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England’s sun starts to come down around eight in the evening. May’s weather is good to them and a nice breeze welcomes the soldiers home after a week-long operation.
Ignorance isn’t a luxury most soldiers can afford. There are times when the captain wants to bottle up some civilian innocence and feed it to the soldiers he hosts on this base, but it’s impossible. There is always some threat hanging over them and it casts a shadow so fucking dark that it would blot out this fantastic sunset and relinquish the moment of any peace it might’ve had.
Sometimes, when there is downtime and the opportunity to behave as if all is good in the world presents itself, guilt ensues. Not everything is fine. Not one damn thing can be fine when smothering evil seems to only breed more.
But breaks are encouraged and rest even more so. In the afternoon when Price, Gaz, and Soap were escorted back to base via military van, they were greeted by Ghost–the man who had been gone on his own mission when they left but ultimately returned to base before they arrived.
Tactical gear and weapons were stripped and discarded. It was Soap who suggested he was going to take a quick run to cool down and hopefully make him feel tired enough to sleep. Gaz agreed and joined him.
The proposed run had turned into whatever this is.
Golden sun falls on the two sergeants as they run after each other on the field. From where Price stands, he overheard that Gaz was “it” and Soap would “never lose at this game”.
The game, apparently, is tag and Soap is a self-proclaimed professional at the kid’s game.
Price watches the men run in wide circles after each other, Gaz attempting to fake-out Soap enough to close to distance masterfully made between them. They are both dressed loosely. Running joggers on their legs, loose t-shirts covering their torsos. Occasionally, their shirts would ride up and Price would see just skin, toned muscle. No protective chest shields or hidden waistband weapons. It’s innocent.
Soap is taunting Gaz with some of the most intense Scottish jabber he’s ever heard from the man. Gaz has a grimace on his face as they stare at each other, circling around each other until he eventually sets off after Soap again.
Light movement to the side prompts Price to look over. Ghost comes over to join him all while watching the spectacle the two sergeants are putting on.
Unlike the sergeants, Ghost appears more covered. He’s still in pants and boots, long-sleeved shirt and vest wrapped around his upper half. Most importantly, the mask covers his face. He doesn’t look war-ready to Price’s pleasure, but he does not look ready to take a load off and relax.
“I thought they were going for a run,” Ghost recalls then glances back to Price for his thoughts.
Price grins. His shoulders lift in a shrug and, when they drop back down, he feels some of that military weight slide off. Maybe this is a break.
“They didn’t lie about that.”
As if proving their point, Soap suddenly zooms between the two men and Gaz is a very short distance behind.
Price and Ghost look at them and watch until they’re circling around each other again, taunting and cursing in a way Price hoped wouldn’t be heard on a playground during a game usually played among children.
Ghost huffs. It’s almost a laugh. “I wonder who started this.”
Price’s laugh is more obvious. “Can’t say. I walked out here and they were already at it.”
It takes a moment, but Price looks away from the other two first and his eyes rest on Ghost.
If there is one man on this Earth who might consistently fail to relax, it’s Simon Riley. No matter how sweet the sunset or how therapeutic the spring weather, Ghost is always on-guard. Price admires it. At the same time, he mourns the relaxation and peace Ghost probably never knew. He is familiar with the death of Simon and the birth of Ghost, yet he cannot lie and say that he’s not worried on occasion.
Though, it’s been agreed that the constant stream of work keeps Ghost focused; it allows him to remain a well-oiled machine that does not have time to dwell on whatever darkness swims behind the skull mask.
But this is a break. Something akin to it.
Price leans in closer to him, shoulder nudging his bicep. “Go join,” he encourages. There isn’t any teasing tone behind it, but Ghost looks at him as if there is. “What? I think you’d win their game.”
Ghost looks away, eyes following the younger men once more. “What are they even playing?”
“Tag. Soap says he’s a pro.” Price scoffs.
Disproving that, Gaz loudly tackles Soap to the ground. Their audience looks back at them in time to watch Soap slam a fist down onto the dusty earth.
“I’m takin’ your title, MacTavish,” Gaz taunts. His smile is wide and childish. “I’m takin’ it all the way over here where you’ll never reach me.”
Soap is off the ground and chasing after Gaz. “Not fuckin’ prepared for how I’m gonna skelp yer arse! Get over here!” He’s smiling too despite his words of promised fury.
The taunts continue and silence falls between Price and Ghost again as they watch the new chase ensue in front of them.
Price feels calm. It’s been some time since they’ve had a moment like this.
This past November was difficult. Multi-continental operations often left them drained, but the issue did not die in Chicago. Smothering evil seems to only breed more .
Laswell loved to say that there was “someone new” after every successful operation. Price knew those words would eventually leave her mouth no matter what. There would always be someone new, someone ready to pick up the singed pieces and reignite the fire that takes the blood and sweat of soldiers to extinguish.
They have been doing so much extinguishing . They only know how to get rid of the bad. Remove, remove, remove. What they do hopefully adds some peace to the world, but they can never be sure.
Right now, they are tackling smaller operations in the interim before Laswell inevitably calls them and says they have something actionable. When will that happen? Price can’t say for sure, but they’ll be ready. They’re always ready.
If she called now, Soap and Gaz would cease their game, they would all gear up, and they’d be out in minutes.
It is a good thing that Price is away from his phone.
Another gust of wind and kicked-up dust occupy the space between Price and Ghost. They both watch Gaz run between them and far away from Soap again. The boys look like they’re getting tired and Price can see the way Soap looks so winded when he takes a small running break between the captain and lieutenant.
Soap looks at Price then nods with a smile. The setting sun makes all the sweat on his face and neck glisten.
The sergeant then looks at Ghost and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got a title to defend, Lt. I hope you understand.”
Even behind the skull mask, Ghost looks confused.
Soap’s grin widens. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “you’re it.”
Then he’s off again, this time he’s a giggling mess. Gaz is laughing with him too, calling him insane for trying to get the lieutenant involved in their game just because he didn’t have a chance in hell to catch Gaz himself.
Price wants to say that Ghost looks unamused from up-close, but there might be a playful glint in those dark eyes that convinces the captain otherwise.
“Looks like you’re it, Simon,” he says, not bothering to conceal his smile.
Ghost doesn’t say anything. He just listens to the sound of Soap’s Scottish taunts being hurled his way instead of Gaz’s.
No move is made for a while before Ghost is taking off his vest and dropping it to the ground beside the captain’s feet. Price can see how Ghost is threatening to prolong the staredown he’s sharing with Soap, but it comes to fruition when he takes the first step away from Price and closer to the giggling pair of sergeants.
“Johnny, Garrick,” he says in a low tone that makes them both stifle their giggles with puffed-out cheeks. “Is this funny?”
Ever the smart one, Gaz starts jogging away to make some distance, but Soap, ever the fucking digger of his own grave, stays closer to Ghost and smiles at him.
“Aye,” he agrees. “I’m laughing quite a bit. Got me in a fit over here.”
“Teasing me has never put you in a favorable position.”
“I’d disagree with that, sir.”
Gaz groans from beyond them. “Are ya gonna take Soap down or take him to the bedroom? Get on with it.”
The vocalized impatience sets off the new chase. Soap doesn’t create as much distance between himself and Ghost as he did with Gaz, but it’s still impressive to Price with how he can keep up.
Price’s gaze softens as he watches Ghost run after Soap. At some point, after failing to catch Soap, his hands lay on an unsuspecting Gaz and the chase starts anew.
The sun has almost been swallowed up by the night. Price looks up at the clear, incoming dusk and wonders when they’ll have some time like this again. Not every day is a busy one, but every day comes with repeated thoughts and struggles.
Tomorrow, Ghost might stay in his room unlike today when he came out to join Price in enjoying the game of tag. Tomorrow, Gaz and Soap might be consumed by other work completely separated from each other. Tomorrow, someone could die and this could be the last sunset they experience.
Price doesn’t voice his concerns like this. He knows his soldiers feel these things too. They’re strong and competent, but they’re still men with beating hearts and active brains.
Sunset quickly ends and Price can see the three soldiers sitting in the grassy part of the field. Gaz is laid flat in the grass, limbs outstretched and eyes to the sky. Ghost is sitting upright with Soap leaning against him, catching his breath.
“Captain!” Gaz calls out loud but doesn’t look over in Price’s direction. “My legs are on fire. Gotta be carried out.”
Price takes that as his sign to start walking closer to the three. “That right? We’ll have you on bedrest because you played too hard.”
Gaz chuckles. When Price stands above him, the sergeant looks up and gives him a smile. “Ghost and Soap make a dangerous pair, sir.”
“That they do,” he agreed.
He glances over at the mentioned pair and he finds that they’re still recovering from the run. Ghost’s mask is pushed up over his mouth and nose, leaning back on his hands planted behind him. Soap is leant against him, pulling at the collar of his shirt to cool himself down.
“Gaz is one of the best runners y’got,” Soap mentions. Price chuckles at how visibly pained he seems to say it. “Almost brought me to my fuckin’ knees.”
Ghost’s deep voice sounds. “Didn’t think my first time playing tag would be in my thirties with a couple of energized toddlers.”
The comment gets a firm clap on the chest courtesy of Soap in silent retaliation for being called a toddler.
May’s breeze settles and welcomes a nighttime chill. It cools the sweat on their bodies and eases their minds. Including Price’s despite not having run at all.
A final glance at the sky, a look at the distantly moving moon, promises tomorrow will come whether he wants it to or not.
He wonders who won that game of tag, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. They’ll continue it another day and Price will make sure they get their rematch.