"There's a sand storm brewing, Jessica," said Nikolai. "I'm going to have to circle around and look for somewhere else to land."

"No problem," she replied. "Just get me somewhere close, I've got a chute, and I can run in; just give me enough distance from the ground so I don't break my legs." 

Nikolai chuckled and opened the back of the plane, and he gave her the green light to bail. She charged out, opening her parachute just after her feet left the craft, and in a gust of wind started gliding toward the boneyard. She flared hard, slowing her descent just enough that she wouldn't collide with a fence or a plane, and hit the sand with a roll. She shed the pack and took off for the expanse of rusted, broken jets.

"Nikolai," came Price's call over the com. "We're heading to rally point Bravo to the west, be advised, the LZ is hot! I repeat, the LZ is hot!"

Galaxy scoffed rolling her eyes. This damn yard was gigantic; she might as well have stayed in the plane instead of jumping into the fight. She slunk through the shadows, her head jerking at every movement she saw. There were lots of Russian and American soldiers, but she couldn't see Soap or Price. "Bravo Six," she said. "This is Lone Wolf, I'm heading toward rally point Bravo. Meet you guys on the way, over?"

"Good to hear from ya, Gal!" said Soap. "Meet us if you can, but focus more on gettin' to the rally point. Over."

She nodded. "Copy that. Over and out." Gal pinned her ears back and bared her teeth at a Russian soldier crouching inside the cabin of a halved plane. He jumped back in surprise and she grasped his neck in her jaws, shaking him back and forth until she heard the solid crunch of his neck bones breaking.

"Soap," said Price over the comlink. "Let Makarov and Shepherd's men kill each other off as much as you can. We can use their coms to listen in on their radio traffic; I'm gonna try to contact Makarov."

Gal paused for a moment with a snort. "Contact him? You sure that's wise?"

"What did I say about trusting me, Lone?" he jeered. "Besides, I'm his best friend; he'll be glad to hear from me."

She rolled her eyes with a half-humored smile. "Cheeky bugger." She continued weaving through the dead aircraft, sparing as many soldiers as she could to fight one another. Once or twice she slowed down enough to kill a Russian or American who took too much interest in her. She stopped briefly to check her scent. There was definitely a lot of sand and rust, and a confusing blur of male scents.

The wind changed direction and she could smell a large group nearby. She turned her head and barely had time to react when a hail of bullets clattered over her head. Galaxy ducked and ran for the nearest thing she could hide behind. 

Goddamn, plane parts made for terrible cover. It felt like being a fish in a barrel. She shifted and hugged her rifle to her chest, hoping for a moment she could return fire. There was a break in the fire and she rose up to shoot over the mangled seat she was crouching behind. One shot took out a man in the front, while another dozen from behind her turned the other three to red mist. 

She bristled and turned on her heel, seized by a prickling, hot panic when she saw three Russians standing there. "Shit!" She gunned them down, only to hear more coming to their fallen comrades' aid. Jessica fled the plane, looking for somewhere else to take cover. Spying a cinderblock building, she made a sharp turn, heading for the door that was hanging ajar.

A hand reach out to close the door and shut it precisely on her arm as she began to slide over the threshold. She yelped, reeling away and clutching her throbbing limb.

"The hell?"

She recognized the voice before the scent and lifted her eyes to the dual-colored gaze of none other than Vladimir Makarov. In a streak of adrenaline, realizing he would recognize her, she kicked the door shut.

Makarov sputtered, completely disoriented by the scene, and frantically threw the door open again. "Sasha?!" He was surprised, instead, to be looking at a blue-grey wolf holding her front left leg up to her chest. They stared at each other unsure of what to do. Before he could react, she kicked up her heels and disappeared into the boneyard.

As she pelted through gunfire and destroyed aircraft, she felt disoriented, her heartbeat throbbing in her eyes. She could hardly see anything and her toes were starting to get cold from the adrenaline rush. 

"Makarov," came the low rattle of the Captain's voice, causing her to start. "This is Price. Shepherd's a war hero now. He's got your operations playbook and he's got a blank check. Give me what you got on Shepherd, and I'll take care of the rest."

There was silence over the comlink and she stopped, perching atop a sad, rotting Cessna where she could get a good look around. There was nowhere to shield herself from enemy fire, but she needed to find Price and Soap. This was getting hairy running this by herself. God, she should have stayed with Nikolai! 

Her ear rotated backward and she saw Makarov looking at her from the door of the cinderblock building. "I know you can hear me on this channel, Makarov," said Price, and she could see Vladimir grimace. A few of the men she had run from came up beside him, probably asking him if he was alright. "You and I both know you won't last a week."

Makarov waved the men off and touched the com, pressing it into his ear. "Neither will you," he replied shortly.

Galaxy shook her head and jumped down, hoping that she would see her teammates if she just kept running west. 

"Makarov," said Price again. "Have you ever heard the old saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

She plowed her feet into the sand and stopped. "What?" she growled.

"Price, one day you're going to find that cuts both ways," said Makarov with a hint of dismay. "Shepherd is using site Hotel Bravo. You know where it is." There was a note of a smile in his voice. "I'll see you in hell," he murmured.

Price smiled back. "Looking forward to it. Give my regards to Zakhaev in case you get there first."

Gal scrambled up into the skeleton of a Challenger, listening to the sharp rapping of gunfire against the metal beside her. She came to the front of the cabin, shrinking back beside the open door. She shifted, readying her weapon, and quickly peeked out, firing at an advancing American soldier. 

Another soldier ran out in front of her and she took aim. But before she pulled the trigger, she recognized MacTavish's high and tight haircut.

Carter didn't even see the shot coming.

She snapped out of the flashback and jerked the barrel of her rifle upward. "Soap!" she bellowed.

He picked off another tango and took cover behind a blue shipping container. Soap's eyes met hers and he let out a desperate sigh. "Where the hell have you been?!" he called. She ran out of the plane and skidded beside him. He pulled her close and slapped her back. "Price is still out there somewhere; I'm hopin' he's not pinned down." A bullet ricocheted off the container with a bright spark. "Fuck sake, there's a lot o' tangos out here!"

She fired into the fray and grumbled. "We're not too far from the rally point, let's get there first and then worry about Price," she said.

"Soap! Lone!" said Price. "Don't get pinned down out there! Keep heading west for the runway area!" He turned his attention. "Nikolai, where the hell are you?"

Jessica tugged on Soap's arm and he ushered her ahead, firing behind him as they ran. She fired on a couple of Russian soldiers and kept her head on a swivel looking for Price. All around them, there were hordes of enemy forces closing in. Damn it, where was Nikolai?

"Sand storms around Kandahar, Captain Price," replied Nikolai. "I have to fly around them. I am not getting paid enough to crash my plane." 

Soap pushed her forward into another plane and as they came to the front of it, there was a vast expanse of Americans and Russians engaging one another, and overhead, Nikolai's plane roared past them, popping angel flares over the battle.

"Damn it, Nikolai," she rattled; Soap grasped her shoulder and gave it a reassuring shake. "Land the fucking thing!"

"Price, I am approaching the boneyard. I see you do not have situation under control. Very unsafe to land. It looks like when I was in Afghanistan with the Soviets!"

"Nikolai, shut up and land the bloody plane, we're on our way!" exclaimed Price into the com.

As Lone and Soap fired on the enemy, she could hear Nikolai muttering to himself in Russian over the com... Something about how it was all "bullshit," and "flares were expensive." She chuckled. "Sounds like the same thing we said that one time when we came to save your ass, Nik," she said.

"Down, girl, I wasn't talking to you," retorted the pilot.

Soap motioned her up a hill. "That way, it'll dump us out on the runway. Move!"

They fought their way up the hill and saw a truck pass on the road below them, two men in the back with weapons. "Oh, that's gonna be fun..." Jess muttered.

"Soap!" said Price. "Keep heading west to the runway, I've got us a transport, I'll meet you en route!"

Jessica fired down at the truck but didn't manage to hit any of the men in it. "He found transport? Is there more of the team left?"

Soap cleared out a small group of Americans posted inside a shipping container. "Yeah, but not many. Shepherd's men picked off a lot o' them."

She grimaced. "Fucker... Alright, I'm gonna make another push that way toward the road. Watch my six?"

"Always," he replied, and they made their way to the runway.

Between circling trucks, they made it to a parked Jeep where Price stood guarding its tail. "Soap, Jess, get in, Nikolai isn't going to wait around for us for too much longer!" he said over the roaring engines and clatter of gunfire.

"Soap, take shotgun, I'll sit in the back with Price," said Jessica, swinging over the door into the backseat and reloading her rifle. "Nikolai, we're en route!"

"Hurry, my friend," he replied. "I'm leaving in one minute; these minigunners are everywhere! Blyat!"

As they moved, Price pointed out a truck. "We're taking out those gunners right there," he told Jess. "Soap, take out that SUV- SHIT!"

Soap fired into the windscreen of an oncoming vehicle and it swerved sharply away from the Jeep. "I got ya, Price; keep your eyes behind us, don't worry!"

Jessica sucked in a breath and picked off one gunner in the back of the truck, and nicked the second, though he didn't fall and she swore under her breath. "Why are these guys not cooperating with me..?"

Price fired at the tires and the truck sputtered, throwing the second gunner out of the bed and Jess put a shot in his head. The Captain looked to his right, then did a double-take and grasped her shoulder. "Jess, get down!"

Another car sped up beside them and rammed the side of the Jeep. The driver veered away, laying on the gas. 

Price looked ahead on the runway and saw Nikolai's plane. "Nikolai," he said. "Drop the bloody ramp, we're coming in!"

As the ramp dropped and the path seemed clear, there was a thick splash of blood and brains across Soap's face. "Shit!" Soap cried.

"Soap, the driver's dead, take the wheel!" Price yowled, firing through the window of the enemy vehicle. "Aim for the ramp!"

Soap barely adjusted the wheel and they lined up for entry. The ramp was coming up fast and before he could crank the emergency brake, they were inside the plane, and the front collided with the back wall of the cock pit. Price grabbed the back of Jessica's jacket to keep her from falling out, barely managing to catch himself, and they all looked back as the ramp came up and the plane's wheels came off the ground.