Bravo Six: A Call of Duty fan fiction (OLD)

Chapter 8: Reflections of Ghilliesuits

"In a man-to-man fight, the winner is he who has one more round in his magazine."   ~Erwin Rommel

   "I-Imran Zakhaev?" echoed Jessica, still panting a little. "As in the Ult-tranationalist l-leader?" Gaz knelt down beside her and hushed her.

   "Encountered him years ago; thought he was dead..." Price sighed. "I was just a leftennant back then... doing some wet work."

   In his mind, Price still saw everything on that table: a map of Russia with a few names in bold print spread across the page. Images of various buildings flicked into view as their photos were tossed on top of the paper, one of which was a building- a nuclear plant- that was in ruins, damaged by an explosion.

   "Chernobyl- Christmas for the bad guys- A lot of 'em used it to get their hands on nuclear material, including one Imran Zakhaev." continued John, remembering the first time he saw the photo of the man dressed in a gray trench coat. "Of course, we couldn't just let that happen. Cash for spent fuel rods?" He scoffed. "That's one hell of a recipe for destruction." The picture of Zakhaev in his mind faded away. "It was the first time our government had authorized an assassination order since the second world war. I was under the command of Captain MacMillain..."

   He remembered that sepia-toned field. The air felt acrid- not just tasted and smelled, but clung to his skin and clothes- and the wind didn't even stir. The dark clouds hanging above rumbled and flashed with the threat of a storm. A small flock of doves fluttered by, disrupting the quiet. The young John Price crouched, scouting the field and waiting for his captain's orders. 

   "There's too much radiation; we'll have to go around." A heap of grass stood up and started walking through a field. That heap of grass was MacMillain, a Scotsman only a handful of years older than him, Captain of the Alpha team. "Follow me and keep low." 

   "Careful," said MacMillain just as Price stepped a pace ahead of him. "There's pockets of radiation all over this area. If you absorb too much, you're a dead man."

   The two men passed through a rusty make-shift metal shed and then went prone as they heard a conversation in Russian downwind of them.

   MacMillain looked down the barrel of his gun. "Contact. Enemy patrol, dead ahead. Stay low and move slowly, we'll be impossible to spot in our ghillie suits." he said. Price followed his lead.

   They stalked forward, keeping their eyes on the patrol in front of them. There was a house beyond them; if anyone was inside, they had to make sure they took out the patrol quietly and far enough away so that their bullets didn't bite the wall. Price breathed slowly as the patrol moved closer, and halted his pace. One man in the patrol turned around and walked back towards the house. "Hey, Sergei, why do we have to roam this area?" he asked.

   "We're not 'roaming,' we're patroling, idiot," the other replied.

   The first soldier rolled his neck around and shrugged his shoulders. "But still, why are we patroling? This place is deserted; there's no one around for 120 kilometers!"

   "Take one out while the other's not looking," whispered Mac.

   Price raised his rifle and laid the crosshairs over the left patrolman's head.

   "Listen," said the other. "Zakhaev pays us good money to patrol this area. And if he's paranoid, that's his business. If you knew what was good for you, you'd shut up."

   With a muted retort, the Lieutenant downed the soldier. The other opened his mouth to speak and turned to his friend only to find he wasn't there. "Sergei?" he called. Suddenly his head jerked back and he fell from a shot by the Captain.