Fish, Fish, and More Fish

[SGT. Brian Baker]

Date: June 30, 1944
Location: 4 miles outside Paris, France, 1 mile near 3ID base. Countryside near a clear, foresty lake.
Weather: Brisk wind, roughly about 70 degrees farenheit, small amount of clouds with the sun shining though

Through war, there is little time for peace and privacy, for the men fighting and dieing. For what? A madman keen on world domination, the ultimate power over the entire world? Yep, along with the Allies' personal objectives as well. What would happen with the war? The United States and Soviet Union would be the new Super Powers of the world. Great Britain had suffered dearly through men and resources, that they would never recover so quickly as the Americans and Soviets could. However, Baker wouldn't think of the war now. He had gotten a fishing pole, some bait, and some nice smokes to relax in the French countryside.

Baker placed his rifle on a rock and put his bag down next to the rifle. He then looked around the lake, the ruptorous mountains surrounding the lake and the trees swaying in the wind. "Beautiful."Baker said to himself. He remembers fishing at Lake Pearl with his father, the two just enjoying their time together and the peace at the time, the peace away from their own personal problems. It was a time of reflection, spening quality time with ones self and someone you love.

Baker grabbed his pole and some worms from the can, slithering the worm onto the hook. He swung the pole back and then lurched it forward towards the lake, the string stretching a good couple of yards and making a small splash in the glimmering water. The young sergeant found a small boulder to sit on and wait for the bite.

[Nicholas Ealing]

OOC: Hope you don't mind me joining in.

Lieutenant Ealing moved through the undegrowth, revolver clenched firmly in his hands. A bead of sweat ran down his nose as he narrowed his eyes, listened. He listened for footsteps, voices, breathing...anything. But there was nothing. The forest was completely silent. The quiet made the officer uneasy; even the chirping of the birds had vanished.

Nicholas was searching for an escaped prisoner of war, a German corporal captured some time ago by Patterson's men. Locked up in the base's cells, he had been left to rot. The corporal had obviously had mixed views on this situation and, just hours earlier, he had killed the guards and made good his escape. The guards had been mere boys and Nicholas wanted revenge.

He pushed through the dense woodlands and found himself blinking in the glare of the mid-day sun. He was in the forest clearing and, there, sitting silently by a wonderfully calm lake, was...someone.

He was wearing an American uniform but, still, Nicholas advanced cautiously. From what he could see, the unsuspecting man resembled the escaped soldier and Nicholas wasn't going to take any chances. Perhaps he had killed an American sergeant and donned his uniform to escape the area unnoticed? It wasn't exactly likely, but over the years, Nicholas had learned to take every possibility into consideration.

He cocked his revolver.

"State your name, rank and serial number, soldier," he said, through gritted teeth. If the fisherman was who he thought he was, then he would recieve a bullet in the brain.

[SGT. Brian Baker]

The waves of the lake swayed to the left and right from the brisk wind. This was nice, there were no distractions, no screams of war and nobody else around. He took a deep breathe and relaxed as he waited for the fish to bite. They should be biting at this time, since it was the summer and the weather was just right.

It was unusual, however, that the birds had vanished, and there was complete silence. The only noise that was made was the wind and at times, fish jumping in the water. If Baker were to catch a fish, he'd probably end up cooking it because he was getting sick of the food that the chow hall had to offer. Yesterday's meal was mashed potatoes and meatloaf. That was probably the best thing he had to eat in a while because he was used to canned goods when he was on the front. This would have been due to supply line troubles, whether they were disrupted by the Germans, or they were needed elsewhere.

Just as Baker was about to reel in a fish, he heard something behind him. Before he could turn around, he heard a Revolver cock at the back of his head. Then, the man holding the gun said, "State your name, rank, and serial number, soldier." What was this?, thought Baker. Is this guy insane? The man was english speaking with no German accent, so he wasn't a kraut. Perhaps the soldier had gone awhol and was killing any soldier he could find. Either way, Baker wasn't going to risk it. "Sergeant Brian Baker, serial number 431-78-0000, sir." The man did seem familiar to Baker, but couldn't quite think of who it was.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas lowered the revolver as the Sergeant spoke. It was obvious that he wasn't the man he was looking for; the Lieutenant swore under his breath. It had been stupid of him to suspect otherwise. What kind of escaped convict took the time out of his day to enjoy a spot of fishing?

"Sergeant Brian Baker, serial number 431-78-0000, sir," said the American. He didn't look particularly scared, more confused. This, Nicholas reasoned, was a fairly good sign. He recognised the name Baker but had never properly spoken to the NCO. He vaguely remembered reading his file a few months back; able, intelligent, good with the men. Good with fish as well, presumably. He was also faintly pleased that there was a man in the division whose name was an illiteration.

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant Baker," he grinned, trying to cover up the fact that he had just pointed a gun at the poor man's back and doing so rather well. "Just a little test, you understand. See what a chap would do in the situation." His rounded English accent, layered with a quietly melodic Welsh lilt, felt out of place among the sea of U.S soldiers that made up the 3ID. Oddly, since leaving Great Britain, Nicholas had tended to exaggerate his British accent somewhat, perhaps in a bid to emphasise his own independence. "Enjoying a nice spot of fishing then, Sergeant?"

He moved over to where Baker was sitting, and sat down at his side with a grin, rubbing his hands together as a shield against the harsh, French wind. "You haven't seen anyone acting suspiciously, have you, Baker? Bloke in American uniform, tall, well-built, dark hair. Maybe a bit shifty? Anything?"

[SGT. Brian Baker]

It was a relief to Sergeant Baker that the man holding the revolver to his head was not some crazed nut gone awol, or was he? If this soldier was killing his fellow comrades, Baker would be dead. Feeling the revolver lower, the Sergeant slowly turned around, trying not to arouse the man. Baker got a good look at the man, he was a Lieutenant. He had an English accent, could have been part of an Allied Division that was not American; he didn't know. Baker's M1 was still up against the rock, so the Lieutenant hadn't seized the rifle. He wasn't crazed.

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant Baker," the man said as Baker straightened himself out. He placed the pole into the ground, not caring if he caught a fish anymore. The young Sergeant wanted to straighten this out. "Nice to meet you too, sir, and I completely understand. I suppose I passed?" he said, trying to make a joke. It wasn't a time of jokes, however. "It is a nice day for fishing, sir. This is the first place I have found near the 3rd Infantry Division's base to fish, sir."

Brisk wind blew over the lake to where the two soldiers were. Baker was used to the cold, being from the northeast back in America and whatnot. Starting in mid-September, the air began to cool down from the dense summer heat and the cold would stay from the fall all the way to early/mid April. Being from Massachusetts and all, he was used to the cold. He recalled playing in the snow with his brothers and the other kids from the neighborhood. There was also the time when they were playing football in the Bakers' backyard while the parents watched and talked about politics and such.

The Lieutenant took a seat next to him, trying to shield himself from the cold. He then asked, ""You haven't seen anyone acting suspiciously, have you, Baker? Bloke in American uniform, tall, well-built, dark hair. Maybe a bit shifty? Anything?"." Baker stared into the lake, thinking. There was that one Private Baker saw along the way to the lake.

"Yes, sir, I did see someone. He was a Private, his sweat dripping and all of that. He was carrying an M1 Garand but didn't have a bag. I stopped him and asked where his equipment was. He mumbled something and then continued on. I tried stopping him but a truck drove in front of me and when it passed, he was gone. I didn't think of going after him, but probably should have. Why, is there something wrong, sir?"

[Nathan Whyte]

Closure

[/u][/center]
It's a shame this thread didn't carry on, I can see it got cut off in it's prime. Anyhizzle...

SGT. Baker Two fairly short posts, and one longer one, all good quality. - 5CP
LT. Ealing Only two from you, Rhys, and I'm very dissapointed in you. Not one looks like it took more than a page in MSWord! - 3CP.

This could have had a much larger payout if it went all the way through, but what are you gonna do about it?[/color]