Chapter Text
September 3, 2016
It had only been an exercise, a test run of sorts—a routine check-up on a route through mountains somewhere near Peru. To check for activity and to make sure the way was clear to move out. Yet, it's almost funny in a way- how things can go to hell so quickly.
The sun was starting to set behind the trees and the mountainside, sending arrays of pink and orange over the clouds that were barely visible through the smoke. Trucks stood motionless in the road, one with its tail lights on, the horn blaring, and the other tipped onto its side with its fuel tank leaking closer and closer to the fire. Blood collectively pooled and streamed down the dirt road, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness as they were dragged from out of the back of the turned-over truck, tossed into a pile on the side of the road, with their weapons removed. The driver-side door was pulled open, the windshield splattered with red, a single bullet hole in the glass that aligned with the driver's head, and the horn silenced as the body was dragged out and tossed with the others.
Patches was silent, her eyes trained on the men that dragged her fellow soldiers around like lifeless dolls. Hidden in the depths of the grass and plants, she glanced to her left side, frowning softly at the wound on her friend's leg. Luke Swanstien, the first man to talk to her when she had arrived at basic, the first to defend her when others made snide remarks. Green eyes, blond hair, and tanned skin.
She crouched down, eyes flickering back towards the road and his wound. “We need to move, we’re outnumbered.” She whispered.
He shook his head, gritting his teeth. “I’d just slow you down- my leg-”
“We’ll be fine, but not if we don’t act quickly.” She glanced over her shoulder again, her grip tightening around her assault rifle, mentally counting both her shots and the amount of targets. “Their uniforms aren’t familiar, so they're possibly working alone- a solo organization.”
“You think? They’ve definitely got the equipment- argh mmphhf.” He closed his eyes in pain, leaning back against the tree.
“They used a homemade explosive to blow up the first truck, a trip wire that set it off. And they aren’t well armored; only 5 of them are wearing tac-vests. Plus, they’re gathering the guns and ammo.” She notes off, turning back to him. “This was a risk for them-”
He opened his eyes, squinting up at her in confused pain. “... How’d you think that?”
She paused before turning back towards the road. “... It’s how I was raised.”
They fell silent, Patches watching as the enemy kept dragging the bodies towards the ditch on the other side of the road. But, Patches froze. Her eyes widened as she heard movement coming from behind her. She tilts her head to look over her left shoulder, the barrel of a gun being pointed past her towards Luke. They hadn’t seen her, her body blocked and guarded because of the tree and large-leafed plants surrounding her.
Patches slowly raised her hand toward her bowie knife, which was strapped safely in the front of her vest, hidden behind the small flap that was connected to her small clips and magazines for her pistol and rifle. Luke’s eyes opened, widening as he saw the enemy looking down at him, and his eyes darted to hers.
She moved quickly, pushing the barrel of the gun upwards as she grabbed her knife with her right hand, bringing the knife to their throat-slicing it before they could make a sound. Her eyes flinched and fluttered as the blood hit her face; she pulled the knife back and pushed it upwards between their ribcage, aiming for the heart. The gurgling sound spilled from the man in front of her, blood spilling from his lips as he coughed as her blade reached its target. Pulling back, she watched their eyes roll back and fall to the ground with a thump.
Luke exhaled heavily, his helmet thunking softly against the bark of the tree. “Christ-”
Patches turned to look at Luke before huffing softly and moving back to his side. “We can’t waste more time. We gotta move.”
He nodded in reply, watching as she ripped off a leaf and cut a vine, raising a brow when she kneeled beside him.
“Won’t that be unsanitary?” He asked as she wrapped the leaf over his wound, binding it in place with the vine, tying it tightly.
“So long as it gets treated when we get to base, you’ll be fine.” Was her reply before she pulled his arm over her shoulder, helping him to his feet.
Her eyes moved down towards the body and-
‘Well done, Little Dove. You’ve learned from the mistakes-’
January 20, 2008
“Молодец, Маленькая Голубка. Вы научились на ошибках, которые допустили в прошлый раз, но у вас еще много возможностей для совершенствования.” Father said, his eyes focused on me from the corner of the training mats. (Well done, Little Dove. You've learned from the mistakes you made last time, but there's still plenty of room for improvement.)
Patches smiled up at him from her place in the center of the mats, knife in hand, as she tried to catch her breath.
“Прицельтесь между четвертым и пятым ребром и нанесите удар вверх. Это позволит эффективнее поразить сердце.” ( Aim between the fourth and fifth rib and strike upwards. This will allow you to hit the heart more effectively.)
Patches frowned, nodding her head hesitantly. “Отец, зачем я это изучаю?” (Father, why am I learning this? )
He paused, turning to her, his brown eyes locking onto her, freezing her in place at his voice being so cold and distant. “Потому что пришло время учиться и становиться тем, кем вы были рождены быть.” (Because it's time to learn and become who you were born to be.)
She tilted her head slightly in confusion-
September 4, 2016
“Private Price! A word, please.”
Patches raised her head from her cup, which she had been staring into for the past 20 minutes or so. She had been waiting for news on Luke, who had been escorted behind the locked doors to her left. She stood up and left the cup on the seat, following the Lieutenant who had called for her, curious as they turned down a narrow hallway. As the Lieutenant stopped and opened a door at the end of the hall, their eyes met as they held the door open for her to enter.
Peering inside the room, she noted that there was only one person inside, a woman.
“Sit.” Was all the woman said as the door shut behind Patches.
A single chair in front of the desk that separates them, the woman not looking up from the files in front of her. Probably the incident report, Patches thought as she moved to sit down.
As she sat down, grey eyes met hers, a soft smile crossing the woman's lips.
“I must say, I was surprised to hear that your group had been attacked and that there were two survivors. Normally, that route is the quietest one to travel. That's why we had your Commander take it in the first place. It’s unfortunate; what happened to your fellow soldiers.”
Patches merely nodded. “I doubt that it was a spur-of-the-moment type of attack. It was too coordinated.”
The woman raised a brow and nodded her head. “You would be correct; they had planned the attack. Though, I hadn’t expected Captain Price’s daughter to be involved. Your father must’ve taught you well for you to survive and bring your injured team member with you. The distance was extensive, but you managed to get here on foot no-less, within a short amount of time.”
Patches stayed silent.
“My condolences for your other team members. They were from the same basic as you were, correct?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The woman paused an amused huff and grin escaping her before she stood up. Walking around the table, she leaned back against it as she crossed her arms. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Diana Willows, Patches. That’s what was in your file. Am I correct to assume that you're heading into the medical side of things?”
Patches looked up at her and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Willows shook her head, smiling gently. “No need to call me that; Willows will do just fine.”
She nodded in reply.
“Look, Patches. I want to offer you a deal.”
Patches narrowed her eyes at Willows, frowning as she fully turned towards her. “What do you mean?”
Willows smiles, reaching her arm back, and pulls a file towards the edge of the desk. “You help me in dealing with this group, personally, and I’ll pull some strings to get you into the place you belong. Of course, there isn’t any guarantee that they will let you in, but if you pass their tests, then you should start training within a few months.”
Patches stared up at her in confusion, frowning. “Why? Why are you offering me this?”
And Willows only smiled in return, nodding her head slightly. “I can tell when someone deserves it and when someone doesn’t. You’ve pushed yourself, and from your file, it states that you are more than capable than half of a platoon that has been in the field for at least two years.”
“So. What’ll it be?”
Patches turned to look down at the file, the pros and cons stacking up in her mind.
“Alright.” Patches looked up at Willows, her vision focused. “I’ll join you.”
And Willows didn’t seem surprised by her answer.
September 5, 2016
“Hey, Dad, it’s me.” Patches paused, turning her head to look over her shoulder down the hall with her phone to her ear. “I’m sure you’re busy or just couldn’t answer at the moment… It looks like it's going to be another few days before I get that ceremony.”
Her eyes met Willow’s, who tapped her watch and held up two fingers. Patches nodded.
“Look, uh, I’ve got to go. But I’ll be home soon, and we’ll be able to celebrate my graduation then.” She inhaled softly, her eyes turning down towards the ground, looking at her military boots. “... I love you, Dad… See you soon.”
Hanging up the call, she placed her phone in the locker, closing it, and twisting the combination lock. She turned towards Willows, who was connecting the clips on her tack vest, securing it tightly.
“Was there any news about Luke?” Patches asked.
“Swanstien?” Willows turned to her. “He’s fine. They managed to save his leg because of you. Are you ready?”
She inhaled and exhaled softly through her nose and out through her mouth. Then she nodded firmly.
Willows nodded, giving her an FTAC Recon, otherwise known as the Bushmaster M4. Patches pulled out the mag, checking the bullets before putting it back in. Then she grabbed her X12, her go-to pistol, and carefully placed it in her thigh holster. Willows grabbed her own weapon, an SMG, the PP19 Bizon.
“Then let's go.”
December 27, 1979
Two days had passed since Christmas morning, and the snow stuck to the ground in a thick coat. The snow slowly fell to the ground, yet his eyes didn’t look up in childish wonder. His eyes were trained dully on the oak wood that was being lowered down into the ground, the snowflakes collecting on top of it. His left hand was buried deep in his left pocket, the cuff of his sleeve going past his hands, the new black coat being oversized for him. The black coat was a present from his mother.
He had received new boots that were thicker than his old ones, ones that kept his feet warm. His boots were dug into the snow, only being able to see his ankles above the snow.
But in his right hand, he held her red coat.
His eyes watched as the coffin made a dull thud as it reached the bottom of the hole, not looking up as the preacher walked away. It had been two days since she had died. Christmas morning, she never woke up.
A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he didn’t turn to see who it was.
“Давай, Владимир. У нас есть дела.” Victor Zakhaev ordered from behind him, guiding him away from his mother's grave. (Come on, Vladimir. We have things to do.)
He followed wordlessly, leaving the red coat piled up on the ground, letting it fall onto her casket.
“Где мой отец?” He asked, not looking up at Zakhaev. (Where is my father?)
“Мертвый. Умер, сражаясь за меня. Для России-матушки.” (Dead. Died fighting for me. For Mother Russia.)
Looking up at him, he frowned as Zakhaev looked down at him.
“Ваш Отец верил, что моя организация сможет снова сделать Россию великой, что мы сможем вылечить Россию от ее болезни. Вы верите, что Россия больна, как я?” Zakhaev asked as he knelt down beside him. (Your Father believed that my organization could make Russia great again, that we could cure Russia of its disease. Do you believe that Russia is sick like me?)
He stared at Zakhaev before he turned his eyes toward the grave behind them.
“Да.” Was his simple reply, his eyes moving back up towards Zakhaev. (Yes.)
And Zakhaev smiled. “Присоединяйтесь ко мне, и мы сможем вылечить Россию-матушку.” He stood up, walking towards the car that he parked on the side of the road. (Join me, and we can cure Mother Russia.)
He watched Zakhaev walk away, turning back to gaze at his mother's grave briefly, and then turned and followed him.
September 6, 2016
Price stared down at his phone, his hands locked together with his elbows on the desk, brows pinched together with a frown on his lips. His eyes moved up towards Ghost, who looked back at him, and he exhaled heavily.
“I’m going to message-”
“Negative, Sir.” Ghost interrupted him, snatching the phone from the table before Price could grab it.
Price glared at Ghost, standing from his desk. “Give it back, Ghost.”
Ghost shook his head, standing up as well as he answered. “For your best interest, I won’t. She can handle herself, Price-”
“She’s in active bloody duty, Simon! She’s not rea-”
“Price, we both know that she is.” Price paused, still glaring at Ghost as he fell silent. “She’s more than ready for this line of work long before she even met us. We both know that she’s more than capable of protecting herself.”
Price inhaled sharply, looking away as he slowly sat back down in his chair, hating that he was right. Hating that he had brought up something, Price wished that he could ignore.
“As much as we hate it, Price, he made her a soldier.” Ghost stated bluntly, pocketing the phone in his jeans. “She’s tougher, probably more than we think. And that’s because of him, not us.”
“Alright, you’ve made your bloody point.” Price gruffly muttered, closing his eyes with an exhale. “I just… I don’t want to lose her.”
Ghost stared down at him, sighing mutely as he sat back in the chair. “And you won’t. She’ll come back. But you need to face the facts, Price.”
Price huffed, opening his eyes as he turned his head back towards Ghost. “And what fact is that, Simon?”
A moment of silence passed as he inhaled softly. “That she wasn’t your daughter first.”
There wasn’t a reply, only a tense silence as they both stared at each other from across the desk.
September 6, 2016 - [In the mountains of Peru]
Her eyes were trained out the window, scanning the passing trees before turning her gaze toward the sky. The pink and orange hues were undisturbed on the clouds, not a trail of smoke to be found. She glanced at the rear-view mirror, focusing on the soldiers in the back as Willows drove. Private David Baekar First Class, and Corporal Jacob Hammond, picked by Willows. Patches’ eyes returned to the window, trying to name the trees as they passed by.
“Bravo is four clicks till mark. Alpha, what’s your status? Over.” Crackled from the radio.
Willows picked up, clicking the button on her coms that was strapped to her right shoulder. “Bravo, this is Alpha; we’re 5 minutes from position. What’s the status of our air support? Over.”
“Roger that, Alpha. Status is 11 out. Over.”
“Copy that, Bravo. Keep your boys on stand-by till I give the all-clear. Over and out.” Willows pulled her hand away, placing it back on the wheel. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, so be prepared for anything.”
“Don’t worry, Colonel. We’ve got your back.” Hammond said, nodding his head towards her.
Patches stayed silent, turning her eyes back toward the sky, listening to the sound of the tires on the road.
“How sure are we that this road isn’t rigged to blow?” Baekar asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Willows glanced at the rear-view mirror. “We aren’t, so you better keep your seatbelt strapped on tightly, Private,” Willows replied with a light chuckle.
Baekar huffed, leaning back in his seat and tugging at his seatbelt, tightening it as Hammond stifled a laugh. Patches only smiled softly at the sound before turning over her shoulder to look back at them.
“I doubt that they’d have the supplies to do another attack like that.” She informed them, “They might have the ammunition and the guns to do it, but it wouldn’t be enough to take us down.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?” Hammond looked at her quizzically while Willows gave an amused huff.
Patches raised a brow, “Because I was in the first attack, I saw them collecting our gear and what type of gear they had on. The bomb was a homemade trip mine that managed to tip over a single truck. They don’t have the equipment or a dealer to get good equipment. They got us by pure chance.”
Hammond hummed, nodding his head as Willows added, “Even so, we still don’t know what we’re walking into. This could be bigger than we expected. So be on the lookout.”