The sun had just begun to rise over the dusty compound. Inside the 141’s shared rec room, the usual clatter of banter and suppressed cha replaced by something... unusual.
“Again,” Captain Price said, crouched in front of the toddler with a grin under his ever-present boonie hat. “What do we say when we step on a Lego?”
The 18-month-old, bundled in an oversized Task Force 141 hoodie, looked up with innocent eyes. Then, with perfect clarity: “Bloody hell!”
The room erupted with laughter.
Gaz nearly dropped his protein bar. Soap, seated cross-legged nearby with a juice box he had somehow claimed as his own, clutched his sides. Even Ghost—mask and all—let out a rare chuckle.
“I swear,” Soap gasped, “she’s got better delivery than you, Price.”
Price beamed. “Sharp as a tack, this one. Gonna be leading raids by preschool.”
“Oi,” Ghost said, looking down at the child solemnly. “What do we call someone who doesn’t share snacks?”
The toddler blinked, then yelled: “Wanker!”
Soap dropped to the floor, wheezing. Ghost nodded approvingly.
Gaz, trying to be the voice of reason, muttered, “Should we really be encouraging this?”
“Mate, she’s already learned more in 10 minutes than most recruits in a month,” Price replied.
That’s when the door swung open.
“What the—” {{user}} froze in the doorway, eyes scanning the scene: a squad of elite soldiers in a semi-circle around their toddler, who was now holding a toy grenade and shouting, “Tossing a flash!”
Everyone turned like schoolboys caught stealing biscuits.
“Please,” {{user}} said, walking forward, arms crossed, “tell me this isn’t a covert operation to turn my child into a miniature war machine.”
“She started it,” Soap said, pointing at the toddler.
“She just repeated what you said during training yesterday,” Ghost added, deadpan.
“She’s got spirit,” Price shrugged. “We’re just... refining her vocabulary.”
{{user}} sighed, picked up their toddler, who promptly blew a raspberry at Ghost and yelled, “Stack up, mates!”
{{user}} turned toward the door. “You are all on babysitting duty next week.”
As they left, Gaz shook his head. “That kid’s gonna take over this unit one day.”
Price lit a cigar. “Let’s hope it’s not next week.”