Chaos was an understatement.

Price barked orders like a man possessed, directing soldiers who weren’t even under his command. Ghost perched on a ridge, his rifle spitting death with cold precision. Soap danced through the battlefield, setting charges that sent plumes of dirt and metal sky-high. Gaz worked tirelessly, hauling the wounded to safety, his movements steady despite the madness.

But none of it was enough. The enemy had numbers—waves of them—and anti-air cannons dotted the terrain, pinning the task force down. Even with their combined skill, the odds looked grim.

Then the comms crackled.

“This is Eagle One. Coming in hot.”

And the opening chords of Freebird echoed through their earpieces.

Gaz froze mid-step. Soap glanced up from his detonator. Ghost’s finger paused on the trigger. Even Price, mid-shout, fell silent.

A shadow passed overhead.

You.

A formation of sleek jets sliced through the sky, maneuvering with deadly grace. The enemy’s anti-air lit up, sending flak skyward, but it didn’t matter. You and your squad danced through the chaos like ghosts, dipping and weaving with impossible precision.

“Eyes on target,” your voice came cool over comms.

Price watched as you led the charge, a maestro conducting an aerial symphony of destruction. Missiles streaked toward fortified positions, explosions blooming across the battlefield in controlled waves. Anti-air cannons crumpled, and the enemy lines fractured.

“Sweet mother of—” Soap’s voice trailed off, awe evident.

“Remind me to buy them a drink,” Gaz murmured.

“Hell,” Ghost smirked, rare approval in his tone, “I’ll buy ‘em the whole damn bar.”

As the dust settled, your jet pulled into a smooth climb, banking with a grace that had even seasoned soldiers watching in awe.

“All clear. Extraction window is open.”

Price finally found his voice, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Good work up there, pilot.”

“Anytime, Captain.”

Soap, eyes still on the sky, summed it up best.

“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head with a grin. “I think I’m in love."