Summary: John âSoapâ MacTavish & Simon âGhostâ Riley wait for a military convoy. Ghost finds out Soap knows a song that isnât âAnarchy in the UKâ by the Sex Pistols.
The only thing cutting through the silence of the pre-dawn darkness was the lieutenant opening and closing his mouth, clacking his bloody tongue piercing against his teeth â mindless and heedless of the phantom pain shooting through Soapâs mouth every time it happened. The wet sounds of lips parting, smacking, tongue licking and detaching from soft, spit-slicked gums were driving Soap up the walls.
âGum?â There lieutenantâs voice cut through Soapâs unease.
âGum- what?â
âDid ye want any?â Ghost asked, producing a sliver-wrapped strip from somewhere. Mysterious pocket candy, as likely to be fresh as it might have been plucked from a dead Russian operative seven months ago, and Ghost had simply forgotten to empty his pockets before laundry. Juicy Fruit mixed with old pocket sweat stains and Persil detergent didnât seem like a flavour to chase the miserably watered down and microwaved coffee sachet heâd called his breakfast because mess didnât open until five. Two full hours before they were scheduled to leave. Soap sighed and turned his face towards the window. They were supposed to be out on the road already, but the fucking convoy of course ran late â and now all they could do was stare at the silent radio and wait. He hated these hours wasted in limbo.
Ghost seemed oddly calm, for once. Aside from the whole mouth-smacking of course. Soap wondered why he hadnât noticed it before. Perhaps the situation had him more on edge than usual.
âBother ye if I start the motor?â Soap asked. The windows were fogging up and the used air was making him sleepier than it should, although given the three thirty wakeup call he decided to cut himself some slack. Still, being this tired without the convoy having reached base yet, let alone getting a move on, it didnât seem like his best idea.
âKeep the lights down. Lieutenant Morrison gets weird about his boys and theyâre facing us.â The lieutenant wiggled his leg. âTell me about your basic,â Ghost finally asked.
âWot? Story time because yeâs types didnât have a good sergeant in basic?â Soap snorted. Ghost did that thing he liked to do where he could be staring at Soap, at Soapâs bones and nerves and delicate blood vessels, or something not-Soap which just so happened to occupy the same space as Soap. The eery glare didnât really do it for Soap so he turned the key in the ignition and took a second to appreciate the warm red and orange lights popping up before he twisted the key one notch further and the old jeep coughed back to life. The machine was loud in the pre-dawn silence, cutting through the dreams and exhausted half-comas that their comrades surely still tried to escape in.
âUsed to ah. We used to sing a lot. Had an Irish boy in our group, he knew all these songs from his maâs pub.â
âSing like a bird, the lot of you?â
âEver heard a shoebill, Lt?â Soap asked.
âOn YouTube,â his lieutenant admitted easily. Soap sniggered to himself.
âSurprised ye know what that is, sir.â
âHad to take basic somewhere, didnât I?â Ghost asked mildly. The weirdly wet mouth-noises stopped, and instead he started popping one of the buttons on his thigh pocket.
âYer right mad if ye think for a second I believe that Sir, all due respect.â
Ghost only hummed to Soapâs indignant reply. âSing us a song then, Soap.â
âEver heard a Kiwi?â
âHad one run up to me in the middle of a night training with Aussie SAS,â Ghost replied with what sounded like a grimace. âThe poor sods that were sent to populate that continent really had to think they were being sent to hell.â
âThey didnât know how America would turn out,â Soap replied absently, trying not to focus too hard on the repetitive metallic plop of Ghost opening and closing the buttons on his trouser pockets.
âA right comedian before sunrise.â At least Ghost seemed amused by his disgruntled, short replies.
âAye, Dante had shit on me,â Soap agreed easily and wondered for the umpteenth time why Ghost would be so fucking awake at this ungodly hour. He wasnât used to superiors sitting awake while they waited for a convoy, wasnât used to conversation beyond talking shit at the CO passed out snoring in the passenger seat.
âNot quite, Soap,â Ghost said with what sounded like a smile. âPromised me a song, sergeant.â
âNae danger did I promise ye anything,â Soap tried.
âDonât get cute with me.â
âWouldnât dream of it, sir.â
âGoâan then.â
Soap sighed and rolled his eyes for good measure before adjusting the fan to heat the windows.
âThere are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl,â he started and then stopped himself to clear his throat. âBut give me a ramblinâ rover frae Orkney down to Dover. We will roam the country over and together weâll face the world.
âIf youâre bent with arthritis, your bowels have colitis, youâve gallopinâ bollockitis, and youâre thinkinâ itâs time you died,
âIf youâve been a man of action, though youâre lying there in traction, you may gain some satisfaction thinking âJesus, at least I triedâ.
âOh thereâs sober men and plenty, and drunkards barely twenty, there are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl.â
âMissed your true callsign, didnât you?â Ghost asked quietly, as if he regretted breaking the silence after Soapâs voice cracked on the last line. âSing like a lark for me, Soap.â
âNot a happy song, Lt.â Soap exhaled through his nose, and tried not to think too hard about the way his voice had cracked. On how many notes he had missed. Why he had chosen that particular part of the song to sing.
âDoesnât change that you sing it nicely, sergeant. Sound like a choir boy.â Soap bit his lip, uncomfortable with how easily Ghost had spoken about Soapâs childhood, regardless of if it stemmed from Soapâs personnel file â which Ghost has full access to, it would just be weird â or if it had come from conjecture â also weird to think of himself as so easily fitting into patterns, Soap thought.
âThink thatâs the convoy up ahead, on the service road?â Soap noticed movement to his left, half hidden behind his lieutenantâs bulky form. Desperately wished for the moving string of lights to be his reprieve from Ghosts eery perception. Ghost turned in his seat, twisting his entire spine. Soap thought to himself that heâd have been both more and less surprised at the same time if his lieutenant had just swivelled his head like an owl.
âYou good to drive, sergeant?â Ghost asked.
âTell you when it changes, Lt,â Soap promised and watched Ghostâs satisfied little nod.
âThen hit the road,â he ordered lightly and started fiddling with that stupid pocket again.
âYes, Sir.â Soap smiled to himself while he turned on the lights and pulled out of the parking space to slip between the guard vehicles of the MP.
We will roam the country over and together weâll face the world.
He hummed to himself, quietly of course as to not disturb the night any further. If Ghost joined him, Soap pretended not to pay any attention to it and weaselled the soft sound away to keep safe in his breast pocket.
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