Author's Note: Hello everybody! Yeesh, I have been gone awhile haven't I? Well, there isn't an entirely reasonable excuse as to why I have disappeared. All I can say is that I'm sorry for making everybody wait for so long. Anyway, this chapter is up now! I'll be making updates whenever I have the ability to. I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Call of Duty. Only my OCs are mine. Everything else is definitely not in my rights to change.

CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront

Chapter 4: The Federation Returns

Hesh knew he was desperate when he was crawling through the bustling streets of Peru like a fish out of water. He knew he was desperate when he literally begged any near passerby if they had seen a figure walk out of the sinking rubble that used to be a grand villa.

It was utter desperation he was feeling, and justly so.

For all Hesh knew, he'd just condemned his entire God damn team to death. He'd sent them headfirst into a sink pit, all orchestrated by his arch-nemesis. It was blasphemy.

It was not excusable by any means. It couldn't be counted up as a simple miss-step. No, they didn't overlook anything, they didn't fraternize the details. This was a set-up.

This was a trap plotted out by Rorke and his associates. And they very well may have defeated America's chance at recuperation. The Ghosts had almost been completely wiped out.

The thought of America going up against what was now going to be a full frontal invasion was unbearable. It was no secret now that the Federation still had a very powerful military. Hesh could see civilians and their raised hope, the look of happiness spread across their features when a loud-speaker had announced the intent of crushing the United States.

It was ghastly.

Here he'd been trapped in Peru, for two days, and the winds of war were beginning to pick up at a rapid pace. The Federation was itching for revenge, Hesh could feel it in the atmosphere of the city.

Lima was abuzz with traffic and excitement, an entire city full of wonderment and enthusiasm. It almost reminded Hesh of Las Vegas, except that place was just a ruin now. Thanks to ODIN, Las Vegas was yet another fragment of America's past. What life was like before the orbital strikes on the West Coast. He didn't linger on that place for long, reminded of the pain that was latched onto those empty halls.

They were still reeling from that assault, and had just managed to get a leg up when the Federation was beginning to get cocky. The United States had managed to re-establish themselves as a powerful nation, only to be knocked down again by this invasion force.

Hesh knew that all hope wasn't lost on that front, as America had fought the Federation to a stale-mate before. This wouldn't be all that different.

Except for one crucial factor.

Something Rorke knew, and whoever he was working with knew, would be a game changer.

Without the Ghosts, the American forces would lose some hope. The Ghost squad was now a well known fact in the military, as their combined efforts during the assault on Loki had brought them to light in the eyes of the world.

They were known.

They were feared.

They were respected.

It had been such a good feeling to be recognized. Even if that victory was somewhat hollow with Rorke's abduction of Logan. Hesh tried to forget about that beachfront, when the wounded Ghost Killer had stolen his blood from him.

It seemed as if nothing could kill that man, which Hesh knew was ridiculous. No one was immortal, but Rorke was pretty damn close to fitting the bill. He'd been shot, drowned twice, and stabbed.

Yet the man just wouldn't die.

And now he was having his way with Logan, his baby brother.

Hesh realized in his isolation that he was completely cut off from back-up. He had no reinforcements, no contingency plan, and no way of contacting his country for an exit strategy.

He was trapped in Lima.

Hesh was on his own in hostile territory, deep behind enemy lines, while his country faced a massive Federation offense. He was powerless to help in the slightest, and it pissed the hell out of Hesh.

There was also a depression in his thoughts, as his mission failed in every way imaginable. He'd failed to rescue his brother, his entire team was missing and presumed dead, and America was facing a Federation onslaught that he couldn't prevent.

It was his nightmare.

In some ways it was also his penance. His penance for failing his country when it needed him most. Now, he'd left them vulnerable.

America had no idea that they were about to be attacked, and Hesh had no way of warning them of this impending threat.

He had to find a way to get a message through, but first he had to find a new weapon. He had to prepare himself to sneak out of Lima, sneak out of Peru, and sneak out of the whole Federation.

Not an easy road ahead of him. Hesh would admit that it made him more than a little nervous.

He was scared.

For the first time in a long time, Logan was not there to help him get through this.

It was rather ironic how after all this time of running and running from the Federation, from fighting them to a stand-off all those years ago, now they were finally in control of the war.

Only to have it sacked out from under them once again. It was maddening. In fact it was beyond maddening. After all they did, taking Loki down and using it against the Federation in a grand desperate counter-attack, just to have their victory to be short-lived.

No one had to go through such obvious mockery.

No one.

Hesh knew he'd have to find some way to contact the outside world, as just wasting away here in Peru was not doing anyone any favors. He didn't care how he did it, or who he had to hurt, he was going to warn America.

And he was going to find Logan.

No matter the cost.

"The Ghosts have gotten themselves stuck, it seems." Creed's silky voice cut through the penetrating silence that followed his small debrief, the cigarette smoke rising from his lips as he exhaled. "And now they are no more."

It was a customary tradition of his to give the enemy three days of freedom and calm before releasing a maelstrom of death and destruction. There was no escape from this destruction, no safe haven that the Ghosts could run to. They were his, and his alone. It was always a satisfying experience to clean up your own mess. Not that it was his mess to begin with, but Creed was more than happy to allow for the world to see it that way if he would be the one to fix it.

America would meet the biggest Federation fleet it had yet to see, and it would utterly destroy every last ounce of will-power that country had left. Creed would make sure to see it through. If there was one thing that man hated, it was a coward who backed away from a fight that he started.

A despicable taste was in his mouth, not from the cigarette, but from Rorke's face rearing the corner around the shadows. The man had a scowl across his features, and it was deepening with each stride as he walked forward, until he was directly in front of the com board.

"We have a problem."

Already Creed was angry. Problems meant that someone screwed up, and when that happens it means that the plan didn't go smoothly. There had been a hiccup, and whoever was responsible was about to receive a visit tonight. Them and there whole family too.

"Speak."

Rorke took the command with a grunt before walking past Logan so that he was fully in the room. "The Ghosts are still alive. Separated from each other, but alive. Now, this ca-"

Creed cut Rorke off by the loud slam of his fist connecting with the table in front of them. "This, this right here, is very disappointing." Creed didn't raise his voice, the man only kept a serene level of calm as he spoke. Yet the anger could be heard, rising in the back of his throat. Rorke was not as held back as the man almost exploded right in Logan's ear.

"Your idiot brother was dumb enough to go into that trap yet he wouldn't be dumb enough to manage an escape! Did you give him a heads-up?! That trap was supposed to be foolproof!" Rorke was almost touching Logan, though the distance gap could be seen.

The boy kept a remarkable calm as he eyed the Ghost Killer down, as if sizing up a kill before striking with a vehemence. "I thought you weren't supposed to try and kill my brother. That was the deal we made."

Creed smile, barely, excited to see where this was going. It was very foolish of Logan to threaten Rorke, everyone must know that, but it was also very bold.

Kid has an iron will, I will say that.

"Before we slit each other's throats, I say we take a step back and analyze this situation." Creed intervened before either Rorke or Logan would be dead or dying. "For the moment, let us just forget that Rorke defied me, and focus on the Ghosts. Even if they are alive, they're separated and in deep enemy territory. It would take time to get back to the front lines, and by then it would be too late. The invasion begins tomorrow. Logan, I want you to take part in the first wave. Rorke, I want you to monitor the Ghost's movements. Keep them on a tight, tight leash. There can be no more room for error, people. You don't want to see me...upset."

Creed doused the cigarette as he looked back at the screen projected on the wall. "Your mission in the Gulf was successful. We now have the entire schematic system for the American defense fleet. When we strike, we will be virtually undetectable until it is too late for them to launch a strong offensive. This is good, Logan, Rorke, this is good." Creed knew he had a tendency to reiterate things, or to reassure himself of something he knew would be completed without disruptions.

It felt good to praise oneself though.

Really good.

"Gentlemen, you are dismissed. Get out of here, I have packing to do."

Logan Walker was always a man of caution. He never spoke out of turn or raised his voice to argue when he knew he would not win. His dad always told him to be patient, wait for the proper moment to speak, and to never disrespect your elders. Well, something along those lines.

Logan tried incredibly hard to please his father, always. Though he could never get it out of his head that Hesh was the favorite son. That his older brother David would forever be first in his dad's eyes. That was until Rorke put a bullet in his brain while making him watch.

There was a morbid sense of humor in the fact that Logan was now working with that same man to bring down his brother, and his brother's people. Logan didn't want Hesh dead, not at all. That would make him a monster, a disease across humanity that should be forgotten in an instant.

He didn't want Hesh to suffer either. He wanted Hesh to succeed, to be good in life. But he knew he couldn't let Hesh win. No, he had promised himself to end America's quest before any other innocents got hurt. Before there was nothing to redeem among the country.

Still, is thoughts always crept to his boss; Howard Creed.

Logan was a looker, he could read people by eyeing them down. Seeing into their lies, their deceit, and cracking them before they had a chance to make a move. He could also tell if someone was true to their word, if someone was honest or a manipulator.

Creed was different because he fell into both categories. Logan couldn't really explain it to himself, but Creed was both an honest man yet a lair as well. While the man may have told him good intentions, such as ridding the world of arrogance and sin, he couldn't help but feel there was a bigger plan at play here.

If Creed was anything, he was ambitious. Logan had only known him a short while compared to his former squad, but he could obviously tell Creed adored power.

And who doesn't?

Power is the building block to what makes a nation both respected but feared at the same time. Power brought someone fame and fortune, or hatred and scrutiny. It all depended on the man who wielded the power. Creed, while definitely sane and calculated, had a burning fire to him. Logan could see it. He wasn't able to explain or understand the fire, but he could see it.

Clear as day.

Creed was angry. At himself, at the Federation, America, Rorke, perhaps even his own personal drive, Logan didn't know. Logan didn't truly want to know. He trusted Creed more than he trusted Rorke, but he was still on the fence about who was the real villain.

Of course he didn't see his country in the same light, didn't see Hesh in the same light, or the Ghosts, but he wasn't a murderer. He wouldn't kill for no reason whatsoever. There was a reason for anyone's decision, and as soon as Logan saw Hesh execute that man in that video, he knew. He knew he couldn't allow that to happen again.

For the sake of everyone's family, he had to finish what the Federation started.

Quickly.

Time was of the essence, each second chipping away at the window of their attack. If this didn't work, Logan was fearful of what would. Hopefully, the initial carnage of what was about to happen would scare the Americans away from any bold counter-attacks. One could only hope for such things to occur. War was never pretty, for both parties involved. It never ended well, and there was never any clear victor.

Everyone suffered losses, everyone was hurt in some way. It was a cycle of violence that would never end. Just a continuous strain of killing, passing down from generation to generation like a long rivalry. So long as people were consumed by greed, hate, or a natural destructive nature, there would be a true peace. Just a withering candle of calm that would eventually die. Then the cycle would begin anew.

Logan thought all of this as he sat aboard the attack helicopter, the blades making a loud chopping noise as the vehicle sped towards the Gulf. Underneath him, massive transport ships carrying thousands of troops were making their ways towards America's coastline. To anyone looking on radar or monitoring air traffic, it would only be clear skies with little chance of death.

It was about to be a very bloody day.

Nothing was going to change his mind. He was set in stone. This was the right thing to do, albeit unleashing a massive tsunami of death and destruction to prove a point was a little much, Logan agreed with the overall method. Still, that ever present feeling that something much larger was at play. There had to be more to it than an invasion. There had to be.

Not much time before we brace. C'mon Logan. Get your mind in gear. You have a battle to win. The rest of the war can wait.

Sitting up slowly, Logan raised on arm to grab ahold of the metal beam to support himself. Looking out, he watched as the water raced beneath him into the ocean. How the waves broke in a never-ending pattern again and again, and how the Federation ships seemed to crash into them, spraying sea foam out over the bow.

"Alright men! We strike hard and fast! As soon as the chopper gets close to the carrier, you disembark and shoot anything that moves! Got it?!" He knew that most of the soldiers didn't speak English, but most raised their weapons in cheer as others patted their chests with confidence. Logan nodded as he checked his own assault rifle, making sure the clip was fully loaded and that the weapon wouldn't jam while in combat.

All of this, just to have peace. Ironic.

Logan scoffed at the idea of it all. Nothing made him more confused than the reasons others went to war. It was always for something noble, something that the nation respected and confided in. Yet there was no nobility about war itself. War was a brutal art form of dominance. A show of power, of who was in charge. With a jolt, the helicopter doors opened as the pilot gave a thumbs up.

Five minutes.

At that exact moment, the guns on the other assault helicopters began spinning up. The blaze of sound confirmed that the bullets had started to fire. The whoosh of a rocket being launched, followed by the resulting explosion could be heard among the helicopter guns. Down below, the ships started to fire their artillery, barraging the American fleets with so much firepower it was almost overwhelming. The few number of fighter jets that accompanied them began to disembark, going after targets with their missiles.

Explosions and fire reigned over the entire fleet, and the Americans must have been taken aback by the sudden Federation invasion force appearing on their doorstep. They certainly weren't prepared, even though the fleet could be seen in the distance. It was too late, the defense schematics had proved useful in finding the right kinks in their formations.

The return fire caused the chopper to lurch, sending Logan forward a bit. His grip tightened on the hold to keep him in place. The last thing he wanted was to fall out and hurtle towards the Gulf as the Federation and American ships began firing at each other. Metal burned as some broke apart, sinking rapidly only to be replaced by another behind it.

The American defense was good, it always had been, but Logan could see it wouldn't hold out long against this type of force. Suddenly, a chopper next to him erupted in flames, causing his own helicopter to veer off to avoid the flaming wreckage spiraling down. Logan lost his grip as he fell back, crashing into the body of a Federation soldier. The man's body caused Logan to regain his balance.

The man wasn't so lucky.

A number of what Logan guessed to be colorful Spanish accompanied the soldier on his way down. His legs kicking and his arms flailing desperately for something to hold onto. The man's violent movements were cut off as soon as his body hit the deck of an American ship, probably surprising a few troopers.

Sorry, bro. Logan cringed just a bit.

Resting his rifle on his shoulder, Logan braced himself for the dismount. The helicopter began its downward plunge as the pilot fought to keep the flying machine from hitting any of the American missiles or naval artillery. Logan almost found the descent beautiful as the helicopter dove and twisted from the burning wreckage of other birds falling from the sky. With a deep dive, a green light could be seen in the peripheral of Logan's vision.

This was it.

With a thumb's up, Logan dived out of the helicopter as his rugged feet crashed onto the deck of the main American aircraft carrier. Jets could be seen on the runway, getting fueled up to join the fight in the skies. The hellfire of the Federation fleet raining down on the American's was the background painting Logan was visualizing. Everywhere in the distance fire raged, ships rose up before plunging into the depths, and traffic control must be going crazy with commands.

Total chaos.

Both sides were suffering casualties, Logan could see. But it looked like the Federation was winning. For now. They had the advantage of surprise at the moment, and as long as they kept that up, and if Logan was successful, they would break through naval defenses.

With a raise of his rifle, Logan sent three rounds into the nearest soldier he saw, moving forward with a graceful elegance as he skipped across the fires covering the deck. The other men who had made it off the helicopter joined him in a diamond formation, keeping a tight guard of the other man, making sure no one was blind. It was quite effective.

Along with the regular chaos of the larger battle around, not many paid attention to the boarding party on the rear end of the ship. Logan could also see Federation paratroopers sailing down from the skies, getting dropped off by one of the larger aircraft. A large roar broke Logan's eardrums, or so he thought, as a jet raced down the runway for takeoff.

Sliding along the tarmac, Logan and his large squad began to open fire on anything that moved. Logan heard a grunt here and there, some from behind him, some from ahead. He saw some of his men slump down with blood gushing from their open wounds, nothing to be done to save them. Whip!

The loud singing of the bullet that zipped by Logan's ear startled the ex-Ghost. "Get down!" He screamed above the noise of gunfire, sliding down behind cover to shield himself from the shower of metal coming towards him. Little pings could be heard as the bullets hit the metal crate Logan was perched behind, his rifle already dirty and dusty, reflecting the flames roaring behind him.

Standing up, Logan returned fire with as much accuracy as he could muster, moving forward at a rapid pace as the man hopped over another crate, startling an American soldier. Without a word, Logan took his knife out and threw it into the man's throat. The action caused him to pause a moment, as it reminded him of a similar situation while taking down a guard in Caracas with Keegan and Hesh. The memory brought a lump to Logan's throat, as it also reminded him that those days were long gone.

Shaking it off, Logan rushed back to cover as he watched his squad cover his advance. The loud hum of the jet was heard soaring above him, whether it be Federation or American. It had been a long time since Logan had partaken in any massive military offensive, and the man was somewhat shaken by the amount of destruction going on around him. It was like watching an empire fall while right in the middle of the city.

He felt very bare. Very exposed.

Maybe it was the exposure that blocked his view of a Federation jet, with it's left wing on fire, hurtling towards the front deck of the carrier. There wasn't any time to maneuver around it, as the pilot must've been desperately trying to splash into the Gulf. But no, it crashed down onto the tarmac with a sickening crunch, rolling its way down until it came to a destructive stop. The entire deck was now in flames, a trail of fire leading to and fro.

It also provided an ample distraction.

With time to spare, Logan motioned for his squad to move in. With brash gunfire and casings cluttering the floor, Logan made his way inside the carrier. The rest of his movements was like a blur. Time seemed to stand still in those narrow hallways, as Logan made his way into the bowels of the ship. It was the same wherever they went.

Aim.

Fire.

Reload.

A continuous string of movements that made up basically all of combat. So simply, and yet so deadly. The screams of the fallen echoed off the enclosed walls as Logan reached the engine room. Pulling out his pistol, he dispersed the engineer containing the fires with a single headshot. Nudging the body aside, Logan took out his duffel bag as he began to place the remote Semtex over the ship's components.

Taking out the carrier guaranteed that the Federation would win the ariel battle at least. The naval defenses would put up more resistance, but without any air support from jets or assault helicopters, America was done in that regard. Not wasting time, Logan shouted out to his other men. "C'mon! We need these charges placed all over the hull. Get moving!"

Even if they didn't understand him, they knew the mission from Creed's briefing. Destroy the aircraft carrier. Apply whatever means necessary to win. Logan remembered Creed's exact words, the man's soft yet hard voice cutting through his mind like a flash-flood.

"Get the carrier on it's knees. We need to cripple the United State's air responses, show them they aren't going to get us with our pants down this time. You all look like smart men, so I won't spell it out for you. Just send that ship to Hell, can you at least do that for me?"

Well, they definitely were going to plunge this ship into the Gulf, that was sure. Not wasting another minute, Logan pressed his com unit as it buzzed to life in his ear. "This is Walker. Requesting immediate evac on the port bow of Tango-Whiskey Alpha. Over."

"Roger Walker. ETA three minutes. Out."

Having the pilot's affirmative, Logan raced back up topside to not miss the narrow window of exfiltration. Hopefully, the chopper wouldn't be late. They were rather vulnerable out in the wide open space of the runway. As he stepped up the last rung however, Logan heard a small pitter-patter of an object rolling his way. As soon as the small item came to a stop about six inches from his foot, Logan's eyes widened.

"GRENADE!"

Logan dived down the steps, his body sailing to the floor with a hard landing. No sooner had he done so, the explosion resonated through the hallways. Logan was dazed as he attempted to get back up, his ears violently ringing with a harsh ping noise. It wasn't going away. Disoriented was not a good feeling to be having at the moment, Logan realized. He had to regain his composure, quickly.

Brought back up, Logan reached his arms out to pull himself out of the ship's interior. From his position, Logan could see the evac chopper circling its way towards him, the doors opening for a fast pickup. He had to hurry. Using strength he didn't know he had, Logan pushed himself upright and broke out into a fast spring. Ignoring anything and anyone, the soldier raced his way across the open runway, small drifts of dirt appearing where bullets missed his figure. Logan could hear shouts of Spanish coming from the chopper, probably an encouragement to hurry.

Logan gladly obliged.

With a blast of speed, Logan thrust himself inside the chopper, landing hard on the cold, metal flooring. "Go! Go! Go!" The pilot understood that at least, as the helicopter lifted itself up into the air with whatever was left of Logan's squad onboard. Not waiting for further instructions, Logan reached into his vest to pull out the trigger.

Flicking it out, Logan squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. At first, nothing happened. It was as if in that one single moment, the whole world just stood still and watched with baited breath. It was as if there wasn't any massive battle going on, there wasn't any turmoil. It was just this one, definite expansion of fire and blood.

The carrier burst upward like a balloon popping, a loud metal screeching rang throughout the air as the ship collapsed in on itself. As Logan's chopper flew away to the Federation fleet, the American aircraft carrier lurched forward on it's weight, before sinking into the abyss.

Creed watched with a blank expression, his features unmoving. The video feeds and reports he was getting looked promising. Very promising. Apparently, Logan Walker had done his job with suspected success. The American fleet was weakening against the might of the Federation. Without any air support at the moment, the Federation would rain destruction upon the naval defenses. And once they fell, the ground assault would begin.

Of course, there would always be unforeseen complications. With what Creed had in mind, no doubt something would go wrong. Luckily, there wasn't much anything Rorke or the Ghosts could do about it. So long as everyone remained loyal, nothing would go amiss. Rorke's ambition though was proving a most annoying setback, however. It was as if the man just didn't understand his place.

Creed knew the man wanted his position, even the Director knew that. Not like he was going to give it to him. No, Creed had earned this position from blood, sweat, and much more blood. No tears, interestingly enough.

Even when his parents died in front of his eyes, Creed did not let himself break down by sobbing. Only a single tear managed its way down his cheek, then to his chin, before dripping to the ground. That was the only weakness Creed allowed. If he closed his eyes at night, he could still hear the nursery rhyme his mother would sing before he fell asleep. It amazed Creed how she could be so cautious yet so calculating, and then suddenly be soft and kind.

She was an amazing woman. God rest her.

Unfortunately, his parents didn't share his views of the world. Funny, how he would never have gotten to where he was without them. Creed owed everything to his parents. They had molded him, shaped him into the man he was today. As they had created him, it seemed fitting that he be the one to end them. His Russian and Spanish blood was mixed with a fury as he clenched his fists while thinking of them. He hated them. Though Creed already knew that he hated them.

"Fuck 'em." His voice whispered, his mind dispelling any more thought on his deceased family. No, he had a country to control. Something much more interesting and devious on the horizon.

"Send in the final wave. Let's drive these bastards back." Creed spoke into his comm unit.

Soon, they'll all bow down to me. They'll all kiss the dirt that I walk upon.

Pride. Creed couldn't help it. Sometime, one deserved to bask in their own glory. If Rorke kept the Ghosts at bay for a little while longer, eventually there would be nothing in the entire world that could stop him.

Nothing.

Author's Note: So there it is! I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Bound to be riddled with grammar mistakes, I do apologize. Things are looking bleak for our heroes. How will the Ghosts come back from this? Sorry again for the delay in updating. I promise you that I won't abandon this story. I'm way too stubborn a person to give up on something once I start it. Even if it becomes tedious. So anyway, stay tuned for future chapters from me!

If you want to, tell me your thoughts on Creed, whatever he may be planning, and Logan's loyalty. Thanks!

Also, just so you know, chapter lengths will range from 5,000-8,000 words.