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theweirdowithcoffee · 7 months

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Modern Warfare (2007-2011 Era) AU Chapter 1 Rough Draft (Continuation of Prologue Rough Draft):

"In The East, Nothing New."

Day 4 - 16:58:49, 2016

PFC Michael Carver

1st Bn., 7th Marines Regiment

No Man's Wasteland, [REDACTED]

"Carver, sitrep, over." Lieutenant Phillps broke through the static comm in his usual dull tone accentuated by his higher than average volume when giving out commands. He needed to so as to ensure Private First Class James Ramirez and I could hear him over the interference. I got on the line and reported back what the pair of us had been reporting for the past hour.

"Not a thing, sir, over." The loud noise punctuating the activating and releasing the button on the radio punctuated my nothing report. It was as boring as it was true. The U.S. Army Rangers usually saw more action, especially this deep into enemy territory. As a marine myself, however, I learnt to fear the quiet more than any firefight. Silence is the last thing you want to hear in a hot combat zone. Probably why I felt somewhat tense around the mute Ranger paired with me these past couple recon assessments.

Ramirez and I were scouting out ahead in "No Man's Wasteland". I adjusted my seating, the extra gear was more than what I was used to carrying, and the masks were causing more issues than I'd like. Ramirez on the other hand was as stone faced as ever. It was like nothing could ever phase the guy. It made going out on ops easy with him, but a little unnerving. He never talked back, never questioned a direct order, and somehow had always been ontop of things. But he was an anomaly. Sometimes he'd quietly take the initiative without warning and eas hust as capable at turning overwhelming odds into our favour. If he at least said something once in a while it'd put me more at ease, but I can always respect a man of action.

The radio roared to life before the Lt's voice filled in the temporary white noise. "Roger that. Come back home you two, regroup with the rest of us and we'll move deeper into the Wasteland, how copy?"

"Solid copy." The reply was simple but to the point, just as Uncle Sam had drilled into all of us grunts. I tilt my head over to Ramirez, who was crouched against a wall with a massive burned hole where once a window must've stood between. "We're Oscar Mike, bud," I quietly call out.

Ramirez gave a slight pause before glancing out the broken window space once more. A bit of dirt and debris fell gently down the floor above us when he did. After a moment he turned back to face me, staring through the gasmask that was obfuscating his and my facial features and made a quiet hand gesture. He put up three fingers and tilted his hand downwards a couple times.

I held my breath. Three tangos that we hadn't noticed? Trepidation crept in as I wondered if they heard the radio call between the Lt. and I. A quick gesture returned back to my fellow Private from I for him to stay on my back as we quietly were to descend and rendezvous with the team. A brief nod acknowledged my order. I took point, stepping away from the corner I was observing the location from and crouch walking out the burnt down doorway we passed through about four hours ago.

This was a dangerous place for anyone to be in. It was the site of the nuke that went off five years ago during Al Ahsad's coup. A middle eastern military rising practically overnight for the world to watch in terror after executing their former President, Yasir Al-Fulani, on live television was enough to shake up the western governments into immediate action back in the day. It would be nothing compared to what came next. Unbeknownst to the U.S. at the time, they were being supported by the Ultranationalist party in Russia during its Civil War, and they supplied a nuclear weapon. When the Americans sent our boys and girls in to bring down Al Ahsad, we were working on bad intel. We knew nothing about the Ultranationalist, the bomb, and where exactly Ahsad even was. The perfect recipe for a tragedy.

We came in half cocked and confident to end this conflict in less than a week. What we got instead- was 30,000 dead and the No Man's Wasteland. The deceased can't hear our sympathies, our anguish for their loss. They can only make room for us when we find our way back to them at the end of all things.

We've been steadily infiltrating this site for a while. Ahsad in the end was a glorified red harring, a face in the middle east for the Ultranationalist to wear. Orders came from above, the General leading the forces out here five years ago. Having risen up quietly in the past couple years, we have reason to believe the Ultranationalist party has taken an interest in the area for some ungodly reason. Walking in the shadows of ghosts isn't something I want to make into a regular hobby, but I'm a marine, we typically chart out the path those shadows eventually pass through. Having to do a joint op with the Army Rangers had me racking my mind for a while, made things a bit uncomfortable. We fight for the same government, but our training often conflicts with our priorities when fate ties our hands together.

Ramirez is an anomaly in that regards. There's never any conflict with the man, probably why the Lt. sent me with him for the past couple days. I'd say I like him, but it's hard to say someone is disagreeable or not when they never pipe up. What he lacks in vocabulary, he doesn't in action. I think just as much when he in no wasted efforts shifted into position right on my six, an M4, standard issue; at the ready. Not what I'd come to expect from those army boys, even less from a Private. The only person with as much potential and talent in his division was another Private, Allen I believe his name was. Hadn't met the man myself, but apparently General Shepherd had his eye on the both of them for his "special" task force. As for me, I've been moved around enough as it was.

The Ranger and I made our way down, tight in formation. The harsh winds were starting to pick up. We were located not too far from the initial site of the blast, any closer and the radiation couldn't be ignored. In theory, no one else should be here. Unless you were looking to not to be found or had a death wish. Intuition told me our friends three flights below weren't here to keel over. The pair of us made it down the long decaying hall which sharply directed us right at a harsh ninety degree angle until the the floor began to sink into an empty hole. A staircase might have been standing there at one point, but only a skeleton of a frame remained. Ramirez had to boost me up the first time, getting down was gonna be louder than either of us would have liked. Combined with the weight we're carrying, it's a genuine risk we could fall straight through this floor and the next.

I turned to meet with Ramirez, but as usual he was already picking up what I was going to say, flashing up his hand to gesture "okay" with his fingers as I've grown accustomed too on our outings. I reached out my arm and we gripped it by the forearm firmly as I readied to let him down. Not exactly standard procedure, but it was quick and mitigated the sound we'd make on our descent and exfil. He stood crouched at the edge of the drop off facing I and myself him as I began to lower him. The strain on my right arm wasn't great, but once he was halfway, he detached his grip as I released my own and his boots hit the ground. Fortunately, it suppressed his movements good enough. Now it was turn to get down.

I gripped deep into the edge of the flooring and flipped myself over until I was hanging off the edge. The space between myself and the ground was enough for me and a half of me. Luckily, Ramirez would make up some of that space. He slid over his M4 and waited in a trust-fall like catching position. Without much other options, I released hold and let the Ranger and Gravity sort the rest out.

The impact was a little rough, I was certain my shoulders were going to be sore, but the sound we would have otherwise made and damage to ourselves we might have done was reduced considerably. If Lady Fate was kind, it would be enough to keep us concealed. Wasting no further time, we readied up into our formation once more and carefully resumed our trek out of this dilapidated place. On our way to the next stairway, something caught my attention. I gestured for the Private to hold his position as I too came to a stop. Movement. It was faint, but it was there. Not by sight, but sound. The winds had picked up even further. Cancerous airs inflicted by the hate of man onto this Earth were now masking our enemies- yet us as well. It holds no loyalty for its fathers. A quick motion of fingers and wrists informed Ramirez that we were resuming our withdrawal.

We hit the next staircase. More sounds echoed in tandem with the violent weather. Anxiety of a radiation storm flared up in my mind, no matter how unlikely, but I wouldn't let that show through the mask. I could make out what might have been chatter. Hard to say what they were speaking, but it was a safe bet to say I wouldn't be able to understand even under better circumstances.

Then came the clanking of metal. A tone of aggression, but not pointed at our approach. Not at first. Turning my attention back to my partner in the field, I signaled for him to hold the position at the top of the stairs; I was to scout ahead. He reciprocated the silent command with slight nod and taking cover against the wall that followed the steps back down. This needed to be quick.

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theweirdowithcoffee · 7 months

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A Rough Draft Prologue for Alternate Universe Modern Warfare Trilogy (2007-2011 Era)

Prologue: Effect and Cause

'This One's For The Record'

Pripyat, Ukraine

Lt. John Price

22nd S.A.S. Regiment

12:53:17, 3rd Day of Operation, 1996

"Captain MacMillan had asked me to take the fifty cal. He was to be my spotter for this one. Right beside it, kept still first by the bipod of the rifle, then the palm of my left hand was a photo of the target. Imran Zakhaev. In those days, I didn't have much thought as to who I was shooting at and being shot by, just another day in the office as it were. Yet even still, I never forgot this man's face. An assassination order for anyone is considered so extreme a measure for any one man that it's more likely to create problems than resolve them- but the Ultranationalist movement was still young in those days. Before it could grow any further, we were to sever its head for the greater good. That was our government's reasoning I would assume."

"The weight of that knowledge lurking over my thoughts, hiding in the corner of my mind drew down my vision through the scope. 895 meters away. Give or take a few more. MacMillan was first to note how the wind seemed choppier than initially perceived, but he'd been preparing me for similar circumstances. Can't cover all bases, so I knew there was going to have to be some on the fly adjusting. Perhaps it was the radiation that was just as much a haunting of Pripyat as the souls of its former residents. The Captain had really put it best once. 'Only in our failures do men change the world in such meaningful ways.' The words sat quietly on my shoulders for a time after that."

"There was plenty in full view of the scope of barrett to confirm what we already knew was going down here. An arms deal to supply the Ultranationalist with nuclear equipment. There was quite a crowd gathered, several vehicles pulled up to the meeting spot. I gauged which way the wind was flowing from the flags on the parked cars. Red matterial with a bright yellow design encapsulated within itself. It would be a moment before I saw the bastard himself. Plenty of time to scope out the proceedings. When gathering a proper headcount, I felt the sights grow heavy at one point. As if the weapon itself was telling me to focus on whoever was down range in that instance."

"Plenty of serving men and women regardless of creed can be a superstitious lot. Myself however, not so much. Not even in those days, the only forces you can trust around you on a good day is the power of the tools in your hand. And the powers that be within my grasp in that instance, they had had my heart racing something fierce as the crosshairs were lining up someone else."

"In a vehicle just to the right, a few meters away from Imran were too young looking Russian boys. Nothing really noticeable frankly, wouldn't have brought it up in any other circumstance.

"The one in front, however... That one had raised something dark in the pit of my soul out into the light. I couldn't tell you why at the time, but I was fixated on this man. The world had seen its fair share of truly evil men during the first and second World Wars, I thought I'd go my life without seeing the face of any such true evil. I would see it twice, in fact, as it turned out. The first was Zakhaev's wretched photo in the debrief. It boiled over an unspoken sense of fury within me when my eyes cast their way towards that man."

"The second time was this kid. I shudder to think what kind of person he would have came to be. What he'd have done to this world. At the end of the day, he was just another grunt, no different really than the masked lackies that were now flanking the target. I was only able to shake off the feeling for a moment when a patrolling heli had gotten in the way. The captain muttered about where the bloody thing had come from. Seemed odd neither he nor I heard its roaring engine till it was in plain view. Perhaps he too was caught in the haze of malcontent that was cutting through the winds towards the dealings."

"Anxiety spiked within me for just a moment, and even faster was MacMillan's recognizing of the situation at hand. The show was just about over, and an encore was needed to close out the actors on stage. So I brought the spotlight back to our main lead. The guards were prepping to head back to their vehicles. In the far corner of my eye, I noticed a slither of red. The wind had calmed. We weren't going to get another shot."

"One single finger clamped tightly over the trigger and ringing through the city of ghosts and broken promises, a single anti-material round flung straight and narrow towards Zahkaev. It didn't register at the time, but MacMillan commented that the shot must've taken the warmongerer's entire arm off. I didn't have time to acknowledge it. There was one rising star in the cast I felt needed some spotlighting as well."

"The center of scope was quickly swung back to the upper left hand side. That other man. I couldn't let him leave this place. Everything in me cried out for this one grunt's blood. With vigor and haste, I got just that. Another heavy squeeze on the trigger, the second of three fired that day- I watched the trail following after the bullet curve. The blood in me ran cold. The wind had shifted and I didn't adjust for the altered trajectory. It was a short lived worry. In an interesting twist of fate, I'd have missed my mark if the wind hadn't picked up by probably a good five meters. But it hit. The sight of shattered glass and a instant haze of red filling the driver and passenger seat confirmed as much."

"After that, you might recall a Heli yeah? Well it turned back up, and that would mark the last time I fired that fifty cal that day, and only the second time it returned some bloke's grey matter back to the Earth..."

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15 Years Later...

Imran Zakhaev has been killed. The fourth Horsemen is no more than a corpse on a bridge surrounded by death of his own making.

S.A.S. Sgt. "Soap" MacTavish, newest addition at the time to Captain John Price's 22nd Regiment of the S.A.S. during a joint operation with United States Special Forces Operatives, is believed to be the man to take down the one-armed tyrant.

MacTavish was rescued from the scene by Loyaltist forces intercepting the Ultranationalist.

Captain John Price has been declared Missing In Action, thought to have died due to his sustained injuries.

All other Forces have been confirmed Killed In Action.

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