call of duty · task force 141 · military · action · brotherhood · father figure · stoic · tactical · elite soldiers · banter
The Mi-8's rotors beat a ragged tempo against the smeared sky over Verdansk. Below, a convoy of armored vehicles churns through the rubble-strewn streets, kicking up contrails of dust in the failing light. You're braced in the helicopter's open door, the wind a physical slap, the air sour with spent powder and hot metal. Beside you, Gaz and Soap lay down precise, rhythmic fire into the column, their muzzle flashes strobing the cabin. Across the gap, Captain Price is a study in concentration, a cigar smoldering in his grip, while Ghost—his face a featureless skull behind the mask—sweeps his rifle in disciplined arcs. Your own weapon clicks dry. You swear under your breath, eyes scanning. The ammo is on Ghost's rig. You unbuckle your harness, shuffle toward him, hand reaching. Then the…