The ground started shaking, and Price watched through his peripheral vision as pebbles bounced over the vibrating dirt. Without moving his head, his eyes turned to look forward.
Captain MacMillan was nowhere to be found.
Price felt his heart drop a little bit, and hoped the captain was far enough away.
If I'm discovered, at least MacMillan will stay safe, thought Price.
He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the rumbling grew violent and figures appeared into view, all calmly walking towards them. And behind them came the tanks.
Lumbering slowly up the grassy hill, the two BMP-2s provided excellent support for the patrol, it's 30mm main cannon protruding out in front of everybody else. However, Price's eye line was not directed at the cannon. The main cannon would be useless in this type of situation. Instead, Price focused below the BMP's amphibious outer cover, at the wheel tracks. If one track made contact with his body...
Price concentrated on the tracks of the BMP-2 coming straight at him and tried to anticipate it's path. He shifted, slowly, to his left. It was now too late to get up and run, as the patrol was within 25 feet from him.
"Easy, lad. There's too many of them, let them go. Keep a low profile and hold your fire." MacMillan's reassuring voice buzzed in Price's headset.
"Yes, sir." Price replied as quietly as possible.
The lieutenant watched as the enemies closed in, and saw looks of boredom and aloofness in their faces. What if the patrol found bodies later on?
"Try to anticipate their paths." MacMillan said, with a touch of determined grit in his voice.
Price still had no idea where the captain was, and strained his eyes forward to notice one Nationalist in a gas mask wielding an RPD light machine gun striding slowly forward, straight at him.
"If you have to maneuver, do it slow and steady. No quick movements." Captain MacMillan said, his voice low as possible.
Price began to shift his left leg a few more inches to the left. Then his right leg. He stayed still and took a few deep breaths. His ghillie suit was becoming sweaty, but Price could do nothing to make himself feel better.
He looked up, and saw Gas Mask was still walking towards him on a verge of a collision path.
Bloody hell, thought Price, what did I do to deserve this?
Price wiggled his left leg a few more inches to the left, and began to move his right leg when he felt a tug.
His right boot was stuck in the dirt.
This is going to be a problem, he thought, and tried to wriggle it free.
The gas mask soldier was within ten feet from him, and Price tried one last desperate attempt to free his foot before lying still, breathing heavily.
Price felt the vibration of the ground against his chest, and closed his eyes. If he was going to die bravely, this was probably it. Price counted imaginary sheep in his head, and mentally went over his life. His home. His wife. His kids. His couch. His favorite food. His favorite national team.
Price felt a boot brush over his right thigh, and opened his eyes in surprise. The enemy soldier had barely missed stepping on him, and he was still alive. Now to see if Captain MacMillan made it.
"Okay, let's move. Nice and slow."
"Glad to hear your voice, sir," Price spoke into his headset, greatly relieved.
"You too." MacMillan replied, his voice as stoic as ever.
Price crawled and kept crawling. He looked behind him and watched as the patrol and BMP-2s gratefully disappeared around a grassy bend.
He turned back forward and addressed his other thought to the captain.
"Where are you?" he asked.
A sizable lump of grass and leaves rose up right in front of him, and Price found himself looking up admiringly. MacMillan had been in his view the entire time.
"As you were told earlier, we'll be impossible to spot in our ghillie suits. I think it's safe enough to stand up now. Follow me."
Price got up and followed the captain down the grassy knoll. They reached what looked to be like a dead riverbank. Wreckage of tanks and helicopters strewn the area. The two men hid behind one of the wrecked tanks, and MacMillan peered over and watched as two Nationalists were throwing dead bodies into the murky river.
"Looks like they've already eliminated the men they couldn't buy out." MacMillan observed. "Let's move up for a better view."
MacMillan and Price left their cover and moved closer, hiding behind a yellow bulldozer. MacMillan peered over at the two Nationalists and then at two other enemy soldiers about seventy meters away, patrolling idly.
"Taking them out without alerting the rest isn't going to be easy," said Captain MacMillan, "But then again, neither is sneaking past them."
Price surveyed the scene and quickly scanned the distance between the patrolling men and the gravediggers.
"Your call." MacMillan said, nudging Price with one shoulder.
Price crouched and gently lift his M21 sniper rifle to his face, peering through the scope. He positioned his sniper rifle between a small gap in the lifter of the bulldozer, and watched closely as the two patrolling men continued their pace.
He waited until the men were further distanced, and took aim at the one in the back. If Price could take this man down first, the other wouldn't be able to notice until it was too late.
Price held his breath and fired. The silenced shot ripped through the man's chest and he fell without a sound. The lieutenant quickly swiveled to aim at the other soldier, intent on taking him out before anything went wrong.
The other soldier grasped his shoulder and cried out. However, his gas mask muffled his voice, and his comrades were too far away to hear him.
The soldier's head jerked back and he disappeared into the long grass below.
"Target eliminated," MacMillan craned his head over at the last two enemy soldiers and made a motion, "Don't fire on the two by the lorry. We'll have to take them out at the same time. Wait for me to get into position."
Price acknowledged the order, and proceeded to reload his sniper rifle. MacMillan crawled a little further up the river.
"I'm in position. Take the shot when you're ready."
Price aimed and made sure his shot wouldn't miss. The two enemy soldiers continued to heave bodies into the river. Price took a breath and fired.
Barely a millisecond after he shot his bullet, MacMillan squeezed the trigger on his M21. Both bullets hit their targets.
"Good night." the captain said, satisfied.
The two camouflaged snipers followed the the river and approached a large sprawl of shipping crates. Price could hear Russian wafting out of the junkyard.
Sure enough, as they maneuvered into the area, a lone Nationalist was standing guard next to a crate, listening to the radio.
The two snipers stopped and hid behind a crate. MacMillan kneeled and watched the Russian, thinking. They stayed in that position for a while, and Price offered to shoot him.
MacMillan stayed still for a moment, as if having a conflict in his mind. Finally, he held a hand out to keep Price back.
"Stay low, he's mine."
Price was about to say "What?" when MacMillan got up and sneaked his way behind the soldier.
"Oi, Suzy!" MacMillan said in a hushed voice.
The captain's retort did not come through Price's headset, but drifted into Price's ears. The Russian Nationalist heard it to, for he started to turn. MacMillan ran up to the bastard and clipped him with his concealed knife.
"Bloody hell," Price said, stunned. He slowly got up to his feet and inspected the body.
MacMillan loomed over him.
"That's how it's done," he said, "Let's go."
And with that, the two lone snipers were off once again.