Chapter Text
Another cloud of smoke joined the haze in the room as Captain Price exhaled, looking over the documents spread across his desk. He tapped a pen lightly against the edge of his desk as he took another pull from the cigar, eyes scanning the information on the papers. A long sigh left the Captain's lungs as he sat back in his chair.
A knock at his door made him look up.
"Yes?"
"Sorry to bother, Cap'n. Just a quick question about this upcoming op, if you'll have it."
"Go ahead, MacTavish."
"Well… the location isn't exactly viable for us to do recon as we normally would. And the Intel we've gotten has been saying not to use UAVs to get a bird's eye view. How on God's green earth are we gonna do recon? Don't tell me we're gonna be goin' in blind- I'm sure I don't hafta tell ya sir, how much of a risk that is."
"And you'd be correct in that, Sergeant." The Captain shook his head, another cloud of cigar smoke leaving his mouth as he spoke. "Let me guess; you, and presumably everyone else, are wanting to know how recon is going to happen?"
"Aye, Sir. That's about it." Soap nodded, still standing at attention, not relaxing during this conversation.
Price heaved a sigh. "Laswell has… called in a favor. Contracted another PMC who apparently has a specialist for situations akin to this." Soap's eyes widened slightly at the revelation.
"Cap'n… KorTac still has operatives on our base. That'd mean there'd be two PMCs that're contracted and on base at the same time?!" Soap spoke quickly, almost in disbelief.
"I don't like it any more than you, Soap. In fact, I'd go as far as to say I don't like this at all." Price stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray that sat off to one side, smoke wisping its way up from the ashes. "But if they can indeed get this recon done, and done without incident…then so be it. They're due in this evening, about 2100hrs I believe."
"Aye, Sir. Understood." Soap nodded, a slight grimace to his face. He didn't really like the idea of another PMC being brought in for this - especially one they hadn't worked with before. KorTac, while known for being brutal, he could stomach, because at least he knew some of the faces he was dealing with. König, Hutch, Horangi… but a whole new team of unknowns? It made for an uneasy feeling. No one in the 141 was going to like this.
2103 - the last of the setting sun was just barely visible behind the treeline outside the base. Flood lights had been switched on around the base to illuminate specific areas. Captain John Price stood at the edge of the tarmac, near where the empty hanger was - what would become the temporary accommodations for the visiting PMC. He glanced around, and spotted several members of Task Force 141 also gathered near the tarmac's edge, waiting for the newcomers.
The unmistakable rumbling was heard as their cargo plane coasted into view, dropping in altitude as the wheels came down from the wheel wells. The AN-22 touched down, wheels screaming as it rapidly dropped in speed. The massive old Russian cargo plane taxied down the runway, making its way towards the hangar. The whole plane had been repainted a deep grey, matte and sleek. The color choice definitely made such a large plane feel more imposing, especially in the twilight hours.
When it finally coasted to a complete stop, the bay doors opened, and personnel flooded out, unloading crates and equipment, carrying it inside the hanger. Some stayed inside, rearranging where some crates went and unpacking others, setting up their temporary living quarters.
Price watched it all with a keen eye, noticing how little talking there was amongst the personnel to be so effective. One man, a lanky individual with auburn hair, disembarked from the AN-22, and looked around the tarmac before setting eyes upon the captain, immediately walking in his direction.
"You must be Captain John Price, I presume?" He asked, extending his hand. "I'm Matthew Jamieson, commanding officer of this HYDRA PMC unit, and handler. Laswell told me about you and your boys."
Price shook his outstretched hand, albeit a bit apprehensive about it all. "I am indeed. Apologies, if I seem… out of the loop. Laswell didn't tell me too much about your unit."
Jamieson laughed. "There's not much to tell, so don't worry about it."
Over by one of the light poles, stood Soap, Ghost, and Gaz. The trio watched the process of the PMC unloading much in the same way that their Captain did, only with a bit more commentary between them.
"Oh, get a load of that guy. Just make two trips, fer cryin' out loud."
"So… how do you think they're gonna accomplish recon? Any thoughts? They look like a pretty standard PMC to me." Gaz commented, eyes still watching the busy people on the tarmac.
"Ach, no clue." Soap grunted. "Ya think they got some invisibility device, maybe?" Ghost snorted at that. "Oh, so what d'you think it might be then, Ghost? Maybe they're able ta make ye into a ghost!" The Scot grinned at his masked colleague. Before Ghost could give an answer, something - rather, someone - caught his eye, coming off the AN-22.
"Hey. Lookit that guy. What d'you suppose he's got on his back? Looks odd." Ghost asked, voice a bit gruff as usual. Another member of the HYDRA PMC disembarked from the bay doors, slowly walking down them to the tarmac. They couldn't see much in the way of detail of said person, only a silhouette, due to that person being back-lit.
"I dunno." Soap responded. "Weird rucksack maybe? Probably?"
"Hey, maybe instead of an invisibility cloak, they have some sorta secret weapon?" Gaz asked, a half-grin on his lips. Ghost and Gaz both chuckled, as Soap sighed.
"Ah, ya two are never gonna let me live that down now, are ye?" Soap groaned. "Honestly though.. I've no clue, no bloody idea, what that guy's got on his back."
"Well, whatever it is, I hope it's useful." Gaz said, to which the other two muttered agreements, falling silent for a bit as they continued to observe. Further away, Price continued talking with the PMC unit’s C.O. The Captain of the 141 noticed that the slim-built man turned to face the AN-22 from time to time, as if to watch for something.
Or someone.
Price spotted the same soldier that the other three had commented on, albeit having a better view. A dark uniform, steel greys and deep blues, covered the individual. A faded, deep red emblem provided a different splash of colour - the PMC’s logo, a skull with octopus tentacles, flanked on either side with a pair of basic shapes, which almost emulated wings. On the individual’s back was a large, dark shape, like a reverse teardrop almost. It was a bit taller than they were, and the bottom of whatever it was nearly brushed the ground.
Jamieson gave a short, sharp whistle, and the person who just walked off the plane snapped their head up to look over towards Matthew and Price. A pair of smokey-lensed combat goggles concealed their eyes, and a half-mask covered the lower half of their face. Price watched the younger man with wary eyes - he doubted he would ever trust anyone from this PMC. He barely trusted most of KorTac’s operatives.
The Captain watched Jamieson give a series of hand signals, none of which he recognized. Puzzled, he raised an eyebrow and was about to ask what it all meant, when the individual who was receiving the signals gave the hand sign for “understood", and shook their whole body like a sprinter about to run.
The shape on their back spread wide - wings. They had fucking wings. Price stared openly, shocked. A few quick, powerful flaps stirred up clouds of dust, sending the soldier into the dark night air. They blended in so well with a dark uniform and inky black feathers.
Jamieson turned back to face Price, a small, almost… sheepish, smile on his lips.
“Apologies, Captain. Had to send the Asset to stretch its wings. It gets antsy after being cooped up for so long.” He explained. “So - mind showing me where the mess hall is? I’m sure my boys are going to be itching to get to that soon.”
Price narrowed his eyes briefly, before letting his expression fall neutral again. “Ah, yeah - I’ll give you a quick tour.” The older man started walking, quickly deciding not to push the topic. Price knew that Jamieson wasn’t giving the whole story. But he wasn’t going to push his luck. Not with a PMC. Not with a PMC that had a soldier who flies.
The Asset flew, content to feel the wind whistling past its ears again. Sharp eyes watched the ground below, mentally mapping out the base that it was now stationed at, making notes of what was where in the base's layout. The Asset spotted a guard tower, a single soldier within it keeping watch below. Tucking its wings, it dove, gaining speed before leveling its flightpath and flying at a high speed right past the guard tower. The occupant of the tower reeled in shock, before rushing to the edge of the tower, gripping the railing tightly. He stared into the dark, eyes trained in the direction of where the Asset had flown off.
“What the hell ? What kinda bird-” He muttered, shocked and confused.