|Order of Collapse
Author: Sakura123 PM
MW2-MW3 Era. Short stories centered on the Delta Force unit through the fight against the Ultranationalists.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Friendship - Truck & Sgt. Derek Westbrook/Frost - Chapters: 4 - Words: 5,040 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 12-02-12 - Published: 05-26-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8153613
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Order of Collapse
Title: Order of Collapse
Prompts: "Collapse" (Sandman) / "Won" (Grinch) / "Gothic" (Truck) / "Alert" (Frost)
Summary: The Delta Force Squadron through the fight against the Ultranationalists.
Author: Sakura123 (weber_dubois22)
Word Count: Undetermined
Character(s): Sandman, Grinch, Truck, Derek "Frost" Westbrook
Disclaimer: Call of Duty/Modern Warfare is property of Infinity Ward, Sledgehammer Games and Activision. I own nothing save the original characters and this particular premise.
Author's Note: For all intents and purposes Delta Force is probably my new favorite band of characters in the COD and characters I wish had been afforded a little more "screentime" in the game (or more lines).
001: Elevation Code Red
Date Unknown, 2016 - 07:20:40
? "Sandman" ?
When news got out about what happened in Washington, it was hard to keep a stiff upper lip about it, even when it was clear celebration was too early to be wrought. They might've gotten the Russians on the run and practically out of the nation's capital, but with a shared disadvantage created by the EMP, it wasn't an easy task.
Sandman had been in Carolina when the nuke went off; things had been terse enough with the accusation of Americans being responsible for the deaths of a million (if not more) innocent Russians at their national airport. The typical everyman may have not thought much of it when the news broke, but everyone in a position knew the ramifications of such an accusation. The Russians wanted blood, revenge for their fallen people and as sure as the wind was swift, they came down on America like the fabled hammer of Thor.
A greater than mass genocide was their answer to the so-called crimes committed by the terrorists of the United States. Their own technology used against them, it was a mad scramble to respond as they were caught unawares. Along with the towns and cities of the East Coast, nearby military bases were leveled to point where there was hardly a chance to retaliate properly.
And as prepared as they were for the oncoming onslaught, Sandman, Frost, Truck and Grinch's base had been one such victim of unfortunate surprise; and by surprise, one means the sheer numbers in which they used to attack weren't expected. Sandman found the event to be one big blur of panic and screaming; one moment he sorting through maps, listening to the nothings of Grinch and Truck as they argued the semantics of "old sayings", the next every single part of him was standing on edge at the sound of explosions and the siren wailing throughout the base.
Locked and loaded, the three of them rushed from out of the bowels of the base into the madness where they found Derek, already in the thick of things as he mowed oncoming hostiles down in the hangar of the airfield.
Despite their best efforts, the Russians were playing to win and in a big way. Well into the next day, the base looked less like a base and more like a graveyard about to collapse onto itself. Wreckage, debris and bodies of soldiers littered the ground like a nightmare modernist painting. They had more wounded and dead than the opposition, who seemed spawn like an unrelenting enemy pulled out of the fires of hell.
"Two, coming through on the east wall!"
"I got 'em." Truck and Westbrook's voices crackled over his headpiece, making them feel closer than a good mile across the base, protecting the armory.
"We're getting our asses creamed here, Sarge!"
"No shit, Grinch!" He did not need Grinch stating the obvious at a time like this. Between the two of them, Truck and Grinch were sure to drive her battier than the Russians on the offensive. "Grizzly, what's the ETA on that Goddamn air support? We're getting our asses handed to us!"
"Ten minutes and counting, sir. They're on the way."
"We'll be dead in ten minutes!"
Within the confines of the situation, pinned down somewhere between the wreckage of a burnt out helicopter and the ruin the second floor of the base of operations, Sandman was amazed they had made it out alive at alive. When the warheads were set off, power to the entire East Coast was wiped out, the chain of events borne from the explosion were as surreal as can be. Sandman and Grinch were forced into the sparking chaos of headquarters as helicopters and missiles plummeted from the sky onto dumbfounded enemy and allies alike.
A string of profanities flew from Grinch's mouth as he tripped over himself trying to outrun the crumbling walls and ricocheting debris. The two of them were plunged into darkness of the building's interior the further they went inside, they eventually came to the end when the ground beneath them imploded, sending them down into the relative unknown. The last thing Sandman remembered before blacking out was the sound of his own body hitting what he believed was the ground and the aftershock of the building falling all around him.
It was the first time he considered himself lucky to be alive. Half delirious from the realization of what occurred and grinding his teeth against the pain in his right arm, Sandman rolled over to find himself staring up into the black and gray mosaic of the world above. Across from him (or so he believed), he heard Grinch calling out to him and somewhere between closing his eyes and opening them again, his subordinate hauled him out of the remains of headquarters.
Disorientation was no help in process of accepting one of their strongholds had been obliterated by the force of mere persistence; it was no secret the United States army was stretched to its maximum after the incident in Saudi, Arabia. In the years following the incident, more and more Ultranationalist attacks seemed intent on pushing the united forces of the US and UK to their limit, as if to test their breaking point. To see their Achilles' heel exploited like it was presently angered Sandman to no reasonable end. They couldn't perform to the fullest and the Russians knew it.
When they reunited with Frost and Truck, the two looked no more worse for wear than when the battle began. "Air support managed to help us out before the EMP hit; we secured the area, signaled for any air support outside the EC," Truck explained, rolling the cigarette between his teeth. "It was a damn massacre before then."
Derek gave a short nod of his head. "It wasn't anything we couldn't handle," He answered.
"Oh, no, 'course, not. Shit falling from the sky is a cakewalk," Grinch remarked with the usual sarcasm.
"Most of our guys got out alive. The enemy is as incapacitated as we are; equal playing ground, survival. That's what counts," If looks could kill, Grinch would've been a causality of Frost's trademark glare which reduced his eyelids to slits, the mask covering the lower half of his face adding to the menace of the anonymity lent to his appearance. Sandman could already feel a headache developing in the center of his brow as Grinch readied himself to rebuke his teammate's argument. "That's enough, the both of you!" His voice teetered on the edge of calm and loose; if anyone pushed him, there would be hell to pay. "Truck, how long before air support reaches us?"
"They didn't say," Truck answered immediately. "We just gotta wait."
Well that's just perfect. Sandman lowered his head, resisting the urge to remove his helmet to run his hand across his thinning hair.
"We got plenty to occupy us in the meantime, Sarge," Grinch substituted. "There's plenty of wounded and dead to gather up."
And he was right; looking across the ruined airfield of the base, the complications of regrouping began to hit him like bricks falling in quick succession. The reds of the fire and the orange of the late afternoon blended together like a Technicolor nightmare out of a big budget film; he could just imagine their bodies shadowed by the dark, acting as silhouettes to heighten the drama. Bottling his emotions, Sandman pulled himself into a standing position and reclaimed his weapon from off the ground. "Alright, let's get it done."