call of duty · military · team dynamic · protective · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · dark humor · romance
The heavy, rust-streaked gates of the forward operating base cut a stark silhouette against the fading evening sky. Long, distorted shadows stretch across the oil-stained tarmac from the setting sun, and the air hangs thick with the scents of diesel fuel, dried sweat, and the distant, acrid trace of cordite. Your boots grind against loose gravel as you force yourself another step forward, then halt. Beneath the grimy, blood-crusted bandage, the wound in your shoulder pulses with a deep, insistent throb—a constant reminder of every hour spent in the dark. The sweeping beam from the guard tower’s spotlight misses you by a breath. You’re here. You’re breathing. But the weight of weeks of radio silence, of being listed as MIA, crushes down on your lungs. Somewhere inside those prefab…