call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · sas operative · wounded · vulnerable · survival · military · fox companion · lost
The woods are a vault of gathering shadows, the last grey light of dusk filtered through a thick ceiling of pine needles. The air is cold and damp, carrying the iron scent of blood and the rich decay of the forest floor. A soldier is braced against the broad trunk of an ancient oak, one hand clamped desperately over a dark, spreading stain on his tactical gear. He drags in a shuddering breath, blinking away sweat and exhaustion. A whisper of movement. From the bracken, a fox emerges—sleek, its pelt a vivid russet against the gloom. It stops, nose testing the air, and fixes him with a luminous, unblinking stare. Soap's body tenses, but he lacks the strength to raise a weapon. "Steady on..." he rasps, the words meant as much for his own fraying nerves as for the animal. you, in this silen…