Hotel Six: A Call of Duty Fanfiction

Chapter 49: Enemy of My Enemy

"There's a sand storm brewing, Jessica," said Nikolai. "I'm going to have to circle around and look for somewhere else to land."

"No problem," she replied. "Just get me somewhere close, I've got a chute, and I can run in; just give me enough distance from the ground so I don't break my legs." 

Nikolai chuckled and opened the back of the plane, and he gave her the green light to bail. She charged out, opening her parachute just after her feet left the craft, and in a gust of wind started gliding toward the boneyard. She flared hard, slowing her descent just enough that she wouldn't collide with a fence or a plane, and hit the sand with a roll. She shed the pack and took off for the expanse of rusted, broken jets.

"Nikolai," came Price's call over the com. "We're heading to rally point Bravo to the west, be advised, the LZ is hot! I repeat, the LZ is hot!"

Galaxy scoffed rolling her eyes. This damn yard was gigantic; she might as well have stayed in the plane instead of jumping into the fight. She slunk through the shadows, her head jerking at every movement she saw. There were lots of Russian and American soldiers, but she couldn't see Soap or Price. "Bravo Six," she said. "This is Lone Wolf, I'm heading toward rally point Bravo. Meet you guys on the way, over?"

"Good to hear from ya, Gal!" said Soap. "Meet us if you can, but focus more on gettin' to the rally point. Over."

She nodded. "Copy that. Over and out." Gal pinned her ears back and bared her teeth at a Russian soldier crouching inside the cabin of a halved plane. He jumped back in surprise and she grasped his neck in her jaws, shaking him back and forth until she heard the solid crunch of his neck bones breaking.

"Soap," said Price over the comlink. "Let Makarov and Shepherd's men kill each other off as much as you can. We can use their coms to listen in on their radio traffic; I'm gonna try to contact Makarov."

Gal paused for a moment with a snort. "Contact him? You sure that's wise?"

"What did I say about trusting me, Lone?" he jeered. "Besides, I'm his best friend; he'll be glad to hear from me."

She rolled her eyes with a half-humored smile. "Cheeky bugger." She continued weaving through the dead aircraft, sparing as many soldiers as she could to fight one another. Once or twice she slowed down enough to kill a Russian or American who took too much interest in her. She stopped briefly to check her scent. There was definitely a lot of sand and rust, and a confusing blur of male scents.

The wind changed direction and she could smell a large group nearby. She turned her head and barely had time to react when a hail of bullets clattered over her head. Galaxy ducked and ran for the nearest thing she could hide behind. 

Goddamn, plane parts made for terrible cover. It felt like being a fish in a barrel. She shifted and hugged her rifle to her chest, hoping for a moment she could return fire. There was a break in the fire and she rose up to shoot over the mangled seat she was crouching behind. One shot took out a man in the front, while another dozen from behind her turned the other three to red mist. 

She bristled and turned on her heel, seized by a prickling, hot panic when she saw three Russians standing there. "Shit!" She gunned them down, only to hear more coming to their fallen comrades' aid. Jessica fled the plane, looking for somewhere else to take cover. Spying a cinderblock building, she made a sharp turn, heading for the door that was hanging ajar.

A hand reach out to close the door and shut it precisely on her arm as she began to slide over the threshold. She yelped, reeling away and clutching her throbbing limb.

"The hell?"

She recognized the voice before the scent and lifted her eyes to the dual-colored gaze of none other than Vladimir Makarov. In a streak of adrenaline, realizing he would recognize her, she kicked the door shut.