Chapter Text
In the early morning hours of what Soap would call "The Last Normal Day of John MacTavish's Life," Price stood in the corner of one of the lesser used briefing rooms on base, speaking in hushed tones with Laswell over the encrypted phone that she had given them for communication. Soap picked at the skin of his fingers until they were angry and red, waiting for Price to finish getting the details of their latest mission, his leg bounced rapidly under the table and Gaz shot him a look, kicking him sharply in the shin. Soap opened his mouth to curse at him, but that's when, finally, Price hung up the phone. Makarov had been located, and the 141 was going to be the squad to take him down once and for all. They had arranged for transport and were to be shipped out to make camp approximately two miles from the compound where Makarov was being housed.
The night before 141 made the final push into Makarov’s base, there was a sense of finality in the air. Most of the soldiers were making hushed conversation, any joke that was made was halfhearted at best. Hell, even Soap was quiet, Gaz and Price were sitting a distance away discussing their infil plans, leaving Soap alone. He looked at his teammates around him, soldiers he’s both trained and trained with for nearly a decade, some new faces and some not. A knot formed in his gut at the thought that not all of them would make it home tomorrow. Soap knew his role inside and out for this mission, he would go in solo, make some noise on the other end of the compound, opposite of where Makarov would be, and draw his men out. While the majority of Makarov’s men were busy with Soap, Gaz and Price would push into the base and either capture or kill the Russian.
Laswell had given them execute authority on the target. If shit went sideways and Makarov needed to be taken out, they had all agreed that Price would be the one to take the shot.
Lance Corporal Maynord, one of the newer recruits, came up and sat with him, he could see the worry on her face as she looked at her comrades. “How’re you feeling about tomorrow Sergeant?” Despite her obvious worry, her voice was steady.
“We’ll get him, I know it.” He put on an easy smile that he hoped would quell her fears. “Look at the team we’ve got,” he gestured to all the soldiers sitting around their makeshift camp, “he doesn’t stand a chance.”
OCTOBER 22 2022 0400 HRS
The team had packed up camp and were now making the final hike up to Makarov’s compound. No sounds could be heard coming from the teams, not even the huffing of breath, they were doing exactly what they were trained to do, acting as one cohesive machine as they prepared themselves for what lay ahead of them.
They had been walking for the better part of an hour when the compound came into view, even in the dark of early morning the compound looked massive. It was essentially a mansion, tucked into the base of a mountain range in the middle of Siberia. It was a little grand for Soap’s taste, a bit too on the nose for someone who was in essence a Russian supervillain.
As they reached the rendezvous site Price instructed Soap to make his way inside the compound and begin placing explosives on the far side of the mansion, light it up, then neutralize those who came his way. Soap snuck his way inside, and luckily for him, there was ample vegetation to use as cover to slip past any guards he encountered. There were an unlucky few who got a bit too close for comfort and met their end via a knife to the throat, but for the most part, Soap got where he needed to be relatively undisturbed.
There was a fuel truck parked around 12 metres from a guard tower, perfect for what Soap had planned. He skirted his way around the tower, keeping out of the guard’s line of sight, and slipped behind the truck, he reached underneath and placed a block of C4 on the fuel line.
That’ll make one hell of a boom, after he ensured that the C4 would remain in place, Soap placed a few more blocks along the wall that surrounded this side of the compound and went to his overwatch position. He used stacked crates along the side of the building to get up onto a balcony that directly overlooked the courtyard below but kept him out of the line of sight of the guard tower.
Soap clicked on his throat mic, “This is Bravo 7-1 to Bravo-6, how copy?”
There was static in his ear for a moment, then Price’s voice responded “All clear Bravo 7-1, are you in position?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Well then Soap, light it up.”
Soap pulled the detonator out of his vest pocket, and flipped the switch on. “Thought ye’d never ask, sir.”
He pressed the button, and all hell broke loose.
OCTOBER 22 2022 0435 HRS
Gaz and Price listened to the deafening boom that echoed from the far corner of the compound, Gaz cringed as he saw the massive plume of smoke rising in the distance. “Christ Soap, a bit overkill.”
Price chuckled next to him and glanced back toward their teams, “We’ll wait for Soap’s signal then we’ll make our infil, clear?” he called out. There was a round of ‘Yes, sirs’ throughout the group, and everyone began readying their weapons. There was a minute of silence among the soldiers, a collective holding of breath as they waited for Soap’s signal, then finally, the Sergeant crackled over their comms.
“Awrite Price, it’s now or never. Go!”
Price immediately sprang into action, he took point and scaled up over the wall, and began pushing across the courtyard, Gaz on his 6 and their teams splitting up to cover all exits. The Captain broke out a window and climbed through the opening. When Gaz climbed through behind him Price led him over to the door separating them from the rest of the house.
“Kyle, we’re going floor to floor. We’ll clear ground level then move up, clear?”
Gaz nodded sharply, then cocked his gun. “Copy, sir.”
Price opened the door and they both slunk down the hallway, clearing each room as they went. It certainly helped that most of the men were occupied with Soap, leaving Price and Gaz only a skeleton crew to neutralize. They quickly cleared the ground floor, then pushed up the stairwell, Gaz constantly checking his six and taking out any threats that came from below, the Sergeant quietly thanked whatever deity there was for the miracle of suppressors, otherwise this would be a much different mission.
There were three wings of the mansion, each with 3 floors, Soap was covering the West wing, Bravo-1 Team was covering the East wing, while Price and Gaz took the North wing. Price had heard from some of his men that they had intercepted some of Makarov’s men while en route to their positions. Good, he thought. That means they’re taking the bait. They entered the second floor silently, the carpet under their feet muffling their steps. Gaz had stepped into the doorway of a bedroom when he heard the cocking of a gun. The Sergeant ducked into the room a split second before a shotgun shell blew apart the door he’d been standing in front of.
“Fuck!” Gaz heard the thump thump thump of boots sprinting down the hall and he pointed his rifle at the door, adrenaline pumping through his veins and he willed his hands steady as he took aim. The footsteps grew louder as they neared his position, he took a deep breath and eased his finger onto the trigger as a flashlight illuminated the room. The muzzle of the shotgun poked around the doorframe and Gaz took the shot. Everything was silent for a moment as the body dropped to the floor, the flashlight rolling out of the man’s now limp grip. Then, the sound of another set of footsteps came running at his position and he raised his rifle again, knuckles white in his grip against the stock, he wouldn’t-
“Friendly!” Price's voice shouted from the hall and Gaz exhaled his relief, relaxing his grip and lowering his rifle. The captain entered the room with his pistol raised, rifle slung over his shoulder, quickly sweeping over the room he settled his attention on Gaz, “You solid?”
The younger man nodded, “Affirmative, sir.”
“Good. Because we just got a hit on Makarov.”
Soap grit his teeth as soldiers came streaming out below him, he made quick work of them dispatching the men with his rifle.
More of these fuckers than we thought. He heard shouting coming from the guard tower, and he took aim at the lone guard stationed there. The kid in his crosshairs couldn’t have been more than twenty, inhale…exhale, target neutralized.
“That’s one less tae deal with then,” Soap grunted as he repositioned his sniper, aiming back down to the doorway where there was at least a half dozen personnel wildly scanning for him, “only thirty fucking thousand more o’yus left.”
He neutralized two more with a single shot. Three ran directly into a trip wire he’d rigged earlier and got blown to high heaven; smoke stung his nose as he looked through his scope at the last target. The guy was radioing in for backup, exactly as Soap hoped he would, the Sargeant rolled his shoulders as he settled lower to the concrete below him, “That’s right, call the rest of ‘em in.”
This time around there were more than what Soap had originally anticipated, but he had two frags on him, a knife, and his trusted rifle. He would get this done, no matter the cost. Makarov’s men poured out of the door into the courtyard like rats, shouting echoed against the plaster walls and Soap pulled the pin on the first frag and tossed it over the railing into the crowd below. The Sergeant’s ears popped against the pressure of the explosion, and a bead of sweat trailed down his neck as he fired on the soldiers. A few escaped from his line of sight as they entered the building he was currently hiding in.
Fuck, he thought as he fumbled the knife on his hip out of its sheath, his heart beating against his ribs hard enough to bruise. The door behind him burst open and two of Makarov’s soldiers came running onto the balcony, Soap shifted the knife in his grip and plunged the knife into the back of the first Narco, yanking it back out as the man’s knees buckled under him.
The other one turned and raised his pistol at Soap’s head, but the Sergeant quickly ducked down and lunged at the man, his knife dug into the meat of the bastard’s thigh, and the man howled in pain and whipped Soap across the face with the butt of his weapon, sending him lurching backward. Seeing his opportunity, the man raised his gun and fired at Soap, the bullet whistling through the air as it made its mark. Soap, who had been getting back on his feet, felt the impact of the bullet as it made contact with his vest.
Thank God Price had made him put new armor plates in his carrier, he took a shuddering breath and pushed himself to stand, cringing as the welt forming on his chest rubbed against the rough material of his shirt, yeah that’ll leave a bruise tomorrow. The soldier shot again, but his gun jammed and Soap immediately ran forward and yanked the pistol from the man’s grip, who then pulled out a knife he’d had concealed and drove the blade forward, yanking Soap toward him by the front of his vest.
The Sergeant was able to twist his body away from the knife, leaving it to slice into the meat of his arm rather than into his waist, where it had originally been aimed. The quick shift of Soap’s body had thrown his assailant off balance, allowing Soap the opportunity to throw the man onto his back, he immediately pounced on the Russian, driving his knife into the man’s jugular. As he pulled back, he wiped blood from his cheek, whether it was his or the man’s he wasn’t sure, but he quickly grabbed the discarded pistol and released the jammed round from the cartridge, unloaded and reloaded the magazine, and asked whatever god listening to allow this pistol to work for him.
He tucked the weapon into the empty holster on his hip and moved from his now compromised position through the room attached to the balcony, quickly making his way to his backup location. There was a fire escape around the side of the compound that was blocked off from the top but still accessible from the floor he was on, if he could just make it there he would be fine, it offered enough of a vantage point to keep firing on any potential threats and give him a good vantage point to see if any more soldiers were coming his way.
As he made his way into position, he shot a glance out of a window overlooking the building opposite him, the soldiers that were out there started running back inside, toward Gaz and Price’s position, Goddammit, he reached for his radio and quickly spoke into the receiver.
“Bravo 7-1 to Bravo-6, you’ve got a massive fuckin’ problem,” he moved into the room to get a better view of the scene below, “multiple bogeys headin’ yer way, seems like it’s gonna be a party, sir.”
The captain’s voice crackled back in his earpiece almost instantly, “Rog. Soap, fall back, and get back to the RV point, we got him.” A beat of silence, then “I repeat. Makarov is down.”
Bleedin’ fuckin Jesus, they did it.
“Fantastic sir, en route now.” Soap immediately pivoted out of the room and back down the hallway.
Holy shit, they actually fuckin did it, the thought drowned out everything else in his mind as he raced down the stairwell toward the back exit. He didn’t even hear the beeping coming from below the steps in his rush to get to the RV point, all Soap could hear was the buzzing of adrenaline in his veins and his heart pounding in his ears.
He didn’t stand a chance.
One second he was on the stairs and the next he was airborne, a deafening boom rattling through his skull. Soap was launched backward down the flight of stairs, his skull hit the ground viciously and stars exploded across his vision. Dust choked his lungs as he tried to gasp for air, all he could hear was a dull rumbling, and then a crushing weight landed on his legs, a pained scream tore out of the Sergeant’s throat as he felt the weight splinter his bones.
The last thing he heard before blacking out was Price’s voice coming across his comms, demanding a sitrep.
In hindsight, they probably should’ve seen this one coming.
Of course, of fucking course, Makarov would have a contingency plan, Price should’ve considered that in his mission plans, he should’ve expected something like this to happen, he should have-
“Price!” Gaz’s voice pierced his ears, the Sergeant was standing in front of him with desperation stricken across his features. “We have to get to Soap!”
The Captain’s body moved of its own volition, turning toward the smoking remains of what used to be Makarov’s compound. “Gaz, I want you to take point, get the team to the exfil zone, wait there. If exfil arrives before I’m back, you take it, do not wait for me.”
Kyle opened his mouth to argue, but Price cut him off. “That’s an order Sergeant. I’m not losing any more of my men tonight,” Gaz nodded, but Price could still see that he wanted to fight him on this one, “I’m going to go retrieve Soap, if I’m not back before exfil arrives, you leave. Copy?”
Gaz sighed, resigned, “Copy that sir,” he raised his hand to the Captain’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Bring him back.” Price nodded sharply,
“I will,” and with that, John turned away, and began the trek back to the smoldering rubble.
Gaz turned back to the team, “Everyone listen up!”
The men and women now in his charge looked at him expectantly, “We’re going to the exfil zone, I’ll take point. Maynord,” He turned to the Lance Corporal, “take Sorrel and Jameson with you and head up the rear, make sure we’re not being followed. Am I understood?”
Maynord nodded, “Yes, sir. Consider it done.”
Gaz turned back toward the group and began leading the way back to the exfil point, hoping to all fuck that Price finds Soap and gets back in time for transport.
Price had been picking his way through the blown-out walls of the compound, trying to get to Soap’s last known position as well as dealing with any of Makarov’s goons that survived the initial blast. The Captain ensured that any men not done in by the IEDs met their end by his hand.
He attempted to radio Soap for the umpteenth time, unsuccessfully, as it had been every other time. “I repeat, Bravo 7-1 what’s your status?”
Nothing. His only answer was the static of the radio
"Come on Soap, where are you?”
He continued to crawl over the rubble, shoving smaller pieces out of the way to clear himself a path down the set of stairs he’d found when he saw it. An arm, connected to a body pinned underneath slabs of concrete. He saw the tattoo on the forearm and in an instant he knew exactly whose arm this was.
“Sergeant!” He dropped to his knees and began gently removing the pieces of concrete from the man’s upper body. He had gotten pinned against the handrail, which honest to god probably saved his life. The piece of concrete covering his head had been stopped from crushing his skull by the flimsy piece of metal above him. The Captain immediately reached down to check Soap’s pulse, the relief at feeling the fluttering heartbeat was dizzying. As Price hauled the rubble off him, he took inventory of Soap’s injuries, a head wound that was bleeding profusely, legs pinned on the stairs above him, and probably some broken ribs as well.
The Captain knelt down to look at the state of his Sergeant’s legs underneath the pile of concrete above them, and his heart dropped when he clicked on his flashlight to see the damage. His legs were held at a steep incline above his head by the large piece of concrete he’d seen holding them, underneath however, there was a metal support beam pinching the man’s legs between both objects.
“Fuck,” Price gasped as he saw the femur of Soap’s right leg sticking into the slab of concrete, blood sluggishly flowing from the wound, from what he could tell of the left leg and the lower portion of the right, the bones were completely pulverized. “Christ alive Soap.”
Price clicked on his radio and called for a medevac immediately, praying to whatever god there may be that they’d get there in time to save Soap. He kept his fingers pressed to the man’s throat to remind himself that Soap was still alive. The Captain spoke over the radio once more, this time to Gaz.
“Bravo-6 to Bravo 2-6. Come in Gaz.”
Gaz’s voice answered over his earpiece in less than a second, “I copy, sir. We made it to the exfil zone, did you…” his voice wavered for a moment, Price heard the younger man take a breath, “did you find him?”
“Affirmative, Sergeant.”
Gaz spoke, “Thank god.”
“Yeah, but it’s bad Gaz. His legs...” the Captain spared a glance back over to the lower half of Soap’s body, “his legs are crushed and he’s lost a lot of blood. I radioed in for medevac, but I don’t know if he’ll make it that long.”
Static, then “Should we tell his family?” Gaz’s voice spoke in his earpiece.
Price dropped his pack beside Soap and pulled out his med kit, “Not yet, I’m going to see what I can do. Any sight of exfil?”
"No sir, ETA is around half an hour."
"All right." Price opened up a roll of gauze and wrapped it tightly around the gash on Soap’s head, hopefully staunching some of the blood flow there. The Captain radioed the med team inbound and asked for an ETA, which they relayed would be eighteen minutes.
Eighteen minutes, he could keep Soap alive for eighteen more minutes. The Captain dug around in his med bag and retrieved a stim shot, quickly pressed the needle into Soap’s chest, and injected the mix of morphine and epinephrine into his bloodstream. Price checked the Sergeant’s pulse, satisfied when he found it was strong, if not a bit quick from the onset of the liquid adrenaline. He held his fingers to Soap’s pulse point until he heard the loud thud of helo blades entering the airspace.
Price marked their location for the helo, and the medical crew raced to free the Sergeant from his concrete prison once they landed. Once they pried the slabs up off of Soap's legs, the Captain was able to get a good look at the damage. When he saw the mangled limbs it felt as though the ground had disappeared from under him. Bones were protruding from the skin, his right femur had to be cut out of the concrete it had lodged itself into, as the medical team lowered the Sergeant's legs down from their upwards position, blood came pouring out of the wounds. Tourniquets were tied around his thighs to staunch the blood flow and Soap was rushed to the helo for evac.
As Price followed the team and boarded the helicopter, he couldn't look away from the horrific scene before him, the gravity of the situation truly settling into his bones like lead. There was no coming back from an injury like that, it was too severe, the bones were too mangled, and too much blood had been lost.
Soap was going to lose his legs.