Call of Desire

24. Haste

haste
/hāst/
noun
excessive speed or urgency of movement or action; hurry.

=========================================================

"Brace!" Nik shouted moments before the wheels hit the ice. Everyone lost their grip on whatever they were using in an attempt to remain stationary. The battered and cracked runway pavement was almost completely covered in snow and sleet.

Nikolai attempted to keep control of the aircraft on the runway, but failed. The chassis jerked, throwing everyone to the side. The plane tilted, Nikolai struggling to control it on the slick surface.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Ghost clutched John, attempting to protect him from further damage. The plane turned over, landing on its side, the wing snapping off like a twig. Gaz cried out as his body came in violent contact with the metal of what was once the top of the fuselage.

The plane skidded to a halt, sparks flying. A smell of fuel filled the air, and the subtle crackle of fire could be heard.

"Shit..." Price groaned, sitting up. "Everyone alive?"

"Soap and I are..." Simon mumbled, gripping John's hand.

Coughing, Nikolai spoke up. "Breathing..."

"Gaz?" The Captain asked, worry laced through his voice. "Kyle?"

The young Brit groaned, attempting to sit up. "Alive, sir..." he muttered.

"You broken?" Price moved forward, kneeling beside the man.

"No- no, sir." Gaz slowly stood up with assistance from the Captain. "Not yet."

"We need to go." Ghost stated, squeezing Soap's hand as he grabbed his bag. "Engine might explode."

"Grab what you can and get out!" Price yelled over the sound of flame and grinding metal of the engine.

John seized his duffel bag and attempted to force open the door that was now facing the sky.

"Ghost! Help me!" Soap called, his voice strained as smoke filled the fuselage. Simon complied, forcing a knife into the seam where the door and the wall meet, applying pressure.

Price moved to the cockpit, slamming the butt of his rifle into the windshield, cracking it.

The aircraft door burst open, frigid night air rushing into the cabin.

Practically drinking the clean air, Soap pulled himself out of the aircraft, turning around and reaching for Ghost. The Brit accepted the assistance, jumping down off the side of the destroyed plane, scanning the horizon.

"Gaz!" John called, his hand outstretched. The younger Brit grasped his hand, climbing up. "Nik, Price, come on!"

"I- I'm fucking stuck!" Nik cried, his seatbelt jammed. Turning around, Price pulled the knife from the scabbard on his hip, sawing at the harness. "John, leave me!" Nik pushed the Captain away.

"Nikolai! I'm not fucking leaving you!" Price growled, his knife slicing through one strap. "One more, one more, one more..." He forced his blade against the next belt, sawing at it.

"Price...!" Soap warned.

"I know!" The Captain cried, cutting through the last strip of fabric. "Move!" Complying, the Russian jumped out of his seat, grabbing Soap's hand and pulling himself up. Nik turned around to offer Price a hand, which he gladly accepted.

The five men found themselves a safe distance from the burning plane, surrounded by hangars and rusted one-engine aircrafts.

"I'm assuming the crash wasn't part of the plan?" Soap exhaled, his hands on his knees.