Pattern Breaker

The Start of an Unwilling Convergence of the Products of War

It was only a few days after that, once Ghost was cleared from medical, when the five of them stood cramped around Price's office desk, blueprints and building schematics scattered around with corresponding intel from their last infil mixed in with the paperwork. Soap was wedged between Ghost and Roach, not quite touching either of them– but occasionally the long sleeve of Ghost's shirt would brush against the bare on his upper arm. He knew good and well it wasn't an accident, and every time it happened, the motion would send sparks fluttering across his skin.

And every so often, he would see in his peripheral vision Ghost glancing over his head towards Roach. And each time, he could practically feel the sigh Roach would repress down.

"From the information Laswell gathered for us, what we're expecting is an old abandoned apartment complex converted into a base. Around 240 kilometers west of us. We aren't sure who we're expecting, aerial views show there's not much activity– but with Alejandro and Rudy back in Las Almas and most of Los Vaqueros following suit we need to be smart about our actions." Price said, just as strong and determined as he always was, trailing his finger along points of interest as well as the hastily drawn lines from the game plan they formed. "Again, we could be facing more cartel, or AQ, but from everything we've learned so far and past experiences, I'm expecting the Russians. They've received what appears to be supply drops multiple times in the past 12 hours, likely weapons and food, and they're already armed to the teeth."

"Do you think the Russians are still in cahoots with some of Ghorbrani's men?" Gaz asked, both of his palms flat on the desk as he leaned over, gazing at the papers with observant eyes.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Price sighed. "They had an alliance with him and Hassan. Regardless of the fact they're both out of the picture now, we can't let our guards down."

"Been awfully quiet on their front." Ghost mused in a thoughtful tone. "It's been nearly a year since Ghorbrani was neutralized. All we've uncovered at this point were the missiles."

"Calm before the storm," Roach muttered. "I don't trust it."

"I don't either. But this has gone on for far too long. Shepherd, as much as I hate to admit it, did provide quite a bit of useful intel. Laswell's reach only goes so far, especially considering how off the books what we do is. She's putting her neck on the line here. If we don't find something actionable, and soon, we'll be forced to surrender."

"And just let them get away with it?" Soap protested, furrowing his brow. "The Russians– Iran– everyone? That doesn't sit right with me, Captain."

"Doesn't with me either, Sergeant." He responded, his voice lowering to the characteristic serious murmur that they had all grown familiar with. "So let's put an end to it."

Soap just studied Price's face for a moment, admiring the determination. They were truly a lucky group of bastards to have John Price as their Captain. It did hurt a little, knowing how much he'd miss him and his camaraderie when he was willingly discharged from the 1-4-1.

But it didn't hurt nearly as much as the thought of being away from someone else.

"How many are we expecting?" Ghost asked, and the closeness of his voice coupled with the nervous anxiety nearly had Soap jumping out of his skin.

"Generously? Twenty."

Soap snorted. "Against the five of us? Walk in the park."

"Let's hope so. We're out in sixty minutes, go check your gear. The area is too heavily wooded to land the aircraft, so we'll drive in as close as we can." With a nod, Price dismissed them– then called out to Soap before he could follow Ghost's quickly retreating form.