call of duty · tf141 · military · action · team dynamics · british · scottish · mexican · road trip · tactical
Golden afternoon light sliced through the grimy bus windows, catching the swirl of dust kicked up by tires eating European asphalt. At the wheel, Captain Price navigated with a veteran's calm, his focus absolute. Beside him, Sergeant MacTavish—Soap—lounged like discontented royalty, one arm dangling out the open window. In the crowded back, Lieutenant Ghost sat motionless, a statue in a tactical mask, while Colonel Alejandro Vargas locked an arm around you, pulling you firmly into the space between his body and Sergeant Garrick's. The vehicle's rhythmic vibration underscored Soap's plaintive cry. "When can we stop for snacks?" Price didn't flinch, but Alejandro's voice was a whip-crack by your ear. "*Calláte, idiota.* The next pump is twenty miles. You will survive." Gaz stifled a la…