Post by MSG. Steven J. McMillan on Dec 5, 2008 17:25:07 GMT
Pacing hurriedly down one of the long corridors to the American Headquarters, Master-Sergeant McMillan bundled up three folders beneath his right arm, whilst he dragged back his left sleeve from across his forearm to take a quick glance at the time upon his military wristwatch; Specifically handed out to those above the rank of Sergeant with a synchronized time accuracy, it even had a smaller dial upon the face to record the time down to the millisecond. A true simple piece of modern technology that came handy when training by the speed.
Making a sharp left, he pushed through one of two large wooden doors that lead on towards a small office with his divisional intelligence and reports; In short, the 3ID's intel room. Coming to a slowed stop outside of the office, he quite casually made sure his uniform was in line with each ironed crease, before making a swift three knocks against the paneled glass. It never hurt to be showing polite pleasantries where officers could be lurking - as if his thoughts were compromised, the Master Sergeant straightened up immediately upon the sight of a Lieutenant Colonel walking by, cradling his cup of coffee and the evening paper. Saluting none the less, Steven acknowledged the vague nod of the senior officer as he walked on by quite idly within his own world; Was there really a war on? It surely didn't seem it in the office.
After awaiting a further few minutes without no hollering voices inside, allowing him to enter, he took it upon himself to reach out and slowly twist open the door ever so slightly, just enough that he was able to squeeze his head through the gap and peer in. The office was grand, with several desks and a back-room for presumably Captain Patterson or someone even superior within the 3ID, but strangely, the place was desolate and silent. Edging in through the doorway, Steven briefly turned to close the door behind himself, wondering where everyone had gone, surely the 3ID hadn't disbanded overnight?
Slowly, the Master Sergeant aligned with the middle of the room and began to walk down between the desks, with a forever curiousness to why the office/s weren't being used. Perhaps the war had suddenly ended!? Approaching the back of the room, Steven glanced over towards the officer's office for a moment, hoping no one was inside to disturb, as he walked along the couple of blinded windows to stand by the door. Tapping on the glass again, he stood idle for a few minutes, not quite knowing what to make of the situation, but again, no call came and so Steven took it upon himself to clunk open the unlocked door to step in and observe the room's interior. It was nothing out of the ordinary, a few stationary plants, stand-alone lamps and leather chairs, no, nothing unusual.
Approaching the desk, Steven dropped the three folders onto it and stood there for a second, admiring the office more and more. "Bet even old Churchill has one of these" Steven muttered to himself, as he picked up a small iron looking monument, more of a paperweight. Placing it back down, he circled the desk casually and quite comfortably fell into the leather chair, grinning to himself mischievously. "I could get used to this..." he said quite nobly, leaning back into the chair with a smug grin on his face, not feeling so comfortable in the longest time - the barracks were itchy to say the least.
Making a sharp left, he pushed through one of two large wooden doors that lead on towards a small office with his divisional intelligence and reports; In short, the 3ID's intel room. Coming to a slowed stop outside of the office, he quite casually made sure his uniform was in line with each ironed crease, before making a swift three knocks against the paneled glass. It never hurt to be showing polite pleasantries where officers could be lurking - as if his thoughts were compromised, the Master Sergeant straightened up immediately upon the sight of a Lieutenant Colonel walking by, cradling his cup of coffee and the evening paper. Saluting none the less, Steven acknowledged the vague nod of the senior officer as he walked on by quite idly within his own world; Was there really a war on? It surely didn't seem it in the office.
After awaiting a further few minutes without no hollering voices inside, allowing him to enter, he took it upon himself to reach out and slowly twist open the door ever so slightly, just enough that he was able to squeeze his head through the gap and peer in. The office was grand, with several desks and a back-room for presumably Captain Patterson or someone even superior within the 3ID, but strangely, the place was desolate and silent. Edging in through the doorway, Steven briefly turned to close the door behind himself, wondering where everyone had gone, surely the 3ID hadn't disbanded overnight?
Slowly, the Master Sergeant aligned with the middle of the room and began to walk down between the desks, with a forever curiousness to why the office/s weren't being used. Perhaps the war had suddenly ended!? Approaching the back of the room, Steven glanced over towards the officer's office for a moment, hoping no one was inside to disturb, as he walked along the couple of blinded windows to stand by the door. Tapping on the glass again, he stood idle for a few minutes, not quite knowing what to make of the situation, but again, no call came and so Steven took it upon himself to clunk open the unlocked door to step in and observe the room's interior. It was nothing out of the ordinary, a few stationary plants, stand-alone lamps and leather chairs, no, nothing unusual.
Approaching the desk, Steven dropped the three folders onto it and stood there for a second, admiring the office more and more. "Bet even old Churchill has one of these" Steven muttered to himself, as he picked up a small iron looking monument, more of a paperweight. Placing it back down, he circled the desk casually and quite comfortably fell into the leather chair, grinning to himself mischievously. "I could get used to this..." he said quite nobly, leaning back into the chair with a smug grin on his face, not feeling so comfortable in the longest time - the barracks were itchy to say the least.
