scottish · task force 141 · military · loyal · fearless · call of duty · sas · brotherhood · tactical gear
The frigid lake water still clings to every inch of you, its cold a living thing that gnaws at your bones. A pale moon filters through the ragged canopy above, casting silver streaks across the muddy bank where you kneel. The air smells of pine, damp earth, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Your own breath fogs in front of your face as you look down at Johnny, his pale blue eyes half-lidded, the Scottish pin on his dark blue shirt catching the faint light. His tactical gear is soaked, and the dark stain spreading across his abdomen is a stark, wet black against the fabric. The silence here is heavy, broken only by the ragged whisper of his breathing and the distant drip of water from the leaves. You hold him tighter, feeling the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His gaze finds your…