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coriel-tauvi · 8 hours

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Where words fail, music speaks (a COD fanfic)

During your time in the military so far, you have bore witnessed to many horrific things - interrogation, torture, dead bodies…all of which you viewed without batting an eyelid. But for some reason, the sight of the dusty grand piano on the dilapidated wooden stage of the recital hall made your insides turn uncomfortably. As did every crunch of shrapnel and broken glass that was crushed below your feet as you made your way towards the thing of beauty.

During a mission with Task Force 141, a shootout ends up with you being separated from the boys and seeking refuge in what seems to be a former music conservatorium.

“You did the impossible, Lass. You made a bunch of battle hardened men forget about allegiances and violence temporarily in favour of being united by music.”

Song that inspired this fic (highly recommend you listen as you read):

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“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” - Aldous Huxley

“Private Y/N, how copy?”

The radio attached to your hip cackled to life as you shook your head in an attempt to be rid of the shrill incessant ringing in your ears. The culprit? A flashbang grenade the enemy threw not too far from your position. It caught you off guard, and it was thanks to that stupid thing that you were currently disorientated.

You could hear Price swearing up and down when you failed to respond, so you quickly grabbed your walkie-talkie and pressed the microphone button as soon as you had maintained a safe distance from your pursuers.

“Private Y/N to Captain Price, reading you loud and clear.” You swallowed the dry lump in your throat, causing you to cough slightly.

A visible sigh of relief could be heard from the other side. “Thank God, Private. We thought we lost you. Sit-rep?”

“I’m around 10 klicks from the safehouse. Am temporarily partially blinded thanks to a stupid flashbang but otherwise okay.”

“Sun’s gonna set soon, so see if you can seek refuge somewhere for the night. Activate your transponder once you do. Soap, Ghost and I are gonna come get you. Hang in there, love.”

“Will do, Cap.” The sounds of hunting dogs barking and the shouts from their handlers over your shoulder prompted you to pick up the pace. “I’m still being pursued, so will be going dark until I’m somewhere a tad quieter. Private Y/N out.”

Switching off your radio with finality, you now found yourself at what seemed to be at the edge of the forest - the vast amount of bushland now giving way to what seemed to be signs of civilisation. Activating your night vision goggles, you made your way down the steep hill and in the direction of what seemed to be a gothic style building and some townhouses.

A sigh of relief left you as your boots touched concrete once more. You then make a beeline to the rows of houses ahead, praying that your pursuers have lost your scent - the last thing you want is to drag civilians into this whole mess. Luckily, that was something you didn’t need to think about - the whole place is a ghost town. Save the sound of cicadas and dogs barking, there was hardly anyone in sight.

You sprinted your way across the town square, eyes and ears on alert as you watched the last of the sun’s orange rays set beyond the hills beyond. Under normal circumstances, you loved the winter night sky and the stars that would be visible especially this far from the city lights. But currently as a target? The sun setting at 5pm did you no favours at all.

Through the fuzzy green lenses, you found yourself standing outside the very Gothic-styled building you spied on not too long ago. Finding the main door ajar, you took a risk and decided to enter the building. Every creak your boot made against the dusty wooden floor made you internally cringe, but you pressed on. You eventually managed to locate the breaker room and heaving a sigh of relief, flipped the switch back on. While the current room you are in still remained dark, you could hear the telltale sound of parts of the building whirring to life in addition to some of the lights on the switchboard mounted on the wall changing from red to green. It seemed that despite this place having been abandoned for quite some time now, there were parts of the building that were still functional.

You walked out into the still darkened corridor and made your way to the upper floors, making sure to switch on your transponder as you did so. You made your way towards the emergency stairway, climbing up 3 flights of stairs before pushing the door open - according to the switchboard, this was the closest level to the breaker room which still had power. You were greeted to the sight of what seemed to be a foyer of some kind, and adjacent to said foyer were several pairs of crash bar doors.

Curiosity took hold of you. If the outside was so gorgeous, then surely the inside must be as well. You had stumbled upon a hardcopy of the building's blueprints in the breaker room, and according to it this was the largest room in the entire compound. Based on the size alone you guessed it had to be some kind of a convention hall, or gathering area at the least. You were apprehensive but knew that in most likelihood, you were the sole occupant in this grand building. So in you went.

What you saw next was indeed the treat of a lifetime. As soon as you walked through those doors the sight of the majestic, arched high ceiling made of stone - the style most commonly associated with gothic architecture - made you stop in your tracks. And you were only one foot in. Tracing your eyes along the ceiling, you were greeted by the sight of an intricately designed skylight in the ceiling’s centre; one that was made out entirely of stained glass. The soft moonlight that seeped through allowed you to view and admire the effort and meticulousness of the design. It was of a lady playing the harp, below her feet was an olive crown majestically spread out around the inner circumference of the skylight, in addition to the following Cyrillic words: Национальная консерватория музыки - the National Conservatory of Music.

In addition to the skylight, the moonlight also drew your attention to what seemed to be a grand Piano sitting innocuously centrestage in an almost picture-perfect location just below the proscenium arch with a layer of dust on its cover. At the sight you frowned. During your time in the military so far, you have bore witnessed to many horrific things - interrogation, torture, dead bodies…all of which you viewed without batting an eyelid. But for some reason, the sight of the dusty grand piano on the dilapidated wooden stage of the recital hall made your insides turn uncomfortably. As did every crunch of shrapnel and broken glass that was crushed below your feet as you made your way towards the thing of beauty. Clearly, the conservatorium had previously played an unwilling host to a shootout. It was truly a miracle that the place was still in one piece, as well as the skylight.

The first thing you did was inspect the damage done. Clearly, the piano had not been used in quite a while. Probably abandoned when the townspeople evacuated to the nearest safe zone. But pianos are sturdy things, and you were determined to let it return to its former glory as much as possible in whatever way you could. Placing your two hands below the piano lid, you pulled upwards. At first, it barely moved an inch. But at the second go, the tell tale creaking sound of the lid being lifted reverberated around the hall as did the sound of debris sliding off it and making contact with the floor.

Moving the stand below the lid to ensure that the latter does not close, you peered inside to inspect the damage done. Surprisingly, the strings were not as rusted as you had previously thought - the evacuation orders must have either been rather recent, or the piano is of a really sturdy kind. You now walked over to the piano bench, to where the black keylid was, and smiled when you lifted it and saw the still somewhat pristine, white ivory keys below.

You gingerly moved a finger and pressed the “A” key. The sound that came caused you to mesh your teeth together - It was very out of tune. You now made your way backstage in hopes of finding a piano tuner because if there was anything worse than a broken piano, it was an untuned one. Fortunately, you didn’t need to look high and low - it sat in a cupboard in where you presumed was the music director's office. Walking back out you now focused your attention onto the piano in front of you. Every tweak and string you wound up caused the piano to creak, the sound echoing obnoxiously. And every time your head would look up, scanning the non-existent audience to ensure there were no unwelcomed individuals around. You were still a soldier after all, and this place was still a battlefield - the bullet holes and shrapnel that littered this once beautiful recital hall is a clear reminder of that.

Once you had deemed that enough tuning had been done, you moved back to the ivory keys and pressed down on the A key once more. It finally sounded right. But just to be sure, you pressed down two keys next - both were A keys, exactly an octave apart. The clear, crystal sound from both keys now filled the air.

A small smirk graced your lips as you now allowed yourself to slide onto the piano bench, raising both hands in the proper position above the keys. It had been years since you had played, but the euphoric feeling had never left you since. You stalled for a moment, wondering if it was truly a good idea to play the piano under the circumstances you were currently in. A grand piano in itself was loud, and combined by the acoustics of the hall would make every sound coming from it absolutely phenomenal. The problem is that such a melody, as lovely as it would be, is the equivalent of lighting a bonfire when there is a hungry pack of wolves nearby - it is bound to attract attention. You had survived this long - was it truly worth it?

Your mind went back to the fact you were currently in the army. Everyone is sent onto the battlefield to die. Death is almost inevitable for someone in your position. The piano in front of you was like a drug, beckoning you to indulge in its sweet melody. The last time you had played the piano was 3 years ago, back when you were a student with faculty of fine arts

Where did everything go wrong?

Shaking your head, you now dipped into your space between your tactical vest and pulled out a black A5 Journal. You opened the thing with trembling hands and placed it against the music desk. This was the most precious commodity you currently had in your possession, the only slice you had to your old life: A nondescript looking Journal filled with lines and lines of unfinished, unplayed melodies. Some of the pages were crumpled, even folded as you promised yourself to continue to composition as soon as you found the time to do so. 9 out of 10 times though, this never happened.

Sitting here on the piano bench was enough to take you a journey through time, back to when you were a recruit in the academy. During the little free time you had you would be hunched over, a small desk lamp by your side as you meticulously used your plastic ruler to draw five lines across the paper with a ballpoint pen, followed by drawing the treble and bass clef on the left side. Sometimes, you added sharps or flats as you saw fit and always drew the time signature before you started the composition. You were constantly teased by your peers for it, and therefore you opted to keep this part of yourself hidden even when you joined task force 141. This was a side of you that was exclusive to you and you only. But despite all the adversity you had to go through, your love for music never waned. Even when the desk was occupied, you found yourself huddled in a corner, torchlight in your mouth as you lay on your stomach, hands busy jotting down the next string of notes that came to your head.

With your right hand, you smoothened out the composition before you. It was untitled, and was written during a tumultuous time in your life. Specifically, the day when you had learnt that you were to drop out of University in favour of Military school. It was a decision you did not take kindly to then.

Your fingertips touched the ivory keys once more, but this time you shuddered at its coolness. Taking in a nervous deep breath, you pressed down onto the keys. The sound of the first chord and notes of this unnamed composition now filled the air.

“Why do I need to drop out?”

“Being a musician is not a job, It’s an embarrassment. You either enrol into a course that would actually be useful for society, or you are going to military school.”

“But it’s my decision! And I won that scholarship!”

Your heartbeat picks up the pace by a notch as the unpleasant memories started to come back. Nevertheless, you played on. The piano would be your rock, it had to be.

“Anthony, I don’t see what is so wrong with them being a musician. As long as -”

Slap! The sound of your stepfather’s hand against your mother’s soft face was so hard it reverberated upstairs into the room in which you and your older brother once shared. He had moved out as soon as he was 18, wanting to escape this home that was the equivalent of a hellhole. His only regret being that he could not take you along with him.

“I am the man of the house! You and your brats will do as I say!”

Why your mother ever married him, you will never understand. Sure, you were sad when father passed on, but it was preferable to…whatever this is. Life before Anthony was tolerable, but in the picture it was hell. Grief changes an individual, sometimes to the point that they ignore the red flags in favour of filling up the void of loss in their hearts.

You can hear your mother crying profusely downstairs and more unintelligible yelling from Anthony. It became so unbearable to the point you had to cover your ears and close your eyes, willing god or whatever higher entity to make Anthony disappear. It wasn’t fair that he controlled what you could and could not do, it wasn’t fair to your mother who had done nothing but protect you again and again from his wrath.

For too long, she had paid the physical price. She had sacrificed so much for you, so what you were about to do was a small fraction of what she had done.

Your fingers now fly across the ivory keys in a precise manner that only an experienced pianist could. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but your hands were steadfast. You were grateful for the hours of practice you had put in back when your biological father had still been alive, in a household filled with love and encouragement. Unlike Anthony, your father actively encouraged you to play the piano, once even jokingly saying that he would love to see you play in Carnegie hall one day. He was stern, but loving. He was as great as a parent could ever be.

A month after what had happened downstairs, you found yourself on a bus on the way to the military base where all recruits go for their basic military training. You had confronted Anthony the next day, promising to drop out in favour of military school as long as they stop hitting your mother. While you will never know if that sleazeball of a man would ever keep his promise, you knew that you allowed your mother a temporary breather from Anthony’s wrath.

Military academy was a whole different ball game. Most of the recruits were so toxic, believing that being an “alpha” was the way to succeed in military school (this was mostly the male recruits, less so the females). You were constantly shouted at, shoved and berated for the smallest things. Eventually you acclimatised, but it didn’t make the situation any better.

So imagine how surprised you were when you were assigned to Task Force 141 upon your promotion to Private, at the behest of Captain Price himself. Apparently, Price had seen your file, and upon reading of your top marks in sniping and stealth, had requested for your transfer as soon as you were available. In fact, this was your first mission with them and you were so new that you didn’t even have a callsign.

Your fingers slowed from a vivace to an adagio; the music from fortissimo to mezzo piano. You ended your song in a perfect fifth, before opening your eyes to the sheet music in front of you. It was only then you realised that like so many of your other compositions, this one was incomplete and that you had cooked up the rest of the melody on the spot. You now chewed your lip - what were the notes you had just played? You reached inside your vest once more and pulled out a tiny pencil. But just as you were about to draw the first note you heard the sound of something shifting in the audience.

You whipped your head towards your right and the sight you saw next was…unbelievable in the very least. Downstage was Price, Soap and Ghost all seated in a neat little row looking up towards you. Towards the left and right along with the back area of the House were other armed men as well - whom you presume to be KONNI - all huddled near the majestic pillars, some seated and others leaning against said pillars looking entranced.

You blinked at them owlishly. Had you been so entranced in your own music that you didn’t hear them come in? You had presumed that they would start fighting from the moment these men met each other, which would be the indicator to stop your lollygagging. So why hasn’t any of them done so?

Someone at the back clapped slowly, which slowly began to spread around the concert hall. Soon the room was filled with a thunderous applause with some throwing whistles your way. Stunned, you got up from your seat and did what a performer would have naturally done - you bowed.

“That was one hell of a performance, Love.” Captain Price now said from his seat. “We didn’t want to disturb you, so we just sat here and watched.” He threw you a small smile. “Hate to admit but it’s been a while since I’ve heard something so soothing.”

“Sir, there are KONNI men behind you.” you now whispered rather fearfully, still keeping a cautious eye on them as you were unsure on what their next actions would be.

“I know, love. But they haven’t done anything yet so I’m willing to not shoot them if they don’t shoot us first.”

“You did the impossible, Lass. You made a bunch of battle hardened men forget about allegiances and violence temporarily in favour of being united by music.” Soap said as he got on the stage and hugged you. You were shocked by the man’s gesture, but welcomed it nevertheless.

A member of the KONNI armed forces now approached your little group. Needless to say, Price, Soap and Ghost did not take his action too kindly. The man raised his hands to show that he was unarmed. “Our Commandant wants to have a truce with your men for the night - we want to hear more music.” he now gestures to you. Soap’s grip on you tightened.

Price now looked in your direction and raised an eyebrow. Your call.

“As long as you promise not to kill us in our sleep, I’m happy to oblige.” The young man smiled before turning back and yelling something in Russian. A much older man now approached and stretched out his hand towards Price, which the latter shook upon.

Till this very day, the Conservatorium Truce remains one of the most fascinating and heartwarming events to have ever happened to Task Force 141, and it was how you left a huge impression on the three men. Who knew that for everyone’s differences, music was the very medium needed to unite humanity as a whole, even from opposing sides? Unsurprisingly, it was that very night that your callsign was created.

“Price to Pianist, how copy?”

The sound of Price's voice drew you from your reverie. You chuckled as you flipped your radio on, and brought it close to your lips.

“Pianist to Captain Price, reading you loud and clear.”

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