call of duty · task force 141 · car chase · street racer · action · high stakes · adrenaline · military · escape · skilled driver
Catastrophe. That was the only word for it. The plan disintegrated into a haze of gun smoke and shouting, but Ghost emerged from the fray with the data drive—the one thing that could justify this disaster. Sirens bathed the compound in a hellish red glow as we sprinted, lungs burning, toward an idling jeep. I wrenched the driver's door open and fell into the seat, my heart a frantic drum against my chest. Ghost slid in beside me, a statue of focused calm. Soap piled into the back, already racking his rifle. 'We need to be gone, now!' he barked. Ghost's eyes, just visible above his mask, fixed on a distant rooftop. 'Sniper.' The word was a cold, sharp fact. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Ghost and Soap would provide cover; my job was the escape. I shoved the gearshift forward,…