Feeling More Open (Colly/Ealing)

[Stephen Colly]

Country: Allied-Controlled France
Time: 19:02
Place: Little French village
Notes: This takes place on the day that Ed and Stephen last saw each other when Ed got Stephen out of Nazi controlled France. As the thread hasn’t ended yet and the all important reaction hasn’t been decided yet, I didn’t really mention what happened in this just that Stephen starts to show his feelings a bit more…openly – he basically realizes that he cant have Ed so…well…hopefully you’ll get the picture!

Darkness had fallen. There was a hint of snow in the air; it was going to be an extremely cold night. A lone figure walked along the road, he wore civilian clothing and his hair was wet as it had been raining lightly just a few miles east where he had just come from.

Stephen had walked the whole day, back towards the Allied lines, he had finally come across this village which he knew was in Allied control, luckily he had seen nor heard anyone on his silent journey. He had been mulling a lot of things over.

A pub sign was just up ahead, it beckoned him in, and the lights were bright against the darkness of the sky and street. It was the only building that had lights on, all the other shops and houses were blackened out by black out windows.

The 19 year old pushed open the door and stepped inside, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hit his nostrils and he breathed it in. The pub had a few people in, a farmer and his family in a corner, a few rowdy men in another and a few seated at the bar which was where Stephen was heading for. He was surprised that there were no Allied soldiers in there; quite glad in fact as if any one recognised him, he’d be dead. He just wanted a quick drink and then he would head back to his base…they didn’t even know he had gone most likely.

He ordered a beer, he wasn’t an alcoholic strictly speaking, he just enjoyed the taste of beer and after his ordeal under Nazi integration, he needed something to calm his nerves. Edward had given him a few pieces of coinage and a packet of smokes which he now lit hungrily as he made his way over to one of the corners that wasn’t already occupied and sat down. He took a large gulp of the alcoholic drink and sat back in his chair, staring down at the contents, he put the stick in his mouth and puffed, swallowing most of the smoke and blowing the rest out of his mouth into the already smoky air.

He sat still for a few minutes, just staring at his glass. His head shot up as he heard the door crash open and…oh dear…about five GI soldiers entered. Americans…he watched them as they crossed loudly to the bar and began chatting up the barmaid who Stephen hadn’t even looked at twice when he had ordered a drink from her. His eyes scanned over her, trying to find something he liked about her slim frame, his eyes scanned over her breasts all the way down to her legs which were proper one over the other as she leant over to the leader of the soldiers…nothing…there was no stir of sexual yearning inside.

His eyes trailed over to the American soldiers, and yes…there it was…that “feeling” that he should have had for the barmaid, he glanced at their strong and muscular frames, his eyes ranking over them for a little bit too long…

”Oi! What the heck do you think you’re looking at?” a shout from one of the GIs echoed across the room.

Stephen quickly looked down.

”No, don’t look away, you were looking at something!” another jeering American voice.

”He was checking you out Donald.”

”You think?” the man called Donald glanced over in Stephen’s direction, ”Oi, you! French boy? Were you looking at me?”

Stephen’s heart was pounding, thumping against his chest like it wanted to rip out of him. He heard movement and suddenly the five were nearing his table. He stood up quickly, stubbing out his cigarette, looking wildly from one jeering face to the next.

”What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” one asked.

They were moving closer. What did they want? He hadn’t done anything….!?

”Looks scared shitless to me Greg, lets take him outside, see what he stares at next.”

Stephen shook his head, gone mute it seemed; he was too scared to move…HE HADNT DONE ANYTHING?!

He tried to make a run for it, tried to doge past but to no avail. A hand went around his neck and he was pulled backwards against a thick American uniform. He struggled, kicking and clawing at anything he could get his hand on but again to no avail. The pubs door was coming closer as he was pulled towards it, out into the cold street – it had begun to snow now, coming down in thick flakes and the air was cold.

He shrugged again, wriggling and kicking and then he hit cold pavement, a quick glance around him told him he was in an alleyway were there was a pile of bins.

Whack right in the stomach and Stephen doubled over, another whack and he was on the floor. A kick to his stomach made him groan in pain. And then he felt boot hit flesh as someone kicked at his head and nose, blood began to pour from his nose and onto his shirt, another kick and blood came from his mouth now, a searing pain was all over his body. ”Teach a stupid boy like you to stare so intently at us.” a voice yelled from up above as Stephen clutched his stomach, rolling into a ball, trying to go as small as he could, coughing and spluttering until finally, what seemed like an hour but was actually only minutes, the beating stopped and the footsteps faded away.

Tears now ran down his face, mixing with the blood from his nose and mouth. He ached all over, he stuck out one arm and held the sleeve of his shirt to his nose, shaking and crying on the cold pavement.

OOC – Thought I’d add a bit more flavour to little Stephen’s colourful life…THANKS BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN!

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas ambled down the small winding path, whistling cheerfully to himself. This was the first time he had been truly happy in months. Strumfelder was missing, presumed dead. Operation Stormcrow had kicked off at last, his men had won a slew of further victories across Europe and, of course, he was on his way to a tavern famed for being one of the best in Normandy. As long as the beer tasted like it had never been near a cow's anatomy, then he would be happy. A rare thing in France.

Lieutenant Peale strolled alongside him, droning blithely on about something or other. Peale was more like an accountant than a junior officer, the kind of man who could talk about the history of Czechoslovakia for three and a half hours. He was the kind of man who was scared of anything that wasn't accompanied by a wall-chart. The kind of man who would chat about the quality of spoons and then be surprised when his companions fell asleep. Not the best drinking partner then but better than no one. Just about.

"And that's about it," finished Peale lamely, his monotonous voice almost slicing Nicholas' subconscious in two. Nicholas nodded distractedly. A dull glow shone from the lamps of the tavern, illuminating the road for the two officers. They were resplendent in U.S Army uniform, the 3ID badge worn proudly on the sleeve. Although they were wearing exactly the same uniform, Nicholas looked infinitely more colourful than his companion. Maybe it was the fact that while Ealing had been fighting for his life in the baking sun, Peale had been busy organizing his paper clips behind his desk. He wasn't a particularly bad officer, but would have made a bloody excellent bank manager.

The two continued along the path, the Lieutenants discussing the recent military victories in Belgium. It was a reflection on Peale’s character that he managed to make exhillerating battlefield slaughters sound about as interesting as stamp collecting. A lot of men had died in the past few months but an end to the war was at last in sight. Just over the horizon. There were plenty of men who had cheered when war had broken out, but so many more would be dancing in the streets when the first rays of peace descended over Europe? Yes, the war was almost over and those who had fallen would never be forgotten.

Nicholas was shaken from his thoughts by a light peppering of snow that began to sprinkle down on the French countryside. The Lieutenant was always gripped by a childish excitement when it began to snow and had trouble containing himself in front of the other officer, who flinched as the beautiful snowflakes fluttered down onto his uniform. Nicholas wouldn’t have put it past him to try and sue nature itself for dampening his suit. “Damn snow,” he murmured in his thick New England accent. “You know, when I was a boy-“

"What was that?" asked Nicholas suddenly, cutting across a mid-rant Peale. The sound of shouting had filled the air. Peale stared at the Lieutenant blankly. "Come on," Nicholas grunted, moving closer to the source of the noise.

The French village had been occupied by a joint British-American force and so both U.S, UK and Commonwealth soldiers spilled in and out of the tavern, united against fascism and, in a more immediate respect, united in an eternal quest for girls and alcahol. But where was the shouting coming from? Nicholas narrowed his eyes and suddenly saw a figure being hurled rag-doll like through the tavern's doors, crunching down onto the harsh French streets. A group of men, four or five at the most, were laughing, yelling and, generally, beating the stuffing out of the pathetic figure. Nicholas felt sick. The boy spat out a string of his own blood but still the blows came. Peale looked faintly thoughtful, as if he was considering writing a strongly worded letter. Nicholas clenched his fists.

"Hey, you!"

The crowd spotted him in the distance and suddenly dispersed, bolting down the road like schoolchildren playing truant. Although it was hardly the righ time to be thinking about things like that, Nicholas was vaguely impressed at the boys' speed. Looks like training's been kicking in, he thought mildly. “Get after them, then!” he yelled, turning towards Peale. The wiry American blinked once before stumbling off after the malcontents.

Nicholas kneeled down at the boy's side. He looked as if he could black out any second. "You’re alright, Private,” he murmured, gently pulling the man’s protective arm away from his face so he could get a better look at him. “Some people are just bastards but there’s nothing we can do about, is there?” He smiled as warmly as he could. “How about we get a beer inside you, eh?”

[Stephen Colly]

His head was throbbing as much as the rest of his body, his nose felt broken, and there was a painful feeling in the side of his stomach, not a rib…please god not a rib…take weeks to mend.

A figure now approached, Stephen curled up even more, afraid it was another beater-upper but it wasn’t. His arm was removed from his nose and he squinted up at the person kneeling over him. Who was this man? The voice he recognised but as he couldn’t see him very well through the darkness and his own eyes beginning to swell a bit, he couldn’t recognise the face that went with the voice.

The man was speaking but Stephen wasn’t registering what he was saying. The blood seemed to have stopped coming out of his nose and he coughed, spitting some blood out of his mouth on to the cold pavement. His body ached so badly all over, he was confused and dazed; the whole experience had happened so quickly and was over so quickly that he hadn’t had a time to think straight at all. First he was looking at a bunch of GIs in the warmth of the pub, now he was lying on the pavement, aching and a stranger above him obviously trying to help.

He coughed again and tried to sit up, wincing as he lent against the wall of the next door building, keeping his eyes closed slightly as he gripped on to the other man for support.

He opened his eyes again, staring slightly dazedly at the figure near him…who was he? The voice and the stature he recognised but just couldn’t put a name to. He coughed again, a little bit more blood coming out of his mouth and on to the pavement floor.

He could feel a fresh bout of blood beginning to flow down the inside of his nose and some down his throat and felt slightly sick, he titled his head back to try and stop the blood coming out of his nose but this made him feel dizzy and he coughed up even more blood.

”Whod ar’d tou?” he asked, or rather spluttered, his voice weak and one that wasn’t up to speaking much. He stared blankly at the man and then it came flooding back. This man was a member of the Allied Forces and his name was Ealing…!

The boy put his sleeve back to his nose to catch the blood flow, he felt awful, he felt like he was going to black out or be sick at any moment and that really wasn’t a good feeling what-so-ever.

[Nicholas Ealing]

”Whod ar’d tou?”

Nicholas stared down at the battered mess that seemed, at least, to be able to speak, albeit in a fashion incomprehensible to animal, mineral or vegetable. The boy's face was so coated with sticky blood that deciphering the individual body parts was something of a challenge. Nicholas smiled wanly. "My name's Lieutenant Ealing, soldier. English heart, Welsh soul, American gun. A fine combination, I'm sure you'll agree."

Any other officer might have left him there, a crumpled heap, choking on his own blood, alone in an uncaring world but Nicholas was not other officers. He cared about people, a principle seen as somewhat alien by the majority of his comrades in the officer's mess. He sighed and took out his hip flask, before handing it over to the disshevled young man before him. Smiling encouragingly, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, a habit he had picked up from a certain Staff Sergeant a long time ago.

Inside, his blood boiled. How dare a group of men attack a young lad? It sickened him. They would never win a war if they couldn't pull together, put differences aside. The war office often painted the enemy as vicious savages but were the differences between the average German and American soldier really that great?

Maybe they had attacked him because of his rank? Surely a corporal so young could cause unrest among older, more experienced privates. Maybe he had said something or done something or maybe made a pass at someone's girlfriend? Nicholas was doubtful. The man seemed to reek of victimization. A natural target. But why?

Maybe he could get the names of the attackers from the boy, show them that consequences had actions. He could send them sprawling around the training field a couple of hundred times, until they literally exploded in a shower of pain, exhaustion and regret. One can dream, he thought. In any case, he was dubious that Peale would be able to round up the disgruntled thugs. Any second now, the young Lieutenant would doubtless wander up to him, alone, staring at his shoes and trying not to cry. If the private knew anything of their identities, then Nicholas could make them pay. Which was always a good way to spend a Friday
night.

"And, what's your name, then?" asked Nicholas, still watching the young man cautiously.

[Stephen Colly]

So his name was Nicholas Ealing, Stephen had been right; he smiled weakly through his blooded mess of lips. He wondered why this man wanted to help him, most men…officers would not bother, leave him to choke to death in his own blood but this man seemed to be caring, he wore an encouraging smile and even handed the boy a hipflask which he got gladly with bloody hands.

”Tank tou.” he muttered, taking a swift of the liquid, it burned, it was so sort of alcoholic drink and it made him feel a bit better, it woke him up slightly. Out of the corner of his half-opened eye, he could see the man running his hand through his hair, a thing that Stephen sometimes did…he had learnt that from Ed…maybe this man had met Ed?

He got another shaky and slow swig from the hipflask, sloshing it around his mouth and spitting it out on to the ground, blood going with the spray, his mouth felt slightly clearer as well. He sniffed as he took away the sleeve of his shirt, his nose had stopped bleeding finally but his stomach and chest still hurt a bit, at least the blood had stopped.

"And, what's your name, then?”

”Stephen Colly.” he manged to say his name without sounding like a spastic with a cold, his eyes half pieced into the other man, watching him. ”Its bery tind of tou.” he added, smiling lightly but the smile went as soon as it appeared. He clutched his ribcage as he shifted, wincing slightly, a sharp pain shot up the side of his body and bit his lip, trying not to cry from the sudden pain.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas smiled supportively as the boy took a swig of the rum. Smiling was an art he had certainly mastered. Smiling, singing and shooting. An interesting repertoire, but one he was rather proud of. "Stephen Colly,” the man managed to croak in an accent Nicholas recognised distinctly as belonging to the folk of Devon.

Stephen Colly. Where had he heard that name before? He frowned. It was vaguely familiar. His subconscious, ever handy in a crisis, had the answer. A "Private Colly" had been a friend of Nicholas' old protege, Rhys Bevan. He felt a faint jolt of sadness as he considered the Staff Sergeant's cruel demise for a just second, before turning back to the young man. They would have made an odd site, lying there, freezing in the cold.

”Its bery tind of tou.”

"It's nothing, Private," said Nicholas warmly. "We Brits have to look out for eachother, eh? Look, why don't we get inside? Warm our blood. And if anyone gives you any trouble, I can yell at them. Or prod them or something. Whatever the case, we can't stay out here." He rubbed his freezing hands together, somewhat dramatically. "It's bloody freezing." He glanced at the young man again, with more tenderness this time. "Can you walk or would you like an old shoulder to lean on?"

Before Colly could reply, a figure stumbled towards them. It was Lieutenant Peale, trying and failing to look dignified in spite of the snow coating his backside. Nicholas cocked an eyebrow. "Fell over," muttered Peale.

"Did you get them?"

"Too damn quick."

"Right," Nicholas sighed. He had not been surprised. "Never mind." He gestured vaguely towards Stephen. "Just... give me a hand with this chap, will you?"

[Stephen Colly]

"It's nothing, Private. We Brits have to look out for eachother, eh? Look, why don't we get inside? Warm our blood. And if anyone gives you any trouble, I can yell at them. Or prod them or something. Whatever the case, we can't stay out here. It's bloody freezing. Can you walk or would you like an old shoulder to lean on?"

I’m not a private. Stephen thought, but didn’t say out loud as that would have been rude when this man had helped him and chased away those…those…homophobic gits…yeah…that’s what they were, what they had said had made Stephen realize even more, he had told Nathan and he had been pretty shocked…but why? Of course…it was a illegal….

A figure appeared and the boy looked up and saw another man, looking slightly sheepish. He had obviously tried to get the beater-uppers and not succeeded…oh, he had fallen over? Stephen glanced at the ground and saw for the first time that it was covered in snow, he glanced up at the sky and saw that it was indeed snowing, and for the first time he realized that he was bloody freezing and had begun to shake violently from the cold as he only had a checked shirt on.

”Tank tou.” Stephen said again to the other man, smiling as he gripped on to Nicholas if he would allow him to get up and then if Nicholas allowed it, Stephen would lean on the man’s shoulder as he felt his head spin and his ribs give another shoot of pain up his side.

”Ow.” he muttered, gripping his side with his other hand.

[Nicholas Ealing]

”Tank tou.”

Colly seemed to practise patheticness at an Olympian level. Nicholas, aiding clumsily by the reddening Peale, helped the lad to his feet. The corporal, supported entirely by the two officers, was helped back into the warmth of the tavern. A spasm of pain seemed to have gripped the young man but the Lieutenants helped him forwards encouragingly. Nicholas guided Stephen gingerly towards a small table in the far corner. Ribbons of fire flickered gently in the stone fireplace, warming the three men from the freezing cold.

"Get the drinks in, would you, Lawrence?" asked Nicholas, tossing Peale a couple of coins. The American scuttled off to the bar, leaving Nicholas alone with the young man. His injuries didn't seem to be particularly serious. A knock there, a scratch here. Nothing the boy wouldn't be able to handle. No need for a medic on the scene in any case.

They sat in awkward silence for a couple of seconds until Peale returned, carrying a tray of drinks. As intelligent a man he was, he hadn't quite mastered the art of walking in a straight line and a generous amount of beer had already spilled out onto the rug below. Nicholas saw the bartender, a thickset Frenchman, scowl angrily at the unknowing New Englander. We've been here for five minutes and we've already upset the villagers.

"This is Lieutenant Lawrence Peale," said Nicholas, introducing the two men. "And this is Corporal Stephen Colly. British Army." Peale held out a stuffy hand for the Englishman to shake. Nicholas took a sip of beer. Not bad. The Lieutenant made it a personal goal to sample a beer in every region he found himself stationed in. For the good of science, he had explained to his dubious subconscious.

Nicholas placed the glass back down on the table with a gentle clink. He smiled faintly. "So," he said, facing Colly. "Are you going to tell me what all that was about?"

[Stephen Colly]

Yes, Stephen was slightly pathetic for a soldier, but he was kind-hearted, he hadn’t wanted to join up and kill Germans. He had only wanted to find his horse and now he had, he wanted to get out of the army but that didn’t look possible now.

They headed back to the tavern; it was so warm that it made Stephen’s skin tingle slightly but the difference in temperature from outside to in here. He glanced around, spotting the family who were still in the same corner they had been. He suddenly realized why he had noticed them, they looked exactly like the family that Edward had killed on that day a few months ago; it had been an unpleasant experience Stephen had encountered when he had entered the house to find the whole family dead and the father dying. He remembered now that he hadn’t asked Ed why he had done it…

As the man called Lawrence went to get drinks. Stephen sat down on a chair, whipping his nose, the blood had stopped and his eyes were better. He glanced around in silence and watched Lawrence buy the drinks. When he came back, Stephen gave a small smile and took the drink.

”It’s very kind of you.” he said again, his nose clearing, ”I…I…” he struggled and remembered he still had the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. He reached into his pocket and took them out, they were German.

”Here, if you smoke that is.” he glanced from one face to the other.

Once they had or had not taken a cigarette, he quickly put them back in his pocket and glanced at Ealing who now spoke.

"So. Are you going to tell me what all that was about?"

”I didn’t start it.” he said quickly, shaking his head. ”I don’t even know why they did it, I was just…just sitting…I was just watching them.” he said, tilting his head to one side and looking down at the table, ”Maybe I looked at them funny or something…they said that I was "checking one of them out. But I really wasnt." he looked from Peale to Ealing and then took another sip of the drink.

[Nicholas Ealing]

”I didn’t start it. I don’t even know why they did it, I was just…just sitting…I was just watching them. Maybe I looked at them funny or something…they said that I was "checking" one of them out. But I really wasnt."

And there, in that split second, Nicholas knew. He knew what Colly was.

He was completely still for a split second before he took another sip of the beer. There had been something about the boy, something sensitive, something almost...girlish. And now-

Peale didn't look as if he had noticed anything, the less intuitive officer giving his undivided attention to the ice cold pint before him. Nicholas decided he needed him out of the way if he wanted to talk to Colly properly. This was easier said than done. As humourless as Peale was, seperating him from the best beer in Normandy would be something of a challenge.

"Uh, Lawrence."

"Mmm?"

"You couldn't go and fetch my cap, could you?"

Peale's face fell. "Your cap?"

"Mmm. I left it back at base. So, if you could just-"

"But...it's four miles away, Nicholas."

"Yup."

Peale had a strange expression on his face. A mixture of confusion, woe, pain and bewilderment. He was Nicholas' inferior by five months of service and wasn't entirely sure whether or not he would be punished severely for saying no. "But...it's snowing, Nicholas. It's freezing."

"All the more reason for you to fetch my cap."

Failing to stifle a badly-concealed sob, Peale rose to his feet, glanced sorrowfully towards the beer and exited the tavern. Nicholas grinned to himself and passed Peale's beer over to Stephen, giving the young man a sad smile. He lowered his voice. "You're a homosexual, aren't you?"

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen watched Nicholas who seemed to have frozen to his seat for a split second…maybe it was something he had said? He quickly replayed what he had just said and could not find…oh. Now he knew what he had just said…what the GIs had said and what he had just told Nicholas.

Meanwhile, Nicholas was talking to his comrade who hadn’t really noticed anything. A few exchanges of conversation between the two with Peale looking upset and standing up to go and get Nicholas’s cap – that was sudden and Stephen got slightly worried.

He stared after Peale, feeling sorry for the man who had to go back out into the cold to walk 4 miles to get a cap which could take him more than an hour or two and then to trudge back with said cap to give to Nicholas who probably didn’t really need it…

"You're a homosexual, aren't you?"

Stephen froze slightly, watching Nicholas’s face which held a sad smile; he gave a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair and looking down at his drink, suddenly finding it very interesting.

”I…well…” he stumbled over his words, glancing up at Nicholas, ”Is…is it really that obvious?” he asked, the smile fading and his face becoming very worried.

He sucked air in through his teeth and stared at the table again, playing with his hands and feeling rather stupid…Nathan had said that people…people like him could be put into jail…people like him…bad people like him was what he had heard in the barracks once. He had heard the story of one man who had been a “nancy” boy and had been beaten to death by his father’s friends because they had found him sleeping with another man….apparently…that could be gossip of course…but…well…

He got a nervous sip of his drink and placed it back on the table with a soft “clink”.

[Nicholas Ealing]

”Is…is it really that obvious?”

Nicholas smiled. "Let's just say you don't exactly ripple with masculinity." He took another sip of beer, a deep feeling of pity gathering in his stomach for the young lad. "Look, it's fine. They say that half the men in London are queens nowadays. And look at the Romans. They spent most of their time in bed with one another and they managed to conquer most of the globe!"

He spoke as cheerfully and as jokily as he could but kept his voice down to something only a few decibels above a whisper. He sighed. "But...maybe you need to hide it better. To avoid getting the shit kicked out of you. You can get arrested, you know. Oscar Wilde, one of the best dramatists England has ever known, even he couldn't avoid getting locked up and unless you...change. Outwardly, at least, then they'll come for you. Eventually."

He looked at Colly, a faint sadness flickering in his eyes. "For all you know, I could have been planning to drag you off to the nearest police station. So think about how you come across. Please. We need all the soldiers we can get for the big push. We can't have a bunch of them languishing in jail, now can we?"

Nicholas at last finished the lager and gave a tiny nod to the grumpy-looking bartender, who limped up to the table, grunted something incoherent and took the glass away for a refill. As soon as he had left, Nicholas turned back to Colly, leaning in closer. "But don't worry. Things will change. I promise you. And, now," he said, his voice louder with a half-faked enthusiasm. "Why don't we talk about something else, eh? How's the fighting been going? Front line, is it?"

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen gripped his glass slightly as Nicholas spoke. No…no he didn’t exactly ripple with masculinity…but he did horse ride…some masculine men didn’t do that and he had had to work on the fields ploughing before the war so he wasn’t all that weak and girlish/feminine.

"Look, it's fine. They say that half the men in London are queens nowadays. And look at the Romans. They spent most of their time in bed with one another and they managed to conquer most of the globe!"

The boy frowned slightly at the word “queens”, chewing his top lip as he watched Nicholas smile, his voice above a whisper. ”I don’t try to show it.” he muttered quietly, staring Nicholas in the eye just to make his point.

"But...maybe you need to hide it better. To avoid getting the shit kicked out of you. You can get arrested, you know. Oscar Wilde, one of the best dramatists England has ever known, even he couldn't avoid getting locked up and unless you...change. Outwardly, at least, then they'll come for you. Eventually."

Stephen gripped his hair and looked down at the table, ”You don’t understand, I…I can’t just change the way I am.” he looked up at Nicholas then, ”If they come for me then they’ll come…it’s the country’s own fault if they don’t win this war when half of the able-bodied men are locked up just because of the way they feel!” his voice rose a bit but he realized this and bit his lip, glancing around quickly before looking back at Nicholas who had spoken again.

"For all you know, I could have been planning to drag you off to the nearest police station. So think about how you come across. Please. We need all the soldiers we can get for the big push. We can't have a bunch of them languishing in jail, now can we?"

”I suppose I will just go and arrest myself for being different then…look…” he paused, ”I am a rubbish soldier and I know that and maybe it is to do with…with me being…you know…I didn’t come into this war to fight and kill Germans…as stupid as it sounds I came to find my horse, I’ve found him and now…now I can’t seem to get out of it and…and…” he bit his lip and took a quick sip of his drink, the next thing Nicholas said, lifted the boy’s spirits a bit – change…yes hopefully the stupidity of the world would be changed and men and indeed women would be able to be different…

"Why don't we talk about something else, eh? How's the fighting been going? Front line, is it?"

Stephen stared blankly at Nicholas for a second…he hadn’t been fighting on the front-line…he had been locked up in a German cell but then if he said that he would have to go into more depth on the reason why he had got caught.

”Fine.” he said automatically, ”Yeah, fine.” truth be told he had no idea what was going on in the frontline, they could have had a big offensive gone wrong…that definitely wasn’t fine.

[Nicholas Ealing]

"I'm sorry," said Nicholas. "Sincerely. I shouldn't have brought it up. It wasn't exactly sensitive of me." The Lieutenant sighed and took another sip, for the first time in his life genuinely wishing Lieutenant Peale was present, if only for someone else to talk to. He felt faintly guilty for sending the New Englander off on a pointless excersise and, more to the point, was angry at himself for the lack of sensitivity he had showed Colly. It wasn't turning out to be the best of nights. But, then, compared to the badly-beaten corporal before him, he was having a whale of a time...

"If you don't want to be in the army, there are ways out, you know," Nicholas continued carefully. "I've been fighting for six long years, Stephen, I've seen enough men dishonourably discharged to know how it's done. If you're serious about going home, back to your...uhmm...horse...then no one should be able to stop you." His face broke into another smile.

He had adopted his cheerful persona as a mask after the world had turned to shit but now that the first fragile beams of sunlight were starting to shine down, and the pain at the loss of his nephew was beginning to dull, he was finding it difficult to escape from the grinning officer his men knew and loved. Being cheerful, happy -- it was the only way to live life. Spending your time depressed, enveloped in pain and bitterness and anger, was no better than death itself. Nicholas knew that better than anybody.

"A personal favourite of mine, Stephen, is striking an officer. One punch, one pinch, and you'd be out on your arse before you could blink. Discharged from the British Army. Free to go home. Now," the Lieutenant looked Colly straight in the eye. "We have come to a crossroads, haven't we? Ever felt like punching an officer? Now's your chance. Go on." Nicholas turned ever so slightly to display his left cheek to the Englishman. "Let's see how plucky you are, eh?"

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

Joey was busy cleening his m1 garand when he had decided to get up and move. he was sitting by him self and no one around him and to be honest with you joey felt really lonely and un wanted. Many soldiers would be very angry with him when he decided to talk to them due to his Italian accent. Many soldiers would call him an axis on the run, or one of them damn fascists. To be hnoest with you Joey had moved to America when he was just about four years of age. Didnt matter to most people because all they want to do is make fun of someone and pick at them until there so pissed the want to explode. When he was done cleaning the gun he put his dirty rag away in one of his pockets and the gun under his bunk. He slwoly lifted him self to his feet, twisting him self around to stretch his stiff body. When he began to walk he spotted two men sitting next to each other a bit aways from him. one had his head turned and the other looked very upset and drunk out of his mind. Joey thoought about the time he had his last beer. it was a smooth taste that tickled his taste buds, slithering down his throat. Joey remebered that smooth lager before he left for the war. He began to walk towards the two men that were close together. Joey over heard the man next the drunk man say

"A personal favourite of mine, Stephen, is striking an officer. One punch, one pinch, and you'd be out on your arse before you could blink. Discharged from the British Army. Free to go home. Now, We have come to a crossroads, haven't we? Ever felt like punching an officer? Now's your chance. Go on. Let's see how plucky you are, eh?"

Joey was confused. why would he hit an officer just to be discharged? Why would he want to stay here and serve his country. Joey walked towards the horse until he was about a few yards away "the names Joey Toniati. i couldnt help but over hear you conversation, and i wondered why you would want to hit him?" Joey was puzeled as he walked until he was face to face with the two men.