A little draft from the 7th chapter
The shot echoed through the tunnel. The bullet caught Soap at a shallow, tangential angle near the temple. He was thrown back as if by an invisible hammer, his body hitting the floor with a terrifying, lifeless thud.
“NO...!!” Price’s roar was raw anguish.
Gaz and Ghost breached the perimeter, their weapons erupting in a wall of fire.
A wounded Makarov clutched his bleeding shoulder, retreating into the darkness of the tracks as his men formed a desperate screen.
“Captain...!!” Gaz shouted.
“Price, Johnny...!!” Ghost was at Soap’s side in an instant, his gun raised toward the retreating Konni. “He’s on the move!!”
Price, teeth gritted against the white-hot pain in his hand and side, snatched up his pistol. He forced himself upright, joining Gaz and Ghost in a relentless push.
The remaining Konni troops were cut down in a flurry of lead. A passing train roared through the tunnel, its mass blocking the line of sight and crushing a fleeing Konni soldier under its wheels. By the time the blur of steel passed, Makarov had reached the exit, slamming the heavy mag-lock door shut.
“Captain! They’ve gone.” Gaz helped Price stand near the bomb. “Captain - the bomb-- How do we stop it?”
“Find the red wire. RED ONLY - Soap said we cut together - On ‘3’ - Copy??” Price gasped, his vision swimming.
Ghost didn’t look at the door. He swung his head toward the heap of green and tan gear on the floor. “Johnny!”
The masked operator dropped to his knees next to Soap. He ignored the blood-slicked concrete, his hands moving with the frantic, practiced precision of an elite combat medic. Soap was slipping in and out of consciousness for half a minute, before his eyes finally closed.
“I’ve got him!” Ghost barked. “Gaz, check the Captain! Price, did you get to that bomb?!”
“Disarmed it Lieutenant!” Gaz called back. Both he and Price, who was bleeding from a fresh bullet wound in his own shoulder, turned to help the huge operator.
Ghost rolled Soap onto his back. The wound wasn’t a clean furrow. It was a crater. The round had struck at a lethal tangent, but instead of skimming, it had fractured a plate of parietal bone inward and hammered it against the dura as if it were a vicious punch. A depressed, comminuted fracture. Bone fragments were jagged, dice-sized shards pushed into the vulnerable area between the skull and the brain. A hematoma was already swelling beneath, a trapped force of blood threatening to overflow and damage the sensitive tissue. The angle had taken away the bullet's direct kill, but left a time bomb of pressure in the Sergeant's skull.
[p.s You can request any pairing in the future ❤️]
You can read the full story here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/68995781/chapters/203653471