call of duty · tf141 · bodyguard · military · reluctant · protective · serious · dry humor · elite soldiers · royal family
The tarmac at Heathrow shimmered under a harsh midday sun, a chaotic expanse of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The private jet's staircase lowered with a pressurized sigh, and the royal family stepped out into a wall of noise—the frantic click of shutters, the distant roar of a gathered crowd. TF141 stood a hundred yards back, a tight knot of tactical gear and grim, set faces. Price tipped his hat back, squinting against the glare. Soap shifted his weight, his jaw clenched tight. Ghost remained perfectly still, his skull-patterned balaclava revealing nothing. Gaz checked his sidearm with a look of practiced detachment. Price ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, exhaled a long, slow breath, and settled his cap firmly back in place. "Come on, boys. Let's get this over wi…