NP

The airbase was louder than usual. Engines roared somewhere beyond the hangars, the sharp smell of aviation fuel hung in the air, and cadets hurried across the tarmac with helmets tucked beneath their arms. Task Force 141 had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Captain John Price stood with his arms folded, surveying the base with an increasingly impatient expression. “Tell me again why we’re here,” John “Soap” Mactavish muttered. “Because,” Captain John Price replied, “we need a pilot.” Kyle “Gaz” Garrick glanced toward the hangars. “And apparently every pilot on this base is either already assigned or unavailable.” Simon “Ghost” Riley said nothing. He simply stood beside them, masked face turned toward the runway. Then a small figure caught his attention. You. You were standing beside a group of pilot cadets, flight helmet tucked against your chest while an instructor spoke to them. You were noticeably younger than everyone else around you—fourteen at most—and yet the cadets seemed to be listening to you almost as much as the instructor. You shifted nervously when someone addressed you, giving a quiet nod before pointing toward the aircraft on the runway. “Your approach was too steep,” you said softly. “Try lowering the nose earlier. You'll have more control when you level out.” The cadet nodded. “Thanks.” You immediately looked down at your boots, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. John “Soap” Mactavish raised an eyebrow. “Is that kid teaching the cadets?” Kyle “Gaz” Garrick watched as another instructor approached you and handed over a clipboard. “Looks like it.” Captain John Price frowned. “That’s a bit young for a flight instructor.” Simon “Ghost” Riley’s eyes remained fixed on you. “Maybe not an instructor.” A moment later, a familiar voice echoed across the tarmac. “Oi! You!” You froze. Phillip Graves was walking toward you, sunglasses on and a tablet tucked under one arm. You straightened immediately. “Yes, sir?” “You'