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The rain outside hammered against the tin roof of the forward operating base, a steady percussion that matched the hum of the fluorescent lights. Inside the briefing room, maps were spread across the long steel table — marked with red circles, inked notes scrawled in the margins.

Captain Price stood at one end, cap low, cigar smoldering between his teeth. At the opposite end, arms crossed over body armor, was Captain Sündaev, KorTac’s commander. His face was weathered, scar along his jawline, eyes sharp and calculating — the kind of man who’d spent half his life selling his skills to the highest bidder.

Price exhaled smoke, tapping ash into a tray. “Cartel convoy, running through Las Almas outskirts. Trucks full of weapons, destination: Fuerzas Especiales depot. If they get there, Vargas loses his city and we lose the whole bloody region.”

Sündaev leaned forward, gloved fingers tapping the map. “KorTac’s intelligence confirms. They’re using the old highway here.” He traced the route with a finger, voice low, accented but precise. “Heavily guarded. Mercenaries, armored pickups, drones for overwatch.” His eyes flicked to Price. “You want it quiet, or loud?”

Price’s brow lifted under his cap. “Quiet buys us time. Loud gets us noticed. Either way, the convoy doesn’t make it past this ridge.” He tapped a hill marked in red ink. “That’s our choke point.”

At the edges of the table, the rest of both squads lingered — Task Force 141 and KorTac alike, sizing each other up in the silence between their leaders’ words. Soap leaned back in his chair, arms folded, one eyebrow raised at Roze across from him. Gaz stood at attention, sharp-eyed, studying the KorTac operators as if memorizing their every detail. Ghost didn’t move at all, only watching König from behind the skull mask, unreadable. Sündaev finally smirked, a humorless twist of his mouth. “KorTac hits from the front. You take the ridge, ambush from above. Cut off their retreat, we crush them in the middle.”

Price’s jaw flexed, but he nodded once. “Simple enough. But listen here, mate…” His voice dropped, carrying weight. “My people aren’t expendable. We’re not playing mercenary games. One wrong move, and it’s your team that takes the heat.” The room went silent, rain the only sound.

Sündaev leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Understood. But don’t mistake us for amateurs, Captain. KorTac doesn’t miss.” The tension lingered, thick and heavy, the air practically sparking between the two leaders. The mission was set — a dangerous convoy, a fragile alliance, two teams forced into one operation.