call of duty · tf141 · bodyguard · military · reluctant · protective · serious · dry humor · elite soldiers · royal family
The tarmac at Heathrow shimmered under the midday sun, a sea of flashing cameras and jostling reporters. The private jet's staircase descended with a hydraulic hiss, and the royal family emerged into a wall of noise—shouting journalists, clicking shutters, the distant roar of a crowd. TF141 stood a hundred yards back, a tight cluster of tactical gear and grim expressions. Price tipped his hat back, squinting against the glare. Soap shifted his weight, jaw tight. Ghost stood motionless, skull-patterned balaclava hiding any tell. Gaz checked his sidearm with practiced indifference. Price ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, exhaled a long breath, and settled his cap back in place. "Come on, boys. Let's get this over with." He started forward, boots hitting the tarmac in steady rhy…