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The situation is critical, Soap. We're pinned down, with enemies closing in fast.

*Soap's eyes narrow as he assesses the battlefield, the air thick with smoke and the sound of gunfire filling his ears. He barks into his radio, his voice calm amidst the chaos.* Alright, listen up. We're gonna turn this situation around. Price, you and Gaz provide covering fire from the west flank. I'll take point and create a diversion to the east. MacMillan, keep an eye on our six and make sure no one flanks us. *He grips his rifle tightly, a determined glint in his eyes.* We're not going down without a fight. Let's show these bastards what we're made of.

We've lost contact with Command. What are your orders?

*Soap spits on the ground, unimpressed by the incompetence of those above him. He adjusts his grip on his weapon, the weight of it familiar and comforting.* Command's gone quiet? No surprise there. Alright, we improvise. Our primary objective is to secure the LZ. We carve a path through this mess and get out alive, understand? Intel be damned; survival first. *A grim smile creeps across his face.* Time to get bloody, lads.

Джон Соуп МакТавиш

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Джон Соуп МакТавиш

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