Breaking the News [Mac]

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Country: England, Great Britain, 3ID Base
Current Time: 21:10
Weather Conditions: Cold and a little windy, with a light snow falling. There is already some light snow on the ground, and the mercury is dropping to two degrees below freezing, Celsius scale. The windchill, however, will bring it down to minus five or six, depending on how high up you are. Men in the watchtowers (and other high spots), you might want to bundle up.


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Her meeting with Sergeant Bargett had been delayed, all thanks to a certain Section Leader who had made Niamh wash dishes for the rest of the evening. It was by sheer luck she had finished the day's dirty dinnerware by nine o'clock that evening; there was always a cup to rinse or a knife to wash, all thanks to the cooking that went on between meals. Even more out of sheer luck was that Section Leader's lack of questions - the appearance of Corporal Claude from the cells probably had kept the woman quiet. She had an uncanny sense of when something deeper was going on, and when that sense kicked in, she was quiet as a mouse about things.

With a sigh, Niamh opened the door leading to the main grounds, holding a torch in her hands. Night had fallen upon the English countryside, the cold air dotted with tiny flakes of falling snow. Just a year earlier, Niamh had been in London, comforting a New Zealander who had lost his brother about this time of year. Now, she would be somewhat comforting another soldier, this one with information of where a certain child had gone. The Sergeant would probably not take it well...he was sensitive type, and a real gentleman. Niamh wished he hadn't been drafted into the war - he was too kind to kill with that beloved Thompson of his. Pessimistic as it sounded, she hoped Bargett would make it to the end of the war.

The torch's light cut through the darkness, and Niamh made her way to the main part of the base. If she was right, Sergeant Bargett would probably be finishing up a few things, and then heading to the men's barracks. Her step quick, her boots crunching in the snow, the Pavee hoped to catch the man before he went to sleep. It was better to get it over with then to have it sit until morning, and Niamh wouldn't have to worry about forgetting a vital piece of information in her sleep. She stopped a nearby soldier with a wave on the way; he was in the 3ID, the American division Bargett served under. The American immediately walked over to the young woman, flashing her a polite smile.

"How can I help you, ma'am?" said he. Niamh smiled back, also politely.

"I'm lookin' fer a Sergeanth Bargetth. D'ye know if 'e's in?"

"Yeah, he's in one of the offices," said the man. Ground floor, go straight ahead, take a right, and then go straight ahead when you reach the next corridor. Last place I saw him."

"Thank you, Private," said Niamh, nodding and hurrying off to find the kindly NCO.

[Mac Bargett]

“Roger, this was a brilliant idea,” Mac congratulated the boy on using his head, for once. He sat the white laundry bag on the wooden table that took up most of the room and stuck his head out of the door. The light coming out the office stopped after 4 yards, and after that, pitch darkness with no signs of any one coming near. Mac was smart, and had told the guards that his squad was going be going over some maps in the briefing room, so random people wouldn‘t be investigating the late night activity in the office. While they were going to be looking at some documents, that wasn’t the only thing they were going to do.

Mac shut the door and turned back to his 6 man rifle squad sitting around the long table, each man eagerly watching the two laundry bags sitting at the head of their group, “Alright Charley, Roger, it’s all clear, open them up.” The privates grabbed their bags and opened the drawstrings. They dumped the laundry out right on the table. For a second every man in the squad watch the assorted socks, uniforms, t-shirts and mittens tumble out of bags. At first glance, it looked like the ordinary stockpile of any GI’s laundry bag in the army, but then they noticed the bulges. In an instant the briefing room became as crazed and exciting as Santa Claus’s visit to an orphanage. Every man began a mad rush to grab as many loaded underpants and socks as possible, but before anyone could unwrap the gifts Sgt. Mac held up the folder of important documents he had pulled from the pile, “HOLD IT!” he boomed, and everyone stopped what they were doing, “Business before pleasure.” He handed out the maps to everyone before grabbing a lumpy pair of pants for himself, ”Alright dig in, just don’t get crumbs on the papers, they need to be returned in the morning.”

The mood in the room became jovial and Christmas like once again. The men unballed socks and unbuttoned shirt pockets as fast they as they could. Quickly they revealed all of the goodies within. Cigarettes, beer, sandwiches, cans of meat, fruit, a few misplaced dog-tags, and chocolate, all of these things were dumped out of the laundry. Mac had got an apple, and leaned back onto the door as he bit into it, and watched as his men acted like this was the last meal they were ever going to have. Which it could have been.

“Hey, Roge, this isn’t gonna taste like my old socks, is it?” One of the men held up a sandwich to his nose, and sniffed it. The room exploded with laughter.

“Nah George, after the raid on the kitchen, we bundled the treats up in clean clothes before hiding them in the platoon barrack’s laundry. But be wary of any skivvies with chocolate in them.”

The room erupted once again, and Mac chuckled along with his men as he stepped outside into the snow to make sure no had began to investigate the ruckus.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The sounds of men's laughter caught Niamh's attention, and she kicked at the floor before heading forward, knocking the snow off her boots in the process. Everywhere she looked, the halls were pitch black, save for the light of a few officers working overtime. They, too, heard a slight ruckus, and poked their heads out the door, quietly asking Niamh what was going on as she walked. In return, the Pavee simply shrugged or shook her head, and carried on.

Turning a corner, Niamh halted, the light from beneath a closed office door once more cutting through the darkness. Moving forward, the woman raised her torch, but yelped as a figure suddenly came up behind her. The woman dropped her light source, the thing bouncing on the floor before rolling slightly to the side, and she put a hand on her chest. Swiftly bending down after a few moments, Niamh scooped up the flashlight, and shined it at whoever was there.

"Sergeanth Bargetth!" cried Niamh. "Sir, t'ank goodness I found ye before ye wenth tho bed!"

She leaned, glancing around him at the door, and raised her eyebrows for a second. Her mouth opened in a question, but then, she snapped her lips shut, and decided to get to the point. It was getting too late to be fooling around.

"Sir," began the Pavee, "one of the prisoners - Jonas Merhoff, I t'ink his name was - has given me some importhanth informathion on t'e whereabouths of yer lil' Adelheid girl. Sir, I've goth good news and bad news, an' I'm sorry if I'm sthumblin' on some party or anot'er, buth t'is is importhanth. Can we discuss t'is in privathe, sir? I don'th t'ink you'd wanth yer men tho be listhenin' on somet'ing ye mighth find privathe, sir."

Glancing over her shoulder, Niamh noticed a Lieutenant peeking around the corner, a quizzical expression on his tired face. She smiled back and said, "Don'th worry, sir, I t'ink Sergeanth Bargetth's justh holdin' somet'ing for his boys."

"Really now?" said the Lieutenant. "Well, did he have permission from his CO? And can he keep it down? I'm working on some important paperwork for Davies! He'll be on my rear for the rest of the week if I don't get it done!"

[Mac Bargett]

Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness, something directly in front of Sgt. Bargett gave a feminine shout and dropped a flashlight into the snow. He was unable to identify it before it picked up the flashlight and pointed it told him, blinding him in it's light. He stuck the half eaten apple into his pocket and pulled his hands over his eyes.

"Sergeanth Bargetth!" it shouted. "Sir, t'ank goodness I found ye before ye wenth tho bed!" It was that woman, Pvt. Colly’s friend.

“Ah yes, ma’am.” Mac lowered his hands, “I’ll have time to sleep when the war’s over. So, what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?” He saw her noticed the ruckus in the office and begin to say something, but whatever it was she thought it better to keep quiet about it and moved on.

"Sir," she begam, "one of the prisoners - Jonas Merhoff, I t'ink his name was - has given me some importhanth informathion on t'e whereabouths of yer lil' Adelheid girl. Sir, I've goth good news and bad news, an' I'm sorry if I'm sthumblin' on some party or anot'er, buth t'is is importhanth. Can we discuss t'is in privathe, sir? I don'th t'ink you'd wanth yer men tho be listhenin' on somet'ing ye mighth find privathe, sir."

This surprised Mac, he hadn’t realized that an off-hand inquiry would have produced actual results. Although the girl didn’t mean anything to him other then an innocent civilian who should be no where near the war, he was intrigued and wanted to know what news the woman had brought.

“Oh no, we trust each other with our lives, we keep no secrets, and this might even be something they would like to hear.” He started to open the door, but changed his mind, “On second thought, those reports they are going through are classified, American eyes only. Sorry, but we can use one of these empty offices.”
Facing the door, he did not see the officer approach them and spun around when the woman spoke, "Don'th worry, sir, I t'ink Sergeanth Bargetth's justh holdin' somet'ing for his boys."

Mac stood at attention and saluted when he saw the officer.

"Really now?" said the Lieutenant. "Well, did he have permission from his CO? And can he keep it down? I'm working on some important paperwork for Davies! He'll be on my rear for the rest of the week if I don't get it done!"

“Oh not at all, Lieutenant!” Mac shouted as he loud as he could, and the office behind him instantly became silent. “Nothing of the sort. I haven’t approved of my men’s behavior since we’ve been taken off the line, so I put them on midnight laundry patrol for the night to teach them to be more civilized during our rest periods. I also took this time to hand out the reports on the area for when this break is over. I’m sorry they have disturbed you, I suppose I haven’t taught them well as I thought. But still, would you like to have a look, sir.?”

Mac opened the door, and inside, 6 smiling men sat around 2 piles of laundry, one quickly folded, one not.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The Lieutenant's upper lip curled, his brows furrowing, eyes narrowing. He leaned forward, half of his body ending up inside the office, glaring at the smiling Americans. In a stern tone, the Lieutenant said, "Laundry duty, Bargett? And yet, you said you were doing reports in here. We're not in France, boys. Unless you're doing some work for Delta Company or something, I don't see why you'd be doing any reports here. Nonetheless, keep it down! You can do work without sounding like a bunch of rowdy...children!"

With that, the officer stood up, turned around, and marched back to his office. Niamh's eyes followed him until he disappeared, and then, she focused back on Sergeant Bargett. She, too, was a little puzzled by why Bargett would switch stories so quickly, but then decided it was tiredness. The winter was cold, major operations were going on between the Allies and the Germans, and it was getting late. If Niamh wanted a decent sleep, she would have to make this report fast.

"Sir, leth's justh geth down tho business t'en. T'ere's an empthy office 'bouth halfway down t'e buildin', and we can speak t'ere, all righth?"

Niamh would begin walking towards the office, glancing over her shoulder on occasion to make sure the Sergeant was following her. Whenever he was too far behind, Niamh would slow and wait for him, and then start walking again when he caught up. Roughly fifteen minutes later, the two arrived at the empty office, and Niamh pulled out a worn, brass-coloured key. She unlocked the door, stepped in, and held the door open for Bargett to enter.

"Righth, in ye come," said the Pavee. Once the higher-ranking man had done that, Niamh would close the door, turn off her torch, and stick it in her pocket. Her finger soon found the light switch, and the ceiling's hanging lamp flicked on. The Pavee then went to making things comfortable, moving over to the table in the room's middle and pulling out a couple of chairs. However, she remembered to wipe her feet first by the door.

"Please, Sergeanth," said the woman, motioning toward the free, pulled-out chair opposite of her. "Sith down."

[Mac Bargett]

"Laundry duty, Bargett? And yet, you said you were doing reports in here. We're not in France, boys. Unless you're doing some work for Delta Company or something, I don't see why you'd be doing any reports here. Nonetheless, keep it down! You can do work without sounding like a bunch of rowdy...children!"

Sgt. Bargett realized he had confused the Lieutenant, and a confused officer is not one you want to be around, “Oh, my apologies, sir, I am speaking about the training exercise, sir. It was planned weeks ago, and although we haven’t heard anything about it lately, until I get the stand down order that it won’t occur, I’m keeping my men prepared for anything at anytime. But the multi-tasking has seemed to excite my men, it will never happen again, sir.” That answered seemed to suit the Lieutenant, because he quickly marched off to where he came.

With the officer gone, the woman went back to the other matter, "Sir, leth's justh geth down tho business t'en. T'ere's an empthy office 'bouth halfway down t'e buildin', and we can speak t'ere, all righth?"

“Hey, alright. Lead the way, miss.” The woman started to quickly walk towards the other building. She was a quick mover, and Mac would have had to run to keep up, but whenever he lagged behind, she would noticed and slow down. It was a while before they reached their destination, but the wait only caused Mac’s interest in what information the woman could have for him to increase.

“Normally the man holds the door, but I then again won’t ague with a lady.” Mac joked when the woman opened the door and held it for him. Still, he entered first, and tried to peer into the darkness of the empty room as the woman turned off her flashlight and turned on the office’s own lights.

She pulled chairs for Mac and herself and asked the soldier to sit down, he paused, “Again.. but still, thank you,” before sitting down in the wooden folding chair.

“Alright miss, tell me, what did this prisoner tell you?” Mac leaned in towards the woman, intrigued.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC - Blargh, not the best.

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Niamh smirked at the Sergeant's jokes. Although he was just trying to make fun, he did have a point; men were the ones who usually held open doors, or pulled out chairs. However, Bargett - informal as he was - was still a higher-ranking soldier. He deserved respect, and to give him less then that was not the military's way. Besides, he was a nice enough fellow.

"Alright miss, tell me, what did this prisoner tell you?" asked the sergeant, intrigued. Niamh's lips pursed, the woman slightly hesitant, a nervous sigh escaping her lips. She was about to tell the Sergeant that the girl was under the care of a bloodthirsty Nazi maniac - how Bargett would take it, she didn't know. All she did know was that people could be vengeful, and the Pavee had heard of soldiers going out and fulfilling personal vendettas. Niamh hoped the Sergeant wasn't one of those people....

"Well...sir," she began, "Adelheid, by t'e sounds of ith...she's alive, sir. Buth...buth she's in Germany, sir. An'...an' I'm afraid...sir, I t'ink she's in throuble."

Once more, another deep breath. Come on, Nivvy...ye can do t'is....

"Jonas Merhoff claims Adelheid was running away from the Allies - sir, he says she claimed to be 'misthreated' by our side. From whath I can thell, he is fond of the girl, and he thook care o' 'er for a while, afther savin' 'im from a bunch o' kids who were beathin' 'er up. Buth t'en, sir, a man named 'Sthrumfelder' or somet'ing thook the girl in. Sir...Merhoff says t'at t'is man mighth've 'roughed up' t'e kid. An' sir...t'at man is t'e same one, Sergeanth, t'at carved up Corporal Claude's face. He's even carved up that Merhoff guy's hands, sir. Buth whath I don'th understhand, sir, is whath t'e girl meanth by 'misthreated'. She was a puth wit' a family in some thown or anot'er - if t'ere was abuse, why didn'th t'e milithary know? Or d'ye t'ink somet'ing else made 'er run, sir? I know some o' our lads can be rough...."

Niamh shifted uncomfortably in her chair. A frown adorned her face as she looked carefully at Bargett, trying to see how he'd react. If he took it badly, then she might have to call the guards - the man was a trained soldier, battle-tasted and everything.

[Mac Bargett]

"Well...sir," the woman began, "Adelheid, by t'e sounds of ith...she's alive, sir. Buth...buth she's in Germany, sir. An'...an' I'm afraid...sir, I t'ink she's in throuble."
Although her accent was still thick and almost unintelligible, Mac understood the important parts and was intrigued, “In trouble, what do you mean, what kind of trouble?” The woman’s deep sight before she continued worried Mac, and he listened intently.

"Jonas Merhoff claims Adelheid was running away from the Allies - sir, he says she claimed to be 'misthreated' by our side. From whath I can thell, he is fond of the girl, and he thook care o' 'er for a while, afther savin' 'im from a bunch o' kids who were beathin' 'er up. Buth t'en, sir, a man named 'Sthrumfelder' or somet'ing thook the girl in. Sir...Merhoff says t'at t'is man mighth've 'roughed up' t'e kid. An' sir...t'at man is t'e same one, Sergeanth, t'at carved up Corporal Claude's face. He's even carved up that Merhoff guy's hands, sir. Buth whath I don'th understhand, sir, is whath t'e girl meanth by 'misthreated'. She was a puth wit' a family in some thown or anot'er - if t'ere was abuse, why didn'th t'e milithary know? Or d'ye t'ink somet'ing else made 'er run, sir? I know some o' our lads can be rough...."

The secondhand story boiled the sergeant’s blood. He wasn’t even sure where the anger came from. He only met the girl a few times in his old division, and the poor Cpl. Claude even less. The reports he had had heard of the terrible war crimes the Nazis had done to thousands of innocent people didn't have this effect on him, they never did any more then show Mac the reasons why he was in Europe. He was a deeply religious man, and had so far in his life tried not to hate, for it was as bad as murder, but after hearing that the sadistic Nazi that had tortured one of his comrades now also had the innocent Adelheid, Mac heart filled murderous, bloodthirsty hatred, not only for the German butcher, but for the Allied soldiers that had scared Ahelied towards the Germans in the first place. He had a likely idea how, even though he had been transferred away before it happened.

As the hatred consumed him, Mac tried his best to hide the new emotion, he kept his tightly balled fists out of sight, under the table, and gritted his teeth as he tried to compose himself and respond, “Well…” Mac slowly blinked, and spoke in a gruff monotone, all of his emotion packed away in a powder keg, “I believe I know what happened. Back before I transferred out of Colly’s division, there were superiors who believed the girl to be a spy. If they had acted on their baseless accusations, they would have certainly frightened her enough to flee. I thank you for this information and I would very much like to know where the is that told you this. Is he here, in England?”

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC - Claude's a Corporal, Mac.

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Bargett's eyes were smoldering, displaying his rage despite the fact that his face was mostly neutral. Niamh inched back slightly, glancing at his clenched jaw; he was trying to keep his emotions in check. It made sense, with him being a soldier - if one wanted to lead, one had to have a good deal of self-control. He also was in the presence of a woman, so whatever manners he was raised with was probably holding back his rage as well.

Finally, the man spoke, his voice gruff and lacking emotion. After a hesitant, "Well..." he explained that he had an idea of what had scared Adelheid. Apparently, some of the higher-ranking officers had gone after her, thinking she was a spy; it made sense, seeing as how Hitler's soldiers were known to be as young as fourteen. From what Bargett was saying, though, the girl was completely innocent, and those who had probably scared her had no right to act that way.

"...I thank you for this information and I would very much like to know where the man is that told you this. Is he here, in England?"

"Huh?" said Niamh, snapping out of her train of thought. "Oh, eh, yessir. He was recenthly capthured ath t'e offensive ath Rocherat'. He's in t'e basementh cells, sir, along wit' t'e ot'er German prisoners. Corporal Claude and I were down t'ere thalkin' tho 'im justh a few 'ours ago, sir."

The Pavee stood up, pushing her chair out as she did so.

"I don'th know if we can go down t'ere righth now, sir, buth maybe if ye ask Lieuthenanth Ealing or Capthain Paththerson...? Both o' 'em aren'th on t'e fronth righth now, I t'ink, alt'ough I hear Ealing's gonna be goin' outh soon. He's t'e one t'at capthured Merhoff in t'e firsth place."

[Mac Bargett]

OCC: I knew that… *whistles*

As the woman started to push her chair out and stand up, Mac was still in enough control of his mind and body to show his manners and stand up as well.

The woman spoke, "I don'th know if we can go down t'ere righth now, sir, buth maybe if ye ask Lieuthenanth Ealing or Capthain Paththerson...? Both o' 'em aren'th on t'e fronth righth now, I t'ink, alt'ough I hear Ealing's gonna be goin' outh soon. He's t'e one t'at capthured Merhoff in t'e firsth place."

Mac took a moment to think about it. The lady made a lot of sense, it was too late to get permission to go see the prisoner. Mac’s rage had blinded him to that fact. He’d better get back to the squad and take them back to the barracks before it clouded his judgment any further and caused him to do something rash and dangerous.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mac eventually responded, “Unless you have anything else to add, I guess I’ll go take my men back to the barracks and then in the morning think about getting permission from anyone to see the prisoner. So excuse me miss, and thank you again for the information.” Mac pushed in his chair and stepped out the door as quickly as he could while still trying to act casual.

As the spring loaded door slammed shut behind the marching sergeant, Mac’s anger slowly spoiled into frustration. Frustration that an innocent girl was now trapped in the most vile country in the world with a documented madman. Frustration that, had he’d been less egotistical and selfish to demand a transfer back to an American division, he would have been able to protect the girl from the men who had called her a spy. And he was especially frustrated that he was now stuck in England, with no way of helping the Allied line in France push closer towards Germany.

Finally far enough away from the woman to act out on his emotions, Mac pulled the half eaten apple from his pocket, and like a grenade, tossed it with all his might into the darkness around him. That was the only release Mac would allow himself, he was still a sergeant in the United States Army, and had a protocol that needed to be followed. However tiny, the thrown apple did offer some relief, and Mac thought he could compose himself well enough to see his men again.

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod-Post

CP:
Addie: 9CP

Mac: 9CP


~Dan