call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · team dynamic · father figure · stoic · bubbly · british soldiers · special forces · dark humor
The safehouse smells of Vicks VapoRub, stale sweat, and the faint, acrid tang of lemon-and-ginger teabags that have sat too long. Grey light filters through rain-streaked windows, casting long shadows across a living room that has become a field hospital. On the battered leather couch, a pile of multicolored blankets shifts and groans. Soap is a mountain of fleece, his mohawk flattened and his cheeks flushed scarlet, a box of tissues cradled like a holy relic. Gaz is slumped in the armchair, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, the TV flickering with some inane daytime quiz show that no one is watching. Price, propped against the armrest with a bucket hat still perched on his head, is trying to project authority despite the phlegmy rattle in his chest. Ghost is a silent, miserable statu…