This is an alternate take on a certain path for Modern Warfare 2's campaign, and a sort-of preview of my 71-page fanfiction, Modern Warfare 2: Otro Día.


To: Major-General Jordon McKnight -- OPERATION_67845-2056

From: Lieutenant-General Allen Shepherd -- TASK FORCE 141

Greetings, Major-General. I know a lot about you. Many military leaders – including me, were impressed upon hearing the recent Joint Task Force 2 success in the Serbian Rebellion. I could use a hand in leading the 141 – you seem like just the man for the job.

As you know, Vladimir R. Makarov has recently attacked a civilian airport in Moscow. The backlash is fierce, and even as American troops are fighting on their homeland, we are still searching for Makarov here in the Task Force. We have found three possible locations of where Makarov may be hiding. Attached is the coordinates for the following suspected locations:

1) A safehouse on the Russian-Georgian border which our intel states Makarov may store weapons and intel on his various missions.

2) A U.S. Vehicle Disposal Yard where Makarov may be planning to either steal the out-of-commission vehicles or hide his own.

3) A warehouse complex near Vladivostok, where our recon teams have reported seeing him and possible accomplices.

I trust you, McKnight. I know what you can do and I know that you can do it exceptionally well. I’m taking a very small leave of absence from the 141 to command U.S. forces on the East Coast, so I’m leaving you in charge of the 141. Track Vladimir Makarov down and kill him. I’m lending you my absolute best shooters, soldiers and warriors at your disposal, as well as our arsenal and aircraft. You are in charge of the 141 – make your time count.

-Lieutenant-General Allen Shepherd, Commander of Task Force 141



To: Lieutenant-General Allen Shepherd -- RE:OPERATION_67845-056

From: Major-General Jordon McKnight -- TASK FORCE 141

Thank you for the offer, I graciously accept. I know the serious threat that Vladimir Makarov poses to all NATO countries as well as the UN and our individual fellow men and women. For this mission, I have looked over the recommended soldiers, and I have chosen the following:

*Captain John Price, former SAS specialist, expert marksman

*Captain John MacTavish, former SAS trooper, explosives expert

*Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley, former SAS soldier, stealth trooper

*Staff Sergeant Naomi 'Amazon' Williams, former British Army specialist, machine gunner

*Starshina Alexandr 'Zero' Krazsnov, Spetsnaz sergeant, CQB specialist

*Sergeant Bishop 'Archer' Holmes – former British paratrooper, expert sniper

*Sergeant Gary 'Roach' Sanderson – British SAS, stealth trooper

*Third-Sergeant Thiago 'Piranha' Rua – Brazilian special forces soldier, CQB-orientated fighting

*Master Corporal Owen 'Orion' Green – JTF2 specialist, grenadier

*Cabo Juan José 'Taco' Rodriguez – former Mexican Marine, grenadier

*Cabo Cristina 'Jaguar' Salazar – former Mexican Marine, submachine gunner

*PFC Chris 'Exxon' Palmer, former Navy SEAL, submachine gunner

*Private David 'Toad' Bowman , British SAS sniping specialist

Their weapons are as follows:

*[5] M4A1 SOPMOD (including [1] C8 Carbine)

*[2] MP5 (including [1] MP5N)

*[2] Accuracy International Arctic Warfare

*[1] Advanced Combat Rifle

*[1] IMBEL MD2

*[1] L86A2 LSW

*[1] AK-M

In addition, the squad will have their own sidearms, explosives, secondary weapons, and attachments. After careful consideration, I have disregarded the first and second choices and decided to initiate the assault on the suspected warehouse in Vladivostok. The personal method of transportation? Glad you asked.

I have commended a single newly acquired AC-130H from the Canadian Air Force for the air deployment and support of the squad. I am aware that C-130s are typically used to deploy paratroopers – but if anything you've told me about the Task Force means anything, we're not a typical and regular force – but we're the best goddamn military task force in the world.

You have my word, General. At the end of the week, Vladimir Makarov will be killed. Operation: Snowstorm is underway.

-Major-General Jordon McKnight, Joint Task Force 2 field commander



The freezing water of the North Pacific Ocean washed up against the deck of the aircraft carrier. Behind them was the distant coast of Canada; ahead of them was the eastern coast of the new Russia.

The experienced Captain John Price stood on the deck of the aircraft carrier, the HMS Invincible. On the bow of the carrier was an AC-130H Spectre gunship, surrounded by crewmen preparing it.

"An AC-130, eh? Haven't worked with one of those in a while."

Captain Price slowly turned around to see his fellow Captain, John MacTavish, approaching him. MacTavish sighed and stared at the AC-130.

"Shame Gaz isn't here with us, sir. The 141 woulda been great with him." the Scottish Captain said.

"Griggs was one hell of a fighter, too. Really could've used 'em - we're gonna need all the firepower we can get for this mission." Price replied.

"On that matter, what is our mission?" MacTavish questioned. Price sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"Intel's kinda shady - it ain't confirmed, but we might have a fix on Makarov's location. We're taking the chance and going in - and this angel of death is gonna drop us off and kill all the enemies we don't." Price replied.

"Eh? I thought only C-130s carry paratroopers…” said the Scot. Price smiled.

"Regularly. We still can - it's gonna be cramped, though." Price answered, turning to walk away.

"One more question." MacTavish stated, stopping the older Captain. "Who's coming on this mission?"

Price paused. "Pretty much the entire gang. You'll see. Grab your rifle and your winter camo, and then come back here. I'm getting the others." Price said, walking away from Soap.

“Copy that. And Price? Great to have you back.” MacTavish called after Price. Price smiled and promptly nodded.

In a short time, twelve Task Force 141 operatives stood in a line, facing Captain Price. Among them were five British operatives (Archer, Amazon, Ghost, Roach and Soap), two Mexican Marines (Taco and Jaguar), one Australian SAS specialist (Toad), one Joint Task Force 2 commando (Orion), one Navy SEAL (Exxon), one Brazilian COMANF Marine (Piranha) and finally, one Russian Spetsnaz Sergeant (Zero). With a vast array of wielded firearms, the team stood ready.

Price stood in front of all of them, holding an M4A1 SOPMOD and his ever-iconic M1911 pistol.

"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen. We have a probable fix on Makarov's location - and we are taking this chance. All of us are gonna board this AC-130 and parachute out, taking out all resistance and taking over the target building. Understood?" Price was met with a solemn silence.

"Good. Everyone get inside the plane. Let's do this." Price said, leading the way.

Ghost nudged Taco, the Mexican Marine, and whispered to him. "I didn't think AC-130s could deploy troops.” said Ghost. Taco turned to him and gave him a blank stare. "I don't know. El Infantria don't operate 130s", was the reply.

"Hey!" Sounded Amazon, the British machine gunner, from the front of the line. "Quiet in the back!" She laughed, holding her L86A2 LSW over her shoulder. Ghost and Taco looked at eachother with content and stepped onto the gunship. Once the entire squad had entered the plane and were seated in the fuselage, a crewman of the gunship looked at them. The engines began to sound and start up, so he began to yell.

"Listen up! When the doors open and you guys leave, it'll take us a while to get the gatling and the howitzer back on! You'll be on your own for the first five minutes, then you'll get our firepower in full force!" He shouted, setting aside ammunition. "Understood." MacTavish loudly replied. "Squad, try not to sound off until we've got it ready."

The flight was eerily silent, despite the heavy aircraft’s machinery operating. None of the thirteen Task Force members said a word as the AC-130 powered through the skies. Finally, after an hour of almost complete silence, the crew chief spoke up.

“We’re approaching the target area! Get ready to jump, Task Force!” The first two standing were Orion and Exxon, wielding a C8 and an MP5N respectively. On Exxon’s back was an AT4. “Always wanted to do this!” Yelled Orion. He held his C8 with one hand tightly, with his other hand on his backpack, clutching his parachute. “It’s so exhilarating!” Agreed Exxon. Price rolled his eyes. “Focus on the mission at hand, you two. Get ready to jump, everyone. 15 seconds.” He shouted sternly.

“What?” Yelled back Exxon. “Can’t hear you, Price, the wind’s too noisy!” The Brazilian Marine, Piranha, shook his head. “Cuidadoso! Just be careful!” He called out to the two soldiers ready to jump. The crew chief called out a final time. “Jump time, go, go, go!”

Orion laughed. “Hell yes!” However, the instant that Orion jumped, a gust of wind blew him to the side. Exxon was in shock. “Crap, dude!” Exxon quickly jumped after him, and the gust of wind caught the Navy SEAL as well, sending both soldiers far away from the rest of the squad.

“Jump out! Quick!” Yelled Price, taking initiative and jumping out of the plane. MacTavish quickly followed Price and jumped after him. The rest of the squad jumped out in small groups, but it was clear that the wind was separating them. Helplessly, Orion tumbled through the air. He grabbed his parachute cord and pulled, but it failed to activate. He pulled his emergency chute, but he was still falling rapidly to the snowy ground below.

“Orion!” Exxon screamed, falling after him. Soaring through the air, Exxon eventually reached Orion, activated his parachute and the two slowly floated to the snow below. Once they landed, the two soldiers sprung into combat-ready stances, aiming down their weapon’s sights. However, nothing was in sight at all. “Where are we?” Asked Exxon. Orion shook his head, not knowing the answer. “I don’t know, Exxon. I don’t know.”


Far away from Orion and Exxon was Captain Price, ready for battle, crouched in the ground. He took off his parachute, tucked several flashbangs and his M1911 into his vest, and set off for the others. “Soap, come in.” Price sounded on his radio. “Soap. Come in, repeat, come in.” “I hear you, old man.” MacTavish said, brushing off the snow from his uniform. “My radio’s damaged, but I’m all right. Where the hell is everyone else?” “Separated. All over the place. We’ll have to regroup at the actual target site, but it’ll probably take a while. Anyways, let’s get started and try to figure out where it is and where everyone else is.” Price replied.

“Does that answer your question?” MacTavish replied, pointing a fair distance away into the tundra, where two parachutes lay collapsed. The two captains rushed over to the area where the parachutes lay – and on closer inspection, a third parachute hung from a tree, the strings cut off. “Where are they, sir?” Asked MacTavish. Price shook his head, holding the strings. “Gone.”

Price and MacTavish wandered through the mountainous tundra, looking for signs of their squad. Orion and Exxon were hopelessly lost in the endless white snow, but the parachutes behind them meant someone was there. Sure enough, in the distance, there were three figures, one with the parachute caught in a tree.

Juan José Rodriguez, callsign Taco, unsheathed his combat knife and dug it past the dead pine tree’s branches and through the rope holding his fellow Mexican Marine, Cristina Salazar, up high. Naomi Williams, the British machine-gunner, brushed excess snow off of her black beret, then helped Jaguar up. Upon seeing Price and MacTavish, she waved them over.

“Care to join our little tea party, mates?” Called Naomi, callsign Amazon. MacTavish smiled. “Price thinks all of our ops are down, even with the AC-130. We’re gonna need to scout out the rest of the squad. Price, can I borrow your sniper?” Asked the Scot. Price scoffed and handed his Accuracy International Arctic Warfare sniper rifle to him. “Take care of it.” Price said. MacTavish aimed the scope down, looking into the distance.

“Why? Was this the one that you sniped Zakhaev with?” asked MacTavish. “That was a Barrett. You gotta pay attention to my stories, mate.” Price replied. The sniper rifle’s scope revealed figures in the distance, and they revealed themselves to the SAS veteran. In the distance, there was Ghost and Roach in digital camouflage, Toad and Archer in arctic ghillie suits, Zero in white and blue camo and the Brazilian, Piranha, sticking out like a sore thumb in jungle camo amidst the tundra.

Toad and Archer were lying down, looking in MacTavish’s direction with their own sniper rifles. MacTavish waved. Toad replied with a ‘rock on’ sign.

“They’re over there. Let’s go.” MacTavish ordered, sliding down the hill and jogging to the group’s location, followed by the rest of the squad. Eventually, all the members of the squad were reunited, save Orion and Exxon.

“What’s with the camo, man?” called out José, walking alongside Jaguar to Piranha’s location. Piranha slung his Brazilian-made IMBEL MD2 over his shoulder and shrugged. “I’m Brazilian, man, we don’t have arctic camo!” Replied Piranha.

Amidst the chatter, Alexandr Krazsnov, a former Spetsnaz commando, knelt on the hill and stared out into the tundra. He hadn’t abandoned his country – had he? He was fighting to liberate it, to eliminate the Ultranationalist agenda that had brainwashed the true Russia into a monster...

But yet, Alexandr knew there was something he needed to due to truly free Russia. The only way was to take down the entire Ultranationalist group, starting with Vladimir Makarov, the terrorist who had turned Russia against its former allies.

Alexandr, callsign Zero, began to pray. “Мама, папа, я буду бороться за вас, и для России.” (Mother, father, I will fight for you and for Russia.” Said Zero, his eyes closed. “И я буду рядом с Вами, чтобы Борьба за то, что правильно.” (And I will be there with you, to fight for what is right.) Spoke a voice. Turning around, Zero saw Captain Price beside him, kneeling and staring into the distance.

Zero looked at Captain Price in awe – he never would have expected the British Captain to know Russian. “I’ve been around the world, Krazsnov. Sierra Leone. Chernobyl. Azerbaijan. I’ve picked up a lot of languages and learned a lot of things. But even after everything I’ve done, I truly believe there’s nothing more noble than to fight for what’s right. I’m fighting for my country, as are you. But there’s only one thing we can do – only one shot. We gotta infiltrate this base and kill Makarov. One death to save millions – one death to save Russia. You in?” Price said. Zero nodded.

“But I don’t understand. I’ve been in these areas. I’ve served in Vladivostok, I know this terrain – yet, I see not even a sign of civilization anywhere near here. How can we be at the target site, but yet, nowhere near?” Questioned the Spetsnaz Sergeant. Captain Price pondered a moment, and then stabbed at the ground with his combat knife. Confused for only a moment, Zero aided the Captain in digging through the ice to reveal a surface hidden beneath.

Archer turned away from the conversations among the squad to see the two knelt down, stabbing away. “Oi, Price! When are we gonna start looking for the base?” He asked. Captain Price stood up, pointing at the ground. His gloved finger pointed to concrete hidden under snow, his knife stuck deep inside the icy ground. “We’re on it.”

Toad began to run along the apparent base’s roof, feeling for a possible entrance. “Slow down, mate, don’t get too far ahead.” Called out Amazon. Despite the Staff Sergeant’s warning, Toad continued to run. “The snow’s starting to get thinner!” Toad reported.

Suddenly, the snow parted and Toad disappeared.

“Cor blimey!” Yelled out Naomi, rushing towards the hole in ground. She aimed her L86A2 LSW into the opening and was joined by squad’s weapons. Inside and below, Toad unsheathed his M9 combat knife, drew out his Sig P228 pistol and pointed it around the room. There was little use for his sniper rifle indoors, so his pistol was practically his only line of defense. In the corner of the room lay an Ultranationalist guard, with an AK rifle in his hands.


Toad, having a suppressor on his pistol, breathed a sigh of relief. Holding both his pistol and his knife in a freestyle stance, Toad slowly approached the sleeping guard with his pistol pointed at his head. Striking quickly, Toad let forward a shot and a stab – the man died silently, gripping his rifle to his death. Toad pried the rifle from his hands and waved up to his squad, prompting them to jump down into the building one at a time.

“What about Exxon and Orion? We’re just gonna go on without them?” Asked Roach, hesitating to jump. Ghost sighed. “Sorry, mate, looks like we don’t have a choice.”

Captain Price led the way, followed by Zero and MacTavish. Slowly, the group moved through the empty hallways, weapons drawn. A chilly, icy breeze sailed through the building, chilling the special ops team to the core. As the Scottish Captain MacTavish walked through the hallways, he felt a sense of familiarity, as if he’d been here before – he hadn’t, but he had been somewhere similar.

2011. Caucasus mountain range, inside a missile silo, among a team of SAS and MARCOS operators, fighting for their lives and for the lives of millions of American civilians on the East Coast. That was the day that two of Soap’s best friends, SSgt. Griggs and Lt. Gaz, died. That was also the day that he killed Imran Zakhaev with Captain Price’s M1911 pistol, and the last time he saw Captain Price for years.

MacTavish, or ‘Soap’ as he was often called, had been an ‘FNG’ for a long time, yet, he was happy that Captain Price was leading him once again – Price had the spirit and the skills that were rivaled by none in the SAS – he was truly the best shooter Britain had.

Price stopped. Ahead of the squad, he heard Russian voices. Price and Zero listened intently. “So, gentlemen, are the plans made?” Said one voice. “Yes, Makarov, we have the arsenal being loaded up as we speak. The Americans are truly not ready for an invasion on both coasts – California will fall and leave Americans defenseless.”

Price scowled, gripping his M4A1 SOPMOD tightly. “It’s Makarov...”

A third voice spoke up. “Makarov, we have a problem! There is a large aircraft above our base – an AC-130!” Yelled a panicked voice.

Captain Price wheeled around the corner, pointing his M4A1 right at the face of the first person in his sights – Vladimir Makarov.

“You’ve got bigger problems.” He said, pulling the trigger.