Chapter Text
Soap’s idea of a good Sunday on leave involved setting no alarms, finally sleeping in and then maybe indulging in some actual homemade food and watching crappy tv.
It certainly didn’t involve being called up by Captain Price at 6:27 AM because of some new, important intel.
Therefore, it was an unusually grumpy Scot who entered back at the base that morning, eyebags dark and with more stubble than usual. He hadn’t had the time to shave, having to leave immediately to catch the meeting at 8 o' clock. Thankfully, he noted, none of his teammates seemed pleased with the abrupt end to their two-week leave either; except maybe Ghost, who was as unreadable under his mask as ever.
Gaz, Price and Laswell were all nursing cups of coffee, and Soap gratefully accepted when Price handed him one as well. Laswell was in the works of preparing the final documents for their meeting, and Soap sank into the chair next to Ghost with a heavy sigh.
“Mornin’ Lt.,” he greeted, trying to emulate his regular sunny disposition, but instead landing on a slight grumble. “Long time no see.”
“It’s been three days.”
“Aye, sure has.” Soap sipped his coffee, ignoring whatever look the lieutenant was sending him. Gaz sat down opposite the two men, giving them a tired smile.
“Good to see you again, boys.” Somehow, Gaz managed some actual cheer in his words.
“It’s been three days,” said Ghost and Soap in unison, earning amused expressions from both Gaz and Price, but before anyone could make further comments, Laswell clapped her hands together in a business manner.
“Alright,” she spoke in her usual no-nonsense voice. Behind her, the screen lit up. “Thank you for coming back on short notice, but we’ve received some important intel that requires the 141. Specifically requires the group who dealt with Hassan.”
At the mention of that name, the room’s participants sat up straight, suddenly very awake.
“Hassan’s dead,” Soap couldn’t help but state, and Laswell scrunched her nose at the interruption.
“Yes, sergeant,” she reassured. “It’s not Hassan himself who’s our target, but rather some of his acquaintances.”
Laswell turned to the computer and clicked it, making images appear on the screen behind her. Soap looked intently at the men in the pictures, all standing in desert landscapes. One in particular stood out, a stocky man wearing a mask over his face that resembled a bird. Based on the way he held himself and how the other people seemed to listen to him, there was no doubt he was in charge.
“These men,” Laswell pointed to the maskless men. “Are all known to us. They were allies of Hassan, who slipped away into hiding once he was KIA. We’ve been searching for them in the months since, and this is our first time seeing them again. Now, normally I would have waited to put you all on this mission until after you came back.” Her professional mask slipped slightly, showing a hint of guilt in her features as she regarded the tired men before her.
“But?” This time it was Ghost’s rumble that broke the silence, and it was clear he was eager as ever to get to the point.
“We’ve not just found them idling in their hideout,” Laswell quickly continued. “They seem to be planning something. And they’ve made contact with a new player on the field.”
She gestured to the man in the mask.
“New arrival. Not much is known about him, except he calls himself the Eagle.”
“Pretentious,” mumbled Soap, earning him a light kick over the shin under the table from Price.
“When did he first appear?” asked the captain, ignoring Soap's glare.
“First mention of him was two months ago, a month after Hassan’s death. First we speculated if he was one of the missing allies, but as you can see, they are all there in the picture with him.”
“So we’ve got no clue who Birdman is?” Soap asked.
“Negative. All we know is that he is very ready to fill the space Hassan left behind,” Laswell tightened her lips. “And we have to stop that from happening.”
She clicked the computer again, and the monitor now showed a map.
“We’ve located their hideout. It seems they’ve bunkered down in some tunnels, making it practically impossible to get any images or plans of the layout. We only have some old maps detailing how the tunnels used to look before the group settled. We have no clue if they’ve dug out new paths, or where they’ve set up main operations inside.”
“Wait, so we're going in blind?” Gaz exclaimed, leaning forward with a nervous expression.
The woman before them chewed at her bottom lip, as she eyed the team carefully.
“I don’t like it,” she said finally. “But yes, you are. The higher-ups are desperate to terminate Hassan’s group before they grow in size again. And…”
The monitor changed. Pictures of an arms deal appeared, guns and explosives catching the attention of all eyes in the room.
“They’re planning something,” Laswell said again. She looked at Price and the two seemed to have a silent communication.
“Alright,” the captain sighed. Soap fidgeted in his seat as the mission’s stakes kept rising.
“These pictures were taken a few days ago, and my hope is that by sending you in there so soon, before they know they’ve been located, we can prevent disaster,” she concluded. Soap noted that, despite her sure tone, Laswell’s face was grim.
“Well, that’s the job.” His cheerful tone finally returned to him, cutting sharply through the tense atmosphere that had fallen around them. “I would feel plenty better if I knew we finished Hassan’s operation for good.”
Beside him, Ghost grunted in agreement. Gaz looked to Price, before nodding as well.
“How many soldiers?” Price asked.
“Just you four. We figure stealth is the way to go, so it needs to be a small team.” Her expression softened. “You’re the best soldiers for the job.”
“Even MacTavish?” Ghost asked, and the sergeant slapped his arm.
“Hey!”
“Your stealth isn’t exactly top class, Johnny,” Ghost stated calmly.
“Sergeant MacTavish needs to there,” Laswell cut in. “We don’t know their plans with those explosives, so we need a demolitions expert on the team.”
“Besides, it’s always good to bring a shield,” Gaz teased, and this time it was Soap’s turn to kick under the table, hitting the other sergeant’s leg.
“Children,” Price scolded out of habit, and both men sat back with their mouths shut. “When are we leaving, Kate?” He addressed the woman before them.
“In an hour.”
As soon as Soap entered his room to change, alone for the first time since the debrief, the easy smile he’d been sporting in front of the team fell from his face. Dammit.
He blinked his heavy eyes hard, as if he could simply force himself more awake.
He had barely slept in the days since he last left the base, nightmares from Las Almas plaguing his mind in the solitude of his apartment. For some reason, they had worsened significantly after returning home, and he didn’t know why.
He had finally collapsed into heavy sleep only two hours before Price’s call had woken him up again.
And now they were being sent on a top-level stealth mission, where his teammates would rely on his skills and reflexes.
He grit his teeth, determination filling his chest. He would not become a burden on his friends.
Soap put on his gear with practiced motions, before rejoining the others with a big grin.
“Bravo 0-6, this is Watcher-1. How copy?”
“Solid copy, Watcher-1.” Soap heard Price respond to Laswell in his ear piece. “We’ve got eyes on the location.”
Soap was blinking sweat from his eyes, the heat from the sun beating down on the four men. They were behind cover, watching the main tunnel entrance and the few people milling about in front of it.
On the ride to their destination, they had gone over the cave system layout map studiously. While most of the tunnels leaving out of the big hill were only big enough for critters to get through, there were a couple of entrances big enough for grown men. The biggest one was the one they were currently watching. They had already guessed it would be the one with the most traffic.
“What’s your position?” came Laswell’s voice again.
“About to move to the planned point of entry.” Price answered, nodding to his team to follow him.
They circled around, until they reached the place they had agreed would make their best chance at entering unseen.
Soap had full trust in his superiors, or at least in Price and Laswell, even after what happened in Las Almas. That didn’t mean that this mission didn’t sit wrongly in his stomach.
Their plan was vague, even to the sergeant, who usually preferred simplicity; enter the cave system, search for battle plans and the small group of people of interest. If targets were found, they were to be KIA. If possible, take one captive. If the guns and explosives were recovered, Soap would either set the bombs to a timer or find the detonator, and blow up the place when the team had safely extracted. If confronted by hostiles along the way, neutralize them quietly with knives or silenced guns.
There were too many unknown variables. It felt just like Gaz had said: they were practically going in blind.
Only a single person was standing by this cave mouth, and Price motioned to Ghost, who sneaked forward slightly, throwing knife already in hand. Without fanfare, the unsuspecting guard fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Watcher-1, we are going dark. We’ll make contact once we’re clear.” Price’s voice was steady, and Soap felt reassured by the older man’s calm demeanor.
“Roger that, Bravo 0-6. Good luck boys.” The line to Laswell went silent, and it was only the four men on comms with each other.
Soap took position at the rear of their formation when they entered the cave. Despite his mock offense at Ghost’s comment earlier, he also knew the big man was right; he was the least stealthy of the group. His best way to help was to keep watch and follow instructions on where to put his feet.
At least his lack of sleep had become a distant memory in the face of action, adrenaline pumping steadily through his veins.
Their route was narrow, sometimes widening into bigger hallways, but not dark. Lamps were hung up, few and far between at first, but the farther into the hideout they ventured, the more it looked lived in.
Ghost moved like his namesake when individuals would enter their path, dispatching them mercilessly. At one point they ran into two people at the same time, and a scuffle resulted, ending in seconds at Ghost and Price’s hands. The group stood still and listened for signs that they had been heard, but no footsteps hurried their way.
Gaz was the one with the map, guiding them through the twists and turns of the dusty maze. Suddenly he grabbed onto Price, and the whole group stopped to see what he had found. He pointed to a relatively pristine looking tunnel.
“That one is not on the map,” he whispered. Price nodded, clapping the young brit softly on the shoulder before turning down the manmade corridor, followed closely by his men.
When voices started echoing down the tunnel they were in, a bright light ahead signaling a well-lit room, Soap felt the usual pre-fight jitters, his hands tight around his gun. Price signaled for them to halt, as he listened with a concentrated expression.
He held four fingers up. Four hostiles. One for each.
If they were lucky, it would be four of their five targets. Soap held his breath, waiting beside Ghost for the captain to give the signal to attack. The presence of the strong figure beside him calmed the sergeant’s nerves like always.
Price let his hand fall, and the team moved like a bullet from a gun.
The best case scenario was finding the targets, their plans and the dealt arms in the same place, before heading too deeply into the system. The odds of that were almost impossible, so Soap silently thanked Lady Luck, when that was exactly what happened.
The surprised faces that met them were recognizable from the rapport, all of them Hassan’s old allies. They let out short yells and leapt for their weapons, but were cut off almost immediately as their attackers worked with efficiency.
Soap took out the one on the far right with a silent headshot, and was prepared to help his allies, but found there was no need. Three of the four men were dead.
The fourth target was pinned under Ghost’s big form, a gloved hand over his mouth and a knife to his throat. Wide eyes were looking up at the skull mask with unadulterated terror.
Gaz took post near the entrance of the room, keeping watch in case anyone had heard the short commotion.
“You speak English?” Price questioned the man on the ground in a low tone. The question received a quick nod in response, the man’s eyes never moving from Ghost.
Soap headed directly towards the explosives stashed in the corner of the room.
“You make any noise to alert your comrades, my friend here will slit your throat.” Price’s voice was practical as if he wasn’t threatening someone’s life. “Got that?”
The man must’ve nodded again, because Soap then heard slight gasps as their target was allowed to breathe easy again, hand gone from his mouth. The Scot didn’t look up, too busy inspecting the bombs for a timer or detonator.
“Where is the Eagle?” Price asked from the middle of the room.
The charges were rigged to be detonated from afar, but no matter how much he looked, he couldn’t find the remote.
“Don’t know,” a heavily accented voice grunted.
Soap looked dumbly at the explosives, his tired mind taking a second longer to piece together the evidence than usual.
“Left us bombs, then said to wait for orders.”
Shit.
“We have to go. Now.” Soap’s shaky voice sounded loud after being so careful to make no noise, but he didn’t care.
“MacTavish?” Price asked at the same time as Ghost uttered a concerned “Johnny?”
“Now.” He repeated fiercely, already moving to grab Ghost from the ground, who in turn grabbed their target in a crushing grip. To their credit, both Price and Ghost followed their subordinate’s order without question, as they practically set into a run, Gaz moving into step beside them.
The demolitions expert heard the telltale click of a charge being armed to set off behind them, and all the group could do was keep running back the way they came.
“Soap, what’s going on?” Gaz yelled at him, stealth forgotten.
Soap didn’t get a chance to answer, as the explosives went off and their world caved in.