Chapter Text
The tips of your fingers start to go numb in the cold night air, and to make matters worse your gun was starting to grow heavy like a block of ice. You watch as cars roll in, keeping your eyes peeled for your new squad. Laswell had you reassigned and it was all your ex-Captain could do but say 'yes' and have you packed by the end of the week.
Your toes were also going numb in your boots, you wriggle them once, just to make sure you still have control of them.
‘He wears a skull mask, hard to miss him, Bumper.’
Now you stood by an empty van, waiting for a man with a skull mask. Appropriately enough his call sign was Ghost too, what a treat. Laswell gave you an informal, slightly friendly but not overly so run down on the task force you’d be working with for the mission. It was a long, roundabout way of telling you that she needed someone who spoke Serbian on the team for this mission.
‘A black armoured vehicle was seen entering the Kez Warehouse, several mercenaries surrounded the watchtower, main gate and around the perimeter.’
Your fingers clasp and unclasp around the weight of your gun. You watch men and the occasional woman walk past, heads low with varying levels of exhaustion. You spot a man with his helmet off, bandage around his head, covering his eye. You purse your lips, looking at the new vehicle that rolls in.
‘We believe that’s where Yuri Kozan is holed up. We need you and Ghost to lead a recon team tonight, we need to secure our defector. Just for tonight.’
The car door swings open and you spot a man hop out before the car starts up again. He looks up, adjusting his gun by his side, standing still for a moment. He turns to you, not seeing you but simply looking in your direction. His skull mask is exactly as you imagined, gaudy. You raise a gloved hand his way, waving once. He locks his gaze onto you then he begins walking.
‘Helo deposits you south of the warehouse, all units have execute authority. Retrieve Yuri alive. Good luck.’
In front of you, he’s as imposing as he was from afar. You nod to him, staring at his eyes that peek out of his mask. “Lieutenant.” You greet. There’s a moment of silence, as if he’s sizing you up. The team has been held up waiting for Ghost so you didn’t wait for his response. “The helo’s warm and ready to go, you ready?” You don’t wait for a response, he’s already walking with you before you’ve finished your sentence. You can tell he’s one of those silent, traumatised war vet types. You look off to the side, watching another van roll in.
The sound of the helicopter is loud, even with your earpieces in. Inside a team of ragtag marines sit, waiting. Everyone was more or less from the same unit except you and Ghost. What a nightmare of a squad.
You get in, strapping into your seat. Next to you is a giddy young man, the only one you know in this unit. Panzer, a real fidgety guy. He gives you a toothy smile, chapped lips stretching around crooked teeth as he nods to you. You smile, wink and turn to the other side, strapping in.
The heli begins to lift as soon as you’re strapped, interior lights go off and the team flies up in darkness. Diagonally across sits Ghost in his skull mask, in all black and blending in with the darkness, except for the grey of his mask. You look away when his gaze catches yours, talk about creepy.
The trip is quick, whoever was manning the steering wheel on this bad boy had Midas’s touch cause you barely felt the heli shake. You look out the back, spotting the watchtower first before the warehouse.
That’s when Ghost starts unstrapping, getting up and holding onto the roping for support. He starts to explain, more or less, the plan. As the most senior officer here (or rather, the only one), everyone has no choice but to defer to his judgement, nodding and responding with a couple muted yessirs. Ghost turns to you next, “Bumper, I want you manning the watchtower, watch the team as we move in. Anything goes south, you cover us, got it?”
A quick nod. “Yes sir.”
Red lights go on and you’re flicking down your night vision goggles before you start unstrapping from the seat.
Panzer sends a toothy smile your way again, you give him a half-assed one in return. When you reach the back of the heli, you jump out, boots hitting dry grass as the cold air makes your lips freeze.
“Crash-1, all Alpha deployed, moving to offsite.” The pilot’s voice speaks in your ears, you adjust your grip on your gun. Thank you Crash-1, for the wonderful trip here.
The unit moves quickly in the grass, you squint behind the goggles. The watchtower is close enough that you can count the number of men inside, one leans against the railing, posture lax. You spot three more inside. You look down to the base of the tower, no idea how many were down here.
“We clear for watchtower then we move to Yuri. Then we secure the landing site, clear?”
“Roger that.” You respond, a couple other men give their own ‘yessirs’ and ’roger’s’.
You press yourself low, grass nearly blocking your view as Panzer slides in next to you. Sticky like glue, this fucker. He pats your elbow, gloved finger pointing by the winding metal staircase. Two men in black and jeans stand by, hands on rifles as they chat with one another.
Ghost and sergeant Collin wrap around the back of the watchtower with a sharp command for everyone to lay low and wait for his signal. You feel the slick, wet, just-melted snow soaking the front of your uniform. Your nipples were about to fucking freeze off.
“Cold night, huh?” Panzer whispers, you glance just in time to see him lean off his hand mic. You keep quiet because you know it’s coming before you hear it.
“Shut it, soldier.” Ghost’s raspy voice comes through the radio.
Panzer shoots up slightly, looking over to you with a blank look. “Hardass,” he says, “didn’t even know I was leaning on the damn thing.” You smile at that.
“Yeah? Fat ass.” You say.
“Oh, come off it.”
You look up and back to the watchtower, the moon casts a soft glow on the men, and harsh shadows. From behind them you see Ghost and Sergeant Collin creeping closer. With his knife in hand, Ghost reaches around to the man closest. The knife sinks deep into his throat and you see him struggle. Sergeant Collin does the same, although in a much cleaner move. One swipe at the neck and a hand over the man’s mouth. The two of them pull the men away from the stairs and into the grass.
“Move up.” Ghost’s voice in your ears.
“Roger that.” You respond, moving up first. Panzer and Private San follow suit, moving low and quick behind you. Ghost turns to the stairs when he sees the three of you approaching.
“Quiet, move with me.” He says it soft, although with a voice like his it’s still harsh on the ears. You nod again, moving beside him.
The stairs creak as you make your way up, the five of you have to move slow as hell, waiting for the wind to pick up and make the whole watchtower sway before moving a couple steps up. It continues like that, stranded up high, naked without cover so that any man by the warehouse could just look up and see five men creeping their way up. Of course, none do, and you make it one flight before the top level.
“One out, three inside.” Ghost is low, crouching low on the stairs. You nod, looking around.
“Panzer get the one outside, Bumper, Collin with me. San, watch the stairs.”
No one needs to respond, he’s up and creeping around the unmanned side after he’s done giving orders. You follow him to the door, slinging your gun back and pulling out your combat knife. Ghost glances your way, and you meet his gaze. He nods once.
The door is being broken open before you really formulate how you’re going to handle the men inside.
One of the men, taller than you but lanky, reaches for you with a surprised sound. He swings his pistol wildly your way as you rush towards him, closing distance. Your fist connects with his jaw and you see his head snap to the left at the impact. In his momentary daze, you grab and push him to the ground, laying low as you push your knife into his throat. Other hand over his mouth as the sound of him gurgling on blood makes you look to the side. Ghost has a man choked out and Collin is already pulling a limp body to the side.
When the man under you stops twitching you pull your knife free. Sitting up on one knee as you use the deadman’s shirt to wipe your knife clean. You look up and crane your neck slightly, watching for Panzer. You don’t see him but you do hear him dragging the body around the corner.
“Panzer, clear?” You ask into your mic.
There’s a beat of silence, then the dragging stops.
“Bastard's heavy.” You try not to smile at the comment, Ghost is already swearing under his breath. He doesn’t reprimand the guy, but you can tell he doesn’t like men who talk too much. You slide the knife back into your holster, standing up and looking around.
The watchtower isn’t big, there’s a sofa, a couple stools. Papers and food around. You look over to the sniper rifle sitting by a chair, propped up perfectly. You whistle low, looking at the beauty. Your team called you a weapons junkie, but really you just loved snipers.
“Watch us, comm if anyone approaches our position.” Ghost signals for the men to follow. “Don’t shoot until authorised.” He says again, you sigh internally but nod.
“Yes sir.”
They walk down the stairs noisily. You pull off your rifle, laying it down by your feet as you settle into the chair. Sniper’s an older model, but modded, your finger runs over where the serial number should have been, instead there’s just scratched metal.
“You got eyes on us, Bumper?”
Your gaze snaps up, picking up the binoculars that were set by the windowsill, scanning the area as quick as you can.
“Bumper, how copy?”
Your frantic searching comes through and you spot the four men crouched just by the gates.
“Got eyes on you, sir.” You do a quick scan in their direct perimeter. Your line of sight is obscured by shipping containers and awkward angles, but you manage to spot a few men. “One man at your 6, careful around the shipping containers, can’t see past them.”
“Copy that.” Ghost replies.
You follow them with muted movements of your hand, hand hovering over the rifle. It’s hard to do this without a spotter, you hope there’s no need to pull a trigger tonight.
The four of them clear the first three shipping containers. You follow them closely.
“Two men to your three, Collins.” You say softly, watching them clear the men quickly. Everything goes well enough, they stuff the men into a pile behind the farthest shipping container. Moving quick to the next point of cover.
Something in the corner of your vision glints. You move your gaze up, looking for it again. Your heart beats in your ears, eyes scanning the busted out and dark windows of the warehouse.
“Perimeter check.” Ghost’s voice sounds in your ears but you keep quiet.
There’s another quick glint of something shiny in the shadows of the top floor window. You hold your breath, you knew a snipe scope when you saw it.
“Alpha team lay low, there’s a second sniper in the warehouse.” You count the floors quickly. “Fourth floor, third window from the right.”
“Copy.”
You swallow, steadying your breath as you pull away and towards your sniper. You angle it slowly, minuscule movements that are ill matched to your racing heart. Your scope zeros in on the window, waiting.
“Damn it, perimeter check, Bumper!”
Another glint, the sniper is doing sweeps. Your crosshair is right above where the glint is. If you pulled the trigger, he’d be dead before he knew it.
“I have a clear shot on the sniper, sir.”
Ghost switches his mic on mid-swear. “Stand down, that’s an order. Premier check, now.”
You sigh, letting go of your grip on the sniper and doing the damned sweep. “One on your twelve, three’s clear.”
Ghost doesn’t affirm the information but you watch them move quick. You glance up at the nest again, no glints. You watch as the sniper’s scope glints again, this time you see it move, adjust. You see a glimpse of the man inside, his glove hits the window sill as he leans out just a bit. You catch the binoculars in his hands as he sits back down.
“Two by the door, ground floor windows clear.” You say, eyes still on the sniper. Just as Sergeant Collin’s begins to move you watch the sniper’s scope move slightly. Shit.
“Sniper’s spotted you.” You rush to spit the words out before he can line up his shot. “Collin’s! Get to cover, now!”
You watch as Collin stills for a second before stumbling back, pulled behind a shipping container by Ghost.
There’s a long silence, the four of them were just a few containers away from the entrance. If Laswell’s information was right, there shouldn’t be more than ten men inside. The sniper’s scope moves again, frantic, tiny movements, looking for a peeking head. Looking for a target.
You purse your lips, dropping the binoculars and re-assuming your position by the sniper, scope still hovering over the sniper.
“You have that shot, Bumper?” Ghost’s voice rings in your ears, gravelly.
“Yes, sir.” Your finger wraps loosely around the trigger.
“Take it and meet us at the landing site.”
You breathe out steady, tensing against the gun as you triple check your crosshair. “Roger that, sir.”
When your finger wraps around the trigger, you hear the shot before seeing the sniper tumble. Then the body of the man falls back into the shadows. “Target down.” You let yourself linger for a moment, watching the lights in the warehouse flicker on. You see men lower themselves behind the windows.
You pull away, gathering your gun off the floor and shooting up to your feet. Your position was exposed, they knew you were here. You abandon the sniper, slamming open the door and taking the steps down two at a time. The metal staircase creaks and you feel the adrenaline of both getting caught and potentially having this rusted thing cave in under your feet pumping in your veins.
When you hit the ground floor, you spin around and into the forest clearing. Running as fast as you can with all the extra weight on you, damn gun weighed more than it was worth. The forest is worse than the watchtower, it’s cold and damp. Every other step has you tripping over tangled roots and slippery leaves.
“Shit, jesus.” You whisper when you slide forward, grabbing onto wet bark for support.
“I heard something here! ” A man yells in Serbian, much closer to you than you thought anyone should be. You instinctively drop low and pause.
“Where? Fuck’s sake…” Another voice. Farther away.
You wait, the air is damp enough for you to feel it condensing on your warm face. You hear the crush of boots just ahead of you, and you spot one man with your night vision. You smile when you see he has only a flashlight in hand. He aims it around.
“Shit, Mikhail, where’s Blanco?! I need the fucking goggles.” You crawl forward, low enough to have the shrubs brush against your cheek.
“Fuck if I know, he’s coming soon. Fucking wait.” The man swears, aiming the light in front of him.
You’re close enough to spit at them, you could launch for one, if you wanted to gamble a two-on-one. You breathed slow, you had the vision here. A one eyed amongst blind men. Against better judgement, you launch yourself up in a quick movement, grabbing your pistol from the holster and whipping the butt of it against the man’s head. He stumbles and you’ve connected another hit before he’s fully fallen. You feel the hit slip on impact, from blood or sweat you’re unsure.
You hear the other man yell, shooting blindly. Without the flashlight, he merely steps back until he’s pressed against a tree. You straddle the man on the floor, bringing your fist down once, twice and by the third time you hear something crack under the weight of the butt of the gun.
You pull away when you feel him go limp. Just as you stand and turn to the other man, you heard a third voice call out.
“What was that? Serez?! I heard something!”
“Here! The mutt’s here!”
You close in on the man, delivering a quick blow to his abdomen. He keels over at the impact and you deliver a single bullet to the back of his head before dipping behind a tree.
You breathe in shakily, the other man probably had night vision. That’s what they sent him for, right?
Your fingers are hard and tense, frozen from the cold. Your breath comes out shaky, as much as you want to still it.
You hear the man behind you, boots crunching. You try to follow him. Then you swear when a bullet grazes your cheek, missing you by a hair. You duck and run to another tree, then another and another.
“Come back here, fucking dog!”
You run hard, slipping on wet leaves and nearly crashing onto your front before using the momentum to kick yourself up and pivot to a completely different direction. Another shot, and for a moment you hold your breath, no pain comes and you know you haven’t been hit.
You keep running, still along the clearing of the forest, any deeper and you’d be as good as lost.
“Little bitch- “ You look over just in time to see the man reaching for you, you duck but he grabs the collar of your vest, pulling you back and making you lose your footing. You come crashing down, but you grab his legs, making him slip in the wet leaves.
The two of you fall and your head bounces off the ground, for a moment your brain rattles around in your skull and then the man has his pistol aimed at you. You kick his hand away just as he shoots again, this time the bullet hits the tree behind you with a muted thump.
You pull your pistol out, knowing better than to try to shoot in a situation like this, you grab it tight and swing it down onto his ankle. You hear him yell, kicking at you with his other foot. The blow connects and you’re winded, but you have no time to feel the pain, you’re crawling up to him in record timing. Your hand wraps around his wrist, squeezing tight and aiming your pistol down at his face. He’s a middle aged man, bearded, bald. His eyes widen and he smacks your pistol with his free hand, your shot misfires at his shoulder. He shouts out, swinging again at your face.
The blow hits your jaw and you taste the blood in your mouth as you fire your pistol again, blood splattering against your vest.
The man falls limp and you lean back, mouth flooding with blood.
“Hah,” you pant out, looking up at the moon that peeks from behind the canopy. “I win.” You mutter, gathering the bloody spit on your tongue before spitting off to the side.
Blood fills your mouth again and that’s when you feel the sting of bitten flesh on your gums.
You get up on shaky legs, jogging quickly, feeling the ache in your head from the fall.
Stupid fucking mission. You missed your old team, you missed being deployed in bum fuck nowhere, staring at the endless sea of nothing from your scope with your spotter telling you stupid stories. You could go a whole day doing nothing and then turn in for the night. All that ruined just for Laswell and her stupid mission in Serbia.
You wonder if Anthony is having fun with their new sniper, you saw her briefly as you were being ridden out of the camp. She was a tall woman, lanky and covered to the neck in tattoos. He seemed to like her well enough from the wink he sent your way just before the gates closed behind you.
Stupid man, you would kill him the next time you saw him. The thought of having to swallow another mouthful of blood makes you nauseous and you spit off to the side again, wetting your lips.
Laswell didn’t give you a choice, and you hated how nice and likeable she was when she briefed you. Made it hard to hate the woman who plucked you out of your cozy deployment and right in the middle of some fucking gang operation gone tits up in Serbia.
Yuri what’s his face? Some defector, selling info straight to brass. And who’s here to collect him and get their ass absolutely beat in the process? That’s right, you. Your vision blurs at the sides a bit and you wonder how hard you hit your head.
‘You’ll work with Task Force 141, under Captain Price. Your first mission will be a recon with Ghost, the other members haven’t flown in from their previous deployment just yet.’ Laswell’s voice rings in your ears, you hated that… you spit again. You hated that you couldn’t hate her.
God, the upper men always made it easy to hate them. Stuffy and sticklers for rules, but she sat you down and smiled. Offered you coffee and chocolates from her desk, asked you about your education, about your deployments, about how you were liking things, if you liked your squad. Then she told you about her experience, even let it slip that her and her wife were planning to take some time off later this year.
Before you knew it you were smiling along with her, and just like that she had you with your guard down and ready to drop the bomb on you.
‘It’s a permanent reassignment, Echo’s a better fit for the unit. And if I’m honest with you, Bumper, your talents are wasted there.’ She smiled big at those words, perfect straight white teeth. ‘I’ll make an officer of you in no time.’ You returned to base and sulked in the corner of your room after that. You didn’t want to be an officer, any more responsibilities and you think you’d actually take iron to the skull.
The clearing of the forest thins out and you spot the designated landing site.
“Bumper, how copy?” Ghost’s voice is in your ears again. You pant just as you hurry over to the landing site, wet clothes weighing down in you.
“Ghost to Bumper, how copy?” You crouched down, winded and sucking at your gum. You grab the damn mic and speak into it.
“Copy just fine, sir. Got ambushed on my way to site.” You breathe heavily, muscles beginning to cramp and ache in the cold. “No critical wounds, site secured.”
“Roger, on our way.”
You sit there, in the dead of night. You flip up your goggles, eyes adjusted to the dark.
“Sir, do we have Yuri secured?” You ask when you’ve caught your breath.
There’s a moment of silence.
“He wasn’t there, now shut it. We’re inbound.”
Your lips flatten to a line, swearing in your head.
The flight back was silent, Panzer had a broken nose but still managed to send you a smile when he saw you were bleeding in the mouth.
“Nice lipstick.” He teased, you rolled your eyes, licking at your bloodied lips.
The unit went straight to the infirmary, Laswell sent a long bebrief of the mission your and Ghost’s way. Intel wasn’t right, they fed her asset the wrong info on purpose. Asset went dark, thinks she’s lost him.
She told you two to sit tight, she would have to make some calls. Wait on the rest of the team, they fly in this Saturday.
Ghost didn’t have any wounds, but he still walked with you to the infirmary when you said you were just going to sleep the wounds off. He stared at you with dead eyes and grabbed the back of your shirt and practically dog walked you right to the nurses.
No stitches for your gums (thankfully), just bitter tasting cream and an ice pack for the bump on your head. Mild frostbite, she said, good thing you didn’t cool down too quick, you would’ve lost your toes. She said that with a smile, mind you.
By the time she was done, Ghost was long gone. You didn’t even know what to do, you had moved your stuff to the wing of the building your squad would be occupying, but you didn’t even have the time to unpack before they had you gearing up.
You sat in the nurses chair, as she applied cream to the cut on your cheek.
She smiled, “lucky you, it won’t scar.” You gave her a tight smile at those words, oh joy.