Bravo Six

Chapter 4: Black Out

"We take care of our friends." ~Captain John Price

"Captain Price!" Gaz burst into the war room, Soap and Jessica short on his heels. His brow was creased in three places and his brown eyes were round with trepidation, unusual for the usually blithe Lieutenant. "Al-Asad just executed President Al-Fulani on national television!"

Price was focused on a monitor sitting on the desk in front of him and hardly seemed phased by Gaz's dismal news. "The Americans have plans for Al-Asad, and it's too late to do anything for Al-Fulani." He finally straightened to his full height and the light from the screen illuminated his hardened expression. "But in less than six hours, code name Nikolai will be executed in Russia."

Recognition reflected in his eyes and Gaz raised his brows. "Nikolai, sir?"

Seeing bewildered looks from Soap and Jessica, Price continued. "Nikolai is our informant in the Ultranationalist camp. He supplied the information for the cargo ship mission."

Jessica peered around the desk at the screen to see a picture of Nikolai. He was decent-looking with a clean-shaved, square face, crew-cut brown hair, classic almond-shaped brown eyes, and an ever-so-slightly upturned nose. The man didn't have any remarkable scars or tattoos from what she could tell, and overall, seemed average; not the kind of person who would draw much attention in a crowd. He must have done something terribly clumsy, otherwise, he wouldn't have been caught, she figured.

The Captain continued, voice softened from its usual, commanding tone, to a milder, more personable one. "Nikolai's in hell right now; we're going to walk him out." He nodded firmly to his Lieutenant, then met eyes with the other two soldiers. "We take care of our friends. Let's move."

A deep, blue darkness had swallowed the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains, dropping the warm evening into a misty, cool night. The curling, silver whisps fluttered and shifted with the movement of Bravo Team as they silently glided through the night, slipping silently into a marsh until they were knee-deep in murky water.  Captain Price paused at the front, looking around to get his bearings. "All right. The loyalists are expecting us half a click to the north. Let's move."

"The Loyalists." Gaz picked up his pace, dog-trotting beside the Captain until they were waist-deep, slowing to a labored, bouncy jog. "Are those the good Russians or the bad Russians?"

Price smiled. "Well, they won't kill us on sight, if that's what you're asking."

"That's good enough for me, sir."

They neared another bank where three weathered, wooden shacks stood, easily old enough to have survived the Second World War. From where they stood, the team could see one man standing watch as best he could leaning back in a chair with his eyes closed in front of the first shack, and three men playing cards inside. Below them, Soap saw another standing on a short dock, the butt of his cigarette glowing faintly in the mist.

With a single nod, Soap and Jessica took aim, taking out the men on the dock and in front of the shack. As the latter guard hit the ground, one of the men inside stood, loudly scraping his chair on the rough, wooden floor. He caterwauled through the window, sending men in the other cabins scrambling for their weapons.

Price sniffed at the commotion and raised his rifle. "Contact, going loud."

Jessica bristled seeing the men charging down the hill at full tilt and was barely able to fix her aim as she dropped the first man, his body flailing like a ragdoll with each bullet before he slammed face-first into the grass. She moved to take down a second soldier only to see him fall under Soap's fire. A third, fourth, and fifth man fell to Price and Gaz's bullets, and a final, sixth stopped dead in his tracks seeing the rest of his mates dead. He turned to run, but the moment his back was turned, Jessica seized the opportunity to line up her dot sight with his head.