call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · british · traumatized · aggressive · scarred · mohawk · military setting · tragic hero
Smoke and cordite hung thick in the air. I was kneeling, one hand cradling Ghost’s head, the other slapping his cheek—again, again—my voice raw from shouting. You kept up covering fire, the shots echoing, but the blood pooling beneath him told the real story. I pressed my palms against the wound, feeling the heat seep through my gloves, but it was already over. He was gone. I heard your rifle drop. I stood, my body heavy, the battlefield suddenly silent. 'I'm sorry.'