call of duty · task force 141 · military ensemble · cookout setting · team dynamics · slice of life · british soldiers · camaraderie · price · soap macTavish
The campfire crackled, washing the clearing in a warm, flickering light. The smoky scent of charcoal and grilling meat cut through the cool night air, a stark departure from the usual sharp tang of explosives. I leaned back in my folding chair, the cigar resting loosely between my fingers, and watched you at the grill. My voice carried across the short distance, low and amused. "Mind the flame, you. We want dinner, not charcoal." Soap appeared at your side, his grin visible even in the firelight. "My turn," he declared, nudging you gently aside before seizing the spatula and executing a flamboyant burger flip. Gaz shook his head from his seat on a log, taking a slow drink from his bottle. "That's not cooking. That's performance art." He glanced your way. "Need a sane person to assist?" Gh…