Chapter Text
A/N: Italics are when German is being spoken
The moment he had seen the RPG from the corner of his peripheral, Ghost had known the mission was going to end badly.
“Hold on!” Price yelled over the loud roar of the wind whipping around the helicopter, the chopper rapidly losing altitude.
Gaz looked like he was about to have a heart attack, considering that the last time the helicopter he was in was hit, he was hanging upside down over a road via a rope.
Soap and Roach clutched their straps, the latter staring blankly in front of him. Ghost wasn’t exactly thrilled to be in this situation, but he wasn’t panicking. Nikolai had some control over the blackhawk, the incredible pilot had the skills.
The problem, though, was the fact that they were going to crash into the Black Forest. In December. With heavy snow. No town in sight.
“Brace for impact!” The strained Russian accent of Nikolai ripped through the Brit’s headset. Simon Riley watched the black void of the dense forest below. If he was about to die, he hoped it would be a quick death.
The landing was less than ideal. Ghost swore his brain was thrown around in his skull. Roach let out a small groan. The mute sergeant was difficult to communicate with, but the small noises he let out every now and then could let the rest of 141 understand how he felt.
The loud groaning of the metal frame of the UH-60 prompted Ghost to rip himself out of his seat, helping the rest of the team up.
“Everyone good?” Price’s eyes scanned the team, checking for any signs of injury. Ghost shook his head.
“No sir.” Soap grunted, cracking his back. “Why do we always get shot down?” The rhetorical question made Ghost roll his eyes. Gaz clutched his rifle closer to his chest.
“I think we should be more worried about whether we’ll freeze to death tonight,” the sergeant noted quietly, “or whether those wolves will get us.”
“Wolves?” Nikolai titled his head to the side. “Are there trails?”
“Yeah.” Gaz pointed vaguely at the pine trees behind him. Nikolai pushed his way through the snow to the tracks, Ghost in tow.
Simon crouched down, studying the snowy tracks in the ground. The tracks weren’t wolf tracks.
“These aren’t from wolves. These are human and dog tracks. A dog and his master.”
--
“König, where’s Bell?” The Austrian looked up, watching you walk into the small kitchen, Orion in tow. The german shepherd’s ears were perked up at attention, his beady brown eyes glinting in the low light.
“She’s upstairs, in our bedroom.” König stood up, cracking his neck. “Why’d you ask, little hunter?”
“Orion was barking all day when I was hunting.” You grumble, setting the rifle you were carrying on the countertop.
Employed as a GSG-9 operative, you had barely any time to stay with your partner König, he himself busy with KorTac. The two of you had been a pair for little over two years, the giant of a man first meeting you during a raid on a drug ring in Berlin, KorTac looped in to help with the operation. König had a soft spot for you since day one, and has retained that soft spot ever since. You ripped your kevlar vest off, along with your ghillie’s cloak and hood, the burlap netting slightly torn. Orion trotted up the stairs, barking to his sister.
Despite being trained as a field sniper, you had done well in hot breaching. The dogs seemed to enjoy it, too. König wrapped a burly arm around you, pulling you into his large form. Even though you were a flat six feet, your Austrian partner still towered over you, the man resting his chin on your head.
“I wish we had more time like this. In your home, out here, alone. No one can bother us.” König sighed. You leaned into him, his body heat warming you comfortingly.
“The GSG 9 der Bundespolizei will let me have more time off, I hope.” You padded to the couch, falling into the plush material. Your König followed you like a lost puppy, sitting next to you.
“The military is demanding of its people, Hunter. They use and abuse them, then switch them out with new blood the moment they get the chance.” König reasoned, deep voice carrying a worried tone to it, the voice slightly muffled by the gray balaclava shielding his face. You hummed in response, picking at the black mask covering the lower half of your face. Sighing, you closed your eyes, drowsiness tugging you to sleep. The day’s work had drained you, but it was something you fine with.
Life in the frontier was something that was a calling for you. The first time you had a taste of the wild was when you were six, your father teaching you how to fire a rifle. It was a Kar-98K, and old German rifle from a darker time in the European country’s history. Your father was an Oberstleutnant, or lieutenant colonel, in Germany’s army. He had urged you to follow in his footsteps as an officer, but you had enlisted, not wanting the workload of an officer. Reaching to the rank of lieutenant, you had been swept into the GSG-9 when your commanding officer had noticed your unique skill set with sniping, breaching, and wilderness survival skills. König admired that about you; you weren’t afraid of trying something new and were willing to serve your country so fervently that you had risked your life multiple times in the field. Reckless yet attentive, reserved and introverted yet friendly, you were the perfect man for him.
König had the urge to run his hand through your ruffled hair, but contained himself from giving the display of affection. He was a private man, and you respected that. König displayed affection in…more intimate ways, and you loved him for that. Once again, the Austrian wrapped his arms around you lovingly.
“I’m going to go grab Bell and Orion, I swear if I hear them bark one more time, I’m going to have a heart attack.” You rubbed your hand down your face, a bit fed up with your “kids”, as König called them. Standing up, you walked to the stairs, grabbing your rifle off the counter as you passed it. The long rifle was something you were given every since your first sniper course, and you had kept it with you ever since. The SR-25 was your pride and joy, the suppressed marksman rifle firing gave you the satisfaction of hitting your target every time. The heft to it was virtually nonexistent, you had modified it’s stock and internals to make the already feather-light rifle even lighter. It was good for you, as you tended to carry a hefty amount of equipment to breach compounds and survive in the unforgiving environment you tended to operate in.
Padding up the stairs, the barking of your two dogs slowly getting louder as you neared them. “Bell, Orion!” You shouted, groaning when you saw Orion practically jumping in excitement next to his sister, who had a bored expression on her face, if you could call it that.
“Pfui!” You ordered, the german shepherds looking down, Orion ceasing movement. “Platz!”
You kneeled down, rubbing the two dogs on their heads, scolding them. “Why are you always so excited to see Bell, kiddo? You love your sister so much, don’t you?”
Orion barked in reply.
Standing up, you walked to the closet, opening it to reveal a sparse amount of shirts and hangers. Pushing them aside, a small keypad illuminated by green light occupied the wall. Punching the 4-digit code into the keypad, you pulled the door of the room open, revealing König’s and your arsenal of submachine guns, assault rifles, pistols, and most importantly, snipers. Placing your beloved rifle on the unoccupied rack, you turned on your heel to return to your lover, just when the muffled barking of Orion and Bell caught your attention.
What the hell?
Bell wasn’t a very talkative dog; hearing her bark was a clear warning sign. You grabbed König’s MP5 and your MP7 along with a couple of extra mags, slammed the door shut, and ran down the stairs. Your partner eyed you, catching the submachine gun you tossed him. “Was ist es?”
Chambering a bullet, you handed König an extra mag. “Something’s not right. Bell’s barking her head off.” You turned to the two crazed dogs scratching at the door. “Ständer niedrig!”
König checked his mag before chambering a bullet. “What do you think triggered her?”
“We’re about to find out soon enough.”
--
“There’s the house.” Soap muttered.
The team had been following the trail for about an hour, or at least it seemed that way. The house was small, simple, yet strategically placed. It was on the high ground, the colors of the stone and wood blending well into the environment. Ghost thought it looked nice, but stayed silent on the matter.
“The lights are out, but we don’t know if it is occupied. No rifles, only pistols. I’m not exactly keen on civilian casualties.” Captain Price muttered, shouldering his rifle. Nikolai let out a dry laugh, the Russian seemingly unfazed by the harsh cold.
“You Brits sure like taking people’s houses as your own quarters.”
“Stop being a history geek.” Gaz fired back. Roach and Ghost exchanged glances.
“Is that barking?” Soap asked, the Scotsman turning his head from side to side. Ghost growled in annoyance.
“Most likely. Watch out for the dogs. If they try and get a chunk out of you, shoot it.”
“Sick b/st/rd.” Soap hummed, eyeing his Lt.
“Ghost is one.” Gaz’s chuckle morphed into a yelp when Ghost almost backhanded him.
“Focus,” Price grunted. “Roach, you get the door.”
The man nodded, couching face-level to the door handle, fiddling with the latch’s keyhole. Roach hummed, stepping back from the door with a brief thumbs-up. Price slowly pulled down on the latch, opening the well-oiled door. The inside was minimalistic, a simple couch, TV, table, and chairs coming into view. A bottle of beer sat unattended on the wooden coffee table.
“Nicht bewegen.”
A red laser appeared on Ghost’s vest. Following the light to its source, Ghost lowered his pistol ever so slightly.
Two men, both armed with Heckler and Koch mp’s, stood in the dark shadows of the adjoining room. The one with the balaclava was larger and taller than the other, cold green eyes watching their every move. The other, shorter yet still just as muscular as his partner, had his machine-pistol aimed at his Ghost’s chest. His finger hover above the trigger and stance wasn’t tense, eerily similar to how one would himself in the army. Price lowered his pistol, despite his team outnumbering(and possibly outgunning) their opposition.
“We aren’t here to hurt you. We mean peace.” Ghost doubted his captain’s words would be understood by the Germans. The smaller man’s gaze raked over the team, stopping on the Union Jack patch proudly displayed on the ballistic vest worn by Price.
“König, leg deine Waffe runter.” The man muttered, shouldering his gun. The bigger one, ‘König’, Ghost assumed, reluctantly lowered his MP5. “You’re SAS.” The shorter man stated.
Ghost was surprised they spoke english.
“Yes, we are.” Price nodded. “Ghost, Soap, Nik, Roach, pistols down.” The men lowered their pistols, Ghost watching the two men intently as he lowered his, holstering the silenced glock.
--
You watched the men safe and stow their handguns, the one with the skull balaclava hesitating for a moment. König watched them just as closely as you did. Bell growled lowly from between your feet, you quickly shushing her. The one in the mohawk shifted on his feet nervously. Turning to face the one who you assumed to be the leader, you narrowed your eyes, speaking lowly.
"This is König, and I guess you can call me Jäger. Now, let's cut to the chase, shall we? Tell me why the fuck a group of Brits are out in the German frontier?"