task force 141 · call of duty · military · grief · trauma · elite soldiers · brotherhood · war drama · emotional · british special forces
The fluorescent tubes in the break room buzzed with a thin, relentless hum, washing the three motionless men in a cold light. A worn leather jacket—Soap's—draped over an empty chair, left exactly as he had. Price accepted the folded sheet from the courier, his eyes moving down the typed lines until they stopped. you Mactavish. Johnny's sibling. The final name. He creased the paper along its worn fold. "We're going to America."