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

Chapter 22

    "We're getting close." 
    Nikolai's low-pitched heads-up made me pull my right glove up onto my hand a little tighter. Through narrowed hazel eyes I peered out of the helicopter to the scenery ahead. Mostly white and cold enough to make someone lose their mind, the location in the mountains was just perfect for someone like Makarov to choose to hide. Cold and lifeless like himself. 
    I held onto the rope I would use to zipline with, my fingers clenching a few times in haste with the weather. Nikolai slowed our descent and made sure to expertly hover the helicopter above a deep, endless valley between two icy cliffs. I pointed the launcher at a jagged area against the one on our left. The hooks of the grappling flung across the wide gap at mock speed, grabbing into the ice as it was made to. 
    "Good luck out there," Nikolai caught my gaze and I wanted to scowl at him. 
    Not every Russian is a bad Russian. 
    My taste for Russian individuals was bitter in general currently—I doubted it'd ever change—and I found myself disliking Nikolai for something he wasn't even a part of. I forced myself to be appreciative for the pilot, reminding myself that he was one of the only reasons I was able to get this close to Makarov. 
    "Thanks," I managed and secured the end of the zipline to a part of the chopper. "Hold steady until I give you a signal." 
    Nikolai only gave a thumbs up as I hooked a trolley up to the line. I connected my own harness to the trolley, a longer line between myself and the main rope. Pushing off the chopper with caution, I began my descent toward the solid blue and white cliffside. 
    The wind bit my face like a gnarly, starved wolf as I gained speed. I reached a hand out and prepared to slam into the ice a little more harshly than expected. My other free hand reached around to clutch onto my climbing gear. I braced just in time to bounce into the ice, feet first, and claw my way into the ice with two ice axes. 
    I released a breath and then cautiously unclipped myself from the line. My gloves gripped the axes more steadily once more as I began to scale upward. Once at the top I knew I would have to move my ass down the slope to tree cover; it wouldn't be long and I'm sure something would give away my presence. 
    Upon reaching the 3-pronged grapple, I pressed a button and slid the hooks off the ice. It released with an aggressive chink and then I threw it down and away. Nikolai began to move away from the scene, his quieter Little Bird traveling deeper into the cavern. It wasn't long before the sound of his wings were completely nonexistent. 
    I sighed and then began my climb up the cliff again. My gut was churning a bit at the feeling of absolutely nothing below me, but I also knew the quicker I moved the sooner I wouldn't feel that way. I pushed to the jagged top of the cliff, swinging and digging my pick into the flatness. 
    Not seconds later the ice started shaking, giving way to a free-fall into death. 
    I let out a surprised screech I barely heard as anything solid disappeared. My arms flailed as I slid downwards with the falling pieces. I felt the toes of my boots scrape the more solid ice underneath as I fell, barely out of reach from gaining traction. 
    "Fuck!" I shouted as I swung an arm far enough out to grab. 
    My entire body slammed to a stop, the sharp point of the climbing axe holding my entire weight. I had swung around, facing the vastness of the land with the cliff to my back. My eyes settled momentarily on the setting sun. Colors of orange and purple struck the sky like ink falling across paper. The clouds were both white and reflective of the sun, portraying a rolling, lumpy painting. If I hadn't been hanging on the verge of death it would have been something to admire.
    I shook my head and carefully twisted around. My left hand shook as I brought my second axe up to the ice and regained composure. Climbing again went slower the second time around, but it wasn't long before I hauled myself up onto the flat surface of solid ground. 
    As much as I wanted to settle for a moment, I pushed myself up and began for the tree line in the distance. They were thin, barren sticks in the ground for the most part, but they were better cover than open, icy ground. I reached the trees in a rush of adrenaline, the thought of being even closer to killing Makarov sending excitement through my entire being. 
    It wouldn't be long and the Russian terrorist would be dead. Perhaps the world would then know the true instigator of the war...the true enemy for both sides. Exposing Makarov for all that he was would make everyone reconsider the situations around the world. 
    I pushed through the trees, the canopies of them becoming a little thicker as I descended in elevation. The sloped cliff led right down into a valley with a river and, hopefully, the not-so-secret hideout of Makarov. I paused at the point where the hill turned into the flatter valley, using a tree as support to survey the area. 
    The mansion was, in fact, standing at the curve of the river; Nikolai's words had been accurate when he'd relayed information to me courtesy of his Russian allies. The mansion was guarded, but it didn't seem heavy. There were just enough soldiers to cause a storm if Makarov's little hideout was exposed and give the rat enough time to slip away unharmed. 
    Not this time. 
    I pressed forward, eyes scanning as I closed the distance to the winter getaway. According to intel the best way to get in unnoticed was going through the basement. Once there, multiple hallways and dark corners would serve as enough cover while I searched for Makarov. 
    The doors to underneath the house were unguarded as I rounded the property. The only thing in my way was the freezing river. I grunted to myself, hating the idea of walking across when the last encounter I'd had with a river had not gone well. I trudged off the edge of the bank anyways, using the brush to remain unseen. 
    After crossing the river, I used the small—yet convenient—wood shed as a stopping point. I peeked around the corner more cautiously. Along the top balcony of the building, a soldier paced with a well-equipped rifle. His eyes were focused in the distance, not the closer ground; I must've just missed him entering the balcony. 
    Russian conversation spooked me from my study and I spun around to see the pair traveling down a secluded side path. I retreated into the wood shed, hiding as best I could. 
     They were talking about Makarov as they smoked and strolled closer. One was bitching while the other hummed agreements. They weren't happy with their designated shifts for patrolling—dusk into night. 
    One stopped, commenting something about fresh air, and the other gave a wave of dismissal. The more dismissive of the two continued on toward the house without a second glance back. I braced and held my breath as the singled-out Russian strode to finish his smoke by leaning up against the wood shed. 
    I didn't hesitate. I didn't find patience or practicality as I slipped out behind him and flung him into me. The soldier fought, choking on the cigarette in his mouth, and I ripped my climbing axe across his throat. Blood sprayed out as an artery was broken and I threw the Russian down to the ground in hostility. 
    "Well, well," there was a slow pattern of clapping. "I knew you'd show up eventually." 
    I spun around to face Makarov in a fury. "You...you rat-faced bastard." 
    Makarov looked unfazed and unamused as he blinked. "Typical Samantha...showing up a killer." 
    "The only killer here is you," I glared at the two guards on his hips. 
    There was a gleam in Makarov's eyes. "We're all killers here." 
    Before I could rebut his comment, two more guards appeared and disarmed me. I wiggled in their grasps as they ripped my knives, pistol, and anything else sharp away from me to the snowy ground. I glared at Makarov, all snug in the winter coat he wore, and then spat. 
    "Come," Makarov turned as a signal. "Let's warm up."