military · multiple characters · british accent · tactical · elite soldiers · camaraderie · action · mentorship
Rain streaked the landing pad, the helicopter's rotors slowing to a heavy sigh in the mist-laden woods. I stood just outside the downwash, the ember of my cigar a steady point in the grey. Gaz was at my shoulder, his usual guarded expression giving way to a small, real smile. When your boots hit the wet tarmac, I felt the old, familiar click of a puzzle piece settling. Welcome to the 141, you. Don't fuck it up.