A Briefing [Tyler Brentwood]

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

It was starting to rain as the Officer peered at the clock on the wall. It had been threatening to do so all day, with grey skies not letting a shard of sunlight through their tight blanket. Sighing, Aaron clicked the top of his pen and threw it in to his pocket, standing up and pushing the chair in. He grabbed his garrison cap off the desk and placed it on his head. He picked up a pair of keys and swung them around his finger. Next to the door, he grabbed his Thompson on the strap, and swung it around his shoulder, picking up a pair of bags and stepping outside.

He locked the door, and started walking along the corridor. The sound of the rain was getting heavier as the dimly lit corridor progressed. Turning out from the Officers area he walked past a couple of briefing rooms before knocking on one and entering.

A call of “room!” was given and everyone man snapped to attention. Mitchell just waved them off before turning towards the Sergeant. ”Sergeant Toye, how many times have I told you, if I catch you doing that for me again, I will bust your ass down below Private. Clear?”
He could a cheeky “yes, sir” as he walked away, and Mitchell casually flicked the finger at him. The Sergeant took a seat as Mitchell turned towards the room at the front. He removed his hat and sat down the two bags and SMG.

From one he withdrew a large map, and started taping it to the board. He turned around to the unnaturally silent room. ”Talk lads, Staff Sergeant Brentwood and his tossers haven’t shown up yet. Why did they curse us with them?” The briefing had been organised for minutes ago. Where were they?

[Tyler D. Brentwood]

OOC: I took some men from the reserve. Hope that is okay, I can always pay it off if I get them killed. Wasn't sure if you wanted me taking your men? Gave them a little personality too .

"Alright lads, be on your best behavior now. Second Lieutenants are always the must stuck up bastards and we wouldn't want ole Mitchell slandering the reputation the Captain has given us, now do we?" the young, cocky Staff Sergeant joked with some of the men he had become associated with during his first few weeks with the 7th Armoured. With the roof up, they were protected from the dreadful downpour of rain, but it was still a nuisance to be driving on the dangerous dirt roads in poor conditions. They were late to some briefing they had been chosen for specifically, probably by a certain someone's brother and if Brentwood's assumption was right, the Second Lieutenant would be some rich rookie who was as competent as a monkey with a gun. Not so much different from Brentwood's own relative inexperience, but he had name for himself already and he grew up in a different world entirely.

"Aw, when have you known us to make any trouble, Staff Sergeant?" Private Lance Davies called out from the back of the Willys Jeep, loaned by the Britain's very own American allies. Brentwood smirked as he spun the wheel and pulled up to the military base's front gates. Davies was known to be a troublemaker, at some moments even worse then Brentwood himself."Put a sock in Davies, before I climb back there and kick your arse." Sergeant Ieuan Williams threatened from the passenger seat. A Welsh bloke who was probably the most aggressive of his comrades. Brentwood signalled with his hands for everyone to hush down as a British MP approached from a booth along the road.

"Evening," the man paused as he eyed Brentwood. "Staff Sergeant Brentwood." the NCO responded from behind the wheel. "May I see some passes and identification, please?" In no times, the gates were pulled open and the jeep burst to life as Brentwood's foot met the pedal. Looking to the back of the jeep, his eyes made contact with Private Theodore Beckett. "What's a matter, Beckett? You haven't said a word since we got on the road?" The say private focused his eyes on the the front of the jeep and ignored the stray comment. Brentwood grimaced and focused on the narrowing road. Beckett was definitely the quietest of the bunch and the most fearful. They would soon find out if he was the worst in battle too.

Beckett was abruptly awoken from his silent slumber as Davies gave him a light punch of the shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Beckett grasped his left shoulder and cried out, "Shit what was that for?" The vibrant conversation in the jeep died as the rest of the men sat in silence. "What? What's a matter? Did I do something wrong?" All three men were thinking the same dreadful thought as they rolled up their destination. Brentwood eased up on the pedal as they parked alongside the building. The jeep's engine died as he tore the keys out and sighed before looking over at Sergeant Williams. He had the same look on his face, that the young 19 year old Private would be the first to die.

"Well, lets get the show on the road, shall we?" the Staff Sergeant broke the uncomfortable silence before looking back at Davies and Beckett. Without hesitation, the men piled out of the jeep and rushed into the corridors of the building to avoid rain. Brentwood was the last one in and closed the door behind him before wiping some raindrops off his face and helmet. He had grabbed his Lee Enfield from under the drivers seat and carried it in with him. The wet wood felt odd in his palm as he carried the weapon down the dim corridors with the other men. He had to revert back to a rifle after his Bren had taken some unexpected damage. Besides that, they would already have a Bren gunner for the particular 'mission'. If you could call it that.

The three soldiers ahead of him stopped at the door and allowed Brentwood to maneuver around them in the narrow hallway. As he put his hand on the door, he overheard the Second Lieutenant speaking to the rest of the men attending the briefing. Grinning at his last words, the Staff Sergeant flung the door open and entered the room behind Mitchell, in hopes of scaring the man. Everyone knew Brentwood had overheard the vicious statement and Brentwood and his men knew Mitchell probably thought he and his men were better gentlemen. Brentwood had created a reputation that wasn't too pleasing for the likes of men like Mitchell. "Sorry, we're late. I wasn't fond of getting my men killed on those roads trying to make it on time." The trio followed in from behind and took their seats before the Staff Sergeant. Walking over to Mitchell, Brentwood murmured, "I'd prefer if you not give the men the impression it is okay to insult their fellow soldiers." Brentwood didn't wait for an answer before finding his way next to Williams and taking a seat.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

It was fair to say Brentwood made an entrance. Barely finishing his insult, the door flung open and the Staff Sergeant entered, flanked by his trio of lads. ”Nice of you to join us,” Mitchell cheerily put out. While he was saying this, the NCO was advancing on him and muttered in a low voice. As he turned around, Mitchell raised his arm, but at the last second bringing it to an itch on his head, unbeknownst to the Sergeant. A few smiles were raised from the guys at the front of the large table.

Waiting for everybody to be seated, Mitchell took up a wooden pointer and a box of chalk and began slowly pacing. ”Good evening everybody. I’m Second Lieutenant Mitchell, and I have a simple rule with the men I’m fighting with. Call me ‘sir’ and I will kill you. I’m either Mitchell, Lieutenant, or some sort of clear and tasteful, well, kind of tasteful nickname you want. And if anybody salutes me on the field, they’ve just bought the midnight to oh-seven-hundred watch. OK then.”

With that out the way he turned to the map. ”We, that is to say the Seventh Armoured Division, will be partaking in an operation to take these three towns.” He indicated them on the map, making sure everybody could see. ”However, if you are sat in this room now, you won’t be participating in the main assault. We have reason to believe there are major health problems in the area, and we are expecting reasonably heavy casualties, so we will be guarding a small medical convoy.”

He started walking around the table, moving from man to man. He started at the opposite end to the table. ”This, is Staff Sergeant Brentwood, younger brother of our CO. He is 2 i/c for this operation. If I go down, you look to him. 3 i/c is Sergeant Toye right here,” he slapped his hands on the shoulders of the man. ”Odd name, I know, we’ll just say his mother received an Italian job.” He received a thump in the arm in return. He’d seen the Sergeant reading a book entitled “The Italian Job,” and had been giving a bit of a mock for it. It was all in good faith. Moving to the next guy, he pointed down at him. ”This is Sergeant Williams, next in the chain. He’s Welsh, but apart from that I’m assured he’s a solid guy. And finally, over there, Lance-Corporal Hilson is going to be holding on to the Bren. And yes, as you all know, with a Bren in our squad we all get to hold two magazines of ammo. I don’t write the Standards, I just enforce them.”

[Tyler D. Brentwood]

Brentwood hunched himself over the table and scanned the map over, verifying it as France. Mitchell and had taken up a wooden pointer and some chalk from the table and begun to greet the men seated before him. The man's words made the Staff Sergeant to second guess himself, but he quickly dismissed it as the briefing progressed. In the back of his head, he held on to the possible chance that Mitchell wasn't the regular Second Lieutenant, which was always a good thing. If so, it enhanced the possibility of living for every man seated at the table. Privates, Corporals, Sergeants, and even Mitchell himself. Now wasn't the time to be distracted by hypothesis of his new leader, but of the mission before him.

Mitchell pointed out three cities the 7th Armoured were preparing to capture, which grabbed Brentwoods attention. A small force of men selected for a mysterious briefing a few days before the capture of three large French cities. What was in store for every British, Welsh, or even Scottish and Irish man sitting in that briefing room? The gap between the excitement and the let-down was extremely short. High Command believed their was serious health issues in the area, so they had to guard a Medical Convoy transporting the sick bastards out of the area before they could cough on the soldiers. What an exciting adventure they would all be partaking on.

As Brentwood studied the road they would be guarding medical convoys attentively, the Junior Officer had worked his way around the table and over to his spot. He stated the obvious for practically every man in the room. Everyone knew of Brentwood's younger brother and anyone with any common sense knew Brentwood was the the second highest rank and therefore 2nd in Command of the operation. Next up, Mitchell moved to his very own Sergeant, Sergeant Toye.


Mitchell stated Toye as 3rd in Command while Williams was sitting right at the table which was slightly unnerving. But being in charge probably gave Mitchell certain powers and he could create the chain of command however he seemed fit. Tyler had considered trying to get his hands on such power too, but ultimately saw himself fit as a NCO. As Mitchell finished off the introductions of Williams and Lance Corporal Hilson, Brentwood turned to him. "So, Second Lieutenant, when will be moving in to guard the convoy, where will we be stationed, and how long will we be there?" he questioned slightly motioning to the map for Mitchell to point out. "Don't mean to jump on you with questions, but it would be best to get the men informed and know what to suspect."

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

As he paused, Mitchell returned to the front of the room, and poured a glass of water from a clear pitcher. He took a few quick gulps before placing it down on the table, and stood next to the map. Staff Sergeant Brentwood spoke up, this guy seemed to be quite impatient. "If you wait a moment, Staff Sergeant, I'm just getting on to that."

"Now, that's the good news over. We are leaving tomorrow night, at twenty-one-hundred hours. This is soon, but the mission was green-lighted this morning and we needed to get it under way soon. There is a general briefing tomorrow, you guys won't be present, we'll be sorting our stuff out." He took the chalk in hand and began drawing a large arrow in blue, curving along a road, then cutting over a few fields and moving to the first of the towns. "That's the route the main assault group will be following. I won't bore you with details of what they're doing. There is a chance we may be called to that assault, but if so we will be given a situational breifing as and when needed. We'll be cutting off from the group here."

He drew a red arow breaking off at one point on the road, and made a circle in an area. "Fly boys have told us this part here is a nice clearing and should be easy to defend. We will break from the convoy here, set up and settle down until the trucks come to relieve us. This isn't going to be the most exciting of missions, but it's the closest we can get to rest. As you all know, we only got out of Africa last week, and some of you could still do with a breather."

"We're going in to two fire teams. Brentwood, you're with both Sergeants, Beckett and Davies. The others are with me. This should split our firepower quite evenly. Now, is everything clear so far, and can I go in to outlining the defense plan?"

[Tyler D. Brentwood]

The 2nd Lieutenant lazily strolled to the front of the room to pour himself a drink. This man seemed lazy or just plain slow. His throat could barely sustain itself after telling his men they would be guarding a convoy and introducing a few of the men to the rest of the group? This briefing could be dragged on longer than required if they had to wait for Mitchell to take his 'break's. None the less, Mitchel was 'getting to that' and Brentwood was the one being impatient. After years of wrestling with his older brother and some London hooligans every now and then, the Staff Sergeant figured he could kick this man's ass if he had too. Something he had already done to quite a few of the men in the 7AD who just so happened never to speak up about it.

His grin drooped as the man informed them they would already be heading out tomorrow. They barely had anytime to prepare for something they were told only a day ahead of. Brentwood leaned back into the rear of his chair and crossed his arms watching intently as Mitchell drew a blue line for the which the main assault group would follow. There was a slim possibility they could be called into action with that group, which was better than nothing. He'd rather be fighting on the frontlines then watching some convoy drive sick French down a road. Studying the winding road, Tyler wondered where exactly they would leave the main assault group and how they could defend that minuscule middle of nowhere position. The entire road was covering with fields after fields and with all the action happening further down the road in the towns, they would end up in a field next to a road.

With a red piece of chalk, Mitchell extending a line out of the blue road and circled a field and explained why they would be defending that spot. He said it would be the closet thing to rest for them even though they had just got out of Africa. Tyler's memories weren't to fond for the shitty desert called Africa. France was infinitely times better no matter how much he hated the damn French. Hell, if he could have it his way, they wouldn't even have to worry about the French. They could just go into the towns and shoot the civilians instead of saving them from health issues. But, then again, why would the Germans want to take out a medical convoy. They were savage animals who should be put down with force. Each and everyone of them should be slaughtered.

Brentwood was apparently commanding the 2nd Fireteam which consisted of Williams, Toye, Beckett, and Davies. "It's all clear, Mitch." Brentwood grinned, referring to the man as Mitch instead of Sir. He wanted it that way, so he would get that way. "The way I see it, we should create a trench in every direction, but only cover the two by which the Germans are most likely to come from if they ever come. That way we could shift to cover any direction if need be." he suggested looking at the blank area within the red circled. There was nothing but a cliff, a road, and some trees. Nine men sitting on their asses while looking at a road.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

Mitch. This Brentwood seemed like a cocky bugger indeed, but Mitchell was fine with the abbreviation. He got called it a fair bit. He listened as Brentwood went on about the planned defence, and a smile came to the Officer’s face. This Brentwood was switched on, and seemed to have read his mind.

”That, Brentwood, is almost exactly what I was thinking,” he acknowledged, getting a second piece of paper from his bag and taping it on to the board. This was an enlarged view of the field they would defend, with large marks in a marker pen. ”We’ll have the medical gear set up in a red-cross tent in the centre, and have a 360 cover of trenches. We will only be manning two, as the Staff Sergeant said, most likely the ones adjacent to the road and the cliff.”

”Now, that’s the general plan. Obviously, it’s subject to refinement when we get there. As for enemy troops, we’re not expecting anything other than infantry, maybe some APCs if we’re really lucky. Our main force will hold all their tanks up. OK, with that done, here’s the reason I told you all to bring your weapons. We have two different teams here, and we need to work as one. Nobody is leaving this room until they have cleaned their weapons, and if there isn’t any chatting between all of us in however long that takes, you’re staying that much longer.”

After a quick glance around the room for acknowledgements, he grabbed his SMG and the second bag, emptying out the various cleaning tools inside on to the desk. ”Get to it, lads.”

[Tyler D. Brentwood]

OOC: Totally just googled and then simplified it somewhat.

Mitchell wasn't taken a particular shine to the cocky Staff Sergeant, but when Brentwood suggested the defense setup before the Junior Officer could, the man seemed to lighten up a little bit. He told the NCO that it was in fact, exactly what he was thinking before pulling out a second map. Brentwood grinned and leaned back into his chair, extending his feet out under the table. No it wasn't the pride of being right or the silent admiration he was getting from the rest of the men. It was something else entirely, that only Davies had any knowledge of. Something that was damn hard to not laugh about as the Second Lieutenant began to go over the map of the area.

Staff Sergeant Brentwood didn't know how they would be setup, because he was some sort of tactical genius. Of course, he could be a tactical genius in the field, it wasn't why he knew how they were going to set up. He had stole the bastard's map! He had already seen everything and now he had this bastard eating out of the palm of his hands, thinking he was some genius or able to predict the future. Davies was feigning boredom and tiredness to hide his silent chuckles. Mitchell's voice went on and on, annoying the young British man. He already knew everything he needed to know and now he had to sit through the man's shit. It was making him so damn impatient.

The men's silent happiness died out as Mitchell instructed them that they would be cleaning out their weapons before they left. To show that they were working as one or something. Brentwood didn't know what kind of bullshit that was, but he didn't hesitate. Pushing his chair back as he stood up, he grabbed his rifle out from beneath the table and set it down on the surface of the table, knocking some papers and whatnot back to make room for the somewhat wet weapon. He checked to see if there was a cartridge in the chamber before removing the magazine. He slowly removed the bolt and placed it down on the table. Now that he had stripped the Enfield, he grabbed the materials he needed to clean it.

With a rag, he wiped down the Enfield completely to dry it off first. He took the necessary steps with a cleaning rod, gun oil, and a cleaning patch to the clean out the bore of the rifle until he was sure it was clean. He wiped down all the metal surfaces on his rifle with a dry cloth and some gun oil before turning his attention to the bolt and the internal area of the receiver and doing the same. After he finished wiping any internal and external metal parts with oil rags and had cleaned out the rifle thoroughly, he assembled the rifle and set it down on the table. He could check on it in the morning to make sure the cleaning had been done correctly. He turned to check to see if anyone else needed some help after finishing so early.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

"Look, my final point, .45 is better than 9mm because WE, the British invented the inch, and millimeters is a bloody French invention. How can there measurement be better than ours!" There was a cackle of laughter from the three Privates sat around Mitchell, parts of guns littering the table. Smiling to himself, the Officer leant backwards, polishing the bolt mechanism. He needed it to be able to move quickly and reliably, and nothing assured that than making sure it was clean and oiled.

"Hey, Sir. I'm bursting for the Khazi, any chance we can get out?" That call came from Toye. The two had served together as Sergeants in Dunkirk, before Mitchell had been thrown in to the Officer's Academy, and was one of the few people allowed to call Mitchell 'sir'. THe Officer in question peered at his watch, and realised they'd been cleaning for the best part of half an hour.
"Five minutes, everybody, then I want you back in hear. Have a drink, a smoke, stretch your legs, just be back here by time I sit down."

There was a greatful cheer as chairs scraped, but Mitchell walked over to Brentwood, and gave a gruff "follow me." He led the Staff Sergeant outside, pulling a cigarette pack out. He offered one and lit his own up. "I'm getting the distinct impression you don't want to be here, Brentwood. You've spent the last half hour in silence, while two Sergeants chatted besides you. You need to know those men better than your own mother.

"Look. I've been given strict orders that if anybody refuses to do this mission to less than their whole ability to have them locked up and court martialled. If you do not go 100% here, you will be executed. But there's a reason. Listen. If one word of what I'm about to say gets out, we'll be up to our necks in shit. Your brother assures me you will keep quiet, so do him proud. We know the Germans are in short supply of goods, intelligence says that much. It also says the 2nd SS-Panzer Division is around that area. I won't go in to details, but we're going to try and draw their troops out. They will raid the tent to get supplies, and we will kill some of Nazi Germany's crack troops. This mission seems benign, and the beauty is, we're just a regular Armoured Division. The Jerries won't expect such a strong defense from anybody short of the RMC."

He stopped for a moment to let it sink in. "When you go back in there, you're going to take part in this team, or I swear I'll have you executed on the spot. This mission needs to go perfectly, and I can't have my second in command isolating himself from anybody else. I think it's clear what you're going to do lad. I don't want you to hate me, I want you to do your fucking job."

OOC: Got a bit rushed near the end, sorry, but you get the idea

[Tyler D. Brentwood]

OOC: Didn't know we were going to play with our toys for 30 minutes.

Brentwood had been cleaning the bolt with an oil soaked rag when the call went out to take a break. Particularly serious about his weapon, he shrugged it off and began to wiping the bolt down. He hadn't said a word since the cleaning session had began, except a few remarks to Davies that brought up a bit of laughter from the surrounding men. Mitchell passed behind the standing Staff Sergeant and practically dragged him by the collar outside into the miserable conditions. What in the hell Mitchell wanted with Brentwood, he wasn't quite sure of, but he assumed it was to bitch about his behavior or the like. It didn't matter to the Staff Sergeant who looked off into the rain.

"Thanks." he muttered before taking a hold of a cigarette and allowing the officer to light it up for him. Taking a few puffs on his cigarette, he allowed the man to babble on about how he need to give it his all and get to know the men. And all that shit. Brentwood nearly got a headache listen to the man whine about how he wanted the mission to go perfect and wanted to kill some SS soldiers who were sure to be on their asses. The man wanted some glory for this. He wanted to dominate the SS and come back to England as some kind of hero to get a promotion. It was quite obvious, no other officer would drag his second in command out into the rain to bitch to him about how he wanted success, because he hadn't been chatting up a storm.

He let the man's words sink in, before he glanced at Mitchell and open his mouth, "Listen, Mitch. I don't give a shit what you think, but you're wrong. A man can't clean his gun in silence without his commander jumping on him with threats of execution. What has the military come to?" Brentwood paused with a smirk. He looked towards the Junior Officer, before dropping the cigarette into the wet mud and burying his boot into it. As he turned and approached the door, he told the man, "Shit, I'll get to know the men and give it 100% when and where it matters. On the battlefield when he are sitting in that trench in combat. Not here. Not now. Not when when we were sitting cleaning our weapons. But when it actually matters. And you can count those SS dead."

Pulling the door open, he turned back to face Mitchell. "Oh and next time Mitch, don't drag me outside to talk. Just shoot me." before closing the door behind him and making his way back to his seat. "Beckett, what the hell is this? You call this a clean weapon? Let me finish up and I'll show you how a British man cleans a weapon." Brentwood put his Enfield back together before setting it back on the table and approaching Beckett who was grimly staring at his weapon. "Here, now take this rag and put some oil on it. Good, now wipe down all the metal. Internal and external. And Davies you best stop your snickering before I have Williams smack the shit out of you." Davies stopped laughing and turned back to his rifle when Williams agreed to the threat rather loudly, giving a laugh and slapping the Private on the back of the head.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

Mitchell kept a straight face as Brentwood started mouthing off. The shooting on the spot speil had been complete bull, although the mission idea was truthful. He waited for the NCO to squash his cigarette and leave before smiling, a large cheeky grin from ear-to-ear. It was the oldest trick in the book. He had seen the man was headstrong, arrogant, but most importantly, there was an air about him that wanted to prove everybody wrong. By criticising him, the Lieutenant had persuaded him to go and do some actual work and mix with the team.

Taking a final drag, he flicked the cigarette out of his mouth with his tounge and ground it down with his heel. He turned and walked back in to the building, swiping the smile away to force a solemn look back. He opened the door and stepped in, avoiding eye contact with Brentwood who was talking to a group of Privates and raising a laugh. Mitchell returned to the foot of the table and reassembled his Thompson, slipping the strap back on to it and leaning it in to the corner. He turned back around, and leant over the two Sergeants. They had been the first to finish, their Stens took barely any time due to their simplistic design, and they'd been helping around the room for most of the time. He leaned over them "Do you think we're done?"
"I reckon so, boss. Maybe a few more minutes, but that's only to reassemble a few weapons."
"Right. You two oversee it, I'll just do something quickly."

Turning around, leaving the two capable NCOs to pull everyone in to line, he pulled up a sheet of handwritten notes, just the basic outline of what was going to happen. He read through them and looked up again, to see people taking seats, weapons being placed to the side and the chatter dying down.

"Right, so, we're just about done. I want everybody to reassemble here and ten-hundred hours tomorrow so we can go over the details. We should have some last minute information then, and we'll draw neccesary gear, ammo, rations, you know the drill. Apart from that, I want you all to get some good sleep, no going down to the pub. If there aren't any questions from you lot, we can go."

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

You want some CP?

...Ok...

Mitchell - 10CP, you get the same as your posts got a bit smaller toward the end, but you had one more post than Tyler

Lil Brentwood - 10CP

-JT