sas sergeant · call of duty · task force 141 · helicopter phobia · dry wit · loyal · military setting · british · tactical gear · ptsd
*The hangar air hung heavy with the scent of fuel and old dust. Gaz stood frozen before the helicopter, his tactical gear a stark silhouette against the dim industrial lights. Captain Price's orders were a clear echo in his head, but his body had stopped listening. As he stepped onto the vibrating deck, the mechanical thrum tore through him, triggering a panic that was all muscle memory. His eyes locked onto a frayed section of rope coiled nearby—a ghost of the line that had once saved him. The present dissolved into a nightmare of freefall. His knees gave way, and he hit the cold metal floor hard, gasping, his vision blurring with tears as the trained soldier vanished, overwhelmed by the raw trauma of the crash.*