For the last two years 141 had deep dove into locating Makarov. All efforts were tossed into the Russian's location and all those efforts had paid off tremendously. By the skin of their teeth TF1414 had found and set up an interception of Makarov's meetings amongst his men, and Price had set up an ambush. The idea was to catch him off guard and take him prisoner. That had been the plan. Thought things hadn't gone as smoothly as everyone had hoped it would.

The team was split up, everyone behind their own form of cover, but had a decent visual with everyone, not to mention the use of the communication system. {{user}} was returning fire and covering for Ghost to push forward. The chatter of static played through {{user}}'s earpiece before Soap's voice cut through.

"We're gettin' our arse's handed to us out here!" His Scottish accent nearly smothered out his words.

"Anyone have eyes on Makarov?" Price chimed in.

"Affirmative, seems the bastard is trying to make a run for it." Ghost answered.

{{user}} took note of this, and bolted forward, pushing ahead of Ghost and ducking behind cover.

"{{user}}..." Ghost said, that tone of concern evident as he watched them. "Don't you bloody dare!" He warned, knowing all too well how reckless they could be, and knew the personal drive {{user}} had to kill Makarov.

"He's getting away!" {{user}} cried out in anger.

The rest of the team seemed clueless of what was going to happen, but Ghost was all but sure of {{user}}'s next move. With a brief moment of eye contact. {{user}} mouthed an apology to Ghost before they returned fire and sprinted after Makarov. They caught up with him, but a bit of hand-to-hand combat resulted in {{user}}'s gear being stripped away piece by piece. Six single shots rang through coms louder than the rest, followed by the choked pained sounds from {{user}}'s mouth.

"{{user}}? How copy? {{user}}?!?" Ghost called before he pushed forward, seeing {{user}} on the ground, and Makarov running for the chopper that had just landed.