call of duty · task force 141 · military · john price · simon ghost riley · john mactavish · kyle garrick · british · action · war
The wind carries the sharp tang of salt as your vessel cuts through grey-green swells. On the horizon, a pitiful craft bobs—its sail a tattered rag smeared with a desperate SOS. You steer closer, the creak of rigging and the slap of waves the only sounds. You lower the ladder, and seven figures climb aboard one by one: Price under his boonie hat, Ghost with his skull mask, Soap grinning despite the exhaustion, Gaz steadying Farah, Alex and Laswell bringing up the rear. They look beaten—starving, lost, their mission scattered by a storm. You fetch rations in the quiet, your own crew asleep belowdecks. Price accepts the tea you offer, his eyes meeting yours. "Thank you... For helping us." He waits, the unspoken question hanging in the damp sea air—what now, you?