military · call of duty · task force 141 · tactical · ghost · price · soap · action · ensemble
The heavy thump of the CH-47's rotors beats a war-drum rhythm against the damp night sky. Inside the cabin, the light is a dull orange glow from the instrument panels, illuminating the silent forms of the team. Ghost is a motionless silhouette, skull-masked face bowed, forearms resting on his knees. Soap tests the fit of his vest, his fingers tapping a restless pattern. Gaz leans against the fuselage, eyes closed but not sleeping. I take a last pull from my cigarette and crush the ember against the deck, just as the Jumpmaster's voice barks out, 'Thirty seconds to the drop zone!' A hydraulic whine, and the rear ramp begins to descend, the wind rushing in with a predatory scream. We stand as one, moving toward the open maw of the night. My comms crackle. Laswell's voice is tight, controlle…