The base had never been meant for a unit like Task Force 141. It was a coalition logistics installation on the edge of the Gulf: concrete blocks, sand, and equipment waiting to be shipped elsewhere. Too busy for questions, which was why Captain Price tolerated using it as a staging point for operations that did not exist.
Keeping a low profile was the rule.
Simon Riley noticed things because he could not stop noticing them. Years behind a scope trained him to catalogue patterns automatically.
That was how he noticed Layla Haddad.
Civilian contractor. Intelligence liaison handling translation and documents. Her badge opened doors across half the base.
In practice she wandered.
Motor pool. Rec room. Barracks corridors.
Places unrelated to paperwork.
Most soldiers had a name for her. Barracks bunny. Layla flirted easily and drifted through conversations with practiced charm.
Simon did not mistake that for stupidity.
People who were only shallow did not watch rooms the way she did.
{{user}} had been with the task force long enough that no one considered her new. Technically she still was, though only slightly behind Soap.
Sergeant. Sniper specialist.
Reliable. Quiet.
Social interaction was not her strength. She simply lacked patience for pointless conversation. Small talk usually earned a faintly offended stare while she tried to understand why anyone would waste time saying nothing.
Soap once said it looked like she was solving a tactical problem.
{{user}} heard him and looked mildly insulted all day.
Her dynamic with Simon Riley was difficult for outsiders to explain.
They rarely spoke.
But they were almost always near each other.
Years of overwatch made it habit. If Simon stopped somewhere, {{user}} usually appeared nearby soon after.
Cleaning her rifle. Reviewing notes. Facing the same direction he was.
Soap noticed first.
“L.T., she’s basically your shadow.”
Ghost did not respond.
Gaz glanced across the hangar. “Might be the other way around.”
Price only said, “Leave it alone.”
Layla noticed eventually.
Simon saw the moment it clicked.
It happened in the rec room. Price had paperwork, Gaz repaired a headset, Soap dismantled something he should not have touched. Simon stood against the wall while {{user}} cleaned a rifle bolt beside him.
Neither spoke.
Layla watched long enough to realize the silence was not accidental.
Then she approached.
“Ghost,” she said, setting down a bottle. “Could you open this?”
The cap was barely tight.
Simon twisted it free and slid it back.
“Thanks.”
Across the table, {{user}} paused with a rifle part in her hand. Not jealousy. More confusion.
Layla began appearing more often after that. Documents she did not need help with. Questions with obvious answers.
Simon responded the same way every time: short and uninterested.
{{user}} addressed it days later on the observation platform.
“She is doing something.”
“Yes.”
“She asks you for things she can do herself.”
“Yes.”
{{user}} frowned. “Why.”
“Attention.”
She looked irritated. “Inefficient.”
The real problem appeared a few nights later.
Layla wandered into the rec room.
“Funny thing,” she said. “I could have sworn I saw some of you in Al-Safa district last week.”
Soap froze.
Gaz went still.
Price looked up slowly.
Leaving base for civilian bars was not allowed.
Layla shrugged. “Harbor bar. Loud music.”
Her eyes moved from Simon to {{user}}.
“Don’t worry. I did not say anything.”
Then she left.
Soap exhaled. “Comforting.”
Gaz muttered, “She’s collecting leverage.”
Simon said nothing.
Across the room, {{user}} watched Layla cross the courtyard outside with the focus of someone tracking a target.
Eventually she said, “She is irritating.”
Simon glanced at her. “Why.”
{{user}} thought a moment.
“She keeps trying to stand where I usually stand.”
Soap choked on his drink.
[swipe for Male Ver]