"You know what they say about revenge; you better be ready to dig two graves.."

His vision was blurry, breath heaving as he came too on his back, his eyes rolling around as he finally regained some of his senses. He lifted his head so that he looked down at the offending object in his chest right above his lung. It was his own KA-BAR knife, stuck in sideways about half way just beneath his collar bone. "Five years ago... I lost Thirty thousand men in the blink of an eye..." He heard from behind him, causing him to roll over to his left slowly, not wishing to bring any more pain upon his soaked, bloody, and pain filled body to look up at the owner of the voice.

Shepherd. The Rogue American General that had betrayed not only them, but his whole country by orchestrating the Russian attack on his homeland just to test the might of the U.S. Military. It was something that the country was having trouble defending against. "And the world just fuckin' watched... Tomorrow there will be no shortage of volunteers..."

He looked over at the man laying on the ground, a knife in his chest. John 'Soap' MacTavish, who was his friend, ally, and gun-pal, even if they were from different groups. The movement of Shepherd emptying the spent rounds from his .44 Magnum revolver caught his attention before he began reloading it slowly. The other man on the ground slowly began to crawl towards Shepherd, hand reaching to his pistol that was no longer working, the springs and firing pin broken and missing, but he didn't even know it. "No shortage of patriots..." Shepherd said as he finished loading his revolver, flicking his wrist to snap the chamber back inside the weapon before he pulled back on the hammer.

With a sneer, the other man silently stood up. "Here's my two cents..." He whispered as he drew his pistol and squeezed the trigger, only to earn no response from the weapon, the hammer not even moving.

"I know you understand..." Shepherd aimed down at Soap and pulled the trigger. But the bullet went astray as another man tackled him, Captain John Price, wouldn't allow the Rogue General to put a bullet in Soap for they tackled him to the ground, the other man, Captain Desmend 'Wolf' Volket, yanking the knife out of his right chest, gasping as he fell to his knees. He needed to end it, and he would, staggering to his feet as held his KA-BAR tightly, moving after the two fighters with the knife held high.

Soap turned and crawled to the fallen gun, his moves slow and pained as he pulled himself along the ground without trying to disturb his chest wound. As he got closer, he saw Captain Price being thrown to the ground in front of him and as he finally reached it, Shepherd knocked the weapon away, kicking the Scotsman in the face. He waned in and out of consciousness, seeing the three fight, Wolf getting knocked back before Shepherd jumped on Price, punching the man in the face repeatedly. Soap looked at the knife lodged in his chest, grasping it and pulling on it. Pain lit up his vision as he did, the knife slowly sliding from his chest cavity and out of his chest. With labored breathing, he spun the knife in his hand and looked at Shepherd. As he did, the American Captain circled an arm around Shepherd's neck, burying the knife he had in Shepherd's gut with what strength he had left and yelling at Soap to do it before he fell away from Shepherd. Soap chucked the knife, the blade finding home in Shepherd's left eye, killing him in a magnificent spurt of blood.

With a pained sigh, he laid back, watching the sand fly overhead, his vision darkening as he began to let death welcome him with open arms. "Son of a bitch..." Came the scratchy, American southerner accented voice in a pained groan. He breathed again, blinking away the darkness while looking up at the one American who he trusted with his life. It was at that time that the half lucid Brit awoke, rolling over and getting on all fours before he looked up and saw his protege nearing death, "Soap..." He rasped as he crawled at first and then stood. "Soap...!" Price cried, rushing up to Soap with Wolf behind him.

"Heh. Don't we look like hammered shit?" Wolf gasped a small chuckle, trying to steady his breathing while helping patch up Soap. The stabbing had just barely missed his heart, enough to cause a heavy amount of bleeding before a Little Bird landed, causing Wolf to clutch the .44 Magnum that once belonged to Shepherd.

After placing tape over the gauze he had pressed to the Scotsman's chest, Price looked up, knowing that it was their Russian friend. "It'll hold for a while... Help me Wolf..." He said as he lugged Soap onto his shoulder, Wolf coming to the right side of the two. "I thought I told you that this was a one way trip." Price said disdainfully as he helped Soap and Wolf to Nikolai's chopper.

Gazing over at the dead body of Shepherd, the pilot gave a grim nod. "Looks like it still is. They will be looking for us, you know?" Nikolai questioned as he prepared a spot to load Soap onto the helo safely.

"We need to get them medical attention." Price said as Wolf helped keep Soap steady while clutching his own chest wound, taking a seat next to the wounded scotsman so he could keep pressure on the stab wound while Price took a seat on the bench that rested above the skid.

"Da. I know a place." Nikolai smiled, starting up the Little Bird to get them out of there.

But there was one question that rung heavy on the American's mind, his team. Did they make it away in time? "Zero and the others?" Wolf asked, his voice raspy from the heat of the desert.

"The same place we are going, my friend." Nikolai said simply, looking back at the man with an even bigger grin on his face. Wolf smiled, shaking his head and leaning back on the seat, eyes closing slightly before he looked back at Shepherd's body, nothing but contempt for his former leader in his eyes.

"Hope hell has a nice little hole for ya, bastard." He spat at him while they lifted off.