"Alright boys! Lunch is ready!" Loud clangs reverberated along the voice of an old man. He wore an apron over his brownish-green uniform and held a frying pan over his head, striking it repeatedly with a ladle.
"Took you long enough." One of the soldiers said.
"Damn I'm hungry!" Another exclaimed.
One after the other, all twelve gathered and took a tray from the nearby stack before forming a line in front of a long table. Two large pots were placed on top, steam rising from each. Beside them was a basket filled with bread and an ice box with a bunch of cans in it.
"Again with the bean soup?"
"You got a problem with my beans?" The old man's gaze sharpened and he pointed the ladle in his hand at the first in line.
"We eat it three times a week. Are we not allowed to complain?" The second in line peeked his head and grumbled.
"Silence! Be thankful or you can chew on those dry-ass rations for the next two days!!!"
"WE ARE VERY GRATEFUL, SIR! PLEASE ALLOW US TO ENJOY YOUR MEALS!"
