"Shite! Reynolds is hit! Reynolds is hit!"
Roach's heart stopped and a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach weighed him down. He knew that they could not go back for her. The streets were swarming with militia; it would be suicidal. They boarded the Pave Low and observed the situation from above.
"Roach! We can see them from the chopper!" he heard Ghost yell in his ear. "They're coming for you, dozens of 'em!"
Ghost turned to MacTavish, wide-eyed. "What are we going to do about Reynolds?!"
MacTavish simply shook his head and searched below for Roach. At least he will get one of them back.
Roach groaned, clutching his left shoulder. Waves of pain ripped through him like an electric current as he forced himself to his feet.
"Christianne..." he murmured. "Where is she?!"
Roach yelled incessantly in his comms trying to get her position.
"Forget her Roach!" replied MacTavish. "Get to the bloody LZ!"
"No! No bloody way! Where the fuck is she, MacTavish?!"
"Roach, that's an order!"
He cursed loudly and sprinted towards the rooftops. MacTavish guided him as best as he could. Bullets missing him by mere centimetres, glass shards embedding into him as he jumped through windows.
A painful yell echoed in the air. Reynolds looked down to her chest and saw a bullet scrunched into her vest. She grabbed it and threw it away.
She was still alive... barely. Her breathing was extremely laboured as the bullet knocked the wind out of her. Her back muscles protested with her every move. Hoping for no internal bleeding, she got up to her feet and ran to the rooftops. No fuckin' way she was going to die in some godforsaken place.
"Roach! I can see you! Jump for it!"
He sprinted with all the strength he could muster and went for it. He reached for the ladder and gripped it thanking whatever deity was watching over him. As he started climbing the ladder he heard a panicked MacTavish stopping Nikolai from flying away.
"I'm running on fumes here my friend. I can't stay."
"I see her! Wait a couple of seconds Nikolai!"
"Reynolds, hurry the fuck up! We're running on fumes here!" yelled Ghost on top of his lungs in his comms. "If you wanna make it, bloody jump for it!"
Without second guessing the lieutenant, Reynolds went for the jump. She grabbed the ledge before last and breathed a huge sigh of relief as her chest screamed in agony.
"Nikolai! Get us out of here!"
A sense of relief washed over the 141 as they landed back in their base. They had to stop midway for an aircraft transfer where they infinitely thanked Nikolai and returned to the UK.
Being sceptical of Russians, especially due to the recent turn of events, Nikolai convinced Reynolds of his loyalty. It seemed that he and MacTavish went way back but unsure of how they knew each other.
They went to the ops centre for a debrief. They were seated much more comfortably considering that half the team did not make it back.
Shepherd was analysing the battered men slumped in the chairs in front of him. Billy had his eyes on Reynolds, her eyes swimming in and out of focus trying to ignore the pain from her chest.
"Glad you made it outta South America," said Shepherd. "We may have intel on a Prisoner being kept in a Russian Gulag near Petropavlovsk. We suspect that Makarov's got a mad-on for."
"Then let's go and cut him loose," hissed MacTavish.
"Patience, Captain. When the intelligence comes in, you'll have priority access. For now, pull your unit together. You sustained casualties. That kind of hit doesn't fade overnight."
He left the ops centre leaving the stage to MacTavish.
"I know that we have suffered heavy losses and it's never easy when we lose a team member, let alone two. But I need you to remain focused on the objective.
"Roach, Reynolds, I need you to go to medical ASAP. Get checked out."
"Yes sir," they replied unanimously.
"We will meet tonight at the rec centre for a drink to our fallen mates' memories."
With great pain and effort, Roach and Reynolds dragged their feet towards the med centre. The silence weighed heavily between them.
"At least we made it out alive," remarked Roach.
"Barely..."
That evening, the night was cloaked in a suffocating darkness that fell heavily on the 141. Everyone was present, even those who did not participate in the mission. The soldiers all held a drink in their hand, waiting for their captain to make a speech. The atmosphere was depressing to say the least.
"On our last mission, we have lost a few good men," said MacTavish sombre. "Meat with his terrible, terrible taste in music and Royce with his even worse taste in women."
Staggered chuckles were heard, and Reynolds forced a smirk. They raised their glasses.
"To Meat and Royce. May they rest in peace."
"To absent friends," they all murmured.
Everyone mumbled their names and drank to their memories. They scattered and formed groups as Roach and Reynolds took a seat near each other.
"How's the shoulder?" she asked.
Roach looked at his heavily bandaged shoulder and his arm resting in a sling.
"It stings, but nothing painkillers cannot handle."
MacTavish sat down in front of them and refilled their glasses. "What's the SITREP on you lads?"
"Sprained shoulder," replied Roach.
"Sprained everything," murmured Reynolds. "But no internal bleeding."
"We'll drink to that."
Ghost appeared out of nowhere, winked at them as he was ushering MacTavish away. Archer took his place and refilled their drinks yet again.
"How are you guys doing?" he asked.
"What do you think mate?" replied Roach slightly irate.
They kept the conversation between them as her mind wandered, slipping in and out of awareness. The words were sounding from afar, her vision started getting blurry. The sound of the ocean roared in her ears along with a relentless thumping. How did her heart end up in her head?
She stood up suddenly and bid the others good night.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm exhausted Roach. I'm going to bed."
"Are you alright?" asked Archer, his brow formed a line. "You don't look so good. Why don't you stay awhile and talk?"
"I appreciate it Archer but really, I'm ok," she lied. "I just need to sleep."
Hurriedly, she dashed upstairs to her room and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. She lurched and vomited. She could not understand why the need for throwing up, she barely drank or ate anything that day.
The room was swimming and nausea swept over her in waves. An immediate rage started bubbling inside her, realising where her anger is stemming from.
She had risked her life and disobeyed orders to go back to Meat on their first mission. She stopped the bleeding, got on top of him to protect him further. For what purpose? For him to die mere weeks later not even fully healed from his last injury.
The fury continued building up inside her, her hands trembling until she unleashed it all in the mirror in front of her with a roar. Shards flew on the floor, her hand covered in grazes, leaking beads of blood. She collapsed to the floor, and everything went black.
The feeling of something gritty grazing her face irritated her. She went to remove it, but it was replaced almost immediately. She blinked slowly, the scorching sun on full blast as the sand danced with the wind. She looked down and look at her hands donning tactical gloves and her Marines uniform and kit.
Fuck... Not again...
She knew she was an involuntary participant of another one of her nightmares. Glancing around her, she let out a string of curses. She remembered perfectly where she was. It was the outskirts of Behsud, a couple of kilometres away from Jalalabad. It was her final mission that led to her resignation from the Marine Corps.
Bullets were whizzing past her ear. Finding cover, she grabbed her M4A1 tightly, she searched for the Raiders and the other FET members.
"Spartan Actual this is Raven, are you receiving, over?"
"Raven, this is Reaper! Where the hell are you?!"
"Reaper, I'm trying to contact command."
"Forget it. Complete radio silence from their part."
She tried to move further, but her leg hurt. Looking down, a pool of blood dampened the sand underneath it.
"Reaper, I'm hit! I think I'm in the Northeast section of the village. Everything's hazy, I'm not sure."
"Hold on Raven. We're on our way."
She hastily patched her wound up and made a dogshit attempt at it but did the job.
Their objective was to locate the wives and children of a notorious terrorist leader of the Taliban which controlled the village and all the trade passing through it. It was disrupting commerce, business, and armed personnel travelling through. The FET had to extract them and interrogate them to gather intel about him and neutralise him. Unfortunately, he, and the army he controlled, were waiting for them.
Shit hit the fan immediately. They called for backup and air support, but none came. Not even Reaper showed up for her. What the hell was going on?
"Reaper, where the fuck are you?" she spat. "I'm being surrounded!"
"We're pinned down. Hold on the best you can!"
"Where the hell are Widow and Valkyrie?!"
"K.I.A."
Shit... Her teammates were down, and she was bleeding all over. She returned fire using only single shots to preserve her bullets as much as possible. But luck was not on her side, as the mags left in her pouches were empty.
From the distance, a helicopter's blades were heard cutting through the air. She looked up and saw one of their helos fly past. They finally came for them and just in the nick of time too, as her ammo supply was running dangerously low.
Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The helicopter landed a few blocks away from her and took off once more.
"Reaper, where's the helo going?" she yelled.
"Raven, we're coming back for you."
"Are you fuckin' kidding me?! I have no ammo left and I'm surrounded!"
To her dismay, there was no reply from the other end. Erratic-sounding Arabic was coming from around the corner. Her heart was in her mouth, sweat dripping from underneath her helmet and into her lap. The enemy closed in, pointing their AK's at her, screaming at the top of their lungs.
"Irfaʿī yadak! irfaʿī yadak!"
(Raise your hands! Raise your hands!)
She did as she was instructed; her arms shaking uncontrollably, terror washing over her feeling like she was going to piss herself.
They saw her injury and stepped on her leg. She screamed in agonising pain as they grabbed her from her collar.
"Aflitnī!" she cried.
(Let me go!)
The soldier did not want to let go. He kept shaking her from her collar, screaming in her face, her back smashing against the hard wall.
"Reynolds!"
"Aflitnī! Aflitnī!" she kept on pleading.
"Christianne! It's me, MacTavish!"