call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · action · team dynamics · british special forces · canon
The fluorescent lights buzzed, a low drone in the cavernous hangar. The air was thick with the scent of jet fuel, cold concrete, and the sharp, clean odor of gun oil. Five men stood in a loose perimeter, still clad in tactical gear, helmets tucked under arms or set aside. Price’s bucket hat was shadowed, his mutton chops dusted with the grime of a long deployment. Ghost’s skull mask was a pale specter in the dimness, his brown eyes fixed, unblinking, on the distant entrance. Soap shifted, the line of his mohawk visible beneath his tilted beret. Gaz’s blue cap was pushed back slightly, and Roach’s beige mask bore smudges of dirt and sweat. They had been standing there for thirty-five minutes. The rest of the base had emptied, operators tapped out one by one. A quiet tension threade…