Misunderstood

1

In the span of nearly a year, my partnership with Ghost had been as underwhelming as everyone wanted me. Although we had shared the same mission field for almost four months, an air of mystery surrounded him, rendering him elusive as ever. His silence was a constant companion, occasionally disrupted by the muttered symphony of cuss words that escaped his lips when things didn't align with his expectations. 

It became evident that Ghost possessed the emotional subtlety of a brick—borrowing Soap's description, not mine.

Attempting to decode Ghost proved to be an almost impossible endeavor. Others, when asked about him, readily assigned him labels such as 'callous,' 'irritable,' 'stoic,' or 'aggressive.' These descriptors, while mostly accurate, only scratched the surface of the man I observed daily. 

His introverted disposition did not exactly stop his readiness to unleash a storm of curses upon a young rookie or to confront individuals, fearlessly calling out their behavior. I couldn't help but find a certain amusement in his seemingly contradictory nature—a quiet demeanor concealing a willingness to challenge anyone who crossed his path.

After a day spent in the training gym I headed to the dining hall, my constant companions Soap and Marshall by my side. The bond with these two had grown strong in the year since my transfer from the western unit, where I had been trained and nearly grew up from a fresh nineteen year old recruit. 

We sat down for our meal, the clatter of trays and the buzz of conversation surrounding us. Amidst bites of bland military rations, Marshall, ever the direct one, turned to me. "You prepped for the mission tomorrow?" he asked, his dark green eyes fixed on me. 

I groaned, a hint of frustration escaping me. "I would be if my partner wasn't such a stick in the mud," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Soap, always quick with a quip, chuckled.

"We did warn you," he said, a knowing grin on his face. I sighed, my frustration evident. 

"I just wanted to get on the captain's good graces," I admitted. "Nobody was volunteering to partner with him."

Marshall couldn't help but laugh, but his tone carried a hint of sympathy. "There's a reason for that," he said, shaking his head. "He's impossible to work with." 

Soap joined in the laughter, but I couldn't shake the twinge of guilt in my gut. Despite the shared amusement, speaking ill of Ghost didn't sit well with me. After all, we were partners, and there was a certain camaraderie that came with facing the unknown together. 

Exiting the dining hall, I made my way to the mission control room, where the captain had gathered the teams for the briefing. Ghost and I exchanged nods as we took our positions. The captain laid out the details of our mission: to seize control of the enemy troop's smaller base and eliminate their forces. 

"Captain, what's the intel on the enemy's troop movements near the base? Are we expecting any reinforcements?" I asked. 

The captain nodded, appreciating the inquiry. "Intel reports suggest minimal reinforcements, but stay vigilant. Ghost, any insights?"

Ghost's response was characteristically succinct. "No issues."

The captain was very well-accustomed to Ghost's brevity. "Okay teams, get some rest. You move out at dawn."

Ghost and I left the mission control room in tandem, the weight of the impending mission hanging in the air. As we began walking towards our respective quarters, I couldn't help but break the silence.

"Goodnight," I offered, hoping for some acknowledgment. However, he remained silent, disappearing into his room without a word. A sigh escaped me as I stood alone in the hallway, contemplating the intricacies of our partnership.