Dawn [Patty!]

[wilson]

A light breeze made its way through the brutally short hair of the soldier’s gathered. The cool winter weather meant that most of the gathered men had wrapped jackets over their combat uniform as they huddled around the jeep. In the back of it, alongside a crate of new Thompsons they’d been breaking in was a large box of .45 calibre ammunition.

With the Third set to move out to combat sometime soon, they’d found themselves inundated with new equipment. Fresh uniforms, new weapons, all the sort of stuff that nobody wanted to see in a friendly base, but they pray for in the field. Private Wilson, a member of the 3ID’s headquarters company was feeling very tired this fine morning, and wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about spending the afternoon out in the muddy fields of North England.

He felt a dull click as the Thompson ran out of ammunition, and he let it drop on the leather swing, the oil-covered hinges smoothly twisting, letting out not a single squeak. He took a few steps backwards, looking over to the Sergeant Johnson next to him. ”How I’d do, then?”[/i]

The Sergeant peered through a pair of binoculars, ”I see two holes Private. Two holes from thirty rounds.” He pushed the binoculars over, and Brian Wilson leant down, peering through the cold metal glasses at the cardboard German ahead. Indeed, it was a less than glorious result. He turned around, shrugging as he moved to the rear of the Willy’s MB.

”Oh well. Guess I’ll have to do something different in future, won’t I?” It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he mused as he pulled the Thompson over his head, pulling the magazine out and dropping the two metallic objects in the back of the vehicle, it was just that today he really wasn’t in the mood for any shit. He vaguely heard from behind the Sergeant saying something, and he just rolled his eyes as he pulled a Colt M1911 out of the back of the vehicle, checking it was safe before picking out a handful of magazines, jamming them in to the magazine holders on his uniform, and slipping one in to the handgun.

[MAJ Patterson]

Patterson finished up his morning cup of coffee as he made his way down the stairs of the Headquarters building, a normal segment of his hectic routine each day, but then things changed. As he rounded the last corner into the small lobby area in the front of the building Giles was nowhere to be seen, his trusty Sergeant that accompanied him most everywhere he went, he couldn't see the jeep outside either. This isn't new, it's 0630, where the heck is he?! Patterson wasn't one to lose his calm nerve, but he usually dealt with the men that had screwed up, this was to be expected, but Giles wasn't one to be on that list. Giles had received a Dear John letter some months back but the Captain had thought this pitiful portion of his life was behind him. As Henry pondered on what could be going on the Jeep he had looked for came rolling up from the distance and stopped slowly in front of the glass double doors. The Sergeant seemed to just slump down out of the vehicle and stroll up into the building as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Once inside the Captain approached him, a few choice words in mind but nothing too harsh, Giles had helped keep him in line more times than he could count and had stood beside him in the thick of battle before as well. But all those thoughts faded once Patterson got a look at him. "Holy shit Dean, what's wrong with you?" he asked, not to scold the man, but he look as if the life had been sucked right out of him. The Captain was genuinely concerned.

"Morning to you too sir." he said with a small smile before he started coughing a bit. "Seems this weather has me all messed up, my nose is runnin and my feet are smellin, thought it was supposed to be the other way around sir." the Sergeant's attempt at humor probably would have been met with more enthusiasm if his face didn't look like death was lurking around the next corner to drag him screaming into the torment of Satan's lair. "Doc gave me some meds told me to take it easy for a bit, I told him I would, I lied, well about the taking it easy part anyway." he smiled once more.

Patterson listened on almost feeling deep sorrow for the man, seemed that Dean could never catch a break, no matter what was going on in his life, but it never failed, he'd push through it just like everything else and more often than not came out on the other side on top as if nothing had ever happened. "So what did the Doc say? Cold? Pneumonia? And he was right, you should probably hang back and take a load off for a few days." Henry wasn't going to order the man to listen to the Doctor that told him so, he had known and been with the man long enough to know that he would take the time out of his life to recuperate from whatever it was if he needed it, but if he was alright to move along then he would.

Giles headed toward the door so that they could go ahead and start their day. "Ah, it's just a cold, the longer we stay inside the more my sinuses will loosen up and that's an ugly sight sir, I say we head out to the range and get things in order for the next wave of troops heading out into the field." he played it off well but he was lying, he had a moderate case of Bronchitis reeking some minor havoc on his lungs, but he knew that if he told the Captain that he would be excluded, and so far he was able to handle it.

The pair climbed into the Jeep and headed out to the range, some small chatter along the way, mostly just checking records comparing the new troops, making wagers on who would make it back and who wouldn't, they never meant it and never collected. By the end of the day they would have long forgotten most of the names and all of the bets as they normally did, it was just something to pass the time and take their minds off whatever was troubling them at the moment. This was just going to be another day that blurred into the rest of them, they had been through the process at least a dozen times, but it was an important process, both for morale and training, the better a soldier was trained the better the likelihood they would come back from it all, this was a fact that seemed all to easily forgotten for some. The way Henry saw it, it was a huge building block to bettering his forces as a whole, and it took this training to heart, at times possibly even a bit too seriously.

[wilson]

OOC: Sorry, couldn't really get anything I liked. This'll have to do.

Wilson slowly walked towards the line for the shooting so the Sergeant could assess him, and he jockularly played about with the firearm, assuming the firing position a few times, and peering along the stubby sights atop the slide. He kicked aside a small pile of cases near his feet, pressing the small bits of brass in to the ground, the thick mud quickly absorbing them. He got a bit of a dirty look from the Sergeant before stepping up to aim at the closer target.

Before he could shoot, he was quickly called to attention as a jeep pulled up, he was facing away, and he slowly twisted his head around to try and see who was approaching. He just managed to catch a peripheral glance before he was shouted at, and he brought his face back around. It looked like "Ol' Captain Patty" was showing up to inspect his Company. Lovely, not that he had anything against him, it's just that no doubt this would cause a bit extra drama for him to deal with.

The Colt was hanging in his right hand, and he slowly, subtly, tried bringing his hand up to his mouth as he felt the urge to cough. He recieved yet another punishing look, so he dropped his hand and made an over-the-top gesture in his coughing, making more noise and more of a scene than neccesary, just to try and spite the Sergeant who was still standing snappily as the jeep pulled up.

[MAJ Patterson]

The Jeep bumped along the scarred road out toward the shooting ranges. Patterson and Giles just bumped right along with it, part of them wishing it had a radio in it, even if it wasn't a great one, just something. None the less they usually kept themselves entertained. "Got one of the companies hitting the firing range today. Non standard weapons, always a fun day, if your the Private. Always a headache to me, they get to play with new toys and usually do some stupid stuff. Try to stay between me and them Dean." Henry said with a smirk. Giles laughed at the comment before he started coughing a bit, that killed the Captain's smile really quick, and they weren't exactly a common sight.

Giles spoke up "Oh man Cap'n, this junk is down right annoying. Just wish I could hack it all up and out of my system and just get on with things." which was probably normal for anybody that had the crud.

As they neared the range they could hear the sporadic bursts of gunfire, the occasional loud speaker crackling to life with further instructions to the troops. When they pulled up the men snapped to. "I hate it when they do that, feel like I'm interrupting the training and then wonder which ones die because of those lost moments." he said as he shook his head. "Carry on!!" he yelled out toward the crowd once the jeep was parked. The pair climbed out and headed of toward the make shift command building where the range cadre offices were located. "Take a load off Giles, I'm gonna go check the paperwork, see how much longer the guys are gonna be out here. If you can find a bunk or a couch feel free to take a nap or something man, anyone gives you a hard time just tell them to find me, but try not to cough on too much stuff alright?" he said over his shoulder as he headed off down the hallway.

Giles just shook his head "How comforting sir." he finished up with a snicker down the opposite end of the hallway.

Patterson emerged from the back door of the building looking around randomly at what all was going on. Having already spoken to the senior cadre for the range he knew he had plenty of time to try and get in some face to face time with the soldiers under his command. So he set of toward the bleachers where the majority of the men were, waiting for their time on the line.

[wilson]

The Captain told them to carry on, walking away into a small cabin. "Charming..." Wilson muttered to himself. The Private behind heard, and gave a small laugh. It wasn't that funny, but it was the best entertainment they had at the moment, it wasn't the most ideal weather for this kind of thing. Then again, they were in the army now. Good weather just wasn't in the job description.

It started as an accident, he let out a loud cough as the guy in front of him coughed - it occured briefly to Wilson that he should learn more names - but it messed the guys shot. The Private... Jameson, Johnson maybe, turned and gave him a dirty look, before firing at the target again with the .45 in his hand. The next cough, making him flinch for a further shot, causeed him to turn around. It was an accident as well, but Wilson still copped an earful of "You fucking..." before the Sergeant saved him. The third time, with the final round in the weapon, was a deliberate cough.

As the round left, the shot went wide, missing the target completely. Johnson turned, ready to shout, before the Sergeant grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him away. "For God's sake, Wilson, what the hell is your problem? It's like you don't want to be here, you're just gonna get us all killed!"

He tried to tune out to the Sergeant, like he always did. To just let the lecture wash off him, but it wasn't as easy as it used to be. Maybe it was finally getting to him? No matter. The Sergeant finished, and Wilson gave a resigned "Yes Sergeant," before he stepped up, assuming a firing position, squinting down along the gunsights.

It was like an inexplicable rage. One moment, the target was the wooden cut-out, the next, it was the breathing shape of the Sergeant. He knew, somewhere, he didn't hate the Sergeant, but he felt drawn, aiming at the target, he squeezed. The round hit, dead center of the head. He carried on, emptying the magazine, swearing under his breath with each shot, imagining he Sergeant was taking the rounds.

With a click, the weapon stopped firing, and he stepped away, hands shaking slightly as he discretely put in another magazine, wanting to push forward and get another blast at the target. He took a look at the real Sergeant, and felt a slight burning under the skin. It was... unusual to say the least. What was going on? He'd never felt this way before, apart from that one time, when he was younger... That time he got his own back, on those that had tormented him for those years at school.

[MAJ Patterson]

Patterson was doing what he could to converse with the men awaiting for their turn to train on the weapon systems available but a small uproar behind him grabbed his attention, usually he wouldn't bother with the small things and let the NCOs handle such an event, getting a CO involved just made things messy. This was different, they were on the range and live ammo was in use, he may have been considered up tight by some before, but on the range was an entirely different story, it didn't matter who you were or what importance you had, when live ammo was being used you either did it right or you were wishing you had.

The Captain rubbed his hands together briefly before he took a quick but deep breath of the cold air helping him focus a bit more on what was happening. He stormed up to the small muddle of men and parked his stature dead in front of the Sergeant, maybe three inches of room between them. For a moment not a word was spoken, Henry just looked at the man, then peered around slowly at the troops in the close vicinity before marrowing his gaze back onto the Sergeant and clenching his teeth a few times making his jaw line bilge with each instance of the motion, then he spoke. "Sergeant, would you mind explaining to me, in detail, what exactly is going on here?" he said with very decisive tone in his words. Then he set his teeth to rest on each other once again, the clenching soon followed.

The Sergeant had lowered his gaze for the most part and looked straight ahead, not that Patterson was tall but the Sergeant was a bit on the vertically challenged side. He glanced up for a moment but didn't dare hold his commander's glare for too long before he was front and center again and tried to explain himself. "Well sir, ya see, this here private was on the firing line..." He started as he pointed toward Johnson a bit shakily before he continued on. "...and this guy started coughing." Again speaking with his hands he pointed toward Wilson. By Army regulations, when standing at the position of attention and spoken to by a superior you are allowed to speak in return, however you are in no way allowed to move anything other than your jaw. Patterson was all to aware of the regs. "But t'was in a deliberate manner sir. Got guy number one all riled up, can't say I blame him sir, but this joker kept on with his antics so..." He didn't get another word out, in fact the chances he completely forgot what he was saying were high given what stopped him.

Patterson's glare would have exploded if it had the physical ability to do so. "Sergeant! First and foremost you need to lock it up and square yourself away! How is anyone to expect you to be responsible for anyone else when you appear incapable of keeping yourself in line! Secondly, why you feel the need to start blaming anyone else for whatever was happening in this area is beyond me! Until I walked over here you were the ranking soldier yet are having grave difficulty keeping less than a squad of Privates in line!" by this time there was a bit of saliva mixed in with the booming voice that seemed to resonate off the trees themselves, needless the say the firing line had become eerily quiet and all attention had turned to the far end where Patterson was all too wrapped up in making sure this incident wouldn't happen again. Then the fool tried it.

"But sir..." he began, but that was as far as he got.

"SERGEANT! I need you to focus! God gave you two ears and one mouth, that is so you listen twice as much as you speak! Are we clear?! And before you think about answering, that was rhetorical!" Patterson paused only for a moment when a perplexed look crawl onto the Sergeant's face. "Look it up! Now thirdly, there is live ammo in almost every single weapon out here and I don't see anyone wearing a Nazi uniform, so the only people that can get injured or worse are American soldiers, MY MEN!!! And unless you are dead set on getting the hell out of MY Army I suggest you get things under control five minutes ago so the rest of us can get on with our day instead of waiting for you to catch up on how things are done around here! Do I make myself perfectly, fucking, clear, Sergeant!!!" The last four words couldn't have been pronounced any better by an English professor on steroids, and the slight pauses between each must have made them feel like hammers in the Sergeant's head. Veins had risen in his forehead, and even given the cold day his face was almost blood red. He was slightly shaking and was breathing a bit on the heavy side.

[wilson]

The Captain stormed over, and instantly Wilson's face dropped. The same though, he was sure, came to every other soldier. Have I fucked up? Their was a collective sigh of relief, though, as Patterson stopped a step infront of the Sergeant and stared at him. This was followed by a hush, everyone standing perfectly still, listening. It was like the whole of England suddenly held it's breath, much to the Sergeant's discomfort.

They could here, to start with, the carefully chosen, calm words. The Sergeant squrimed as everyone watched, and he made a stilted explanation, breaking attention to try and point as he looked up to the Captain. Patterson exploded, Wilson shuffled a few steps backwards, whispering to one Private, he was sure this was Shelley. "Wouldn't wanna be the Sergeant right now," he giggled, Shelley nodding excitedly in reply as they all watched. Of course, everyone knew they would be shouted out for prying in and watching, but it would be worth it.

With four final words, punched out by the Captain, the Sergeant looked down, thoroughly ashamed. Wilson let out another, this time very audible giggle, which instantly drew looks from everyone. He tried to straighten his face and look professional, but he just couldn't do it. He felt his cheeks flushing bright red in the grey morning. Dammit, why can't I stop? Bad time, very bad time. With the Captain in the mood he was, this certainly wasn't going to go down well. He felt the eyes drilling in to him, and he just stood there, hoping that the Captain would excuse them back to barracks before he gave him a shouting at. However, he had that feeling that this morning it wouldn't happen.

[MAJ Patterson]

It never fails, Patterson seemed to always have to chew someones hind quarters within five minutes of getting anywhere, he got tired of doing so but he knew that as long as he did then the troops might live that much longer. This wasn't a place for games even though the Captain had heard a scarce rumor or two that "chewing someone up one side and down the other", as it was eloquently worded, was Patterson's favorite hobby. In fact Henry longed for the day when they wouldn't need him, the day when they had learned all he could have taught them and maybe he had learned a few things from them in return. Needless to say that day was nowhere in sight.

Patterson stepped away from the Sergeant he had just finished scolding and he didn't care what anyone thought of that one, any commander, even the most lax would be an uptight man on a range full of green troops and live ammunition. And as usual there were chuckles and whispers that followed, like the annoying cans on a run down vehicle carrying a pair of young an naive newlyweds. But it seemed one of them just couldn't let it stop at the initial little smirk, he just kept on and on. Having known he had more than wounded the Sergeant's pride he had to step in to say something to help the man, after all having witnessed your own superior's lashing has a tendency to foul things up. The Captain always made sure he did not berate anyone in front of their own subordinates, but live fire exercises were different, you had to correct mistakes immediately and on the spot, there was no time for privacy, all matters were serious.

The Captain averted from his direction to step toward the laughing Private. He gazed at the man with a small sense of bewilderment. He really doesn't get it does he? ran through the Captain's mind as he glanced back at the Sergeant who was tugging at his shirt to straighten it out while turning to see what was happening. Patterson looked back at the Private who seemed to be clenching his lips in between his teeth to keep his noise down. The Sergeant hurriedly bounced over to the scene and began to speak...but a swift hand thrust toward his face stopped him mid syllable. I'll handle this one Sergeant, after that I don't think anyone wants to listen to you at the moment. Henry thought with closed eyes so no one could see him roll them although the look on his face probably made it rather obvious then added "Sergeant get the remainder of your men to start packing up so we can move on to the next range, there is still more training ahead today. Oh and send a runner to check on our rations for lunch, they were supposed to have already arrived and we can both plainly see they haven't. A lot of hungry men with loaded weapons makes for a horrible evening." the Sergeant snapped to attention and was about to salute before Patterson cut him off once more "Just go Sergeant." he snapped without even looking at the man.

"Hello Private...Wilson, I'm sure you found that sight rather amusing as the men tend to do. It's not uncommon and almost sad to say that I've grown slightly accustomed to it. But one needs to know when is enough, don't you agree?" Although the words themselves could have sounded drastically sarcastic to most, Patterson's tone was deeply sincere. He didn't know every man under his command, that task alone was near impossible so maybe this Private was new, maybe he wasn't, there was really no way to tell and bashing him wouldn't be the best first impression. "Seems there was some difficulty that kept the Sergeant from performing his duties properly, and unless I'm largely mistaken, which is not commonplace, YOU were that difficulty, correct?" and eyebrow perked on his brow as he finished his statement.

OOC: I'm not entirely sure the fine points of how you wanted to go about this, if I need to add more so you will have enough to go on just lemme know.

[wilson]

Swearing under his breath, Wilson straightened himself up so he was at attention, quickly stuffing the Colt in the back pocket of his trouser, the grip being covered by his smock. The Captain really was not in a good mood, and this was not going to end well. All Wilson could do was to exacerbate the situation by smiling when the Captain gave the Sergeant a final berating.

The Captain's first moments of speech were calm enough, and the slightly shorter Wilson did his best to keep his eyes on Patterson's chin which was slightly below his line of sight as he gave a slightly humbled, "Yes, Sir." Perhaps, he thought, this wasn't going to be that bad, this would all blow over; he would just jump in the truck and go back to barracks, another day done with?

That illusion was quickly shattered when he saw the Sergeant over Patterson's shoulder, making his fingers walk whilst jerking a thumb back towards the barracks, before pulling the finger, obvious glad to get this bit of revenge. This time, of all times, Wilson managed to have self-control, suppressing a groan at the idea of marching across several fields, in some of them the mud being well up his boots making each step harder than it should be.

He quickly returned his thoughts to the Captain, who was now speaking in a very accusatory tone. Wilson flicked his eyes up, locking them with Captain Patterson. The end of the statement hung ominously, and Patterson obviously wanted an answer. Wilson felt his throat tighten and dry, his stomach suddenly feeling weightless. Despite the frigid temperature, his heart was now racing, and he could feel a single bead of sweat appear on his brow and start slipping downwards. "I ah... that is... yes, Sir."

[MAJ Patterson]

Patterson cleared his throat. I really don't want to deal with all this junk today, Giles is pretty rough off at the moment and it's still very early. I know I shouldn't but probably better to nip this in the bud now. he thought as he stepped around the Private looking him up and down whilst he stood at attention. "Private, do you understand the rank structure of this Army?!" Patterson started off. It was a rather demeaning question, it wasn't very difficult at all, especially with the enlisted ranks, if the rank was larger looking than yours, it was more important. "You know we have that for a reason Private! A Damn good one while I'm on the subject! And it really, REALLY gets under my skin when the Army sends me troops that don't even seem to have the basic brain capacity to handle such things!" Patterson finished walking around Wilson and was now once again face to face with him. "Now can you imagine that Private?! Having to command hundreds of men when it seems more of them than you thought aren't capable of simple thought processes?! CAN YOU!!" Patterson had started off the day being at a disadvantage for it, one of his right hand men was more or less out of action for the time being and he had to handle things himself, not impossible at all, but there was enough to do to keep three men busy, needless to say Patterson was feeling the strain of it already.

Patterson stepped away as he continued his rant. "Believe me, I can! Not only can I believe it but I freakin live it every single day! And I'm beyond tired of it! The Army expects great things from us, and so far we have usually delivered great things! Better than our British and Russian counterparts! But they keep sending me men like you Private! I'M PASSED BEING SICK OF IT!!! SO YOU CAN EITHER GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND SOLDIER ON OR YOU CAN GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ARMY!!! WHAT'S IT GONNA BE PRIVATE!?! HUH!?!" Patterson was beat red in the face, the veins in this neck were bulging as were the ones in his fists. Maybe he had gone overboard with it this time, but he honestly felt good to just lay into someone like that. If he got reprimanded about it he honestly wouldn't mind, better to let some private have it on the range than to lose your cool in the heat of battle.

[wilson]

Underneath his skin, Wilson could feel his temperature rising, it was getting unbearable. He could feel his skin crawling, as if some inside some creature was stirring, moving around. The hairs on the back of his neck were pushing upwards and outwards, standing tall as Captain Patterson shouted, screamed, spraying spittle on the soldier.

The Captain was going insane, all of his vein’s bulging, his pulse clearly visible in his neck. The two men were alone, the Captain’s driver nowhere to be find, and Wilson found this terrifying, he had no idea what the Captain was capable of, and he had no real wish to investigate the horror stories he had heard about his Commanding Officer.

Patterson’s shouting reached a crescendo, the two men’s faces only a few centimetres apart. Whatever Patterson had had for breakfast stunk, and oddly this thought popped to the forefront of Wilson’s mind, if only for a moment. With the climax ”What’s it gonna be Private?” the conversation, or monologue as it may be stopped.

Not even knowing what he was doing, Wilson reacted, pushing both arms forward in to the Captain’s chest and shoving as hard as he could. ”Fuck you!” The Captain budged backwards; his boot’s slipping slightly on the mud, as did Wilson’s. Taking a step rearward to vainly attempt to steady himself, he fell hard on the ground. He felt a jarring pain from the base of his spine as something dug in to it. It was odd; it felt like a uniform shape, not a rock or anything.

Realising how angry the Captain would be, he scrambled backwards, covering the back of his legs in more mud before managing to push himself up off the ground, still backpedalling. He reached round to his sore back, and his hand pushed down on the pistol. His eyes widened as he realised what it was.

That feeling came back, the burning in the gut. The one he had felt just moments before staring down the Sergeant. He could feel something sliding down his face, and he swung his left hand to it. Spit, the Captain’s spit was sliding down the face of Wilson.

Letting out a cry, his right hand tightened around the pistol, pulling it out and pointing it towards the advancing Captain Patterson. He didn’t look at the Captain, he didn’t notice the Officer halt, with a brief glimmer of uncertainty, and Wilson just stared at the hammer of the pistol.

His finger tightened slightly on the trigger, taking up first pressure. How hard would it be, to pull it just a few millimetres further, to make the hammer push forward and send a bullet flying, not towards a wooden silhouette, but in to flesh and blood. It wouldn’t be that hard, would it?

His eyes remained locked on to the tiny piece of metal that would make the change from the relatively safe and stable bullet to a flying piece of death. Despite the cold, Wilson was sweating; he could feel it sliding down the back of his neck, his hands slippery as sweat and mud mixed.

He just continued staring, not thinking, but just staring. He could see a mass approaching him in the corner of his sight. Shifting his fingers slightly, his whole body became committed to a single movement.

His finger bent, the trigger was squeezed, and the hammer slammed forward.

[MAJ Patterson]

The Captain inhaled and exhaled rapidly and deeply, his blood pressure was peaking, things started to become slightly fuzzy in his field of vision, he just kept breathing to try and calm his nerves a bit. He was hoping that maybe if he left a lasting impression that the Private would not soon forget the reasons he was here. But it all fell apart in a fraction of a second. Before Henry knew it he felt himself being propelled slightly backward. The slick mud gave way to the heels of his boots, the Captain leaned forward to try and stay his balance. Lifting his right foot up into the air he slammed it back down in front of him and leaned on it as to avoid a collision with the wet earth below him.

His eyes widened. You've got to be kidding me! went through his mind as he watched the Private scurry away. Patterson couldn't comprehend what must have been going through the man's head. His eyes narrowed, there was some small part of him that liked the reaction the Private had provided. Well when it comes down to it, he's a fighter. This didn't change the fact that there were consequences for his actions, but his bare instincts had been brought out and it didn't take combat to do it, once this all blew over Henry wanted the man to be a leader. He knew the man wouldn't cower in the face of adversity.

Then the situation went from slightly interesting to the criminally bizarre. The Private was brandishing a firearm, and what looked to be a loaded one at that. The Captain's first instinct was to stop and try to cool off the situation, but the mud kept him moving, and he had to keep moving to stay on his feet. "Private! What in God's name do you think you are doing?!" seconds seemed like decades as Patterson's gaze fixated on the weapon. A familiar voice came randomly from behind the Captain. It was Giles but Henry never heard a word, just muffled noise, he didn't even know it was his sergeant coming to find him as the majority of the men were ready to move on for the day. Then it happened, the shot was fired. Everything slowed to a screeching halt. Patterson looked around slightly as the casing flew from the weapon, spinning on it's way to the ground, the faintest trail of smoke lingering behind it. Patterson looked down at this torso, it too had a slender trail of smoke wafting out of it. He couldn't feel a thing, he brought his hand up to the wound and rubbed it across the entry hole. Blood was easily visible as he pulled it away from himself.

Someone hit fast forward at that moment, as if time had lagged and needed to catch back up to where it should be. The Captain hit his knees then brought his head back up. He tried to blink, but it was as if his body told him that blinking was the worst action available to him at the moment, he just brought his gaze up to meet Wilson's, and in the softest tone he muttered...

"...This is what the Army gives me?"

[wilson]

Panic. That was the perfect word to sum up Wilson as he felt the M1911 kick in his hand. The anger was gone, replaced by panic, fear of reprisals for his actions. His eyes managed to follow the path of the bullet, right in to the path of Captain Patterson, and he saw the small flower of blood blossom from the officer’s torso. Patterson didn’t notice the blood, and slowly brought his hand down, touching the leaking red.

Out of focus in the background, Wilson saw Sergeant Giles emerging from a shed, approaching, and the man broke in to a run as the shot fired. Wilson looked at Patterson, then his hand. ”Oh shit.” It was a statement more than anything else as his mind went in to overdrive, a million scenarios presenting themselves as he tried to make sense of them in a moment. Only one of them seemed to really make sense to him at the time.

Not being able to look at Patterson again, he turned, managing to keep his footing in the mud this time, and started running. He had a few hundred metres of field in front of him, before there was a rather dense forest, about a mile wide. On the other side, Wilson knew from exercises there was a town, with a train and bus station meaning he could get away quickly.

But even as he ran, problems faced themselves. Ignoring the shouting from behind him, he began thinking. He had no money; all his belongings were in the barracks, apart from the small leather-bound journal he kept in his uniform. His uniform, which would be a dead giveaway if anybody approached him needed to go. With every step, this bright idea of running away seemed to grow worse, but it was too late, he was committed now.

The field disappeared quickly and soon his was pushing through the woods, trying not to leave too much of a trail. He leapt upon a low tree, thinking of what would happen. The army would chase him no doubt; he would need to be in hiding for months, maybe even years before he attempted to go back to America. Maybe he shouldn’t try; he could become one of the many migrants in England, or go to Europe once the war was over.

But that wasn’t the problem, right now he needed to think about the task at hand – staying out of the hands of the US army. They would probably use dogs, what did they teach them about avoiding dogs? Flat land, zigzag. Too late for that. Rivers.

Leaping from the log, he began running through a small stream, every so often leaping out and circling a few trees before re-entering a couple of yards up stream. He doubted it would be an effective long term tactic, but for now he just needed to get to the town on the other side of these woods and from there get as far away as possible.