Ghosts of the Past (A Call Of Duty: Ghosts Fanfiction)

Chapter Eighteen

The men around me suddenly had guns. 

    I wasn't sure exactly where they had come from, but the Ghost team was quickly armed. Keegan and Merrick were slipping on plate carriers weighed down with plates while Hesh was exiting in a flurry to find Riley and become more prepared. 

    "All stations, we are under attack. Requesting immediate reinforcements to the east yard. Two-Two, status?" 

    "On the move," Merrick responded through the comms on the wall to the man announcing in exasperation. To myself he became even more curt. "Acker, stay with Keegan. Kick and I will regroup with infantry. Hesh knows where to regroup if things go south." 

    "Think they may already be," Kick huffed, the rifle in his hands shifting as he moved off in a sprint. 

    "Acker," Keegan caught my attention from a separate door on the other side of the room. "We're moving." 

    I wanted to ask how I was to defend myself, how I would be any help with my lack of expertise and a weapon, yet I forced myself to stay quiet. I also couldn't begin to believe what was going on as another shake to the building rumbled. 

    "Take what you need," Keegan slid open a door in the side hall we moved through, pausing to take instruments and more ammo. 

    The cold steel of the weapon I grabbed was a shock to my clammy hands. I tried to keep myself from shaking, intimidated by everything. I'd been through quite a bit with the last few weeks, yet nothing compared to actual infantry. Equipping myself with the materials that would kill was a lot, nothing like the distant past of bootcamp nor the training the Ghosts had given me. 

    Keegan could tell. 

    "If you hesitate, you die," he faced me fully, blue eyes fierce. 

    His fingers placed a comm device on my chest, now covered with a plate carrier—a plate in both the front and back—and then tucked my hair back to hook the piece over the edge of my ear.

    "I know," my voice sounded more confident than I felt. 

    Keegan eyed me up and down, stepping away—as I was more suited up and prepared than before—then he nodded once. "Let's go."

    The two of us moved through the hallway, no words being spoken. Keegan had his eyes peeled, finger at the trigger ready to kill. I doubted anyone was in the internal part of the base yet however I understood the preparation.

    My mind wandered faster than I could stop it. How was this happening? I'd led Rorke right to the Ghosts. I should've been more keen to avoid taking up the stationary phone. It had been too good to be true imagining freedom so easily, especially considering I'd been poisoned into hallucinations as well. 

    I just internally prayed no one died because of this.

    "Fuck," Keegan hesitated at a window as he peered out into a loud and hot courtyard. His fingers touched his collar to report. "We're getting hammered out there on the west." 

    I caught up in a flurry of breath and brushed pieces of loose hair from my face. Carefully, I leaned to look at what Keegan was reporting. Men were fighting against the attacking foes, finding shelter or cover where they could. In areas there were dead soldiers, from both sides, and blood pooled out around them, staining the concrete in crimson color. Their weapons were splayed away from them, some mouths open in a silent shout, eyes peering out, up, or right to where I stood with a chill rushing through my body. 

    "Ashlyn," Keegan was grasping at my shoulder in a hurry. "MOVE!" 

    The door at the end of the glass-surrounded hall was breaching with a loud slam. Dust from the busted hinges flicked out all around. Through it men in black uniforms came flooding, rifles raising in our direction. Keegan didn't hesitate to slam through a door to our right.