"Leave that to me, MacTavish," Shepherd replied. It was clear that something was already in the works. "Before that can happen, every man and Anya must be ready. You're gonna make sure that they're all in top shape."
"Yes, sir," MacTavish acknowledged. "They'll work day and night until they're ready."
Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen
Task Force 141
Task Force 141 land base, location classified.
"You've been avoiding MacTavish like the plague since the two of you came back from Siberia," Ghost told Anya, his hazel eyes looking quizzically at her during lunch one day. "Spill the beans, what happened?"
Anya frowned. "Nothing happened," she answered.
Even though Ghost was wearing his usual skull-design balaclava, Anya could see that he was determined to eke an answer out of her. "Come on, you can tell me a secret," he pleaded with her.
"There's no secret," Anya dug down. "We saw the ship, we saw the Ultranationalist convoy, and we came back, end of story."
Ghost held his hands up as a sign of surrender. "Alright, alright, if you say so, Anya," he gave up. "So, it's what didn't he do, right?"
Anya glared at him. "Are you serious, Ghost?" she demanded. "For the last time, nothing happened, OK?"
"Ah, so something did happen, you're just not telling me."
"Even if something did, why must I tell you?" Anya challenged Ghost through gritted teeth. She knew that he was merely teasing her, and she was playing along with him. It was all good clean fun.
"On the count of us being friends, for one," Ghost returned. "If, heaven forbid, anything does happen, between you and the captain, do you think any one of us would say anything about it?"
Anya wanted to open her mouth to offer a smart comeback, but before she could say anything, MacTavish and Shepherd entered the mess hall with an announcement.
"Boys... Anya," Shepherd said. "We'll be having a guest observing us during training tomorrow. I want you all to be on your best behavior. Show 'em what you've all got."
"You'll all have the afternoon free once you've completed your rounds through the courses," MacTavish added, receiving cheers and whoops of joy.
A guest? That would be interesting. They began to talk amongst themselves when Shepherd and MacTavish left. Whatever mission that they were preparing for must have been an important one, for them to be displayed to a guest openly.
"What do you think?" Ghost asked Anya.
"Aren't we the ones that are going around recruiting people, not the other way around?" Anya asked in response. "Whatever Shepherd is playing at; it's going to be a big one." Ever since she came back from Siberia, MacTavish had them go over the training course, the gun range, various hikes and rounds in the field countless times. He must have had instructions from Shepherd to get them ready for an operation that the latter was already planning.
"You know what scares me about you the most, Anya?" Ghost asked Anya. "Your gut feeling is really accurate. You're hardly wrong about these things."
Anya chuckled lightly. "Call it a woman's intuition."
The next day, the entire base was in a flurry of activity. Anya's own performance had been middling amongst the ranks of the 141, which was leaps and bounds from when she had first joined them. She was often the last at everything when she first started.
However, whenever it was her turn to go through the motions that day, she felt as though there was a target on her back. After she had finished her round at the training course, she found MacTavish looking back at her and giving her a polite nod. She returned the favor and watched as he walked through the grounds with Shepherd and their guest. He was a man in about his fifties, dressed in a suit and not in any sort of uniform. It was very peculiar indeed.
However, Anya knew that there was no point in her worrying about anything that might not even affect her. Instead, she caught up with Roach, because they were supposed to watch the second season of Attack on Titan together with some of the others in the rec room.
They were all soldiers, but they were watching an anime about soldiers trying to save their world that was always on the precipice of destruction, having to wade through conspiracies and intrigue as they found out further secrets about their nature of their civilization.
"Do you think if we strapped MacTavish to an ODM gear, he'll move like Levi?" Roach asked while someone was changing the discs on the Blu-Ray player.
Anya laughed the loudest at that question. She remembered being mesmerized by MacTavish's sheer ability to be better at everything than everyone else, but now, she had been desensitized by it like the rest of the team.
"Judging by how we're always in the forest, anyways, that's not a good idea," Scarecrow chimed in.
"You know, Anya looks a bit like Historia," Toad offered. "She's the exact same shade of blonde too."
"I am not that short," Anya refused the comparison, showing a picture of the character Toad mentioned on the cover of the box set. "She's even shorter than Levi." Within the midst of tall, well-built soldiers, it was easy to think that Anya was short.
However, their conversation was cut short with MacTavish's appearance. "Sorry boys, girl's coming with me," he told them. The instant when their eyes met again, told Anya that he did not carry good news although his manner with the others had been jovial. "Shepherd wants to see you, Anya," he told her. "I'll walk with you to his office."
Anya complied. "Captain, you look like I'm getting the death sentence," she deadpanned, trying to lift the solemn air that MacTavish brought with him. "What's wrong?"
MacTavish sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever you hear inside there, whatever Shepherd wants you to do, I want you to think twice before you agree to anything," he warned her. His ice-blue eyes met with her sapphire ones, and she found more emotions in that gaze than she ever dared to process.
"You're not making any sense," Anya returned. "What does Shepherd want?"
MacTavish took a deep breath and answered, "You'll see when we get in." He knocked on the door and waited for Shepherd to let them in.
"Ah, Anya, just the person we're waiting for," Shepherd greeted. "Come in." When Shepherd swung the door open, she saw their guest seated on one of the chairs, flipping through her file. "This is Colonel Dimitri Batkin, he runs the recruitment program in the Spetsnaz. Colonel, this is Anya Allen. She might be the only woman operative here in the 141, but she packs a mean punch."
"Pleased to meet you, sir," Anya saluted Batkin.
Batkin sized Anya up and down. "She'll do nicely for the job."
Job? What job?