Task Force 141

The snow swirled thicker, wind screaming across the frozen wastes to drive merciless ice into any exposed flesh. Price could barely force his numbed limbs onward, the hand gripping Ghost's parka more to remain upright than guide his teammate. Eyes watering against the gale, he scanned desperately for hint of the others through the featureless whiteout. Time ticked away more precious than oxygen out here - they all knew the risk if caught unprepared by one of these squalling blizzards. Minutes stretched eternity, howls of the wind drowning his increasingly hoarse shouts.

They had to find the others soon or none of them would leave these wastes alive. The cold sank deeper with every staggering step, life and hope bleeding out in this icy hell. He refused to consider alternatives - they WOULD regroup. They HAD to… He would tear this fucking tundra apart with his bare hands before losing his team.

“Sound off, Soap! Gaz!” Price barked, his usual gravelly voice hoarse and raspy as he looked around. The snow swirled impossibly thicker, howling wind driving merciless ice to scour exposed flesh raw. Visibility dropped to less than an arm's length, the outline of Ghost at his side little more than a deeper smudge in the churning whiteout. Price forged onward through the building drifts, joints creaking protest beneath his frozen tactical gear. They had to find Soap and Gaz fast - no one could survive long once truly lost in a squall this fierce. This godforsaken tundra showed no mercy. Price refused to dwell on anything but dogged perseverance, each step an agony of resisting cold seeping deeper into muscle and bone. He scanned for hints of tracks or debris in their meager sphere of vision, any signs the others passed this way. The very air pierced lungs like icy daggers with each ragged breath, but he strained every sense searching for some faint clue over the banshee wail of the storm. They would regroup. Failure was not an option - he would tear this fucking wasteland apart before abandoning his team-

“Cap! Soaps down!”

As Price stumbled through the blizzard, his heart sank at Gaz's calls for help. All thought of self-preservation fell away - when one of his men was down, nothing else mattered. He shoved on against the gale, trusting Ghost had his back. Up ahead a black light sliced through the whitewash, guiding them in. When the huddled forms emerged, Price dropped at once into the snow.

Gaz knelt exhausted, supporting Soap's limp body. Ghost worked swiftly, digging out space around them with bare hands. Price took Soap's pale face between his gloves.

"Soap, c'mon lad, stay with me," he urged, though the howl of the storm nearly swallowed his words. Frostbitten skin met his touch, limp muscles like ice.

The blizzard raged on mercilessly, but Price fought just as fiercely to keep Soap alive.

He lay shuddering, pulse fluttering under Price's fingers like a frightened bird. Cupping frozen cheeks, Price's gloves came away stained red - and he cursed softly. Hypothermia had set in deeply.

This was spiraling beyond their control. Price met Gaz's worried gaze, seeing his own fear reflected there. With a steadying breath, he lifted Soap's limp form over a shoulder in a fireman's carry. His knees buckled under the weight, muscles screaming protest, but Price pushed on. Soap's life depended on getting them to shelter - and he'd be damned if the storm took another of his men while he still drew breath to fight. Ghost helped brace him as they struggled onwards through the fury, all thought narrowed to just one goal: survive, and save Soap. The howling blizzard would not defeat them tonight. They were getting all men out.

Somehow.

“Where’s the way down?” Price shouted over the blizzard, and Gaz shrugged.

The howling winds swallowed Price's shouts as he called to Gaz.

"Lost track hours ago!" Gaz yelled back, hands red from rubbing circulation back. Price saw his limits fast approaching - nose running, swaying on his feet despite Ghosts support.

Price hitched Soap higher on his shoulder and wrapped his free arm around Gaz for stability. "Stay with me lad, we'll find a way."

Ghost peered through the whitewash, seeking any sign of shelter. "What's the plan, Captain?"

"Cave or overhang, somewhere to wait it out!" Price replied, though he knew deep down no help was coming. Their radios had died long ago under the onslaught.

It was down to the four of them alone against the blizzard's fury. But he'd be damned if it took any more of his men without a fight. Gritting his chattering teeth, Price shouldered onward, brothers at his side. Somewhere in this winter hellscape was salvation - they just had to keep putting one foot ahead of the other till they found it.

“Just keep Gaz up, I’ll carry Soap.” Price instructed, and with Ghosts agreement the three of them walked slowly through the blizzard. Trying to look out for any caves, cliffs, just somewhere the blizzards wind and snow weren’t pelting on their jackets. Not even the winter uniforms Laswell gave them were holding up in this weather.

When Soap groaned quietly on Price’s shoulder the Captain grit his teeth. “Just hang on, Lad. We’ll find you help.”

The blizzard raged with a vengeance, swallowing the landscape. Price struggled on, Soap's weight dragging him down alongside exhaustion. Ahead, Ghost supported Gaz who stumbled weakly, the kits bulk hindering his shivers. Price opened his mouth to encourage them but choking snow filled it instead. Through the whiteout, Ghost's sharp eyes caught a shadow. He hauled Gaz toward it, finding refuge just in time within a shallow cave.

Price collapsed inside with Soap, coughing violently. Gaz stirred the dying embers of their campfire back to life, melting snow to pass around. Soap muttered deliriously as Price checked him over. Frostbite was setting in, the cold claiming his flesh. Without medical aid, he may not last the night.

Price gripped Soap's lifeless hand, praying Ghost's watch would spot their distress through the storm. But out here, hope was fleeting as the elements crept in to claim them one by one. All they could do was cling to each other and fight to last the night.