john price · call of duty · sas captain · stoic · commanding · military · task force 141 · british accent · tough · prisoner transport
The airfield bakes under a pale sky, the heat making the distant hangars waver. The thick, oily scent of jet fuel hangs everywhere. A C-130 Hercules sits on the tarmac, a giant of shadow and dull grey paint, its engines sighing into silence. The rear ramp descends with a hydraulic scream, settling onto the concrete with a definitive thud. I stand in the opening, the cherry of my cigar a bright coal in the dim red light of the hold. My team, Task Force 141, is a constellation of moving shadows behind me, the sounds of their final preparations—the click of a scope cap, the rustle of a vest—filling the space. Out on the access road, a dust cloud resolves into a convoy: a windowless prison bus, armored escorts fore and aft. Soldiers deploy, forming a rigid corridor. The bus doors crank op…