The Bullet's Mark (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Fanfiction)

Chapter 5

Four Weeks Later
    The water dripped off the trees above, landing in the softness of the mucky ground below. A few drops managed to hit my nose, sliding down to my chin and then to the mud. Water even hit my stolen weapon, dripping off the end of a muzzle like saliva from a wolf's canine. 
    For weeks I'd been trying to catch on to what Price was planning. Makarov had finally convinced me to use him for ideas, directing my path toward Sierra Leone, where the Russian madman was using paramilitary for his personal shipments. It was there he expected Price to interfere. 
    What Makarov didn't know was that I wanted to know exactly what cargo he was playing around with. Killing two birds with one stone was my type of game. Get to Price before he reached the shipment and then infiltrate the prize for myself. Simple. Easy. 
    Just had to deal with a few obstacles on the way. 
    I gripped the stolen AK-47, praying I wouldn't have to alert the whole place with a single shot from it, and watched the patrolling African militia. They spoke a few short words to one another before splitting. 
    Smiling to myself, I moved up in the ditch. The lone guard fidgeted with his safety as I reached up and yanked on his bandolier. He let out a grunt of surprise as I brought him down into the ditch with me, covering his mouth and drawing his own knife across his jugular. 
    Releasing the dead man, I clambered out of the shaded ditch and moved under the shade of trees. The entire area was infested with the militia so needing to step carefully was putting it lightly. One wrong move and I'd be dead before I could say a word. 
    Somewhere in the village down the road by the paramilitary's factory was my target. I was determined to reach that target with no remorse. He'd not only abandoned me, but caused the entire war by setting off the nuclear weapons months ago. If Price hadn't done such a thing, Ghost and Roach would still be alive. Soap would too. 
    Price was going to be introduced to his worst nightmare today. After, Makarov would meet his too. The two peas in a pod could fight in hell together. 
    Entering the village, I slowed my steps in caution. A dead militiaman was bleeding out on the floor of the shed. I crouched, noticing the stab in his chest and the bruising on his throat. Price had definitely killed him; he was known for the "throw into wall and stab chest" type of move. I was positive Soap had learned it from him. 
    Standing again, I moved through the rest of the L-shaped cover and reached the outer rim of the village. It was a poor sight, slummy and rundown, but the view of the factory made me hide that pang of sorrow for those who endured the conditions. There was a mission to complete and a man to kill. 
    There were sudden, loud shots from further in the village. An outbreak of battle began up by the factory and the flashes of muzzles brought me to raise my own. I hustled forward, pausing to avoid distracted militiamen as they ran for the conflict. 
    I watched as a hoard of the Sierra Leone fighters pressed up to counter fire. My eyes pinpointed the shots from a different rifle, likely one from Price or one of his comrades. Though I couldn't imagine anyone would be with him, I did track down a second line of fire. 
    Running straight ahead to a tower, I climbed up the ladder in a rush to catch up to the fight. Flanking Price's team was suicide, but cutting them off had higher chances of beating them to the cargo, assuming it wasn't in the factory they were running away from. 
    I paused at the top of the tower, slinging my gun to my side before leaping the short distance from the top floor to the roof of a building. I landed on the sheet metal with a grunt and then took off across the open rooftop. 
    Most of the militiamen were focused on the heat off to my right as I traveled across the rooftops. Leaping over the narrow alleys, I watched as mortar fire started hammering the area of the gunfire. They didn't even care of their own men as they lit up the place. 
    "No, no, no! That's my kill," I growled and leapt across a slightly larger gap. 
    As I landed, the rusty metal roofing beneath me groaned. It broke in two and let gravity yank me down to the hard flooring of the shelter. I let out a moan of pain, as I collapsed on my shoulder and rolled, my weapon sliding away. 
    "AHHH!" 
    I stood up to meet the charging militiaman, his hand raised with a machete. My hand gripped his wrist before he could swing completely. I kneed him in the groin as he was caught off guard, making him tumble back in agony and drop the blade. Without hesitation, I took the machete and then stabbed the panting soldier in haste. 
    "Dammit," I looked at my thigh, seeing a little blood soak through the pant leg. 
    It was nothing more than a scabbing, healing mess by now. The fall must've opened up a part of it. Long as I didn't do anything else too reckless, I'd be able to clean it up. 
    I picked up my AK-47 again and then started to head for the main courtyard up the hill; it was clear Price was also headed that direction. As I exited the cover of the building, mortar fire picked up again. This time it was aimed for the plethora of militia headed for Price and his team.
    "Shit," I grumbled and dove into a building for some sort of cover. 
    The mortars landed all around me, shouts of pain and quick deaths of people nearby echoing the fire. I tried to move through the structures in the pauses of the mortars. I closed the distance between myself and Price as I worked at it. 
    I swore anything that moved was a target and it was rather annoying. 
    Peeking out, I gauged the distance between myself and a ladder for the rooftops again. The mortar that went off was aimed back behind me as it launched. I ran for the way up, clutching onto the ladder rungs two at a time. 
    Making my way up the rooftops, I sprinted from the area. Another ladder brought me up to the final level of the village. The top of the church was clearly visible as I jogged across the rooftops. 
    The fire was picking up again as I reached the edge of the rooftop. Looking to the right, I noticed more militiamen preparing to hold up the infiltrating soldiers. The church wasn't quite guarded, especially along the left side. 
    I slid off the edge of the roof, sneaking around the courtyard of empty market stalls. Three militia ran for the entrance to the yard, firing at the incoming force of whatever Price had with him. I slipped along the left side of the church, reaching to climb over the wall to the yard behind it. 
    Above, a helicopter was arriving and pulling around to the back of the church as well. I more determinedly reached to scale the wall, letting out a huff of impatience as my thigh rubbed the roughness. 
    Something heavy was suddenly latched onto my legs as I moved to haul myself up. I let out a yelp of surprise as I went back down, slamming to the concrete of the side street. A militiaman dragged me away from the wall, harshly lifting me up to slam my head into the wall. 
    I reached around with my leg, kicking the soldier out of anger. He grunted and spoke in a foreign language rather frustratingly. He then reached for his knife, drawing it onto my throat. 
    My hand shoved his forearm back, putting distance between the two of us. The other reached for the fallen rifle not three feet away. I glared up at the amused militiaman as we reached a neutral amount of pressure on each other. 
    "You're getting in the way of things," I hissed and then found the butt of the rifle. 
    I brought the barrel to his gut and didn't hesitate to fire. The soldier let out a cry as he collapsed onto me with full weight. I grunted as I shoved him off and then moved back to the wall issue. 
    The helicopter was thundering above as it began to lift off once more. It's loud wings struck the area with wind difficult to climb up to. As I reached the top of the concrete wall, I examined the yard. Only a couple of militia men were finishing up with loading the precious cargo, a hyena as a canine guard. 
    The wooden double doors from the church were suddenly burst open. Out came Price and another soldier, firing at the helicopter and men. The stranger was tackled to the ground by the hyena as he fought for the cargo. 
    "They're getting away with the cargo!" Price shouted as the helicopter moved away. 
    I flipped over the wall the rest of the way and landed on the brick ground. Price was unaware as I lunged at him from behind. The other soldier braced in surprise, getting up from the ground quicker. 
    "Price!" 
    Price bridged me off him, flipping us both around so he could pin me to the ground instead. I wiggled underneath his grasp and glared up at his blue eyes. 
    "Sam?" he released me just a fraction, in a state of utter shock. 
    I used his surprise to knee his side. Price groaned as I threw him off of me. I scrambled to grab his weapon, clutching onto my own. As I stood over my target, I aimed his own weapon his way. The AK-47 went to the other soldier who didn't know what to do. 
    "Sam, don't do this!" Price held up a hand, frustration clear in his voice. 
    "After weeks of tracking you down, I find you here," I glanced around in disgust. "Dying in a worthless place just like you should." 
    I braced to fire at the enemy before me when another motion caught my eye. From the doorway of the church came a third soldier, their rifle at the side rather than drawn. As much as I wanted to end Price presently, I glanced over to the tattooed soldier on my left; his gaze was narrowed. 
    "Sam?" 
    I moved my gaze to where the third person was coming into the scene. The sight about made me drop the guns in my grasp. I blinked multiple times to gain a sense of what I was actually seeing. 
    "Soap?"
    The dark-haired man with the casual mohawk stepped forward, his lips twitching in patience and the facial hair around them copying. His blue eyes were searching my own hazel ones as he walked forward, his fingerless gloves raising in defense. His white shirt was stained from sweat and dirt, making it more of a tan. The brown ammo vest around his waist blended into the same colored pants. The man who stepped through took my lungs and crushed them up in a blender. My face paled as the man came even closer. 
    "You're dead," I blinked and cleared my throat. "I'm seeing things." 
    "I thought you were dead," he came close enough to touch.
    I glanced to where Price was getting up from the ground, looking over to where the third soldier was watching the situation unfold in silence. Soap shook his head. 
    "Drop the guns Samantha." 
    I reluctantly lowered them. "I don't believe this." 
    Soap ignored the fact I still had the weapons in my possession. His fingers reached to touch my chin, a rough connection to my dirtied skin there. I let out a breath and closed my eyes for a brief moment. 
    "Looks like we were both wrong about each other." 
    I opened my eyes, meeting Soap's fiercer gaze of blue orbs as he spoke. He released my chin and watched as I dropped the two machine guns. I looked to Price and then back to Soap in a demanding attitude. 
    "What exactly are you doing here?" 
    "We could ask you the same thing," Price watched me from under his hat. 
    "We have a lot of catching up to do," I looked around in annoyance. "I don't think this is the best place to do it."