Jake's Badass Army
Sgt Pitts didn’t smoke. He was infamous for lighting up a big fat Louixs before going into combat, but otherwise he wasn’t a smoker before today.
To his dismay Pvt Coma dropped to the ground in formation next to Pvt Biersack as soon as they got back to the starting point. Pitts wasn’t going to ask about the helmet or paintball gun but he could conclude this guy was dumb as a fence post and wasn’t allowed an M16 but was entrusted not to go rogue with paintballs during field drills. Or maybe he’d traded his rifle for paint supplies.
Pitts was deep into pondering finger painting jokes to bombard Coma with when his hand rose to his chest and caught a cigarette flying toward his breast pocket. He knew his reactions were finely tuned and quicker than his mind but now whoever threw that smoke also knew.
Smirkey was tossing Ferguson’s bic in the air repeatedly. It had stopped raining but you could smell wet earth and lake water in the air from the passing storm. The sky was still dark from thick, fast moving stormclouds. This day was never going to end. “Need this?” Smirkey said without making eye contact.
Sgt Pitts crouched down as though he was about to retie his boot but instead pulled a dry match out from one of the eyelets and struck it against the side of his sole. He lit the smoke and nodded at Smirkey. “What is this, your fifth live fire?” Pitts guessed.
“First.” Smirkey bowed his head and stopped tossing the bic.
“Then why ain’tcha backing your gunner up?” Pitts took a long drag of the smoke and looked at Ferguson who dropped into line next to Coma as though receiving fresh orders. Well he almost had all of them in line.
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