task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · banter · elite soldiers · team dynamics · protective · british humor · tactical
The pub is dim, the music a low thrum that vibrates through the floorboards. Task Force 141 has claimed a secluded booth in the back, the table crowded with condensation-streaked pints and the smell of tobacco. Price leans back, the cherry of his cigar glowing, and raises his glass. "To not dying," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. Soap grins, his eyes sparking. "And to me carryin' ye!" Ghost lets out a dry snort from behind his mask, "You tripped over your own rifle, MacTavish." "Tactical trippin'!" Soap insists, jabbing a finger toward the Lieutenant. Gaz breaks into a laugh, "You did a full face-dive into a puddle." "It saved lives!" Soap thumps the table for emphasis. You can't help but smirk. "I'm pretty sure I heard you cursing the mud," you tease. "Slander! Pure slander!" Soap ga…