It's supposed to be some special forces guys or something
****
It was the absolute worst time for my flashlight not to work. Just really, a terrible, unfortunate horrid time. I do not enjoy the dark. At all.
And my company didn’t help.
Taking a deep breath, I ceased my silent treatment of the baboons. “Canepa,” I asked my infinitesimally more reliable companion, “You bring a light?”
“Nuthin’ less you want the roof comin’ down on us. I only pack the boom, man. You know that.”
Right. I gritted my teeth.
“Rock. Yours working?”
“I’m looking for it hang on. Somewhere in here…” I listened to Rock fumble through his pack. The man really didn’t know how to pack things efficiently. He’d probably head into battle one day with his rifle shoved in the bottom of his duffle.
“The bogies ain’t gonna wait around for you to find the fuckin’ toilet paper if they catch you poppin’ a squat. Not that Canepa here would’ve thought to even bring any. Our mission is at night. In a cave. Do neither of you possess common sense?”
“I don’t see you wavin’ around the spare candles, McGuffy. Give the dude a break.” Canepa. Always the joker. I could feel the headache coming on…
“It’s McGupherson, Canepa, or Sergeant. And can it. Rock?”
“I’m gettin’ it! Christ, hold yer goddam whores!” The fumbling stopped, eventually, and the unmistakable click of a switch sounded. But no light.
“Rock.”
“It’s a finiky basterd.” I heard the batteries rattle as he gave it a shake.
“Bang it on a rock!” Canepa offered helpfully, and I was tempted to do the same with my head. I hate them. I had only known them for two days, and I knew that I’d gladly throw my lot in with the Alliance if they agreed to off the two monkeys.
Rock apparently thought that this was good advice, for soon we were graced with a piercing metallic chorus as he pounded happily away at the cave wall with his poor, defenseless flashlight. My only hope against the things that haunted the dark, and he was acting like a toddler with a new toy. I suppressed a whimper. I really didn’t want to give away my irrational paranoia to these buffoons.
Miracles of miracle it actually worked, and I could once again see our lovely accommodations. Wet, cold, seeable luxury.
Except that Rock for some reason felt the need to throw in a few victory whacks, and we were promptly plunged back into darkness.
“The corpse of my grandmother’s blind, toothless, one-legged cat would be more useful than you, Rock.”
“Careful Mickey-G, I hear you can crack yer teeth if ya grind ‘em like that too much.” Canepa managed to wheeze out between guffaws. “Man, you guys are jus’ killin’ me!”
