Feeling More Open (Colly/Ealing)

[Stephen Colly]

"I'm sorry. Sincerely. I shouldn't have brought it up. It wasn't exactly sensitive of me."

Stephen bit his lip and looked away from Ealing, ”I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that…sorry too sir.” Then Ealing said something interesting.

"If you don't want to be in the army, there are ways out, you know, 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."

Stephen looked up at Nicholas sharply, staring the man in the eye to see if he was joking. ”What you mean?” he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"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?"

Was Ealing serious? To punch his rescuer? He bit his lip, his hand stretching out slightly, ready to do the punch when….

"the names Joey Toniati. i couldnt help but over hear you conversation, and i wondered why you would want to hit him?”

A man had appeared near by and Stephen let his hand drop quickly, looking over at him, who was this? He glanced at Ealing, ”I better go and wash my face.” he muttered, suddenly realizing it was covered in dried blood still, he would have to talk to Ealing another time. ”I’ll see you in a sec.” he quickly stood up, glancing at the man who had approached. ”You talking to me?” he frowned slightly, ”Why I want to hit him…maybe you shouldn’t pry.” he glanced at Ealing quickly before heading towards the gentlemen’s lavatories.

He entered and walked towards the mirror, his face was indeed covered with blood. He ran the tap, cold water flowed down the sink and he quickly began to wash his face, the blood falling into the sink below. It took him a matter of minutes to do this; he then grabbed a towel and dried his face, there, that was better.

Finally he exited and came back towards the table, sitting down again and taking a swig of his drink.

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

Joey followed the man that had just cam out of the bathroom. he was curious to hear what his name was and weather or not he was acctually serious about punching that officer he was just standing with. joey thought to himself clearly saying, what was wrong here. why am i experianceing this? he walked over to the bar and waved to the bar tender. when the bartender had made it to joey, he said "can i get a beer, any kind whats the cheapest?" the bartender slid him the bear and told him how much it cost. then joey gave the money to the bartender and walked over to the table with the man he had met before. joey then sat down and asked "you know you never told me your name young man." he laughed after saying it.

[Nicholas Ealing]

"The name's Joey Toniatti. I couldn't help but overhear you conversation, and i wondered why you would want to hit him?”

Nicholas span around to see a young private looking back at him. He bore the darker complexion of an Italian or Spaniard, the fresh face of a man unaccustomed to combat, the uniform of a U.S private and, most worryingly, ears. How much had he hard?

Nicholas guessed he was one of the many privates recently drafted into Baker Company under Lt. Strange. A sea of thoughts flooded immediately into his brain. How much had he heard? How can he have the guts to introduce himself to an officer and NCO without so much as a salute? And Dear God, I hope this isn't another Ben Shirley...

Suddenly, Stephen excused himsef. ”I better go and wash my face," he muttered, getting to his feet. ”I’ll see you in a sec.” He then turned, a frown plain on his face, to Private Toniatti. ”You talking to me? Why I want to hit him? Maybe you shouldn’t pry.” And with that, he headed off, presumably towards the predicitably vile bathroom facilities.

Nicholas held out a hand for the private to shake, the politeness hardwired into his subconcious overcoming the rank gap between them. "Don't worry about him. If he offended you, I can assure you he had no such intention. Lieutenant Ealing, Easy Company. You...new to the 3ID?"

Seemingly before the Italian-American could answer, Stephen re-entered and Toniatti suddenly left the table to follow him. Nicholas leaned back in his chair, suddenly feeling a tad put out. He rarely, if ever, had the expience of being ignored and it didn't sit well with him. He shrugged and gave the tiniest of nods to the barkeeper to bring another pint over to the table. He found himself wishing Peale would hurry up, if only so he would have someone to speak to.

A thought, quieter than her predecessors, suddenly managed to worm its way into Nicholas' head. Maybe Toniatti was....like Stephen. Maybe claiming not to know the corporal had been a ruse; after all, they had both excused themselves moments after the American's arrival. And even now they seemed to be hovering around near the bathrooms...

Nicholas scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Don't ask, he thought. Don't ask. Don't tell. Both men returned to the table - almost simultaneously Nicholas noted - and an odd silence descended once more. The Lieutenant hadn't felt as confused in a long time. The private had invited himself to the conversation. That wasn't how conversations worked...was it? Were chats liable to be invaded now?

"You know, you never told me your name, young man."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. It didn't look like the two were lovers, then. That made the man's presence a tad less uneasy. It didn't make what he had said any less impudent though. The barkeeper, a man who had grown fat on the cheerful alcaholism of the Amerian soldiers, scuttled over and placed Nicholas' drink on the table. The Lieutenant nodded his thanks and took a sip.

Lovely. Worth all the confusion in the world.

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

(ooc: lol is your head spinning yet ealing?)

Joey took a sip of his beer and turned to the slightly older man who was decorated with many achievements throught the war. he thought about how it must have been for him. to see everything he had seen throught the war. Joey stutered a bit when he talked as he was nervous "im Joey Toniatti, from baker company, and yes, im new to 3ID." Joey was affraid that he would be made fun of by the two older men in which they were decorated with many honors, and joey had... well nothing. he had never pullled the trigger on his rifle yet he always cleaned it every night. the man now starring at him made joey feel very nervous. joey thought to him self what that man was thinking. was he saying that joey was just another italian that came to america because of the same old reasons. or was he the italian that stole his familys jobs because he would work for less. either way joey was scared and very nervous sitting there. he spoke up again "and umm yes. im under the comand of LT. Strange.... sorry i came off wrong sir. it wont happen again." joey began to sip his beer again. he thought about the last beer he had drank. so smooth and it tickled his throat as it slitherede down. the beer was the only thing that was makeing him happy at the moment.

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen sat, staring at his pint of strong drink in his hands. He wanted to go home, or at least away from everyone and just hide in a hole someone and never come out. He did feel much better now that his face was cleaner.

He glanced over at the man who was called his horse’s name and gave a brief smile but the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end as the man who was a private…who was lower than him said…

"you know you never told me your name young man."

Did this man not know who he was talking to? Or did they do things differently in wherever he came from.

”How dare you call me young man Private.” he spat, his eyes suddenly alive with slight anger that he had never shown before apart from with his cousin Billy when the two had had fights. ”I am your superior and if I don’t want you to know my name then I don’t tell you.” he snapped slightly, and taking a sip of his drink. He glanced at Nicholas, his eyes now completely empty of anger. Why had this man come here over? What did he want? Stephen had been so close…so close of getting out of the army and this man had just walked over…

Stephen shook his head at the thought and looked over at Ealing, ”What you doing for the rest of the night sir?” his voice now much calmer.

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

Joey had only asked what this mans name was. he hadnt noticed what the mans rank was. joey thought to himself about how he was hated back home from the other teens at school with him and how they made fun of him every minute of the day. now this man was about to start with him. joey mumbled to himself quietly "great just met them and now they hate me, off to my lonely bunk then......" joey took one more sip of his beer and stood up "fine you drunk bastard." joey told the man as he began to walk away slowy. joey thought to himself, why am i hated? why do i screw up?

[Jonathan Strange]

The smell of diesel permeated Strange's entire world now. It was permanently embedded in every piece of clothing and item he owned. He wouldn't be surprised if even the letters he wrote home reeked of the fuel. And why? Because for the last few weeks he's spent almost every waking moment either in a deuce-and-a-half or in his halftrack, Lilith, trying to keep up with the German retreat across France following the breakout from Normandy. Every Army in France was trying desperately to keep pace with the Germans, fighting a dual battle against the Germans themselves and against their fuel gauges.

That was about to change however. The Germans had finally turned on their heels and dug in in Belgium, then launched a massive counter-offensive, smashing through the poorly supplied Allied lines. High command was throwing everything within reach at the problem. The 3rd Infantry Division was not within that reach. In fact, they wouldn't be heading anywhere near that particular fighting. No, they were being pulled from the rear to fill gaps in the front left by the armies racing north. To be more specific, they were plugging a hole in the Vosges Mountains in Alsace. To make matters even worse, winter was setting in with a vengeance. It was as if Mother nature herself were punishing humanity for it's wasteful destruction.

Strange had a small errand to attend to before he could lead his convoy of trucks and armoured vehicles into those mountains. The day before, Baker company, along with the rest of the brigade, had been given a few days leave. He now had to round them all up again, mid-binge. No doubt there would be a good deal of quiet grumbling-a snide comment here and there-but Strange knew they'd fall in line quickly. Duty had called, and they would answer. Besides, it wasn't as if Strange was any happier about the matter. He didn't exactly relish the idea of spending what was shaping up to be one of the worst winters in decades in a foxhole on the side of a mountain.

Strange was pulled out of a deep stream of thought as the (once) sleepy French town came into view through the gradually thicker snowfall. The lieutenant could make out some drunken soldiers stumbling about at the outskirts of the town. He could imagine the horrified looks on the faces of the villagers as foreign troops had descended upon their little world, filling their streets, inn, and tavern with rowdy young men. He honestly felt bad for them and wondered where they'd hid their daughters...

"Where to first, El-tee?" asked the driver as the convoy entered the town.

"Pull up to that larger building up ahead." Strange squinted out the windshield, trying to make sense of the sign dangling from the side the building through the fading twilight. "Yeah, its a bar. Good money says most of our boys are there... or near it..."

"You got it, sir."

Strange rapped on the slat behind him that separated the cabin from the main compartment in the back of the truck. Company First Sergeant Jean-Marc Godon, seated right next to it, quickly slid it open.

"Would you do the honors, Sergeant?" called Strange through the small opening. A curt reply followed and Strange exited the truck as it rolled to a stop in front of the tavern; leaving the biting cold of the truck and entering the stabbing cold of the outside world. Strange met Godon at the door and gave him a small nod. The sergeant returned and it and pushed in the door and began bellowing, while Strange merely stood silently at his side scanning the establishment for threats out of habit.

"Baker company, listen up! Break's been canceled by our good friend Jerry. We're moving out immedeatly. Fall in on your platoon sergeant outside." The room reverberated with Godon's voice for a moment before being over taken by a chorus of disappointed soldiers.

"What out stuff back at base, Sergeant?" shouted on tipsy soldier in the mass of bodies.

"Everything's being sent up behind us to out destination. Your platoon sergeants will fill you in on everything else. Now, get your asses outside and into the trucks."

Strange spotted a familiar face amongst those focused on him and Godon. Strange turned to the sergeant, "Make sure you round up all the stragglers outside and have someone check the inn across the street. I'm going to have a word with the lieutenant." Strange returned the sergeant's salute and waded through the torrent of GIs, making his way toward Ealing near the back on the building.

Open reaching his target, Strange gave his superior a small salute before addressing him, "Haven't seen you since Cherbourg, Ealing. Good to see that you're holding up fine. Same to your friend," Strange gave a curteous nod to the man seated next Ealing and continued, "New orders just came down from Patterson. We're redeploying today and tomorrow." Jonathan produced a small slip of paper from one of the pockets of his greatcoat and handed it over. "Here's the official dispatch, in case you haven't seen it already. Sorry I can't stick around to catch up with you, but I've some lost sheep to attend to." Strange saluted the lieutenant once more and turned to leave.

Just as he was about to walk away he caught sight of a rather tipsy GI lingering nearby, beer in hand.

"What are you waiting for, Toniatti? Move your ass. Jerry isn't going to wait on you." Strange shot an apologetic look over his shoulder to Ealing and his friend before herding the private out of the building and back out into the frigid dusk.

Once outside, he took stock of his flock slowly assembling around the trucks. Most of the men had been hanging around the bar and had already fallen into formation, but a steady stream was still pouring out of the inn on the opposite side of the street and a trickle from the surrounding areas. Godon approached him, and confirmed his observations giving Strange an estimate of five minutes before they could roll out. Satisfied, Strange mounted his truck once again eager to get back into the marginally warmer truck.

It wasn't long before the cacophony of voices petered out as the men piled into the trucks. At the five minute mark, right as Godon had estimated, the First Sergeant rapped on the side of Strange's truck; the signal to roll out. The truck slowly pulled forward leading the convoy off into the night.

(OOC: Joey, post your exit into the trucks next and we'll start up a separate thread to continue this, yeah?)

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

(occ: sounds real good bro.)

Joey had just finished his beer when he saw lueatanant strange walk into the bar. he had stood up and began to ease into the conversation between the two officers. mass invasion? attack with the convo outside? he couldnt believe what he was hearing, that he would finnally see some action. he had began to slowly walk to the door when he heard footsteps behind him. "What are you waiting for, Toniatti? Move your ass. Jerry isn't going to wait on you."

why was every officer so mean to me, joey thought to himself. he then began to walk behind his officer towards the door. joey had butterflys in his stomach as he was very excited to make it into some action. he made his way out of the door and saw almost all of baker company. he looked around to try and find a spot to sit when he couldnt find one he began to walk up to the front were he saw leautenant strange get into the cab of the truck. when he made it to the door he asked strange "theres no seats in the back, can i ride up here?"

(occ: well leave it here and you make the thread and ill follow you.)

[Nicholas Ealing]

"Fine, you drunk bastard!"

Nicholas watched with some surprise as the private stormed away from Corporal Colly. Although he had hardly enjoyed the man’s company, he did feel a small pang of pity for the young American. To Nicholas, pity was contagious. It clung on and didn’t let go. He felt too much of his time feeling sorry for people.

At least it’s better than feeling sorry for myself.

“Private,” said Nicholas, calling after the retreating American. “Listen, why don’t you come sit down with –“

"Baker company, listen up! Break's been cancelled by our good friend Jerry. We're moving out immediately. Fall in on your platoon sergeant outside."

Nicholas flinched involuntarily as the booming voice resounded throughout the pub. It took him a couple of seconds to remember that he was, in fact, an officer and had no more reason to obey the Sergeant’s will than he did to sprout wings and fly off to Prague. It always took the Lieutenant a moment to remember that he had at least some authority. Memories of when he had been a fresh-faced Second Lieutenant in Spain still lingered in his mind. He had been so inexperienced back then, he would have doubtless dropped and done fifty press-ups if a Junior NCO asked it of him.

Not all Second Lieutenants were like that, of course. Nicholas had been a weak, clumsy thing, prone to panicking in the heat of battle or just plain incompetence. It had taken a couple of battles – and a couple of dead Fascists – to turn him into a capable soldier. Jonathan Strange seemed like he had been born a capable soldier and, as he entered the pub amidst the whining of Baker Company, Nicholas couldn’t help but smile. His estimation of Strange was high and he liked to think that he had at least played a small part in training him up to the man he was today.

It looked like Baker Company was heading off to the front line. Many of Strange’s men had doubtless decided that Le Faucon Argenté, the best tavern in Normandy, was a sight more pleasant than the hungry eyes of a thousand German soldiers across a stretch of blood-stained peaks…

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t blame them.

The soldiers, each one looking somewhat mutinous or else too drunk to actually convey facial expressions, hobbled off towards Strange and his First Sergeant. One private, wrapped around a half-naked French girl, had to be dragged away with some effort by his companions.

The girl had the decency to look a tad embarrassed but didn’t dwell long. Nicholas was painfully aware that she had turned her gaze on the oblivious Stephen Colly with a flirtatious glint in her eye. Nicholas suspected that she was somewhat too big in the chest department – and somewhat lacking in Y-chromosomes - to be of much interest to the young Devonshire lad. Nicholas shook the boy’s predicament from his thoughts as Second Lieutenant Strange greeted him with a salute.

“Haven't seen you since Cherbourg, Ealing. Good to see that you're holding up fine. Same to your friend. New orders just came down from Patterson. We're re-deploying today and tomorrow. Here's the official dispatch, in case you haven't seen it already.”

Nicholas accepted the small scrap of paper and skimmed his eyes over the contents. So Baker Company was being sent off to Vosges, then? He didn’t envy them. The huge mountain range was a stone’s throw away from the German border where the enemy war machine was stronger than ever. There had already been some fighting on these precarious peaks, but few details ever came back to HQ. There was rarely anyone left to tell the tale. On either side.

“Sorry I can't stick around to catch up with you, but I've some lost sheep to attend to."

Nicholas grinned. “If you get any trouble, prod the buggers with a pitchfork. Works a charm, take it from me. I’ll see you back at base if we both survive the next coupla months. I reckon we’re long overdue a good drink.” He raised his glass and grinned. “Being off-duty is bloody fun, isn’t it? Dismissed, Jonathan. And good luck. ”

And with that, Baker Company exited the pub, looking almost as upset at the bartender who found himself suddenly surveying a half-empty pub. He looked as if he wanted to cry. Try fighting a war, you French bastard, Nicholas thought to himself, draining the second glass of the night. He nodded at the bartender for another round, knowing that this would have to be his last. Hopefully Peale would come back soon. Hat, he thought, or no hat.

The woman was still trying to catch Stephen’s eye. She had buttoned up her blouse, which Nicholas supposed was a good thing. But then…

She was still staring…

[Stephen Colly]

"Fine, you drunk bastard!"

To be honest, the boy felt sorry for the Private, he hadn’t meant to be rude to him and Nicholas obviously thought the same as he began to call the man back before suddenly another officer entered the pub, declaring for Baker Company to bugger off out of there…

Stephen just sat and watched as the men began to heave them selves away from their drinks and one away from the half naked French girl in the corner, or rather he was helped away by his comrades who had to practically drag the soldier out of the door and into the cold night air…

He felt slightly sorry for the soldiers having to leave the comfort of the pub and go to the front line, indeed Stephen found the idea rather to his disliking.

A man appeared at the table, the same man who had just entered and exchanged a few quick words with Ealing before exiting as swiftly as he had come, the pub suddenly rather silent compared to how it had been minutes before. The boy was oblivious to the fact that a girl was staring at him with a flirtatious glint in her eye, the same girl who had been straddling and kissing the Private soldier.

That was until Stephen happened to final realize someone was watching him when he looked up and met the girl’s eyes, she was just staring at him, buttoning up her blouse. The boy stared blankly back for a second or two and then glanced down at his drink, taking a gulp of it and looking over at Ealing.

”There’s a girl staring at me.” his voice held slight nerves, ”She keeps staring…” he muttered quietly, glancing at the girl as he spoke, ”It’s getting kind of creepy, I don’t like being stared at like that.” his eyes settled back on Ealing’s, completely naïve.

[Nicholas Ealing]

”There’s a girl staring at me. She keeps staring… it’s getting kind of creepy, I don’t like being stared at like that."

Nicholas glanced behind his shoulder to see if the French girl was still watching the young soldier. Yep. She was beautiful, that much was obvious. The kind of girl most soldiers lusted after, the kind of girl who hung on a poster in every squaddie's bunk. The kind of girl who broke more soldiers' hearts that Nicholas could count.

"Don't worry, lad," said Nicholas uneasily. This was not something he had sampled before. Comforting a young soldier because a gorgeous woman looked like she wanted to sleep with him. This was definitely a weird night. "She isn't going to rape you or anything, is she?" He flashed Stephen a grin and took another sip of the beer. Even the inexplicable entry and exit of the strange Italian-American soldier, even the fact that he was casually sitting next to, well, a criminal, even the fact that, all things told, the woman did look a bit like she was set to attack the young Englishman, he was cheerful. Genuinely cheerful. Unlike the corporal, he thought to himself.

There was a sadness there, flickering in his eyes. The boy had been through a lot, he was sure of it. But what? "What happened, Stephen?" he asked gently. "What happened to you-?"

Before the boy could answer, Nicholas was suddenly aware that someone had joined them. He could feel warm air on the back of his neck and closed his eyes in exasperation. The girl was behind them and had leaned in before Stephen. Nicholas could almost taste the alchohol on her breath. "Bonsoir," she giggled.

[Stephen Colly]

The girl was still staring; he could feel her eyes in the back of his head as he turned away a little to listen to Nicholas. It must be a strange night for the Welshman, the man had met a criminal for Christ’s sake even though the said criminal had not realized he was one, well he had but it hadn’t really dawned on him until now…

"Don't worry, lad," He glanced back at the woman, she was indeed very beautiful, a woman that Ed or Nathan would fall for, one that any soldier on the planet would fall for, one that Stephen annoyingly for him at times could not find any sort of attraction in her what so ever, apart from that he admitted she had nice hair.

"She isn't going to rape you or anything, is she?" Nicholas flashed him a smile and he gave a small but visible one back. No, most likely she wasn’t going to rape him but you never knew, no one knew what went on in women’s minds, especially ones like the woman who…who had disappeared from where she had been.

Ah shit.

Nicholas said something, gently and Stephen turned his attention back to the man, listening to the last sentence before…

”Bonsoir.”

How the hell had she got there so quickly?! Stephen now found himself staring at the woman, a laugh playing on said woman’s lips. He bit his lip, looking slightly terrified, her breast seemed to almost fall out of her blouse…he glanced at them and then back at her face.

”Umm.” he shifted slightly, wanting to move away from this intruding individual. ” Bonjour. Que voulez-vous?” he said in his best French accent. His voice not trying to be sexy, far from the point, his voice held an air of annoyance.

[Nicholas Ealing]

”Que voulez-vous?”

If Stephen had attempted to dismiss the young woman, he failed miserably. The girl just giggled again at his less-than-perfect French and tousled his hair playfully. Nicholas decided to take matters into his own hands. He got to his feet and held out a hand for the girl to shake, hoping to distract her from the young Englishman. "Bonsoir," he said cheerfully. His French was flawless; he was, after all, married to a Frenchwoman. "Nicholas Ealing, Lieutenant. Puis-je obtenir une boisson pour vous?"

The girl ignored him with relish.

Although Nicholas had no interest whatsoever in the girl, he still felt a tad put out. He accepted that he was nearing middle-age but he was a man in military uniform. Maybe it's the beard, he mused absent-mindedly.

Suddenly, the tavern's door swung open. Four grim-faced men entered, shivering slightly as they escaped the small blizzard raging outside. One of the men, a bulky, thickset man in farmer's garb, sporting a glorious moustache, stopped in his tracks and stared, open-mouthed, at Nicholas and his companions. My beard can't be that bad, thought the Lieutenant. The girl remained oblivious, still trying to gain Stephen's faintly terrified attention.

"Marie!"

The girl span around in horror. The man's face had mutated into nothing more than a lump of pure, unbridled fury. He was shaking. Actually shaking in a mad anger. "Gaspard," the girl breathed, crossing over to the newcomers, sobering up immediately and somewhat impressively. It took Nicholas a second to realise that something was wrong. His eyes widened in shock. The girl had a wedding ring on her finger.

The man bellowed and threw his wife out of the way, heading bull-like towards Nicholas' table. "Batard! Batard!" He hurledthe expletive relentlessly at the two soldiers. Nicholas swore under his breath as the man approached. A quiet night out at the pub. That's a bloody joke to begin with.

Nicholas stood between Stephen and the Frenchman, arms outstretched, body rigid. He looked 'Gaspard' dead in the eye, hoping the man would stand down before an officer of the U.S Army. "Monsieur," he said slowly and deliberately. "Ce n'est pas à quoi il ressemble." Yeah, of course, nothing’s wrong. Apart from the fact that, up until five seconds ago, your wife’s breasts were less than an inch away from an Englishman’s face. Frenchmen have killed for less.

For a second, everyone and everything was still. The two men, soldier and civilian, stared each other down. Gaspard’s three companions stood by, each one looking as though they would quite cheerfully help smash Stephen’s skull into the ground.”S'il vous plaît,” said Nicholas desperately. “Ne commencez pas à rien.”

The Frenchman roared. He surged forwards, wrapped his sausage fingers around Nicholas’ collar, and threw him backwards without one iota of effort. Nicholas smashed into the table amidst a sea of screams, sending glasses shattering to the floor. The Lieutenant crumpled to the floor in agony, as hell erupted in the tavern. The Frenchman, empowered by his swift victory against the Lieutenant, turned on Stephen, raining punch after punch down on him.

Nicholas blinked groggily, the tavern nothing more than a violent blur. Three American squaddies, disgusted at the way their commander had been treated had leapt to their feet and had managed to wrestle Gaspard from Stephen’s frail form. The Frenchman’s friends threw themselves into the fray, two of them brandishing smashed beer bottles. “Bugger,” Nicholas moaned, managing to force himself to his feet. “Stephen…bloody hell…Stephen…”

Even the casual drinkers at the bar had seemingly come to life. Months of anger at American soldiers eating their food, drinking their wine and stealing their women erupted within the four walls of that tavern. Nicholas, a dull pain throbbing mercilessly in the depths of his skull, came face to face with two weasel-faced civilians broken chair legs. They advanced, yelling drunkenly, swiping at Nicholas with their makeshift weapons. Nicholas ducked a particularly violent swing and leapt at his attackers. He drove them into a table near the blazing hearth fire, sending them sprawling among the shattered glass, screeching in pain.

Panting heavily, Nicholas surveyed the scene. The townsfolk has all leapt to the defence of the cheated Frenchman and it was the soldiers who had been forced to pay the price. The enemy could have a field day with a story like this; French civilians attack Allied “liberators”. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

Nicholas casually kneed a screaming Frenchman in the balls, before whipping out his revolver. He aimed at the tavern’s roof and squeezed the trigger with a resounding bang. Soldier and civilian froze and took a brief beak from tearing out one another’s throats. “Right!” snarled Nicholas. “Next one who moves gets a fucking bullet in the throat! Now shake hands and make up!”

Only one figure ignored him. It was one of Gaspard's friends. In one hand, he held a Molotov cocktail. It didn't look like he had any intention of drinking it. He ran awkwardly, obviously drunk out of his skull. "No," Nicholas managed to splutter. It was too late.

BANG!

The tavern went up in flames. For those outsie, it was probably quite a breathtaking sight; a burning beacon illuminating the night sky. For those inside, it had a very different effect. It was fortunate, therefore, that the majority of those inside were too dead to really pay attention...

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen felt the woman touch his hair, playing with it slightly and he battered at her hand, ”Get the fuck off.” he muttered, glaring slightly at her but she still didn’t seem to realize that he wanted her to go away.

Nicholas tried to talk to the woman but she ignored him…Stephen glanced over at him and saw that maybe the reason why the girl hadn’t been interested in Nicholas was because he looked rather old…older than the woman anyway.

The tavern door opened and Stephen didn’t really pay any attention to this until a shout rang through the air and the woman jumped away from him towards the four people who had just entered.

Oh shit. This didn’t look good…he glanced over at the woman who he now knew was called Marie…and he, like Nicholas saw that she had a wedding ring on her finger. And now Gaspard was marching over followed by three friends and shouting “Bastard, bastard.” Stephen quickly stood up alongside Nicholas who had just done and glanced over at him and then back to the man who looked like he was going to rip the throats out of the two of them.

I haven’t done anything….I haven’t done anything…it was your wife that is the whore here…you should have come in a few minutes ago and you would have been really angry…
Suddenly the Frenchman roared and grabbed Nicholas’ collar, throwing him into a table and then rounding on Stephen. The boy found himself getting punched for the second time in less than an hour.

Fist hit face and he found himself on the ground, toppling over his chair and hitting the floor, the punches kept coming, punch after punch. ”For fuck sake you fucking French bastard!” Stephen shouted at the Frenchman who probably didn’t even understand what was being said. He started hitting back, a surge of anger erupted in him because of how Nicholas had been treated and he wasn’t the only one, other soldiers who hadn’t gone off with Baker Company had risen to the challenge and the whole tavern was in chaos.

Stephen kneed the man in the balls and he screamed in pain. Stephen managed to get away and up and nearly found his head punched in again by someone swinging at him with a bottle, he ducked, quickly grabbing his pocket knife from the inside of his pocket that Ed had given him and began to wave it frantically at the man who had begun to attack him, suddenly…

BANG

Nicholas had broken the chaos by removing his revolver and shooting at the ceiling, people froze and for the first time since the chaos had begun, Stephen could look around and see that actually the whole place was up in arms apart from a few scared looking women and Marie in a corner, terrified.

Another large bang and…flames erupted from inside of the tavern thanks to one of Gaspard’s stupid friends and Nicholas’ self-defence.

It suddenly got very hot and a lot of screaming. Stephen was confused, so confused, people were running everywhere, screaming in French and English, all heading for the door, flames everywhere. Stephen begun to cough, he couldn’t see a thing, black smoke now filled the place and because of the punches he had occurred, he felt like he was going to pass out.

”NICHOLAS!” he shouted but then was stopped by a bout of coughing, he stumbled towards the door, or where he thought the door was….

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas crumpled to the floor as billowing smoke filled the small tavern. The Lieutenant was only vaguely aware of what was going on all around him. He merely stared blankly at the revolver in his hands. Had he fired a shot? Was it his fault? Had he...had he...?

The Frenchman who had wielded the flaming bottle now made a gruesome sight; the flames had latched onto his large body, flickering embers engulfing him entirely. A horrible scream erupted from his charred throat as he finally succumbed to the flames, collapsing to the floor, and setting the rug alight. He had paid for his stupidity with his life.

So had many others.

The fire had spread, a wall of flame trapping the coughing survivors. Nicholas looked up, his eyes blinded by furious tears. All of these people, all of these innocent people, were going to die for no reason whatsoever. A flash of selfishness came to the forefront of his mind and he hated himself for it: I'm going to die.

No. No!

He stumbled to his feet, blinking hot tears from his eyes. Everyone and everything was cloaked in a veil of smoke. He staggered forwards, keeping his head down, pressed against the torn material of his uniform. He hacked and spluttered pathetically as he moved, agonizingly slowly towards the door. It was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other...

Two women lay against the tavern's wall. Tears treamed down their faces, their efforts to suck in any oxygen completely in vain. One in particular looked seconds away from fainting completely. The Lieutenant gritted his teeth and staggered towards them. He threw them over his shoulders, glad that they weren't quite as fat as the Frenchman who had accosted them. One of the women, who Nicholas suddenly recognised as the "Marie" who had caused all of this mess, had enough spirit left in her to scream and thrash her arms against the Lieutenant. Nicholas ignored her, forcing himself to just go a little bit further...

He approached the door and suddenly felt his heart sink. Raging fires burned before the doorway, like some kind of hellish guard keeping the survivors in check. Nicholas knew there was only one possible course of action.

He ran. Through the wall of fire. To safety...

He screamed as he ran. A horrible, gut-wrenching roar as the flames tore into his flesh. He fell to the floor, crashing down onto the freezing snow. The girls had fallen from his grasp when he had lost his balance. They too had been badly burned in the mad dash and had suffered a fair few bumps from the fall but they were alive.

The tavern was completely up in flames by now. Nicholas, his vision blurry, stared up at the horrific beacon. Embers twisted up the building, entwined with the relentless stream of smoke and screams. It was the last sight Nicholas would see that night. His head was suddenly filled with nothingness as unconsciousness finally took him.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.