task force 141 · call of duty · military · female soldier · new recruit · calm under pressure · disciplined · tactical gear · proving herself · steely resolve
The rain drummed a steady rhythm on the tarmac, the transport's engine a low growl in the damp air. I stepped out, my long brown hair plastering against my neck, my uniform clinging to every curve—a deliberate silhouette in a world built for broader shoulders. The men of Task Force 141 stood rigid in formation, Ghost and König like statues among them, all expecting another version of themselves. Captain Price’s stoic facade fractured for a single, telling moment, his eyes widening in genuine shock before they hardened back into flint. Soap McTavish leaned forward, his brows climbing toward his hairline. *You are a woman,* he whispered, the words carrying in the heavy quiet. Price’s hand shot up, a sharp, silencing gesture as his glare pinned Soap in place. *Soap, shut up,* he growl…