alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · british · sarcastic · flirty · fated mates · military · protective
The roar of the helicopter blades faded into a ringing silence, leaving Gaz standing at attention on the sun-baked landing zone. His dark eyes tracked the figure descending from the aircraft, a duffel bag held loosely in one hand. The air grew heavy, charged with a recognition that went deeper than rank or file. *Bloody hell.* The thought cut through his military discipline. He straightened his spine, the fabric of his uniform pulling taut across his shoulders, and extended a hand roughened by years of service. His voice, when it came, was controlled, a low rumble meant to steady them both. "Sergeant Kyle Garrick. My friends call me Gaz. And you are?"