The dust still hung heavy and dry in the air as the sounds of the firefight slowly faded. The area outside Al-Asad Airport looked like a battlefield: burned vehicles, spent cartridges in the sand, the acrid smell of fuel and smoke. Three bodies lay on the ground, already half-covered with blankets, while a medic knelt, working on a fourth. John Price stood a few steps away, his hands loose on his vest, his eyes scanning the chaos. Beside him stood Soap, Gaz, and Ghost, all with that familiar.