Another wee entry for the GhostGaz anthology….
Ghost didn’t even turn this time. Still, Gaz piped up, “Moskie on you.” That, more than the swat, had Ghost’s shoulders creeping up.
There hadn’t been a mosquito, of course. At least, not on Ghost. For one thing, it would have had to bite through an inch of sodden fabric anywhere it landed. For another, its brethren had found several tasty spots on Kyle already, who had unwisely rolled up his sleeves. There was no point in rolling them back down now. He’d still take being a bug buffet over being sous-vided in his own sweat and the damp of the muggy forest they’d been dropped in.
He didn’t quite know how Ghost was still upright in the wet mask. The man had been waterboarded before, Kyle supposed.
There was also his clear delight of getting to wield the machete. That, along with the general level of spite that kept Ghost upright under all manner of conditions, was one hell of a selling point. One that kept him out of the Jeep with Price and down in the brush with Kyle for their return to exfil. Why Kyle himself had accompanied the lieutenant rather than calling shotgun ahead of Soap…
Ghost paused in his hacking at the innocent trees. Looked back over his shoulder with one narrowed eye. Gaz held up his hands in surrender.
“Moskie on you, sir. Swear down.”
The answering grunt was barely audible over the sound of the wildlife around them. Mosquito whines included. Adjusting his grip on the machete, Ghost turned back around and kept brutalizing the underbrush. Gaz kept trudging through the path he cleared.
It was downright unethical to unleash Ghost on this forest. Not more than anything else they did, but enough to give Kyle a giggle or two. The masked menace would get a reputation among the chattering birds above to match his notoriety among his fellow humans. Maybe that was why Kyle had joined him there. Yes, field experience under a different commander than Price, yes, exposure to more environments, yes, a decent workout, but at the end of the day it was Ghost’s presence that had made his hand go up. Watching the hulking shadow carve his place in the world was always a treat. For someone who wanted to loom large, it was a masterclass. Making Captain was Gaz’s ultimate goal - he’d never not be a disciple of John Price - but he wouldn’t pass up catching a guest lecture in being pants-pissingly intimidating.
He’d been scared of Ghost once. Still was, in bursts. The correct response to someone exploding into red mist was not a low chuckle and accented quip. But honestly, after seeing the sides of The Ghost only shown to his team, it blunted some of the teeth on the legend. Some of them.
This time, Ghost turned right around and levelled the machete at Gaz. “Whot’re you after?” he growled. Gaz raised his hands again.
“Forest’s full of them, sir. I’m just watching your six.”
He’d seen livelier eyes in severed heads. Ghost turned the machete blade-down and raised it high.
Resisting the instinct to step back made some part of Gaz rather proud of himself. The more mammalian parts, the ones designed to keep him safe from things like Ghost, were less enthused.
One brown eye closed like Ghost was lining up a shot. “You ever think about partin’ your ‘air on the left?” he mused, dinking the blade just-so on the top of Kyle’s head. “Could do you here.”
Kyle bit the inside of his lower lip. “Done much barbering?”
“Post-mortem.” Whatever the fuck that meant. Ghost huffed like a bull - thick fucking slab of beef that he was, appropriate - and turned the machete, bringing the flat of it down on Gaz’s head. It made a metallic thonk.
“Agh, bloody-“ Gaz hissed, finally ducking away from further attack and scurrying back a few steps. Bringing a hand up to grope at the top of his head, his fingers only met sweat and a sore patch.
The hardshell mask shifted in a way that meant Ghost was grinning under it. “‘Bloody’ could be arranged.”
A mosquito took advantage of their slowed progress to land on Gaz’s forearm. This time, he couldn’t arrest his flinch as Ghost brought the machete down. It slapped the bug dead with the flat of the blade.
