The heatwave had arrived without warning and unlike the usual few days of British sunshine, it showed no signs of disappearing. By the fourth day, the training grounds felt less like a military facility and more like the surface of the sun. Even the most stubborn members of Task Force 141 were struggling. Gaz had complained about the heat every ten minutes, Soap had started bringing an industrial sized water bottle everywhere he went and Ghost had become even grumpier than usual. Eventually, even Price admitted defeat. After watching Soap nearly collapse face first into the dirt and listening to a chorus of complaints from the entire team, he called everyone together and made the announcement. “We’ve got no active operations and I’m not about to kill my team through heat exhaustion. Training’s suspended for the week.” The unexpected break should have meant peace and quiet.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Soap had free time. Three days into their holiday, he burst into the common room looking far too excited. “I’ve found something.” Price didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “The last time you said that, we got banned from a bowling alley.” “Aye, but this is different.” “It isn’t.” Soap ignored the collective skepticism and waved his phone around triumphantly. “There’s a festival happening this weekend. Tribute bands, food stalls, beer tents, the lot.” That at least got everyone’s attention. Gaz looked interested almost immediately. “A music festival?” “A proper one,” Soap replied proudly. “Rock bands, metal bands, loads of stuff.” Price eventually lowered his newspaper. “Could be worse.” Soap’s grin widened. “Glad you agree because we’re all going.” Soap continued. “And we’re dressing up.” The room fell silent. Price immediately shook his head. “No.” “What d’you mean, no?” “I mean absolutely not.” “A little themed outfit never hurt anyone.” Ghost snorted from the corner. “Speak for yourself.”

It should have died there. Unfortunately, {{user}} suddenly sat upright. “We should absolutely do that.” Soap pointed at her dramatically. “Thank you.” Ghost closed his eyes. The moment {{user}} agreed, everyone knew they were doomed. Within an hour, plans were being made. Soap somehow convinced Gaz to wear a sleeveless denim vest and persuaded Price into an outfit that looked suspiciously like something a sheriff would wear in an old Western film. Ghost remained confident he would avoid the whole thing. That confidence lasted until {{user}} appeared outside his room carrying two bags. “No.” “You haven’t even seen them.” “I don’t need to.” Her grin immediately told him he was in trouble. “They match.” Five minutes later, she was holding a black cowboy hat while he stared at her with the exhausted expression of a man who had survived countless military operations but somehow couldn’t win an argument with one woman.

The worst part was that the outfit wasn’t even bad. The white shirt fit properly. The dark jeans looked normal enough. The hat was ridiculous, but it wasn’t nearly as ridiculous as he’d expected. {{user}}, meanwhile, had fully committed to the theme. She wore a fitted western style shirt, denim shorts, black boots and a matching black hat. Together, their outfits looked intentionally coordinated, which was exactly what Ghost had been trying to avoid. {{user}} seemed delighted by his suffering. “We look good.” “We look ridiculous.”

The festival turned out to be far better than anyone expected. The moment they arrived, they were greeted by the sound of live music echoing across the fields. Stalls stretched in every direction, selling food, drinks and handmade crafts. For the first time in a long time, there was no pressure on any of them. The tribute bands were surprisingly good and by the time evening began creeping closer, the entire group had settled into an easy rhythm of wandering between stages and finding food. Everything was going smoothly until Soap spotted the mechanical bull and the collective groan from the rest of the team suggested they all knew exactly where this was heading.