November 21st, 2023
The cargo plane slammed down onto Folkestone's airstrip, chasing the dawn with a thunderous roar that nearly threw them from their uncomfortable seats.
Soap swallowed hard to ease the sudden drop in altitude, his fingers automatically tightening around the tangle of straps suspended above their heads. Metal groaned, but the strain on his muscles was enough to soften the all-too-familiar impact.
He shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop his eyes, blinded by the gloom, from lingering a moment too long on the doctor's slight frame, tossed around by the landing.
Beneath his vest, his heart skipped a beat. It broke free of its slow rhythm and fluttered dangerously in his throat.
After the brief glance they'd exchanged during the briefing, their eyes hadn't met again. Johnny stole a glance at her sharp, olive-skinned face, her expression neutral, almost vacant, and a creeping sense of guilty worry gnawed at his stomach.
As proud as he was of her determination, the thought of Yael being with him in this quagmire of blood and revenge terrified him.
It was an instinctive, rebellious fear that had lodged itself somewhere between his lungs, right behind his heart. He could feel its sharp grip with every breath as he looked at the composed, distant expression of the woman he loved.
The ramp lowered with a dull screech of pistons, and the Sergeant grunted against the wall of icy air that had engulfed the cargo hold.
The familiar scent of the English moor caressed his stomach, and in a flash of visceral awareness, the Sergeant was relieved to be home.
Behind the monotonous profile of the low concrete buildings, a diffused orange light stung their eyes, accustomed to the gloom, washing over the deserted runway, swept by the biting wind of the countryside.
They disembarked from the plane in an orderly fashion, and Soap had to exert some control to avoid turning to look at the doctor crossing the ramp.
He could hear the faint beat of her boots on the metal, twice as fast as the Lieutenant's strides behind her.
The Task Force followed the captain's nervous steps on the dew-slicked asphalt in silence, all the way to the military van waiting near the main hangar.
With a nod, Captain Price assigned himself and Medic to the front seats, while the Sergeant jumped in the back with Gaz and Ghost.
The smell of engine oil and grease pleasantly stung his nostrils as he took his seat by the window. His back hit the leather padding lightly, and a puff of condensation escaped his pursed lips.
In the gloom, saturated with humidity and dust, the Lieutenant's eyes gleamed darkly at him.
"Alright, sunshines. Rendezvous point is Waterloo Station. Ghost, you'll go first, low profile all the way to the Metropolitan Police Station. Soap, Gaz blend in with civilians at Greensbury Park. Everyone has their orders, Medic and I will be on standby," the Captain concluded tersely from over his shoulder, not waiting for a reply before revving the engine.
In little more than an hour, the mild, verdant landscape of Kent gave way to the sharp profile of the London outskirts.
The vaguely salty smell of the air that forcefully seeped through the vents of the darkened windows morphed into a sooty, almost chemical scent.
Soap couldn't suppress a chuckle at the involuntary grin that had spread across Gaz's clean-shaven face.
Captain Price navigated the city's nightmarish traffic, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, muttering curses in a nervous accent all the way to Waterloo Station.
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Wait For Me || John "Soap" MacTavish x OC (Call Of Duty)
FanfictionYael Williams, an emergency surgeon at the Royal Infirmary Hospital in Manchester, is haunted by a painful past. Dedicated to her work, Yael is brilliant and tenacious. However, her traumatic past has made her introverted and distrustful. A chance e...
