Green as grass: British Camp (James Murdoch)

[Cpl. James "Jimmy" Murdoch]

Time and Location: British Camp, S. England. 2146 hrs

Jimmy Murdoch jumped from the back of the flatbed truck that had carried him, for a fee of course, from the last base he'd been at. It had been a long day.
Jimmy had joined up two months ago in Belfast. He'd been taken to train in Scotland and had stayed there for six weeks, learning basic infantry skills such as cleaning a weapon and hand to hand combat. He had then managed to get leave for a week and went home to see his family in Northern Ireland before being taken in a Wellington bomber from Belfast to Liverpool. He had disembarked at the airfield there and hopped on a bus to Birmingham there.
The women on the bus, most of whom obviously had sons already serving in the military, kept giving him boiled sweets and sandwiches, calling him a "handsome, brave boy" and telling him to keep himself safe.
Jimmy got off the bus and away from the women in Birmingham. He had run a quarter of a mile to the train station and managed to catch the 13:39 train to London. He travelled on that for several hours along with some new recruits to the RAF. At King's Cross he had got onto an army truck going towards his base. He paid the driver and they trundles off, Jimmy sharing the back with some more new recruits, this time to the army.
They had got as far as the recruits' base before the truck driver told him he was going to further. Jimmy nicked a bicycle and cycled two miles to a supply depot. It was getting dark and Jimmy pissed off by that point. He managed to wangle a final ride in another truck which had taken him out here.
Jimmy stood in a road between two lines of Nissen huts in the pouring rain. Jimmy had his rifle over one shoulder and his pack over the other. Jimmy saw the truck disappearing around the corner, leaving him alone.
Jimmy stared hopelessly around and saw no one. He noticed one hut bigger than the others and decided this must be the mess. He started towards it, grumbling all the time.
The rain sloshed around Jimmy's boots and he felt sad as he thought about his fiance, Rachael. She would be at home by now, probably in front of a warm fire. He wondered if she knew where he was right now. They were engaged and Jimmy hoped to marry her the next time he managed to get some leave and get home. She was beautiful, and Jimmy was the envy of all his mates in the pub.
Jimmy reached the hut and hammered on the door, fighting to be heard over the howling wind and lashing rain. He hoped this wasn't the wrong hut and he'd make a fool of himself.
Jimmy's instructions had been rather vague. He'd been told to turn up today, but there'd been no further information. He had no idea where to go, or if he was late, or anything to that effect.
Jimmy was thus annoyed at how badly organized the whole thing seemed to be. He'd joined up in search of adventure and because of the good reputation of the British Army. So far, it didn't really seem to be living up to his expectations.

[Deleted]

(OOC: Just some advice, space out your writing, double tap the enter button to separate your paragraphs otherwise it all seems to much together into a massive wall of words.)


The smell of cooking food filled the air and gave the interior of the large building a comfortable and homey feeling to it. Rather then the standard mess halls that where just massive tents with rows of chairs and tables, the officer in charge of this camp had decided to turn this town hall into a mess house and had it set up more like a restaurant. Their where several round tables and chairs scattered around the room, most of them where full with the storm driving the soldiers and workers of the camp into the warmth of the hall, they filled the room with their laughter and chatter and the clatter of cutlery on plates.

Sam Coller sat alone at a small table near the door, quietly enjoying a plate full of eggs, bacon and sausages with toast and a large cup of coffee. He was also reading from a slip of paper that had been folded so many times that it had trouble sitting flat and continually kept trying to fold itself back up. The paper contained a poem that had been sent to him by his sister before he had shipped out to help fight in the war, he whispered the words to himself as he read it again.

You spread your wings and reach for the sky
And sore free and clear.
You leave your home and friends behind
And all those you hold dear
You’ve flown so long and far and wide
Across lands both old and new
You’ve lost your way and roam alone
In a sky of radiant blue
And though your gone forever more
What a wonderful life you’ve made
Find a way to return home
Before your loved ones fade

As he finished reading he looked out the window, his thoughts lost in the rain that was hammering down outside. He would have to get some leave and go back home to visit his family. His father had died shortly after he had joined and his mother was running their shop all on her own, it would be good to go back and help out a bit, maybe hire a worker for her. He also wanted to see his sister, Jessica. Other then his father she had been the most supportive of his decision to become a pilot and he had taken her on as many joy flights as he could. As her face drifted though the rain streaked window something outside caught Sam’s attention, a truck had pulled up just long enough to drop off a long solider who stood in the middle of the road looking quiet lost.

Sam watched curiously as the soldier made his way towards the mess house and lost sight of him as he approached the door. The knock came soon after, Sam had just expected him to burst in straight after but after the knock and get out of the rain. But after a moment when the door didn’t open Sam got up and walked to it, pulling it open and looking at the solider for a moment. “Well, you gunna come in or what? He said as he took a step back to let the man in. “Get some food into ya mate.” He said as he pointed to the serving line where a few people where going back for second servings. He made his way back to his table and sat back down, cutting a bit of sausage with his fork before eating it and looking back at his sister’s poem.

[Cpl. James "Jimmy" Murdoch]

Jimmy looked up when the door opened. He was dripping wet in the rain and his kit was soaked. Jimmy gratefully looked at the man who let him in; he didn't look like the sort of man to get on the wrong side of. Jimmy walked into the mess hall and looked around, slightly taken aback at the informal, almost civilian feel of this mess hall. The man told him to get some food, and Jimmy was perplexed by his accent. Never having been out of Northern Ireland before, Jimmy had no idea where the man was from and almost had trouble deciphering the words. He got the general gist, however, and made his way to the serving queue.

Jimmy grabbed a metal tray and cutlery. The man in front was a gigantic fella, about six foot five. Jimmy was tall at six foot three, but this man was taller again. His sleeves were rolled up and his powerful arms were heavily tattooed. Jimmy watched as he got his food and chose a dessert from the tray. Jimmy was next in line and looked at the choice of foods. It seemed to be either Spam sandwiches, bacon and eggs or sausage and beans. Jimmy chose the sausage and continued to the dessert tray. The large man was still there, obviously trying to choose a dessert. Jimmy tapped him on the shoulder.

"'Scuse me mate," Jimmy said. "I couldn't get past there, could I?"

The man turned round. His face was stubbly and there was a scar over one eye. Jimmy was almost scared, but then the man erupted into a great booming laugh, making several nearby soldiers look up in alarm. "'Course! You new?" he asked, his voice as deep and booming as his laugh. "I'm Corporal Jackson." He moved out of the way to let Jimmy choose a dessert. Jimmy quickly grabbed a small bowl of ice cream and set off away from the serving hatch. He was trying to decide where to sit when Jackson came up behind him.

"What's your name?" the big man asked, clapping Jimmy on the back.

"Corporal Jimmy Murdoch," Jimmy replied. "Just got here."

"You Irish? How old are you?" Jackson asked.

"Northern Irish, out in the country," Jimmy smiled. "And I'm twenty-one. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm hungry and I'd like to eat this, so I'll go now if that's OK?"

"Sure," Jackson laughed. "Maybe join you for a drink sometime?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said. He nodded in farewell to Jackson before looking helplessly around. The man who'd let him in earlier was sitting alone near the door. Jimmy reckoned that as he was the only even slightly familiar face, he'd go over there and ask to sit with him. Jimmy had always been good at making friends and setting people at ease, and he planned to put these skills to good use now. He walked over, carrying his tray, carefully avoiding various tables, other soldiers and many outstretched legs, belonging to men who had finished their dinner and were leaning back in contentment. Jimmy reached the table and glanced outside before sitting down. The storm was definitely worsening and Jimmy hoped that the camp wouldn't flood - it would be a bad way to spend his first days here.

Jimmy looked at the man who'd let him in, eating his sausage and egg. "Hey, mate," Jimmy began, "is it OK if I sit down? There's nowhere else to go." Without waiting for an answer, Jimmy pulled out a chair and set his tray down opposite the man. He sat on the wooden stool and leaned forward. "If I may ask, where's that accent from? I can't place it. "You American?"

[Deleted]

(OOC: Sorry for the late reply, been busy and unmotivated)

Sam was reading the poem over again while he silently chewed his food, he could feel the oil and fat from the sausage coating his lips and the soft mushy meat seemed to fall apart in his mouth. The army would never get a five star rating for its food, but it was better then field rations cooked over a small fire, compared to that these sausages where made from prime beef. He was about to cut another mouthful from his plate when a shadow fell over him. The wet soldier he had let in was standing over him, smiling in a friendly manner. When the young man asked if he could sit Sam was about to gesture to the seat indicating that he could, but before his hand had moved an inch the young man was sitting down and making himself comfortable.

Sam stared at the young man for a moment, he could almost see the confidence and arrogance radiating off him. He smiled lightly as the soldier started talking, clearly he wanted to make some friends while he was here, witch is something that Sam didn’t have any objection too. Sam quiet enjoyed meeting the new recruits, in fact he was on a transport mission to ferry fresh blood over the water and into the war zone. Thankfully for Sam, the storm rolled in and his flight was delayed until it passed. Underneath the poem from his letter sat a thick envelope that contained his cargo report and a list the men who where to be taken over, he hadn’t read through it yet.

He held his smile as the soldier asked him where he was from. He decided to answer nicely. “I’m from Australia mate, don’t let the uniform make a dingbat out of ya, Yank’s are idiots, and I’m Flight Officer Sam Coller. Who are you?” His voice wasn’t harsh but nor was it openly friendly. He had a short temper with disrespectful people, he wasn’t after a salute, but he at least wanted to know who he was talking to. He folded the paper with his sisters poem on it and slipped it into his pocket, he looked at the envelope that contained his orders and picked it up, opening it roughly and unfolding the sheets of paper containing a list of his cargo.

[Cpl. James "Jimmy" Murdoch]

Jimmy took a bite of a sausage before replying. "Corporal Murdoch, 7th Armoured, Baker Company, 3rd Platoon, sir," he replied, in answer to Coller's question. Jimmy was known to be prone at both arrogance and being too familiar with people. He usually acted without thinking and was always a bit too disrespectful with superiors. Jimmy wasn't totally sure if Coller outranked him, but he decided to treat him as if he did. Jimmy didn't want to mess up his chances of making friends by alienating people and making them annoyed with him. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I don't mean to be disrespectful. Just pops out, you know?"

Jimmy thought back to the orders he'd been given when he left training. He had been attached to the 7th Armoured Division, famously known as the Desert Rats. They were currently in France and Jimmy had been told to find a lift across the Channel to them - another piece of evidence as to the poor organization. He clocked that Coller was a Flight Officer, which meant he could be taking cargo or men across to France soon. Jimmy weighed up the options and decided he would like to get into combat ASAP and plucked up his courage to ask the older man the question.

"Y'see, sir," Jimmy began slowly, after another mouthful of sausage, "I need to get to France to get to my unit as soon as possible. If you're doing a run anytime soon, would there be a space for me and my stuff? I don't mean to treat you as a taxi service, but I need to get to my men and it would be helpful if it was sooner rather than later." Jimmy didn't want to annoy the Flight Officer any further and sat quietly waiting for an answer.

As Jimmy sat there, he remembered his training up in Scotland. They had trained with wooden poles instead of rifles as the men at the front needed them all. Only in the last week of training did they get to use real rifles for marksmanship. Jimmy had hunted rabbits with his dad as a kid and had been a natural at it, becoming one of the best shots in his training company. He was also good at close quarters combat, being tall and strong. He had enjoyed knife fighting with mannequins the most, sneaking up behind them and sticking them in the neck. Once, when Jimmy had been messing about, his training CO, a veteran soldier wounded in North Africa, had launched a fighting knife from twenty feet, which flew over Jimmy's shoulder and stuck fast in a mannequin's face. Jimmy had acted more grown up after that. The result that Jimmy was in the best possible condition as a soldier without actually having been in combat. He just hoped he'd get some.

Jimmy remembered another conversation he'd had with the training CO, who was called Captain Johns.

"Murdoch, come here," Johns had said.

"Yes, sir?" Jimmy replied.

"When I say kill someone with a knife, what do I mean?"

"You mean kill someone with a knife, sir."

Johns had laughed and taken a drag on his cigarette. "No, Murdoch, I mean do this." On this, Johns whipped his knife from his belt, grabbed Jimmy by the collar and kneed him in the small of the back. Johns then kicked out Jimmy's legs and knocked him to the ground. He stamped on Jimmy before swinging down with the knife.

Jimmy rolled out of the way and pulled out his own knife, terribly confused. Johns made a swing and Jimmy blocked it, using the backhand grip he liked. They fought for about fifteen seconds like that, before Johns swung again and Jimmy let it go past before grabbing Johns' arm, twisting the knife away and bundling him up against the wall of a hut. As Jimmy held the knife to John's throat, Johns burst out laughing.

"Very good, Murdoch. That is why you must always be ready for anything."

Jimmy realised it had been a test and pulled away, relieved. He gave Johns back his knife, before leaving for bed. The experience made Jimmy realise he needed to watch everyone and never be complacent. Jimmy now sat hoping the Flight Officer would agree to take him to France.

[Deleted]

Sam continued to smile politely, it was something he was becoming good at, but the warmth of the smile failed to reach his eyes and he chewed slowly on his sausage while examining the cargo report in his hands, it was nothing special. Standard stuff really, weapons and ammo, clothes and food, personal letters and gifts from loved ones. Behind the several sheets of carefully listed and numbered cargo was a list of soldiers, their name, rank and company and where they where to be dropped off. Sam was tired of these types of missions, playing the delivery boy while other pilots got to go off and fight, it was disheartening to think about. The roar of the engines and howl of the wind as it shot past, filled with hot deadly bullets that where searching for his fighter in the sky. The flash of his own guns blazing as they responded with a burst of yellow fire and the sight of an enemy aircraft falling towards the ground trailing a spiral of black smoke.

The soldier was talking again and his voice cut through the familiar daydream that always followed whenever Sam thought about combat. As he introduced himself, right down to the platoon number, Sam found that he was somehow starting to warm to the solider, there was no reason for it though. Normally he would give people the benefit of the doubt and treated them like they where good people, but that approach had bitten him in the ass too many times for him to try it again. Now he greeted people with underlying hostility, nothing threatening and not angry, just more weary and untrusting. Yet for some reason the fake smile on his face was starting to turn into a real one.

Sam nodded as Murdoch explained that he didn’t mean any disrespect.
‘Its ok Murdoch, just next time you sit at someone table, tell them who you are before jumping to the questions.’ Sam felt like a father teaching a son the polite way to talk to strangers, he suddenly felt very old.
‘And drop the sir talk. No need for military formalities here.’ He looked around at the mess house, many of the men about had finished eating but where reluctant to leave the warmth of the building for the cold harsh rain outside. At one table just across from them a few men had even started a game of poker and from where he was sitting, Sam could see that one of the men had a good hand, but was betting low. He felt like getting up and schooling the soldiers in the finer art of cards. Sam didn’t like to admit it but he had a gambling addiction to any form of gambling from cards to dice even to betting on how many times his co-pilot Greg would complain about being a delivery boy.

It wasn’t all bad though, the food was better then what the soldiers would get in the field, not that Sam would be sitting down to a battlefield meal anytime soon. Plus the main thing you had to worry about was something not being delivered on time, but in some cases an on time delivery could mean life or death for those in need of supplies. The game was drawing his attention more and more, it looked like a friendly game with a low pot but Sam could see the tell tail signs that some of the men where betting with money they didn’t have. The nervous and repeated looks at their cards in the hopes that the next time they look something amazing would have happened and they would have a winning hand. It was fun watching people who had no clue what they where doing try and bluff their way to victory.

His thoughts where returned once more to Murdoch as the young man started to talk some more. At the request for a lift into France Sam looked at his report, flipping to the back and counting how many he was to transport. Maybe he could manage to fit one more on the flight, it didn’t seem like it was a full plane yet, maybe there where one or two seats left. As Sam scanned the names one of them popped out at him. Corporal James Murdoch, 7th Armoured, Baker Company, 3rd Platoon. He held a straight face at the discovery of the name while his thoughts raced, this poor soaked solider had no idea he was already booked on the flight. He over the page at Murdoch for a second before he let out a sigh, making a show of thinking and trying to work something out in his head. He was about to play a dirty trick, but if he got caught he could simply say it was a joke. If it worked, and James believed Sam had done him a favour, then maybe the young Corporal would feel more inclined in the future to assist Sam should the need arise. It was always good to have contacts in places, higher places are better, but people in places are valuable non the less.
‘I may be able to fit you in, I was meant to take off a few hours ago but the weather spat the dummy so I’m grounded till it clears. But once the green flag is up I should be able to give you and your stuff a lift.’

Sam’s smile was genuine and with humour now as he watched for Murdoch’s reaction to the apparent miracle of good will.

[Cpl. James "Jimmy" Murdoch]

OOC: Sorry I'm so late. Been busy over the Christmas period!

Jimmy's face lit up as Coller told him he'd be able to take him. If Coller wasn't so generous, Jimmy would have been left sitting on his arse like a lemon until another chance came about. He always hated being kept in one place too long - it had something to do with his natural energy. He grinned. "Thanks, mate," he smiled. "That's a big help. Anything I can do for you by way of payment or reimbursing?" Jimmy didn't have a lot to his name, but he was OK at fixing stuff and strong. He was used to having to either guide the plough or inevitably fix it when it got stuck in the normally deep sticky mud of their fields. It was always a hard job, but ultimately rewarding when he got it done.

Jimmy looked out through the battered pane of glass in the hall at the weather outside. It was still raining, but it was a lot less heavy now - it was more of a steady drizzle than a relentless downpour. The beating on the roof seemed to have quietened down as well. Jimmy was raring to go and get some combat, and was hoping the rain finished as soon as possible. "When do you think we'll be able to get away?" he asked Coller. Jimmy leaned back and finished the last of his sausages, the slightly rubbery meat breaking easily in his mouth. It wasn't the best meal he'd ever had, but it was a damn sight nicer than the crap they'd had to eat training in Scotland.

Jimmy glanced over at the soldiers playing cards at a nearby table. One was laughing hysterically and another looked as if he'd just been punched in the face, shellshocked. Jimmy took this to mean the poor man had just lost big, and these soldiers normally didn't have a huge amount of cash to throw around. Jimmy had always liked playing cards, he just preferred betting on the races instead. He was lucky at this sort of thing rather than skillful. He remembered making eight shillings on a horse called Black Maria, which had inspired him to take up the card game of the same name. He had become good at it, and made a few shillings here and there over the years.

Jimmy's mind switched to combat. He saw himself being a hero, defending his position to his last magazine and breath, stabbing a German as he jumped on on of Jimmy's mates, taking down a Tiger tank; Jimmy was a hero in his daydreams and wanted to prove himself in real life. He wanted to live out all off those dreams. He wanted to be famous, get a medal from the King, be a hero. He had always been a bit of a dreamer, and was well known for it.

[Deleted]

(OOC: Im sorry this is so late, I've been a little busy what with half my country underwater and such.)

It was difficult for Sam to hold his face together, he was on the verge of laughing at the young soldiers enthusiasm, and the prospect of someone being able to help him must have been a very comforting thought to the good James Murdoch. Clearly he hadn’t had much luck with other army arrangements for transport, the poor kid didn’t even know he was booked on the flight that he had just bargained a seat on. At the offer for payment Sam raised a hand and shook his head, he wasn’t going to charge the soldier for the flight.
‘Its not a problem mate, you’re in need of a way into France and I happen to have one. They probably need you over there anyway and the army will pay for your seat so don’t fret about it.’ Sam let out a small chuckle about the army paying for the seat. It was true, the army had paid for it and Sam was never one to turn down a job.
‘It was probably lucky that the rain storm had come over when it did though.’ Sam continued, ‘Otherwise I would have been in the air hours ago and you would have been stuck here until I came back.’

The rain thumped heavily on the window but Sam ignored it, he was still scanning the report in his hand but there was nothing more of interest to him so he closed it up and slid it back into the envelope. It was just another boring supply run, nothing more, but at least the little prank he just played on the solider sitting opposite him made things just a little bit more interesting. If nothing else it would give Greg a bit of a laugh. James’ question caused Sam to look out the window at the rain, it was coming down hard but not as hard as it had been, the rain drops seemed to be just as big as they where, but more spread out. Maybe the rain would break soon; all Sam needed to take off was about fifteen minutes of sunshine. Sure it was dangerous taking off on a wet runway but the supplies he was to deliver where marked as a high priority. There where some crates addressed to a General that seemed to contain important items.
‘As soon as possible James, we’ll be up. The plane is already loaded and fuelled so as soon as the rain eases up we can be off. Lucky the runway isn’t grass, otherwise we’d have to wait till it dried.’ He thought about the problems with taking off on wet grass, he hated grass landings and takeoffs. You where never sure what would happen, sometimes the ground might be a bit too soft in one spot and half of the landing gear would suddenly decide to sink into it, other times the rubber couldn’t grip the wet grass and a landing plane would just slide across the fields until it slowed to a stop or hit something. Ah, the joys of flying in the rain.

Sam looked away from the window and back at the soldiers who where playing their card game, one of the men seemed to be living the high roller life, judging by the large pile of money sitting in front of him. The familiar itch of the game came across Sam as he watched, he wanted to join, he could tell that he could beat them. He could take all their money without even trying, just by looking at them he could see they where new to the game, they gave off little tell tale signs of their bluffs and when they had a good hand. The guy who was winning seemed to always smile, but when he had something worth betting with his smile became bigger, stretching across his face and he paused before putting in his bet, like he was trying to make the others think he was hesitant about the bet he was making. It was such a see through act that Sam was disappointed that no one who was playing had picked it up. Rather then getting up and joining the game he distracted himself by continuing the conversation with James.

‘Have you seen combat before?’ It was a simple question, but one that could spark any number of reactions. It was easy to tell who had been in combat before and who hadn’t just by asking that question and looking at the reaction of the person. They didn’t even have to say anything for Sam to be able to see their answer, a side effect of Sam’s gambling addiction was that he had become good at reading peoples body language, the fresh recruits always had their eyes lit up at the thought of going into a fight. No doubt their minds where filled with images of them performing heroic acts that would help win the war and save hundreds of peoples lives. Sam saw these same movements in himself whenever he thought of going into battle; they say the hardest thing to do is to lie to yourself. He would often throw away his own heroic thoughts and replace them with logic. He knew in a dog fight the chance of dieing is extremely high, especially since most of the German pilots had been flying and fighting for years, at the end of the day it came down to who got the best out of their planes. All the skill and talent in the world wouldn’t save you if you where against a fighter while flying a cargo plane. You could pull some fancy, slow moves and stay alive just a bit longer, but the better plane would almost always win. But at the same time, an inexperienced pilot could be flying the latest fighters and be taken out by an ace in a flying bucket of bolts. Weird things happen in war, and sometimes it’s best not to think too much about it.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Murdoch - 7

Coller - 7

-JT