The Three Jackals (18+)

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

OOC: This thread is separate to the Edward McMillan storyline, I just wanted to start a progressing thread showing Liam’s deterioration; I ask that only one person join this thread please and by joining, you understand any risks you may put your character at - I won’t kill you, obviously, but you could either make an enemy or befriend Brentwood from this thread. Read on, you’ll understand more. Just want to thicken Liam’s storyline.

* Content displayed in this thread is for users of a mature age, with graphical violence and gore displayed throughout. *

IC:

Settings:
Terrain: Nearby forest in occupied France.
Time: 2045hrs
Weather: Clear skies, but breezy.

“Hurrghhh!!! Hurrghhh!!!”[/b] the curdling cries shrieked from within the dense woodlands, as Captain Brentwood dug his knee into the chest of a male beneath him, outfitted with the standard grey German tunic; Liam’s sharpened bayonet sinking into the man’s chest, his eyes widened by madness and his lips pursing to usher out a soft “Shhhhh…” as if it would comfort the dying soldier beneath him. With both hands clasped around the grip to his bayonet, Captain Brentwood leant down against the blade, gradually sinking through the man’s flesh, grinding past one of his ribs in the process, causing Liam to push even harder to break through the bone in the way.

The German male grew silent, gasping for breath as his blooded hands scraped against Liam’s face, leaving blooded smudge marks across his cheeks and forehead, before succumbing to a slow and painful death, as his arms slumped down against the dirt. “Fucking deserved it Sir” Sergeant Riley spat out, flicking his cigarette into the dirt, as he reached down to grab at yet another victim dressed in the German tunic, lifting the young boy’s body up just enough to shove forwards into the dirt again - his whimpering satisfying their sadistic feel for power, as the teenage boy muttered out gibberish words in German, grabbing at the dirt almost desperately as he began to cry and sob.

Liam lifted himself from the corpse beneath his body and yanked his bayonet from out of the man’s chest, a smug long grin stamped across his face as he wiped the blade clean against his white vest. Liam’s tunic and hat hung from a tree branch, same with Sergeant Riley’s and Sergeant White’s, all three men clothed in their military tank-tops (white vests, not cameo) and their combat trousers. The dangling noise of their dog-tags rattling every now and again with a sudden movement, as the identity tags had nothing to hold them down, such as a tunic or shirt dressed over their dog tags. So the frequent rattling noise made them sound like animals with collars now, a pack of dogs moving about in the dark, laughing, grunting and playing with their prey…

Sergeant White remained silent, leant against a tree with their gear hanging loosely from several branches, smoking a cigarette, just watching quietly from afar. “These bastards raped several woman…” Captain Brentwood angrily foretold his two accomplices, pulling out a scuffled piece of paper from his back pocket, coated in blood stains from his hands almost immediately. “You’re an evil little bastard, ain’t ya!?” Captain Brentwood said towards the cowering boy, kicking him in the side of the face with his strapped boot, causing the young German boy to twist his body and fall upon his back, clutching at his mouth. Crunching up the document between his hands, Liam stood over the young boy with his legs either side and slowly fell to his knees, stabbing his bayonet into the dirt beside himself. Using his free hand, Liam pulled the boy’s hands away from his mouth, blood pouring from his chin as he sputtered out another whimpering moan of some sort; A chunk of the boy’s tongue was missing from where Liam must’ve kicked his jaw shut against it, but that didn’t stop the frenzied officer, as he began to shove the document into the young man’s mouth, clamping his mouth closed with both hands afterwards.

“Now you fucking swallow that, you evil little bastard” Liam angrily said between clenching his teeth, watching as the young boy began to panic, thumping his hands against the officer’s chest; Captain Brentwood merely squeezed the boy’s nostrils closed, with his palms pushed down against the youngster’s mouth. “SWALLOW IT!” Liam yelled into the boy’s face, watching as the young kraut began to turn purple and blue, continuing to struggle beneath him. Sergeant Riley laughed in the background, completely amused by what he was watching, whilst Sergeant White remained conspicuously quite, smoking his cigarette casually.

Suddenly letting go of the boy’s mouth and nose, Liam leant back and watched as the German kid spat out the tattered piece of paper, followed by a mouthful of blood. Grinning, Liam patted the boy on the cheek roughly and turned to look at Sergeant Riley, trying to stop himself from laughing. “Ain’t done with this little fucker yet - give me a cigarette” he ordered, watching as Sergeant Riley fiddled out his pack of cigarettes, walking over to slip one between the officer’s lip, before pulling out a silver lighter to spark a light for the officer, who was covered more in blood then the rest of them.

Winking at Riley once he’d given and lit him a cigarette, the blooded officer ran a hand through his hair and watched the young boy who was panting for air still beneath him; Wondering what to do next with the little bastard.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Lieutenant Nicholas Ealing breathed softly, a foreboding mist sweeping from his chapped lips only to disappear in the already pitch black sky. Breathing was the only thing he could really do now; it was the only thing he could control, the only thing he could concentrate on. It was strange...if he just...stopped breathing...everything would end.

Strange how fragile life was. Its fragility was, of course, what made it so precious. But all lives ended, precious or otherwise.

Like the life of the British soldier. The British soldier lying at the Lieutenant's feet.

Nicholas wasn't sure how long he had been dead. But he reckoned he knew how he had spiralled into the all-consuming darkness. The red stain that blossomed through the tattered remnants of his tunic was all the evidence he needed. He had been shot, that much was obvious. But then lots of people got shot.

But this felt different.

Perhaps it was the stillness of the forest, the silence, the coldness. Perhaps it was just the way his body had been discovered, sprawled out pathetic and eagle-spread on the blood-stained floor, all alone. Perhaps it was the fact that he had evidently never had anyone to share his last words with. Or maybe it was just that after seeing so many deaths, it was just one death too many.

Whatever the reason, Nicholas did feel different. He felt numb, he felt detatched, he felt...cold. As ice. He wanted revenge. On everyone, on anyone. Particularly the men who had ripped his entire family to shreds. But they could wait. There were Nazis in the forest evidently. They would be the first ones to die.

And Nicholas Ealing suddenly realised that he had never had such an urge to kill.

"Must be some more of the enemy in the forest, sir," said Corporal Lynch, stating the painfully obvious. Nicholas glanced over his shoulder; he had forgotten about his three companions.

"Looks like it," said Nicholas shortly. "Come on. Rifles out. Constant vigilance. Any sudden movements, fire at will,"

The three NCO's all made vague head movements that resembled neither a nod not a shake of the head. Nicholas chose to believe that they understood what he had ordered; he wasn't going to explain again in any case.

The four men moved swiftly through the undergrowth. They were just another scouting party; four men searching for any fleeing Germans who fancied their chances in the heart of the forest wilderness. The nearby Allied town was controlled by the British; Nicholas and his American troops were just...flotsam and jetsam...floating through Europe wherever the path took them. Thinking back, Nicholas hadn't seen the 3ID HQ for months. He was...lost.

But he had a gun, he noted, which was always a help.

The men trudged through the hardened earth, every hoot of an owl, every chirp of a nearby cricket sounded horribly like the cocking of a pistol. Every step they took could be their last. Nicholas' mind was as dark as the night sky. He remembered being so happy once. But only faintly. For weeks now...it had been darkness. And emptiness. The Lieutenant wished he could be happy again, even for just a few moments. But, with every foreboding step he took, the more and more he doubted he would ever escape the blackness.

Suddenly, Nicholas heard an ungodly sound. A cross between a scream, a roar and a cry for a mercy he would never have. The sound of ripped flesh and splintered bone mingled with the victorious grunts of an unknown figure until the world stopped shaking and the forest descended into its natural stupor. Well...not quite. There was still a faint sound coming from the heart of the forest. People were talking or...was it shouting? In English or in German or in whatever Godforsaken language, Nicholas didn't know. But he guessed the latter. And his guesses usually payed off.

The Lieutenant signalled for his men to follow him and without hesitation, he moved through the undergrowth, following the ever-growing sound of the enemy. They were so close, he could practically taste the blood that hung in the air. He kneeled down behind the cluster of trees that surrounded the heart of the forest and held up three fingers. One fell, leaving two. A second fell, leaving one. The final finger fell.

The men charged through the trees and raised their weapons to their shoulders. The men each trained their weapons on the men around them. Three, Nicholas counted instantly. His own Bren was pointed directly at the form of the commander. Nicholas looked him up and down and his snarl was instantly replaced with disbelief.

It was a Captain. A British Captain.

He closed his eyes painfully, begging that the entire night had been some kind of nightmare. He dropped his weapon to the floor and gestured for his men to do the same. With his hand now free, Nicholas brought his arm up into a salute.

"Apologies, sir," he said as stiffly as he could. He did not recognise the officer but he understood that the ranking chain was tantamount to the law in the military, be it American or British. He spoke in a clear monotone, the one that betrayed no emotion whatsoever. A tone that betrayed no insolence. A tone he had learned to pick up when he had been a common soldier. All those years ago...

"We heard voices and assumed that you were the enemy, sir. One cannot be too careful in the forest," he cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Nicholas Ealing," he said, introducing himself. "The U.S Third Infantry Division, Third Armoured Brigade,"

His eyes suddenly darted to the young German private, lying pathetically on the mossy earth. The Captain was smudged with blood. What the hell was going on?

"Apologies again, sir," the Lieutenant added hastily. He hated himself for his foolishness. He had more or less attacked a senior officer. Nicholas Ealing, golden boy of the Battle of Rocherath Battery, humiliated for jumping out at his own allies like a child scared of his shadow.

He had pointed a gun to a Captain's face. That was more than enough to damage a Lieutenant's reputation...

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

OOC: I wouldn’t have blamed you for keeping your guns pointing, mainly because Liam and neither of the two Sergeants are wearing their tunics; So no chevrons or pips are on display. None the less, I take it as a compliment that Liam is well known. Hehe!

Also, no-more people enter this thread please!!! I just asked for one and thankfully I got someone who’s more than capable of keeping me busy for a while. Fantastic post by the way Rhys.

IC:

The young German soldier beneath Captain Brentwood continued to squirm and pant for a longing breath, the young boy’s entire jaw line and chin was completely covered in blood, spit and paper from the document he’d forced into the boy’s mouth; In some way, hoping the Kraut would choke on such allegations of rape charges made by several of his comrades when occupying the local French town. In a twisted way, Captain Brentwood was striving justice of his own, but was it really just an underlying way of appeasing his newfound pleasures?

Sucking on the cigarette between his lips, Captain Brentwood plucked the cigarette shortly after with his blooded fingers and exhaled lengthily, flicking the ash on the German boy beneath himself. Sergeant Riley remained close by, but gave enough space for the Captain to strive his own justice on the two Krauts they’d caught nearby, it wasn’t them who dragged the Captain out on this man-hunt, it was quite obviously Captain Brentwood, so these kills were his own for the taking; But a good officer never left his men out on the fun and noticeably realising Sergeant White’s silent presence, Captain Brentwood deemed on getting him more involved on the night’s gag, but before Captain Brentwood could muster up enough breath to call over to Sergeant White, the three men were set on high alert as a squad of soldiers came bursting from out of the brush, rifles at the ready.

In a barbarian fashion, Captain Brentwood snatched his bayonet dug into the dirt and pounced to his feet from off the German boy, turning to face the assailants with a stance almost ready to pounce on them, whether it killed him or not. Sergeant Riley uncannily done the same, as he unsheathed his bayonet, wielding the blade facing downwards, with his arm raised in the air slightly, ready to drop the blade down towards the nearest Kraut he could reach - Sergeant White however reached out for one of the holsters hanging from the tree and pulled out Brentwood’s Webley revoler, before grabbing at one of the Sten SMGs also hanging nearby. The ‘Three Jackals’ may have been unsuspecting, but their quick reactions were deadly and almost fearless, as they pretty much seemed willing to die fighting.

Then, Captain Brentwood pulled a questionable look from beneath the mask of blood smeared across his face and neck, as their assailants turned out to be American soldiers, with an officer who abruptly dropped his weapon and saluted, realising the mistake they’d made. The American Officer’s men quickly lowered their weapons and retreated from the offensive stance they once had, which reassured both the British Sergeants, who slowly done the same, but disappointed the Captain who reluctantly lowered his bayonet, watching the Lieutenant stiffen up and salute in a traditional fashion that all senior officers enjoyed to see. Captain Brentwood wasn’t a very traditional officer and only expected such pleasantries on particular parades or duties, whereas being in the woodlands in the fog of dark didn’t really give him a kick from being saluted, but he understood the man’s need to be respectful to a senior officer and grinned widely in response.

“You should have shot me Lieutenant…” the Captain said boldly and perhaps a little surprisingly? “Because I would have shot you, having been in your shoes” he said with another crooked grin, slowly approaching the Lieutenant as he stepped over the moaning Kraut who was in too much pain to even move, but merely writhe and squirm. “Let’s face it Lieutenant, you would rather be safe then sorry, I know I would be - Captain Brentwood, Seventh Armoured Division” he introduced himself, whilst wiping his blooded hand down his trouser leg to hold out, expecting the fellow officer to shake it. A bit of blood never hurt anyone, plus, a flourishing and good Lieutenant of the ranks wouldn’t regard a bit of blood or dirt as being much of a bother; It was the ‘pompass’ ones that Captain Brentwood didn’t like, the ones with rich family ties and boyish ways, where their clothing would be immaculate, even in mid-battle. So Captain Brentwood was testing the waters with the fellow Lieutenant on the start - would he shake his hand?

Whilst he awaited a humble handshake, Captain Brentwood glanced to the Lieutenant’s men, hoping the sight of the party they’d stumbled into didn’t churn their stomachs, the way Captain Brentwood saw it, was more the merrier on this monumental event.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas shaked the man's blood-smudged hand gratefully. He was more than a little surprised to discover that the man before him was Liam Brentwood. He knew little about him, of course, but everything he head heard about the Captain had been positive. A respected officer, firm but fair, destined for great things.

And now here he was. Standing over a twitching body. In a lightless forest. Grinning madly. Covered in blood.

Nicholas removed his hand from the British officer's grip and knelt down to retrieve his discarded weapon. He kept his eyes on Brentwood and grasped his now slightly-bloodies hands over the cold metal of the weapon. He stood up, weapon in hand. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it bit he felt safer. Less vulnerable.

As a child, Nicholas had been afraid of the dark. The phobia had been knocked out of him of course - he could hardly bring a night light with him on active service - but he always felt somewhat...uncomfortable...in the dark. It was fear of the unknown, he supposed. And you can't defend yourself against the dark.

"It has to be said, Captain," said Nicholas with a wan smile, the eeriness of the surroundings sending a chill up his spine. "It is good to see a British face in times like this. Being in a U.S division, you know. The entire United Kingdom could have been ripped to shreds and I would have been none the wiser. The yanks are good enough in a crisis, though, aren't you lads?"

The three corporals grinned and replied in the affirmative. Well, Nicholas thought to himself, theyw ere hardly going to say no, were they? His words were true, anyway. Better a British face than a German one in any case.

The Lieutenant turned again to the blood-splattered German soldier, lying ensanguined and in a crumpled mess on the floor. He could have been no older than nineteen. And he was being...murdered?

Nicholas' barely-suppressed superstitious side offered many suggestions of what was happening. He had heard of strange men, driven mad by loneliness or hate, turning to paganism...to...cannabalism. Perhaps this was some kind of heathen ritual? Maybe even homosexual?

No, that didn't make sense. The rational side of Nicholas' consciousness took over. He was probably just a prisoner; maybe he put up a fight and they had to fight back? The wounds he had sustained seemed horribly...specific. It was almost as if he had been beaten to an inch of his life. With enough strength in his body to cling onto life but enough agony coursing through his veins for him to wish that he could just...let go.

Nicholas was not a fan of sadistic torture. He had seen what Erhard Strumfelder had done to the corporal, Joe Claude and probably countless other Allied soldiers, unlucky enough to fall into his machiostic grip.

There was that name again. Strumfelder. It seemed to follow him around wherever he went, dogging his footsteps across the continents. He would kill him one day, he thought to himself. He had never been more certain of anything in his life. Who knew? Befriending Captain Brentwood could be something of a help in sending the twisted bastard to Hell.

Surely there must be men in the Desert Rats that had suffered at the medic's hands? He would look into it, he told himself. Perhaps this chance meeting in the dark could prove to be beneficial in the near future...

"So, whose the Jerry?" asked Nicholas, trying to mask his sympathy for the boy. "Prisoner of War?"

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Once the Lieutenant grasped Captain Brentwood’s hand, the blooded officer grinned and tightened his fresh-hold of a grip upon the junior officer’s flesh, making sure it was a tight squeeze to numb his fingertips. Captain Brentwood couldn’t stand a weak handshake, so he made sure the Lieutenant got a firm grip from the Captain’s hand, with a mild shake erupting from the forearm and wrist shortly afterwards - a man’s handshake. Right?

Feeling the Lieutenant break from his grip, Captain Brentwood casually looked away and plucked at the cigarette burning ever lower upon his lips, inhaling stiffly through the hardened tobacco, cautiously watching the officer and his men quietly, whilst the man spoke to him on grounds of being happy to see a familiar face? Before making quite an insulting remark to a proud Englishman. Captain Brentwood didn’t despise the Americans, he just fucking hated them! The British, Canadians, Polish, Austrians, New Zealanders and crikey, even the French - had all put up a stiff arduous fight for long enough, before the damned Americans even differed to get involved. So Captain Brentwood wasn’t too fond of their overseas cousins, mainly because of the belated entrance to the war, which saw a lot of good Tommy’s fall to the clutches of the evil Nazi bastards. Something that could have easily have been avoided from the beginning, had the Americans upholstered the British ranks.

“Heh…” Captain Brentwood replied to his remark and question directed towards his differing men a few meters away, merely watching them quietly, before noticing the officer before-himself direct his attention abruptly to the ‘prisoners’ they had cascaded across the brush; Blood staining the Earth and spatters marking the trees within the dim glow, it seemed as if the German soldiers were quite adamantly being tortured. “Who’s the Jerry?” Captain Brentwood repeated once the Lieutenant asked, his grin forming into a blank stare as he spat onto the blooded blade grasped between his hands, using his stained white vest to clean it roughly, glaring at the officer before him the whole while.

“The Jerry’s a rapist dear ol’ chap” the Captain boldly foretold the fellow officer, glancing to the squirming child who clutched at the dirt, wavering between limbo and reality at the moment. “These two bastards were found raping two young girls in a basement cellar as our regiment quietly passed through the nearby town, they were taken prisoner. Then several woman came forwards over the past few days, filing rape accusations on a dozen or more Nazis that were holding the town before we came rolling in, didn’t put-up much of a fight mind-you, but that’s not the case…” the Captain explained, dropping his vest from cleaning the blade and gripping at the handle tightly as he slowly walked towards the young boy curled up into the dirt. “These bastards - Lieutenant - even raped an eight year old girl, can you believe that?” he shot at the fellow officer, turning his head to look at the man with a frozen stare, before facing the Kraut on the ground again. “You know, they were going to ship these two into a p-o-w camp, feed them tea and biscuits, tell these wankers that the war is over for them -- Our own boys don’t even get that treatment on the frontlines Lieutenant” the Captain explained further, tossing the dot-end of a cigarette from off his lips and into the foliage nearby, winding himself up the more he thought about what the bastards had done.

“I don’t agree with that…” the Captain finally lisped out, as he leant down to angrily tug at the back of the boy’s tunic, lifting his torso from off of the ground, just enough for Liam to hoist his other arm up under the boy’s chest to lift to his feet. The young Nazi’s legs wobbled as Captain Brentwood supported the blooded faced German boy’s body, standing behind him to hold his body upright, using his hand to yank the boy’s head back and show the Lieutenant his blooded dazed face. “Don’t be fooled Lieutenant!” the Captain barked, glancing to the young boy as he breathed heavily, his eyes rolling about some from feeling dazed. “He’s not so innocent you know” the Captain laughed, before shoving the boy off towards the Lieutenant’s feet, with a full hardy thump as the youngster hit the ground face first. “If you feel sorry for him Lieutenant, put him out of his fucking misery. If not, let your boys get a piece of justice our national system doesn’t allow us to distribute to these scum… Fucking giving them crumpets and tea, because they decided to throw their weapons down” the Captain bawled, telling the truth, how it was.

The Allies were fools, they took prisoners of war openly and gratifyingly, feeding, bedding and even giving them a better home they ever had back in Germany; Yet these were the bastards that were raping woman, torturing children and executing innocents in the thousands every day and they were still taken prisoner!? Fuck ‘em! Is what Captain Brentwood thought and quietly, his eyes watched the Lieutenant, whilst his two Sergeants eerily done the same, as if all three men looked like savaged animals through the dark; Sharing their prey?

[Nicholas Ealing]

The Lieutenant listened with bated breath as the Captain explained the situation. He couldn't keep his eyes from the Englishman's gaze; the man was also hypnotic. There was something in his eye, a half-forgotten fire that seemed to burn relentlessly. Nicholas knew how to read faces and he could tell that the man before him was angry at the whole world. He was clearly on the edge of madness and falling fast. Descending into madness seemed an oddly attractive possibility. The insanse don't have consciences...

Nicholas felt pure, unbridled fury ripple through his blood-stream. He cursed himself for ever having felt sorry for the pathetic specimen that lay like a rag-doll on the harsh, unfeeling ground. He was scum. Filth. Nicholas stood entranced as Brentwood continued speaking and for a second, he thought the Captain would put the Nazi out of his misery. Instead, he hurled the man's semi-limp body at Nicholas' feet. For the second time that night, Lieutenant Nicholas Robert Ealing found himself standing in a puddle of someone else's blood.

"My nephew was eight years old," he murmured, addressing Brentwood but more or less talking to himself. The surroundings grew blurry, transparent, until he found himself staring at the lifeless bodies of the children murdered by the man he hated more than any other. "He was murdered by...men...men like this. Along with one hundred other children. Imagine it, Captain, one hundred boys and girl between six and fifteen on the Channel Islands. Some British, some French, all innocent. They took them on a boat to Germany but some died on the trip; they found my nephew washed up nine days later,"

Nicholas stared down at the whimpering German boy - for he could have been no older than nineteen - staring up at him, his eyes begging for mercy. Nicholas didn't see a German soldier. He saw Erhard Strumfelder's cruel, mocking face staring at him. And laughing.

"They took girls, as well," he continued, his voice shaking. "As...as sex slaves. Some of them as young as seven and these bastards took them from their homes. To rape them, to kill them, to sell them, I don't know. All I know is...they'll never see home again. Two men, Captain. One has destroyed more lives than I can count, the other killed my best friend's brother, a man called Bevan. Erhard Strumfelder and William Luther. But as far as I'm concerned, every fucking Nazi is the fucking same!"

The Lieutenant grabbed the German soldier by the bloodied throat and shoved him against the mossy bark of an oak tree. The man's eyes were almost bulging from their sockets as the passage of oxygen was refused entry to the brain. Nicholas felt tears prick into his eyes as Strumfelder's face turned into his nephew's. He brought his free hand into the air and bunched his fingers into a fist before slamming it into his victim's face. The man's volcano nose burst and blood erupted down the man's already horrifically scarred face.

The man was crying now. The final humiliation. He could barely breath as the tears mingled with the blood and the pure essence of desperation and terror splashed to the floor. Nicholas knew the figures. Three minutes of suffocation meant brain damage, five meant death. Coudl he keep going for that long? Could he watch the candle of a man's life flicker and die and...cause it to go out? The man deserved it, that much was sure. But...he'd rather give Brentwood the pleasure. He would rather his first...first murder...to be rather more meaningful.

The Lieutenant released the man's throat in one deft moment and the man crashed back to the floor, hacking coughs racking his body as he clamped a hand around his bruised throat. Nicholas took a step back and realised that he had been crying silently even more than the man he had nearly killed. His eyes were red rimmed.

He turned back towards the Captain and observed him helplessly but...he couldn't see him. He couldn't see anything not...not properly. They were there but not...not really there. He smiled almost manically as he realised that this was surely what death must feel like.

He keeled over backwards and thumped down on the uncaring forest floor.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

The Lieutenant opened up the moment the German grunt was thrown to the man’s feet, Captain Brentwood’s eyes softening as he listened full heartedly to the man’s story, remaining deadly silent as he stood there beneath the trees, coated in spatters of drying blood all over his white vest, with smudged fingerprints tainting his skin all over. It was almost like the final reckoning, the wide open moon above casting a dim light into the small clearing of the woodlands they were perched within, silhouettes of figures littering the surrounding area; Where the Lieutenant’s men stood or Captain Brentwood’s men lingered, it truly was an eerie sensation and the atmosphere was immensely deep.

Listening the whole while to the Lieutenant talk of the poor souls taken from the Channel Islands, the Captain bowed his head quietly and as if subliminally paid tribute to their loss of innocence; The Nazis were cruel bastards, there wasn’t enough words to sum up the evil in such men within this world and the Captain merely strode a silent note - simply listening to the fellow officer speak of his loss and the loss of many others. The names of the German soldiers fore spoken by the Lieutenant didn’t ring any bells, but the Captain was good at remembering names, just not faces, so he made a mental note of the matter at hand.

Folding his hands up behind himself, Liam held the blade behind his back and stood sternly straight within the middle of the small opening; Blood stained earth and tattered fragments of clothing littering the close vicinity of the area, where the German’s tunics had been ripped, pulled and tattered during their play with the prisoners. The odd button would sparkle in the glimmer of the moonlight now and again, which caused a mild distraction, as a few eyes wandered across the tattered Earth, wondering what the glisten was - but what really caught the Captain’s attention, was his choice of actions, as quite abruptly and suddenly, Liam found himself grinning as the Lieutenant hoisted the young German boy from off the ground by the throat.

A few of the Lieutenant’s men etched forwards, as if to stop or help him, but found themselves with a hand being pointed at them by Liam; Halting them within their tracks. Sergeant Riley and Sergeant White stepped forwards, making their presence known to the American soldiers who were about to interrupt their officer’s outburst, making them think twice about staying back. Silently, Captain Brentwood bore witness to the Lieutenant’s hatred reveal it’s self from within, choking the young boy against the tree after a bone shattered thump to the youngster’s face. The Lieutenant had an inner belly of fire and the Captain admired that, he knew the Lieutenant wanted to get justice and almost silently upon the soft wisp of the wind, Captain Brentwood murmured; “That’s my boy” - an inaudible compliment he hoped the wind would carry to the man’s trembling ears, but then disappointment struck the Captain as the Lieutenant loosened his stranglehold and dropped the German to his knees, coughing and spluttering.

Letting out a soft breath, Captain Brentwood nodded to his two associates lingering either side of himself, the Sergeants quickly obeying, knowing what had to be done as they paced over to the tortured young soul, grabbing at his legs to drag away from the Lieutenant who was quite upset and pounding at the Earth - Energy that could have been better spent on the German boy. Watching Sergeant Riley and Sergeant White drag the young German boy to a low hanging tree, he quietly observed as they tied a knotted loop around the boy’s left ankle and then swing the loose rope over the thickest branch they could pinpoint on the tree through the dark. The two men began to hoist the young German boy up by his left leg, his body dangling almost lifelessly as he coughed and sputtered some more. When the young boy was a good two to three foot off the ground, not that high up, the Sergeants tied the rope around an adjacent tree to hold him there and rolled their shoulders some from the weight lifting.

Captain Brentwood nodded, looking back to the Lieutenant who he’d given a few minutes to calm himself down some, before approaching; “You’re weak Lieutenant, yet you have the biggest gut of fire I’ve witnessed for an officer” the Captain bluntly insulted and complimented at the same time, glancing to the knife in his hand momentarily, before tossing it down at the Lieutenant’s feet. “Finish him, now” Captain Brentwood said in quite an ordering tone, staring at the weeping officer, before taunting him some to try and relight his aggression; “Think of the bastards that murdered your nephew - This horrible cunt was found raping an eight year old girl, given a chance, he probably would have raped many more young girls. To be honest with ya’ Lieutenant, I wouldn’t be surprised if this piece of scum was on the Channel Islands himself --” and then Captain Brentwood cut off what he was saying, squinting through the darkness to try and see the Lieutenant’s reactions. “-- Given a chance, he probably would have rape your nephew, these blonde bastards love a young boy” he goaded even further, waiting, just waiting for the man to break and launch his attack on the German boy strung up like a piece of meat; Waiting to be carved.

[Nicholas Ealing]

OOC: Thought I'd see if I could re-kick this thread. Seems a shame to waste the premise and it's a nice little nostalgia trip half a year ago. Sorry for the short-ish post, by the way.

Blind, angry, stupid tears blinded Nicholas. Fury blossomed in his chest, hatred threated to swallow him up completely, to fill his mind with anger and hatred. Nothing seemed real. Everything was shadow and mist, whispers and rumours, darkness and flame. Blinking salty tears from his eyes, Nicholas kneeled down and grasped the hilt of the knife. It was surprisingly cold; cold tools for cold deeds. The German soldier drew back an inch or so, his eyes widerning in fear as they rested on the jagged, evil-looking blade. The Lieutenant got to his feet, throwing the weapon from hand to hand, hatred coursing through every atom of his being.

But somewhere, hiding somewhere behind the cloak of bitterness and anger and hate, something...good...remained. Just one single thought, one single ideal. It seemed to sing out inside the Lieutenant’s head, the only thing that made any sense, blinding and deafening him at once. Nicholas’ head cleared, his thoughts marshalled by this one thought. The thought that this isn’t right.

He turned on the pathetic figure on the ground, who was now screaming for mercy. The British seemed to find his horrific screams funny or else just stood there, enjoying the man’s agony in grim bliss. Nicholas stared Captain Brentwood right in the eye and, shaking somewhat, threw the knife to the floor, pulling out his revolver as he did so. “You can’t do this,” he murmured. “I can’t…let you do this. If you kill this man, you’re as bad as he is. Do you really want that? To be Nazis yourselves? This isn’t soldiering, this is murder. And I’m not going to stand by and watch you butcher this lad any more.”

Nicholas realised with some surprise that he was actually scared. Terrified. He only hoped the Captain couldn’t see that. He held the revolver neutrally, not exactly pointing it at the British but then, not exactly not pointing at them either. He knew that the men could kill him in a second if they so chose but Nicholas hoped that his safety would be guaranteed by their hesitance to kill an Allied officer. Even if he was attempting to break up their play, he was still technically on their side. But how high did the men rank their sport? Did their brutal vendetta against the German forces take precedence over the war itself?

“We can take him back to the authorities,” Nicholas continued, sounding braver than he felt. “They can deal with him as they see fit. Whether that means…sending him to a P.O.W camp or whatever. But you can’t take the law into your own hands. You can’t decide who lives or dies. You’re not…God.”

And staring into Brentwood’s eyes, Nicholas had the horrible feeling that, given half the chance, the Captain would disagree with him.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

OOC: If you read my last post, the young boy was hoisted up by his ankle and now dangling from a tree; Ealing broke down and let his emotions out on the floor, etc… So whilst he was preoccupied, two of Liam’s sergeants tied him up and hung him from one of the trees, then Liam tossed a knife to your feet, trying to make it easier for you to accomplish, having the German kid dangling from a tree. So he’s not on the floor crying for mercy. Just thought I’d point that out!

IC:

Disappointment, yet again. Captain Brentwood frowned ever so slightly and bowed his head, shaking it slowly, just when the fellow man began to channel his rage, his aggression, his emotions into the right course. Liam could only stand quietly, huffing a quiet breath or two beneath his silent demeanour, pondering on what road the man should take before himself? Such accusations being thrown into the Captain’s direction - he’s as bad as them? What man could summon anything as bad as a Nazi pig, he was nothing like them, he was… Unique.

After a brief pause of silence from the bantering Captain, acting like Nicolas’s devil on his shoulder, he eventually began to raise his head and face the gun-toting officer before himself. A brief smile spread across Liam’s lips, seeing himself in the fellow man for that split second, pulling out the gun and thinking more about the matter at hand later. Act first, think later. It was a common rule drilled into all the infantryman’s heads, into any man or woman’s head faced with the fear of war. It was morals that crushed men and woman, acting like civilized beings, separating what they thought was good from wrong. Did Lieutenant Ealing truly believe he was doing good to the young Nazi? Putting his believe of god into the military system, rather than himself or Liam for that matter? The thought made Liam smile to himself once again, god, it was a subject a lot of people brought up when death was involved, but what about life? Was it godly to spare a life? Make a life? Such things were never classed as godly, just taking a life.

Liam’s eyes followed the moving revolver, not even feeling hesitant to take a step closer to the Lieutenant as he spoke. “You speak of god - portraying me as god for taking a life, yet you place your faith in the authorities to act as your god?” he questioned to the Lieutenant, tilting his head as he thought about it. “I’m no god and neither are the authorities you place so much… Faith… Into” he answered for the Lieutenant, hoping he’d question his faith in such a portrayal of god, the authorities. “Lieutenant, you make such accusations of taking life and not being god, but you bloody well think you’re one, cocking that revolver and threatening me” Captain Brentwood said, with a slight point to the revolver in his hand. Shrugging afterwards, Captain Brentwood stared at the Lieutenant and smirked, his blooded face looking like a child’s drawing, from all the blooded smudge marks and fingerprints. It was ironic that they now faced the decision of a young boy’s life.

Sighing, the calmer looking Captain continued to take small steps towards the Lieutenant, before he eventually stood before the fellow officer and dropped to his knees, staring up at the man. “If you’re going to bloody well stop me Lieutenant, you’ll have to act as god today and decide my fate. You fucking hypocrite, telling me I’m no god for taking a life, yet you threaten to take mine? Over the enemy’s? What the fuck is wrong with you…” he said quite bluntly, knelt before the Lieutenant, reaching out to grab the man’s wrist with his blooded hand and place the barrel against his forehead. “G’on then Lieutenant, be god… Smite me!” he goaded, whilst holding his blooded hand against the Lieutenant’s wrist, keeping the barrel of the revolver against his forehead, the whole while his glaring eyes stared towards the man striving to do good, yet threatened the lives of Liam and his associates.

Kneeling there, Liam’s associates; Sergeant Riley and Sergeant White quietly prepared themselves for the worse, not quite knowing why Captain Brentwood was doing what he was doing, but knew if it all kicked off, they’d be first to jump at the knife’s edge. Sergeant Riley secretly unsheathed his field knife and held it behind himself, giving Sergeant White a nervous look, as the fellow Sergeant edged near the tree where his Sten SMG and other gear was hanging. Things suddenly seemed a bit unpredictable in the woodlands and with Captain Brentwood on his knees, seeming as if he was trying to prove a point, it didn’t look too good - either way you looked at it.

[Nicholas Ealing]

OOC: I god-modded ever so slightly. Hope that's OK?

Nicholas steadied his gaze as Brentwood began speaking. The Lieutenant was horribly aware that the Englishman was coming closer with every step. Somehow, he couldn't look away from the Captain's eyes. They were warped, hollow. The eyes of a madman. The eyes of a killer. The man seemed almost abstract, almost as though he didn't belong. He was staring down the barrel of a revolver, his face smudged with the life blood of a young boy -- and he was smiling. To Nicholas, Brentwood seemed like the kind of man who laughed when he cried and cried when he laughed. The kind of man who couldn't tell the difference anymore.

The forest had gone deathly quiet, Nicholas' steady heartbeat and the forboding --CRUNCH-- of the Captain's boots on the dried twigs underfoot, the only sound to be heard for miles around.

“You speak of god - portraying me as god for taking a life, yet you place your faith in the authorities to act as your god?”

--CRUNCH--

"I’m no god and neither are the authorities you place so much… Faith… Into..."

--CRUNCH--

“Lieutenant, you make such accusations of taking life and not being god, but you bloody well think you’re one, cocking that revolver and threatening me.”

--CRUNCH--

It was the smiling that unsettled Nicholas the most. The almost childish smirk, the head titlted slightly to the side, the constant....smiling. Unease clawed its way deep into Nicholas' heart, as the Captain got ever nearer. Brentwood had a horribly otherworldly feel to him -- it was almost as if he could smell Nicholas' fear. And then, he stopped. Nicholas' heart skipped a beat. But then, still smirking like some demented, demonic child, the Captain dropped to his knees, wrapped his fingers around Nicholas' wrist and jammed the pistol against his own forehead. “G’on then Lieutenant, be god… Smite me!” Every word was laced with a bitter goading. His voice had an almost sing-song quality, reflecting the terrifyingly psycopathic glint in his eye.

Nicholas waited for a heartbeat and then, without warning, brought the pistol forwards in a deft uppercut. The cold metal of the revolver smashed into the Captain's unsuspecting face, sending him reeling back in pain. Nicholas lashed out a second time, kicking the kneeling Brentwood in the face with gritted teeth. He took a step back and turned his gaze on the two British Sergeants. Nicholas' three companions all had their weapons out, prepared to fire if things got particularly nasty.

Nicholas was horribly aware that he was inches away from being cut to ribbons by a crew of psycopathic, gun-wielding maniacs. Not the Lieutenant's idea of a nice night out. His gaze never wavered from the vicious Captain. He raised his revolver in the air and in a curiously theatrical moment, threw it to the ground."I'm not killing anyone," said Nicholas, his voice utterly without expression. "Englishman or Nazi, if it's off the battlefield, it's murder. I'm not threatening you, I'm telling you. I'm taking the boy with me. Don't try to stop me."

Nicholas began moving backwards, still maintaining eye contact with the British soldiers. He gave the German soldier, still dangling almost comically from the tree, a tiny, comforting smile and cut him loose for the second time in as many minutes. Again, the boy fell to the floor, wailing, but Nicholas helped him to his feet. The boy disgusted him but he wouldn't - couldn't - let Brentwood do this to him.

"Do you know the worst thing?" said Nicholas, talking mainly to himself, but keeping his voice at a loud enough pitch so that the Captain could hear. "I used to look up to you. Honestly. The officers always speak of you and I felt almost proud; a proper British officer. A warrior, a soldier's soldier. But now..look at you. You're disgusting. All of you. You're disgusting." He breathed deep, clearing his mind as he supported the German's body weight. "And...just so you know. I don't have faith in the bloody authorities or even in some...divine being. I have faith in what is right and that's the only thing that matters. Because if you don't do what's right -- you're hardly human at all."

Supporting the half-conscious boy on his back, Nicholas trudged forwards, signalling his awkward-looking corporals to follow him. He paused as he approached the Sergeants. "I won't tell anyone. About you. But I don't pose any...threat to you. So don't shoot. Please."

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

OOC: No that’s fine, I did give you permission to whack/shoot me if you wanted.

IC:
The whole while Captain Brentwood knelt before the Lieutenant, he mumbled something inaudible beneath his breath, that almost sounded like a child’s rhyme; at first, with intently straining to hear what he was humming or mumbling, it sounded like ‘ring-a-ring-o-roses’, but then the almost silent tune sounded more along the lines of ‘London bridge is burning down’ - a similar rhythm between the two nursery tunes, but whatever the Captain was humming or mumbling beneath his breath, it certainly appeased the Captain’s nerves, if he even had any, as he ‘oh’ so calmly kept his blooded fingers coiled around the Lieutenant’s slim wrist, squeezing the cold barrel against his wet beaded forehead.

Feeling the Lieutenant’s wrist snatch away from his grip, Captain Brentwood snapped his eyes open, watching in sheer delight as the officer unleashed his inner turmoil once again and drew back the colt clutched between his cold fingers. “C’mon baby…” Liam muttered to himself, feeling the cold steel of the side-arm crack against his thick skull, momentarily sending him into a parallel world as he began to fall backwards from off his dirtied knees, then another immense pain bore down on the Captain as his head strained backwards from a toughening blow to the jaw - barely making out what seemed to be a boot withdrawing from the side of his face, before he slumped backwards against the dirt and stared upwards towards the night sky…

Coughing hard, Captain Brentwood sounded like he couldn’t breathe, as blood seeped down the back of his throat from his mouth. The words of the Lieutenant barely noticeable to the Captain’s ears, as he coughed hard, but only to start laughing afterwards. As if out of no where, Liam’s husk coughing turned into a hysterical screeching as he laid against the dry dead soil tattered with leaves, staring onwards and upwards towards the night’s sky, framed with branches and leaves from the surrounding trees, dwindling with every short breeze that passed them by. The immense pain throbbing through Liam’s head however, kept him grounded on planet Earth and it didn’t take long for the officer to slowly get his bearings again, as his head slanted against the dirt, watching the Lieutenant talk and walk right by him, cutting down the swaying Nazi in a manner that deemed fit to be a saint. Saint Ealing - it has a ring to it.

Trying to stop his laughter, the Captain dug his elbow into the dirt beneath himself and pushed hard to draw his torso from off the ground, merely sitting slumped forwards with a pounding headache. “… And so the angels descended from above and… Carried saint Ealing to his chariot that awaits!” Liam blurted out, having to draw a breath in between his speaking, feeling slightly shaken and peppered on the brain from the tough few blows the Lieutenant threw at him, but all Liam could do, was smugly grin and try not to laugh as he watched Lieutenant Ealing cradle the unfortunate and wounded to safety. “We’re all human Lieutenant…” the Captain said quite sternly afterwards, having caught the gist of what he was saying when he was slumped on the floor - particularly the “…Because if you don't do what's right -- you're hardly human at all.” part, the rest sounded like a throbbing heartbeat in his head and a barrel of laughter that sprung from his gut.

Noticing the Lieutenant’s colt on the ground beside him, the Captain wearily reached out and dragged it into his grasp, picking a fragment of peeled skin from off the hilt of the side-arm that’d come off his head and flicking it on the floor, before wielding the pistol between his fingers and against his dirty palm. Glaring at the Lieutenant’s back as he turned to his colleagues (the sergeants), who silently attempted to reframe from diverting their eyes into Liam’s direction, as they watched him draw to his feet slowly and sway slightly in the process. It was at this precise moment, the two sergeants backed away from the Lieutenant slowly, knowing what was about to happen next.

Spitting on the ground, Captain Brentwood cleared his mouth and glanced to the few corporals surrounding him and staring at him, barely feeling intimidated by their presence as to what he was about to do. “You let me down Lieutenant…” he said quietly, as to not draw too much attention from the officer to turn around immediately, before he raised his wobbly arm with the colt pistol to aim roughly towards the Lieutenant’s back through the fog of darkness - through the fog of pain throbbing through his head. “I’ll make damn sure you’ll remember tonight; Saint Ealing” and with that, he chirped a single laugh and yanked his finger on the trigger twice quickly, his arm bouncing from the recoil uncontrollably, barely having the strength to shoot the gun properly from his aching skull.

(God Moding bit here, but we spoke about this…)
The first bullet ripped through the creamed American tunic like a knife through butter, as the bullet cut straight through the Lieutenant’s left side, leaving crimson red pouring beneath the surface of the fabric of his uniform within it’s wake. The second bullet zipped upwards from the bounced recoil of Liam’s arm, thumping straight into the Lieutenant’s left shoulder and sending him off his feet in a slight twirl from the impact, but as the Captain went to lower his weapon, he noticed the Lieutenant’s men begin to shoulder their rifles and immediately Captain Brentwood flashed muzzle shots into their general direction to send them backwards into the brush for cover.

Sergeant White and Sergeant Riley grabbed their gear, immediately spraying bullets at the Lieutenant’s men, but deliberately aiming upwards as they shot, not wanting to kill anyone potentially on their side of the wire who didn’t deserve it. Unfortunately, the prisoner was no where to be seen during the sporadic firing, otherwise an aimed shot would have been made undoubtedly.

“Let’s scarper this joint lads! Go! Go!” Captain Brentwood hollered as he trotted over to his two associate’s direction, as they began to grin wryly in excitement and start to fall back into their side of the woodlands. As Captain Brentwood passed Lieutenant Ealing on the floor, he made a daring move by quickly falling down beside him on one knee and grabbing the Lieutenant by the cheeks with one of his hands, a wide manic smile on his face as he done so. “See you around, Saint Ealing…” he said quickly, ducking as a bullet zipped overhead somewhere. Shoving the colt pistol into the Lieutenant’s chest, the Captain drew to his feet and yapped like a wild Indian from the wild-west as he ran after his two associates, the distant laughter of their voices echoing through the woodlands.

The Jackals.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

This was a brilliant thread and I loved it!!!

The following CP has been issued:

Brentwood - 11CP

Ealing - 10CP

-JT