Call of Duty: Ghosts

Chapter 4: Room by Room

The whole flashback lasted less than a second in Ghost's mind. He shook himself out of his memories, and back to the present. Stay focused Riley, he told himself, you've got people depending on you. He wiped the sweat off his sunglasses as he moved cautiously up the stairway. Scarecrow was on his left, SCAR-L raised into his shoulder. He heard talking, in a low whisper, up the stairs. He raised his ACR on instinct. The ACOG sight he had fitted onto it magnified the world it saw by four, so instead he aimed down the mini red-dot sight that was 'piggybacking' on top.

It was a recent addition to the 141's armoury, and personally Ghost loved it. He raised his left hand to signal Scarecrow to stop. The two 141 men stood there, silently awaiting a hail of bullets to come flying through a doorway. No such gunfire erupted, and the two continued their advance. Ghost's breathing was heavy, nerves on a knifes edge. It occurred to him that maybe Scarecrow had been mistaken, that maybe there was no one alive up here. A gunshot shattered that train of thought.

The bullet struck the wooden wall that Ghost was stood next to, showering him in splinters.

"Contact front, five metres!" He screamed above the gunfire as he spotted a muzzle flash in the room ahead of them. He opened fire on semi-automatic, not wanting ricochets in the tight CQB environment. Bang, bang, bang, the gunfire was nearly deafening in the close quarters. He heard a dull thump to his right, and then an explosion knocked him backwards. His hearing was shot; all Ghost could hear were bells ringing. He climbed to his feet, stumbling around and fumbling for the wall for support. He couldn't find his rifle, so he pulled out his Glock 21, unscrewing the suppressor.

A 40mm grenade must have been fired, and, although Ghost wasn't hit by shrapnel, the shockwave was what knocked him back. He saw someone step out into the stairway. It wasn't Scarecrow. He raised his Glock, in a two handed grip, and fired. He hit the man in the chest, the big .45 calibre round slotting him in one shot. Ghost ran up the stairs, seeing the man he shot dead on the floor, blood pooling around him already.

He found his rifle at the top of the stairs, coved in a thin layer of dust and debris. Ghost picked it up, and checked to make sure it was in working order. It was fine, unlike him. His hearing wasn't quite right, and he was still dazed. Just a concussion, he told himself, as he raised the sling over his shoulder, so he didn't loose his rifle again. He heard footsteps behind him, so Ghost instantly turned around, raising his rifle to his shoulder. It was Scarecrow. He was covered in dirt, and had a cut above his right eyebrow, which drenched the right side of his face in blood.

"You alright?" He asked Ghost, who nodded in return.

"My rifle's messed up pretty bad, but my sidearm still works well." Scarecrow told him, pulling out his HK45C and cocking the pistol.

"Follow me." Ghost replied, and walked past Scarecrow, sights raised. The other 141 soldier turned around, and instinctively raised his pistol in a two-handed grip, facing side-on with his left shoulder forward. The two men walked forwards at a steady pace, before coming to the door of the room. It had already been blown off its hinges when the 141 had breached it, but the door had been crudely put back in the doorway as a makeshift barricade. It'd be no match for the two men. They took position on either side of the doorway. Ghost decided to make their presence known.

"Alright. I know you can hear me. I'm going to give you a choice now." He said loudly, making himself heard. "I was born in October. When I reach that month, we're going to go in there and kill you all. Any of you that choose to come out, with your weapons unloaded, and hands up will be spared. Your choice, fella's." He finished his ultimatum.

"January." He started the countdown. He made sure his Glock and his ACR had a full magazine, and Scarecrow did the same with his HK. "February." He placed the rifle's stock into his shoulder, and adjusted it to the shortest length, for close-quarter-fighting. "March." Still no response. "April." Come on, Ghost thought, just bloody come out. "May." Nothing. "June." They weren't coming out. "July." Scarecrow did a brass check on his HK, pulling the slide back partially to reveal the chambered round, yet not ejecting it. "August." He let the slide go and cocked the hammer, hearing the dull click and reassuring him.

"September." Ghost pulled a flash-bang out of his webbing, handing it to Scarecrow. "October." He flicked off the safety catch on his rifle. The tension was as thick as a Challenger II Main Battle Tank's front armour. Scarecrow kicked down the door, pulled the pin from the flash-bang and lobbed it into the room.

The thunderous crack and the flash of white light signalled Ghost to burst into the room, rifle raised, fire selector on full-auto, finger on the trigger. He saw one man stumble backwards, dressed all in black. Ghost aimed for his centre mass, killing the man with a four round burst. Scarecrow practically ran into a man that was trying to stab Ghost on the back, and pumped two rounds into his side at point blank range. Ghost spotted two more Shadow Company soldiers raising MK-18 carbines, short-barrelled M4's at him. He turned to fire at them, squeezing the trigger. He emptied the magazine into them, before something smacked his rifle out of his hands.

The last Shadow Company soldier alive had a Beretta M9 pointed at him in one hand, readjusting his aim. Suddenly a single shot rang out, and the man fell to the floor, the top of his head and one eye missing, blood spurting out of the fatal wound. Scarecrow lowered his pistol.

"You good?" He asked Ghost, walking over to the first man Ghost shot, picking up his SCAR-L.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Ghost replied, in a state of slight shock from his near-death encounter. Fucking hell Riley, he mentally scolded himself, that was too close.

"Don't mention it. Your rifle's screwed by the way. Took that guy's round to the receiver." Ghost's heart sunk. His rifle had been with him for nearly two years, ever since he joined the 141. Now he'd have to leave it behind.

"Damn." Was all he said, pulling out his Glock again.

The two men exited that room, keeping their sights raised. Scarecrow took point now, their roles reversed, with Ghost lacking firepower.

The next room they went in was empty. There were several Ultranationalist corpses in it, clearly having been killed hours ago. Good ol' Roach, Ghost instantly thought, hard as bloody nails. The next was in a similar state. There was one last room to clear. Suddenly gunfire erupted downstairs, and screams could be heard. The two 141 soldiers spun round, weapons raised. Nothing came up.

Ghost signalled for Scarecrow to go downstairs and see what was going on. He nodded, and moved back the way they had come. Ghost turned around, and continued pushing forward, Glock raised in both hands. One room left, Ghost told himself, nice and easy. He heard a faint click, and halted. The click was followed by another. He knew what it was instantly. Oh shit, he thought as a hail of bullets suddenly spurted out from the open doorway.

He ran back the way he came, bullets chasing his every step, before diving to the floor. He covered his head with his hands as bullets flew over him, splintering the wooden walls on both sides of him. Light-machine-gun, seven-six-two, Ghost instinctively identified it, probably an M60. The deafening roar of the machine-gun filled the air, and florescent tracers zipped and cracked above Ghost's head. The torrent of gunfire ceased as quickly as it had begun, and Ghost heard the firer reloading, whilst walking slowly out of the room.

He climbed to his feet, and crouched down on one knee, Glock raised to where the firer's body would be. Out of the doorway stepped a giant of a man, clad in full-body armour, wielding, as Ghost had guessed, an M60 machine-gun. He was at least 6"6, compared to Ghost's 6"1, with a chest like a bear and long bulky arms.

This'll be fun, Ghost joked sarcastically in his mind, before he stood to his feet and charged.


A/N: Thought I'd put in some violence and a cliffhanger for ya'll, instead of some plot and character development. Sorry about the long update time and the shortness of the chapter, but I've just returned from a brilliant week-long cadet camp and I've never been more tired in my life. Seriously, I was doing a drill display with my Air Cadet squadron today, and during the practice I was falling asleep whilst standing to attention. Anyway, waffling on there, back on topic. Eighteen reviews! You guys are the best, averaging to six reviews per chapter. Thank you. Heads up, this juggernaught (couldn't resist) is going to take up most of the next chapter, and it's going to be one brutal fight. Just one last thing, there's a TV show out there called 'Strike Back', I'd seriously check it out if you haven't seen it, I base some of the action in this from that show , and it's great. Well that's it for this chapter.

Bradykins out.