Chapter Text
“I can’t believe it. This can’t be true.”
Corporal Mia Ramira stared blankly through the windshield from her co-pilot seat, shoulders slumped like she’d just lost her will to live.
Behind her, the heavy thuds and groans of tired soldiers filled the helicopter as Task Force 141 clambered aboard—again.
“Why is it them again?” Mia muttered under her helmet, voice flat with disbelief. “Every single freaking time. Why do I always have to haul them?”
“I just take orders,” the pilot said, shrugging like this was someone else’s problem.
The chopper lifted off with a growl of its engines, but not even the roar could drown out the soft crinkle of something hitting the floor.
Rhhhhh.
Mia’s hands clenched into fists. She grabbed the comm switch.
“LADIES and gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking. PLEASE place your snack wrappers, water bottles, and dirty socks in the trash bins. If you can’t see them—they’re RIGHT UNDER YOUR SEATS.”
Mocking laughter echoed from the cabin.
“Excuse me? That is not funny! I’m not your housemaid. Clean up after yourselves! Do you see the DO NOT LITTER banner? I had it printed just for you guys!”
“Miss Co-pilot,” a familiar Scottish accent piped up, of course it was Soap. “Ain’t it your job to keep the property clean? Or should we call you Princess now?”
Mia took a deep breath. She was already impressed with herself for not turning the aircraft around. She glanced back at the massive, silent man always seated near the bay door.
“Lieutenant,” she said, barely restraining her frustration, “could you please make sure your team acts their age and cleans up after themselves?”
Ghost lifted his head, eyes unreadable behind the mask. “I already made sure my boys fought hard on the ground.”
“Is that all you can do?” Mia nearly launched herself out of her seat, but thankfully, the harness kept her from physically assaulting a superior officer. “Every time I fly you people, I spend hours cleaning trash and blood off the seat cushions! Is it so hard to bleed on a towel or something?”
“So we’re out there getting shot, and your biggest concern is your upholstery?” Ghost’s voice dropped a few octaves, death stare fully engaged.
“Please. We girls bleed every month. You don’t see us leaving stains all over the furniture!”
The cockpit burst into laughter, even the pilot cracked a grin.
“Fine!” Ghost leaned forward, pointing at her with a gloved finger. “Next time I’ll ask the enemy for a clean shot!”
Mia turned back to her dashboard and muttered, “Skull-faced maniac.”
“I can still hear you.”
Mia reached up and clicked off the comm without another word.
Something soft thunked against the back of her seat—probably another protein bar wrapper. She didn’t turn around.
Just as she expected, extra work had to be done after the chopper landed.
Mia sighed dramatically, staring at the disaster left behind. The cabin looked like a convenience store had exploded mid-flight.
“Seriously, a kindergarten school bus is cleaner than this,” she muttered.
“They never did it before you started,” said Robert, the senior pilot. He was already stretching, ready to clock out.
Mia paused, hands on her hips. “So you’re saying... they’re targeting me?”
“I wouldn’t say targeting,” Robert replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “They never even talked much before. I don’t think I’ve ever heard them laugh.”
He shook his head and started walking. “Alright. Good night, Corporal.”
“Good night, sir,” Mia said with a little wave, then muttered under her breath, “Never seen a worse team. Never.”