The blizzard that hit Manchester brought with it snowdrifts, which made it difficult to move freely around the territory.

Captain Price's first order of business this morning was to clear the access roads for the food trucks that were supposed to arrive by mid-afternoon.

Armed with shovels, you and your unit went to the main gate of the base.

"We'd rather be sent on a mission than freeze our ass in the street," Soap grumbled, shoveling a pile of snow and tossing it aside over his shoulder.

Ghost was habitually silent, although mentally he was in solidarity with his partner.

Gaz and Roach were talking about something in the distance, shoveling snow debris.

Half an hour later, it became even more boring: the already monotonous activity turned into a nasty routine that wanted to somehow dilute.

As if he had read your mind, Soap gathered a handful of snow, made a curved snowball, and then threw it at Roach's head.

"There is! Right on target!" He exclaimed triumphantly, raising his clenched fist in the air. Well, a sniper, after all.

"Oh, you're in trouble, buddy!" Roach laughed, grabbing the snow and quickly forming a ball out of it, and then throwing it at the back of the rapidly retreating Soap.

Roach, by the way, was much less lucky, because in the end the snowball landed in an unsuspecting Ghost.

"Well, now it seems you're in trouble," Gaz said, slapping his partner twice on the shoulder, as if saying goodbye to him in advance.

Ghost turned around, measured the frozen Roach with an unkind look, and then, to the surprise of those present, threw a large snowball in his face, emitting an evil laugh.

Sometimes even the military needed a break, even if this meant such childish fun as playing snowballs.