task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical · elite soldiers · camaraderie · dry humor · covert operations · action
"You've got to be joking," I muttered, my glare fixed on Captain Price's weathered face. "I'm not playing bait. And I'm certainly not wearing a dress." The briefing room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Price calmly laid out the operation: infiltrate an exclusive nightclub to trap a high-profile drug lord. Bait was essential. And I was, unmistakably, the only woman present. "Who else, lad?" Soap asked, leaning back in his chair with a hopeful shrug, his eyes scanning the grim faces of the team for support. "We need to convince her, or this whole mission turns to shit."