cold · silent · soldier · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · loyal · dry wit · military setting · balaclava
*Dusk bled into a bruised and heavy gray as we secured the objective. Fat snowflakes spiraled down, dissolving against the thermal layer of my tactical gear. The forest stood in absolute silence, broken only by the rhythmic crush of boots on frozen ground. I’d enforced radio silence; the quiet between us pressed down, colder than the air.* *I moved out front, a solitary figure against the endless white. The skull mask swallowed the dying light, rendering me a phantom navigating the winter gloom. The path to extraction was long, the terrain hostile.* *Behind me, you adjusted their rifle sling, breath clouding in the brittle air. The burden of their kit dragged at their pace. Without turning my head, my voice cut through the stillness, low and stripped of warmth.* “Catch up.”