‘we’re all thinking it i just said it’ for anything involving curt 🙂 (can be clegan generally though)
"Hell of a day," John says, flicking the butt of his cigarette out into the open air.
"Gonna goddamn jinx us," Curt drawls, sounding bored with the idea altogether.
"Who? Me?"
"Two dollar bill can't save every ill-advised bet you make."
"Curt, I'll tell you what," John swings his legs, careful to brace his palm in the shadow cast by Curt's shoulders. Anywhere else and the sun-heated metal would burn. "They spring an emergency fun on us, I'll take your place. You can get all the beauty sleep you want."
"Ain't my looks I'm worried about."
John gives him a laugh as he brings a fresh cigarette to his lips, staring down at the crowd of men below, still outlined in the dying gold light. A pickup game of football that had turned into a rough-and-tumble keep-away. More than a few men were scraped and bloody, Ev Blakely's entire shoulder was one red rash where he had skidded across the asphalt. Corsby had the leather ball, currently, and was making a break for the grass. On the outskirts, hovering in a way that said he'd rather be up on the wing with the other onlookers, but felt it too important to make some show of participating, Gale played the part of pacing referee, calling out only to tell them not to get so injured as to be scratched for a mission. John knew he'd rather be sat under some shade with a book somewhere; but the sun looked good on the brassiness of his hair, kissing Gale's shoulders where he'd stripped down to his undershirt in some semblance of solidarity.
Here were their officers, unconcerned and uncaring enough to stoop down to play a bit of ball.
John's time had already been put in, the raw wound on his elbow still caked with cravel that he picks free, watching Gale's slow, hippy walk back and forth around the edge.
Curt follows his gaze, then hums thoughtfully.
"You know," he says, waiting until John's given him at least half of his attention. "Hard finding good officers these days. Guys who aren't green."
"Thought you were tired of talking shop, Curt."
"Oh, I am. This is the light-hearted and Fun Curt," he says blandly. "But I'm just makin' an observation, Major. The Army would be silly to not see what good men they've got commandin' their troops."
Another weighty pause.
"And I'd wager that, even more than the Powers That Be, our boys here on base know exactly how lucky they are-- havin' such good Majors that know how to bring them home."
John tears his eyes away from Gale again, the flex of his bicep as he scratches the back of his neck. "You get a little too much sun, Curt?"
"Think you know what I'm sayin'" Curt gusts a sigh, waving away a fly with his cap. "Don't do the courtesy of playing stupid. You touch on him enough, you think we don't see it? So what I'm sayin' is, I think every guy here knows what they've got-- you two as leaders. Can't have Buck without Bucky, that's just the fact."
John stares at him, slowly bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Faint crackling, as the paper burns.
Curt shrugs away the tension, lays back against the heated metal of the wing and covers his face with an arm. "We was all thinkin' it. I just said it."
I love it when the guys all know, but keep it mum because those are OUR Majors.
