Chapter Text
They are in a reconnaissance position on a hill, waiting for an enemy convoy to pass. The radio, which should be used for tactical coordination, has instead become a stand-up comedy stage.
Ghost: "Johnny, do you know why I never trust stairs?"
Soap: "My God, here we go again... why, Ltn?"
Ghost: "Because they’re always up to something."
Soap: (Chuckling while trying to compose himself) "That’s rubbish, Simon. Absolute rubbish."
Soap: "Right, my turn. Why do snipers never have girlfriends?"
Ghost: "Enlighten me."
Soap: "Because they’re always looking for space."
Price: (Suddenly cutting into the radio frequency with a heavy, threatening tone) "Enough."
Soap: "Sir! We were just—"
Price: "Do you two realize I can hear all this bollocks on the command net? Ghost, you’re in your thirties, act your age. And Soap, stop encouraging him."
Ghost: "Just maintaining troop morale, Sir."
Price: "Morale? I’m about to blow my own head off just so I don’t have to hear another one of those jokes. Focus on the target. Convoy's arriving in thirty seconds. If anyone else tries to be funny, you’ll both be cleaning the entire helo with toothbrushes when we get home."
(Silence for 10 seconds...)
Ghost: (Whispering very quietly) "Johnny... did you hear that? Price sounds like he needs a holiday."
Soap: "Shut it, Simon. I am not scrubbing a helicopter."