Call of Duty: Ghosts
Chapter One: Waking Up
Pain. A bright, brief flash of pain, then he crumpled to the floor. The bullet had been slowed by his body armour; otherwise he'd be dead already. His rifle fell beside him, useless now. He saw Shepherd out of the corner of his eye, that traitorous bastard, taking the DSM out of Roach's pocket.
He could read men like a book, and he saw no remorse in the General's eyes. Shepherd turned around, and nodded to two of the soldiers with him. Shadow Company, he recognised their uniforms and shoulder patches. So that's why he had them, to replace the 141.
The pain was getting worse now. It bubbled from his shoulder like a volcano, a raging torrent of pain spreading throughout his body. Roach was picked up by the two soldiers first, who unceremoniously dumped him in a ditch nearby. Then they came to him. He forced his body to go limp; otherwise he'd have no chance of survival, no chance of saving Roach and the others.
They picked him up, but before they did, one checked his pulse. His heart sank, as despite all his training and experience, there was no way he could slow down his pulse so low that it was undetectable without killing him. But the one checking his pulse did nothing.
"Yup, this one's already dead." He said. He had a slight Texan twang to his voice, and there was no waver in it. This man was lying to try and save him, he realised. The pain was excruciating now, reminding him of past times, when his life was close to hell on earth.
The two Shadow Company soldiers dumped him in the ditch alongside Roach. There was a dark red patch on his stomach, that was spreading quickly, as well as several more around his legs from the mortar round. He needs a doctor fast, he thought, or his friend might die.
Then he heard splashing, and felt liquid pour onto him. There was suddenly an acrid stench of oil in the air. Oh crap, he thought, they're going to burn us. He saw Shepherd at the lip of the ditch, overseeing the two Shadow Company soldiers like a twisted referee of a sports match.
His sunglasses were hiding the man's eyes, so there was no way of Shepherd seeing the glare he was being given. If you survive Price and Soap, he silently threatened, I'll beat you to death with your own balls. He meant every word. If Price and Soap didn't get Shepherd, he would. The two 141 captains were tough, deadly men, but they were nothing to him when he was angry.
Shepherd pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He noticed, with a flare of anger, that it had the 141 badge on the nickel plated side. He flicked the lid off, and lit it. A small orange flame popped from the surface. He followed that flame as Shepherd tossed it into the ditch, the small near-spark turning into a bright, bold inferno. The pain got even worse now, as flames danced around him.
He didn't notice Shepherd walk away, or one of the Shadow Company soldiers walk with him. He could vaguely hear Price on his radio, but he couldn't make out what the old soldier was saying. He just hoped that the other 141 soldiers made it out of this mess.
It was then he realised that there wasn't any heat any more. The pain was still just as agonising, but the heat had gone. He risked moving his head slightly. There was no fire anymore. He felt himself being dragged out of the ditch, out of death's jaws.
"Don't worry; you're going to be fine." He heard. It was the Texan, the one who had checked his pulse. He let himself relax. At least he had one ally now. The pain was gradually subsiding, retreating back to his shoulder. He moved his legs. Despite some minor burns, they seemed to be fine.
His left shoulder felt like it was on fire, an irony due to his previous situation. He rolled onto his side, and then pushed himself into a sitting position using his right elbow. Then he pushed himself into a crouch, standing up slowly. The Texan was dragging Roach out of the ditch, but trying not to cause him too much damage.
Roach had taken most of the flames, as well as the mortar round and the bullet from Shepherd. He didn't envy his younger friend at all. He helped the Texan drag Roach out of the ditch and onto the grass.
"What the hell are you doing? You need to rest!" He shouted, stunned by his endurance to his wounds. He shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm fine. It's Roach that needs help." His distinctive British accent was gravelly and coarse, from all the shouting that he'd been doing during the assault on Makarov's compound. The Texan shrugged as well, knowing an argument would do either of them no good.
"Alright. OK, just put pressure on that bullet wound whilst I treat his burns." The Texan ordered. He pressed both hands on the wound, ignoring the pain his shoulder was giving him. Dark red liquid seeped out of the wound, soaking his hands.
"OK, that's his burns treated. I've got the gunshot wound now. Try to raise some help, just be careful, we're monitoring your radio frequencies." The Texan said nervously. He did as the Texan said so, releasing his hold of the wound and flicking his radio on.
"Archer, do you copy, over?" He asked. He didn't care that now they knew Shadow Company, had failed in killing at least one 141 soldier, Roach needed help. Badly, otherwise he'd probably not live to see the next day.
"This is Archer. I'm seeing you now, what the hell happened, over?" The normally unflinching sniper sounded slightly nervous, having probably seen Shepherd's betrayal using his sniper scope.
"Shepherd's betrayed us. Roach needs a doctor fast, try and make your way to us, over." He could use some extra firepower now.
"We can't. Both Makarov and Shepherd's men are in a fire fight down by the compound, it'd be suicide trying to get across. We'll try and cover you from here; you make your way to us, over." Archer responded. That was a bad situation. With only four able men, and one critically injured, against possibly dozens of armed hostiles, the odds were stacked against him.
"Copy that Archer. Ghost out." He killed the radio connection after that. He limped over to where his rifle lay, and picked it up. He shook the dirt off it, and made sure the magazine was loaded. He then limped back over to the Texan and Roach.
"We need to move. There is a pair of friendly snipers around a klick away, the other side of the compound. That's where we're headed. Let's go."
"What about the casualty?" The Texan asked him.
"Carry him over your shoulder. You got a sidearm?" The Texan nodded, pulling out a Kimber 1911 .45 pistol.
"Then protect Roach. I'll cover you. Follow me." The process was slow, as the Texan had to carry Roach, and he was limping.
"You never told me your name, or his." The Texan nodded towards the unconscious Roach. He kept on moving, sweeping his ACR across the woods up ahead.
"His name's Gary, but his nickname's Roach. As for me, my name's Simon, Simon Riley, but call me Ghost."
A/N: Hi, Bradykins here. I thought I'd start this story, due to the announcement of Call of Duty: Ghosts, the next CoD game. Its not my impression of what'll happen, but I think now's a good time to start it. There'll be a lot more action in the next chapter as well, just to let you know.