Author's Note: So I'm back, at least for the moment. There will be another chapter for this story on Tuesday, though I can't promise one by next Thursday, but I'm hoping to get this story going again. Thank you for your patience, and the my Guest reviewer from last chapter, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!

August 18, 2009

Loyalist Safehouse, Northern India

Yuri Alkaev

The Little Bird kicked up dust as it came to rest on the dry ground and Yuri lifted a hand to shield his eyes, letting his lit cigarette drop to smoulder on the ground. Since Nikolai had left to retrieve Captain Price's men, the urge to smoke in order to alleviate his lingering worry had grown stronger. Ordinarily he would have gotten rid of the urge through honing his formidable skills but he had been forbidden to do so by Inessa and he held enough respect for her to obey that command. That had left smoking.

The dust died down as Nikolai shut off the Little Bird but Yuri kept his distance, allowing others to brush by him to help unload Captain Price's injured comrades. He watched it all with an analytical eye, searching for any sign of danger. He knew that Makarov would be trying to kill him and years working first as a Spetznaz agent, then later as one of Zakhaev's men, Yuri knew well the kind of resources that his enemy could draw upon. Makarov had eyes everywhere. He would find Yuri; it was only a matter of time.

"Have you been worried, my friend?" Nikolai called as he closed the space between them to clap a hand on Yuri's arm. The former Spetznaz agent swept his gaze across his old friend, searching for injury before crushing his still smouldering cigarette below his boot.

"Makarov has many eyes," he replied darkly and Nikolai smiled knowingly at him.

"He is not as all knowing as you believe." Yuri shook his head at Nikolai's optimism. He could not believe that Makarov did not have eyes and ears within the safehouse. It would be foolish to do so, and the former Spetznaz agent was far from foolish. It was how he had survived this long doing the questionable things he had done under Zakhaev's command. "Yuri, you are going to do Makarov's job for him should you worry yourself to death."

Yuri shrugged off Nikolai's concerned hand on his shoulder and stepped away, footsteps raising clouds of dust around his boots. His friend fell into step with him, unbothered by Yuri's foul mood. As he walked, he reached a hand into his pocket and removed a carton of cigarettes. He offered them to Nikolai, who shook his head, and then removed one for himself before slipping the carton away. Instead of removing a lighter, Yuri scanned his surroundings before lighting the cigarette off a flickering orange flame which rested on the edge of his fingernail. He took a drag, blowing the smoke out into the evening sky. "His roots stretch far under the ground Nikolai," he said at last, turning his gaze to his friend for a moment. "It would be unwise to underestimate his reach."

"The Loyalist cause is free of Makarov's influence," Nikolai reassured him.

"That is a foolish assumption," Yuri replied flatly, taking another drag on his cigarette. "To believe that Makarov has no informants inside your Loyalist ranks is childish. It will lead to nothing but death for your and yours."

"And you do not consider yourself a member of our resistance?"

"I am a soldier," Yuri said, voice cold. "I fight alongside you but I will not call myself one of your own." He took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke in a slow exhale. "I cannot." Nikolai clapped a hand on Yuri's shoulder, squeezing slightly before turning back the way he had come.

Yuri finished his cigarette before returning to the safehouse. With the newcomers, the safehouse seemed to be swarming with activity. It set Yuri on edge, made his jaw tense and his fingers reach for a weapon he didn't currently wear. One of the men paused and informed Yuri that Inessa had requested his presence. The former Spetznaz agent nodded once in acknowledgement and mad his way through the sea of Loyalists towards Inessa's domain.

The room was full, new cots laid out for the wounded, and Yuri scanned the figures for any sign of trouble before stepping inside. Eyes snapped over to him, Inessa's sliding smoothly back to her work while the others watched. Nikolai, who had been keeping watch over Soap, smiled when he entered. It was the only friendly expression turned on him. The other conscious gazes were full of suspicion, something that Yuri was growing used to. Many of the Loyalists already knew of Yuri's past and believed he was still Makarov's man planted within their ranks. It was a justified fear. Should Makarov prove to have a man inside their ranks in the safehouse they could all be wiped out within hours.

"Sit," Inessa ordered, gesturing to a chair the moment she finished with her current patient. Yuri did as he was bid, ignoring Nikolai's amused gaze, and removed his shirt when she motioned for him to do so. His wound was healing and, after a brief but thorough examination of it, Inessa nodded her approval. "It is good to know you can occasionally follow instructions," she said, re-wrapping the injury.

"Only when it suits him," Nikolai joked, smiling at the woman. Inessa tutted under her breath, turning her attention to her next patient as Yuri leveled a scowl in his friend's direction.

"Some orders are best left unfulfilled," Yuri replied darkly, thinking of an airport full of innocent people screaming in fear and pain just before they met their untimely end.

"Dark thoughts, my friend," Nikolai chided gently.

"For dark times."

"Perhaps," Nikolai agreed. "But there must be light for one to see a shadow." Yuri shook his head but knew it was useless to argue. Nikolai looked towards the future with hope but Yuri kept his eyes fixed on the present and the problems it presented him with. The result was two opposing viewpoints that could not be reconciled with simple conversation. Attempting to do so would be a waste of time.

Yuri rose, pulling his shirt back on, as a voice demanded, "Who is he?"

"Yuri Alkaev," Nikolai said, lifting his hands in a peaceful gesture. "A friend, Lieutenant Riley."

"A friend?" the lieutenant questioned skeptically over the beeping of a heart monitor.

"An old friend," Nikolai replied with a smile. "Though not a particularly cheerful one." Then Nikolai turned his attention towards the man he and Price called Soap, who was attached to the beeping heart monitor. Yuri turned to leave, not comfortable around so many people he neither knew nor trusted, and saw Captain Price in the doorway. The man nodded warily at Yuri and then stepped around him, heading towards Soap. "His vital signs are still weak," Nikolai informed Price. "Soap won't last without proper attention."

"He's a hard bastard," was Price's response. "Trust me, he'll make it."

Yuri shook his head at the sentiment, but didn't linger to debate it. In his experience, the Russian had never seen sheer force of will keep a person alive. Either the blood flow was staunched long enough for the wound to be treated or a blood loss or positioning of the wound carried them into death. In his opinion, either Soap would live or die. There was little anyone could do to influence that. Perhaps if Yuri had placed a little more stock in the faith his grandmother had lauded, getting down on old, arthritic knees to pray every night before the cross hanging from the mantle in her home, he might believe in something of that sentiment, but he did not.

He hadn't gotten far from the room when one of the patchwork alarms the Loyalists had set up all over the safehouse and perimeter began screeching. People poured into the narrow hallway, most of them holding weapons, and Yuri was forced to press his back against the wall to avoid being trampled on. A few Loyalists shot him wary, angry looks as if they suspected him of leading Makarov's men to their doorstop. They were incorrect only in the assumption that he had done so on purpose.

"Yuri!" he heard Nikolai bellow, and he turned back the way he'd come, forcing his body through the frantic mob of people to step inside the makeshift hospital. He was in time to hear his friend say, "Only man I know who hates Makarov more than you."

"They'll use the ridgeline to fly in from the north," Price said, ignoring Yuri's entrance.

"How do you know?" Nikolai questioned, turning his gaze towards his friend. Yuri nodded, signalling that he was fine with assisting in this effort, and Nikolai turned back to Price.

"It's what I would do," the Brit said darkly.

Inessa was shooing anyone able to stand on their own out of the room. "Evac chopper is around back," she was barking, flapping her hands sternly at them. "Go, go. You are no good here." Her English was rough but effective and, with a nod from Price, the newcomers from early morning cleared out. Once they were gone, the woman bustled back towards Soap, motioning Yuri over with a flick of her head. He worked silently beside her, doing only as directed, while she worked on a stronger patch job for Soap's wound.

"We need to get Soap to the chopper," Price barked, as if trying to speed up the process, and Inessa gave him a supremely chilling look as the wounded man stirred, opening bleary eyes and flailing a weak around about before his hand closed tightly on the loose fabric of Yuri's second-hand shirt. The Russian froze, supremely uncomfortable with the contact. Since he was a child, his touch had been something to be feared rather than accepted. Things had smoldered at a brush of his fingertips, and had burned when he had grown old enough to be angry about his forced isolation. Nikolai had been the only one brave enough to step near an angry year mate who could cradle fire in his bare palms without being burned, and though his friendship had helped, Yuri had never stopped expecting someone to die at his touch.

Oblivious to his distress, or perhaps ignoring it, Inessa continued her work. A flapping sound, almost like the rotors of a helicopter, reached Yuri's ears but he could not turn with Soap's unfocused eyes locked on his own. "What is that?" he heard Nikolai question with trepidation, but he could not find the words to answer as bleary eyes drifted shut. The trust being placed in his hands with that single gesture was not something he had experience before.

The Mi-28 Havoc crashed through a wall, spraying bricks and glass everywhere. Yuri bent his body over Soap's almost automatically, shielding him from possible further damage. As the last if the debris fell to the floor, Yuri stood back upright and shifted so he could face the Havoc, the hand on his shirt falling away. The former Spetznaz agent didn't recognize the man piloting the Havoc, but that meant little to him. It was impossible for one to know every one of Makarov's people on sight. There were simply too many for the human mind to store.

Yuri lifted a hand, looking the pilot straight in the eyes, and snapped his fingers. For a moment, nothing happened. The pilot looked rather puzzled by the dramatic gesture, as if he had expected to be instantly smote by lightning. Then, just as he was relaxing, the entire Havoc burst into flames. Yuri refused to let himself look away from the man's terrified eyes until the helicopter fell from sight to crash on the ground below. Once he would have flinched away from doing anything like this, refusing to become the monster people had thought he was when he had been young. War had given him little choice but the utilize any abilities he could.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Price demanded, turning a disapproving scowl on Yuri as if the Russian had grown horns and a tail. Yuri ignored the look. He'd been having gazes such as those settle on him since he was a child and had learned long ago not to let them wound him.

"A gift," Nikolai replied, his accent thickening with his disapproval.

"Help me," Inessa ordered at the same time, not bothering with English. "We must get him ready for travel."

"Tell me what to do," Yuri replied, turning away from the brewing argument to follow her instructions. They worked in relative silence, Inessa occasionally barking out instructions as sounds of a firefight began to filter towards them. "Perhaps I should go," Yuri suggested when the work was almost finished. "I would be of more use out there than in here."

Price had already left, convinced to buy Inessa more more time minutes ago by Nikolai, who stood watch. "Yes, go," Inessa ordered with an absent wave of her hand. "Injure more people." Her tone was mildly disapproving of the whole concept but Yuri ignored her, wiping bloody hands on his pants before heading to the door.

"Be safe my friend," Nikolai called but Yuri did not take the time to acknowledge him. Instead he jogged to the weapons room, snatching up an AK-47. He had no particular fondness for the weapon at hand, he would rather kill from a distance than do the work up close and personal, but it would do.

"They've breached the courtyard," he heard Price bellow as he stepped cautiously out on the front porch of the safehouse, taking in the sight of Makarov's men pouring through the front gate. "Take them down!"

"We've moving Soap," Nikolai bellowed from above and Yuri calmly opened fire on the enemy. Years of practice had made his aim deadly and man after man fell under a deadly hail of bullets. Time faded away and the Russian focused on making every shot count, knowing he had a limited number of clips and there were no supply drops coming.

"Courtyard's clear," one of the Loyalists yelled and Yuri took the time to reload, dropping the empty clip calmly at his feet and stepping forward with the others. A UAV swept overhead as they reached the gate, wrecking any chance they had of remaining anonymous. A hand offered a comm and Yuri turned to see Vitaly offering the connection. He nodded at the young man and took it, placing it on his ear.

"Russian drone overhead," Price was saying. "We're outnumbered and outgunned. We need some heavier fire power!"

"Or a miracle," Nikolai suggested slyly, obviously knowing that Yuri could hear him.

"It is not a miracle," Yuri returned sourly, shooting one of the braver enemy soldiers who had stuck his head around a corner at the wrong time.

"My friend, getting you to do anything you do not wish to is a miracle," Nikolai replied, the statement forcing a wry smile on to Yuri's face for a moment. He blew out a soft breath and glanced to his side, seeing Vitaly and the man next to him both nod.

"I'm taking point," he said, making his decision. "The rest of you, cover me." He didn't want for Price to protest. Instead he settled the strap of his AK over his back, reached deep inside the well of anger buried deep inside him, and stepped forward. Civilians darted out of the way and Yuri ignored them. Instead he focused on the wave of people whose heat signatures he could feel. His curse had been growing in the past few years, stretching out in ways he hadn't expected.

Vitaly, Price, and other Loyalists took out the scattering of soldiers as Yuri focused on a building ahead of them, snapping his fingers and watching as flames licked up the sides. A few of the enemy on the second floor jumped from windows only to be shot down by Loyalists and they pressed easily forward. The comms had fallen silent at the display. Most of the men and women who had joined the Loyalists were utterly ordinary. They were used to seeing extraordinary displays come to kill them from the other side, for Makarov seemed to collect unusually talented people like honey attracted flies, but unused to having such power on their side. If it had been anyone other than Yuri wielding such power, there would have been encouraging cheers. Since he was the one doing the casting, there was only wary silence.

As they continued to move forward Yuri was forced to turn his focus towards choppers and other assorted aerial vehicles, allowing the others to focus on foot soldiers. The effort to keep things burning fast enough and hot enough to wreck them was making his skin prickle. Despite the blaze of Indian sunlight still streaming down on his shoulders, he felt chilled to the bone. He tried pulling heat from others to help fuel the flames, tugging at the warmth of the mass of enemies the others were keeping at bay, but it only slowed the chill that was steadily stretching across him.

"How much further?" he rasped out, ears echoing with the sound of his pulse. The world felt fuzzy and he stumbled a bit, Vitaly hurrying over to steady him.

"Almost there, my friend," Nikolai said. "Just let go and focus on getting to the chopper. You've done enough." Yuri breathed out and released the fire as best he could, struggling to untangling himself from the hungry blazes that licked up walls and consumed flesh and bone almost as easily as wood and plant life.

His vision began to clear as he did so and he was able to support himself, allowing Vitaly to focus on the enemy once more. "Run to the chopper," Price bellowed. "Go, go!" Yuri ran with the others, exhaustion keeping him at the back of the group. He pushed on, feet hitting a rooftop just as the rest the team piled on the Little Bird.

"Look out!" Price yelled but it was already too late. A missile hit the rooftop, sending Yuri and several tons of debris hurtling down an embankment and into a fast flowing river. The water was cold despite the prevalent August heat that had characterized this month so far, sinking deep under Yuri's skin. He struggled to force numb limbs to move properly, already having been chilled when he dropped into the water.

Yuri managed to force his head out of the water with a gasp, wrapping stiff fingers around and tree root. He used that hold to pull himself out of the water, gasping and coughing in an attempted to clear his lungs. He could hear the whir of the Little Bird's rotors above him but he was too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. Instead he let his head rest on the grass as Nikolai's voice said, "There he is! There's Yuri!"

"Good, we'll need him," Price said. "We're going after Makarov."

Darkness was pulling Yuri into a dreamless sleep with strong arms as he heard a new voice with a distinctive Scottish accent ask, "Who the bloody hell's Yuri?"