Final Cigarette [Open]

[Rhys Bevan]

Location: 7AD Secondary Base, Chester, England
Time: 1600hrs
Conditions: Heavy rain, stormclouds brewing.

Rhys continued down the ugly pathway, as the pain in his chest grew as if a dagger was wrenching deeper through his heart. The rain was beginning to grow stronger but Rhys was barely aware of it; he was barely aware of anything. His mind was clouded, unnervingly so, and he felt almost as if he couldn't breathe. The announcement issued to all the troops of the Desert Rats earlier that morning still echoed through his mind; Edward McMillan was missing, presumed dead. The Staff Sergeant halted outside the great building where already a large crowd was gathering. He wondered whether his heart would break; logic told him that it couldn't, but then why did his chest hurt so?

Nearly a thousand men were expected to pay their final respects to McMillan; all men who were not fighting on the frontline were attending and there was even talk of men flying over from the United States to also say goodbye to the man who had saved most of their lives on countless occasions. The vast majority of Rhys' own men were currently fighting over in Sicily and so the Staff Sergeant was alone, his wretched shadow his only company. The effect of the Sergeant Major's death had been gut-wrenching for the men; Rhys could see tears on the cheeks of many hardened NCO's, mingled with the hardy rain that beat down unmericlessly on the huge gathering. The ceremony was to be held outside; there would be no way in hell that all attendees would be able to fit inside the church and the rain seemed intent on making the grieving men even more miserable than they had been before, if that was even possible.

But, Rhys thought to himself, if it hurt this bad for him, then what would it feel like for Nathan? He felt a sharp pain in his chest. Or Colly? He could hardly imagine what it must have felt like for the private; he was barely a boy for god's sake. To be seperated from his companion for so long, only to be reunited...and only for him to be snatched away again? It was horrific. Truly horrific. Rhys scanned the sea of khaki that stared back at him but he could not see Colly anywhere. Maybe the grief was too great for him?

As more and more men poured in, Rhys backed away against the wall of the stony church. The enemy had taken Wolfram like they had taken Cadwaladr, like they had taken Clements, like they had taken even his uncle, Robert, who had been shot down in the Great War by the famed Baron von Richtoven whilst flying over Passchendale. There had been a time when Rhys would have hesitated to kill the enemy; pitied them even. But from that moment on, Rhys knew that all that was left in war was hatred. It was survival of the fittest and if McMillan wasn't around to claim that title, then he was.

"Fancy a smoke, Sarge?" piped up a young private, unnaturally cheery for the occasion, and holding out a packet of cigarettes in his hand. Rhys hesitated; he wasn't usually a smoker but sighed. It seemed to have worked for McMillan.

He took a single cigarette from the pack and inspected in dully, remembering the Sergeant Major's fondness for the things. "Lighter?" asked Rhys irritably. The private obliged dutifully and the Staff Sergeant lit up one end of the small item. He took a slow drag and breathed out the billowing smoke, feeling the saddest he had ever felt in his life. The feeling of pain had disappeared, it seemed. All that was left was to prove himself and prove himself in a way of which McMillan would have been proud.

"For McMillan," he whispered to himself, before tossing the cigarette to the floor and stamping on it once to extinguish the tiny flame. And, to Rhys, as the final cigarette was stamped out, so too was the man named Edward McMillan.

[Daniel Brennan]

The rain beat down upon the hundreds of men gathered around the small church. You wouldn’t think so many would turn up for one funeral, but it was true: they were all there because of the death of one man... one great man. Edward McMillan had been an NCO of the seventh armoured British division... No, McMillan had been the NCO of the Desert Rats. He had been a remarkable fighter: an amazing fighter. He had one countless battles and lead his men to countless victories. Daniel hadn’t known him well compared to other people. They had known and would have recognised each other if they met, but it would have been too much to call them ‘friends’. McMillan didn’t have many friends. He had always seemed to prefer to be alone rather than in company. The only friend of McMillan that Daniel knew of was a young British private that went by the name of Stephen Colly. Where was Colly? He had been sure that he saw the face in the crowds a few minutes ago, but the crown had pushed him onwards before he had a chance.

Daniel had had enough of this wet, crowd. He used his wide shoulders to try and cut a path forwards for himself. He grunted an apology as he shoved past a posh looking officer. It looked like the man was going to ask for his name and rank to punish him later, but people had already filled the gap between them and Daniel took the opportunity to dart away. Well, to dart away as well as one could dart when you were stuck in the middle of a mass of struggling, wet bodies... which wasn’t very well. He had been standing out in the crown for ages and he looked like he had just come out of the divisional showers. Although, now that he thought about it the rain was probably a bit warmer than the showers.

He was close to the wall of the church now. He gave a last shove and he stumbled out and nearly ran into a fellow Staff sergeant. His feet got purpose on the wet gravel and he turned around to apologise to the non commissioned officer. He knew the man vaguely. He was almost certain that he was Welsh and his name was Bevan. He didn’t have a clue about the first name; they weren’t used very much in the military. It was all surnames and nicknames. ”Sorry” He mumbled to the soldier. He slid over to the wall and leaned his back against it. The crown wasn’t suffocating him here at least and it offered a small bit of protection from the rain. Daniel lifted his hand and brushed the fringe of his wet, dripping hair out of his eyes. He sighed to himself. He turned towards the Welshman again. ”Bevan, isn’t it?”

[Stephen Colly]

The rain poured down in sheets as the graveyard became more and more crowded with people who were mourning the death of Edward McMillan. Thousands of men, most in khaki uniform were standing around, letting the rain drench them as they stood waiting for the service to begin, if it ever would begin what with, it seemed more and more people coming into the graveyard every second.

It seemed as if McMillan had had a lot of friends, or acquaintances, he had been a very popular man and would be missed but what looked like the entire British Army and even the United States Army as well.
Stephen walked slowly, he hadn’t been told directly that McMillan had been killed, he had heard rumours and then the rumours turn into reality about the death of his greatest friend from other soldiers around the camp.

The private walked slowly, his hands deep in the pockets of his uniform, he walked up the pathway towards the church, and he couldn’t even see the entrance there were so many people around. A lump in his throat was tightening and tightening, his heart felt it had a large hand over it and was being crushed into his chest, the pain was so great. He had tried not to cry in front of the other men as it would have ruined his reputation but now, he was alone or around people who were crying also and the tears just started to come.

Stopping just outside the church, he watched as the people filed past, some tears glistening on the checks of many hardened sergeants who would have to be beaten a hundred times normally to make them cry but now, for only one man…they were crying.
The young private crumpled then, he lent against the walls of the entrance and looked up at the rain covered sky, tears falling down his face and checks, he knelt down to the floor, he couldn’t bare this…he couldn’t take it in that McMillan had been killed…why did it have to be Edward? Why did it have to be the only friend in this god dam army? Stephen was ready to go and kill himself out in France right at this moment; his life didn’t seem worth living any more.
Putting his face into his hands, he just sat on the wet grass, not caring what he looked like, he just wanted to let all his grief out for the man he had loved…

[Nathan Whyte]

OOC: I think of possible, Brannigan/Brentwood should join as well. It would be a good introduction for the “team”

Nathan stopped. His head bowed and his wet hair sweeping forwards. Lines of water rolled down his face, a mixture of rain and tears. His whole body shook with thunderous sobs as his mind rolled through his memories of McMillan. The big ban, once you had broken through his armour, had been a friend to one an all around the camp. Without his booming voice, the parade ground would feel empty.

He looked up briefly as he shouldered his way through the crowd to get a better look upon the church. He also felt so bloody angry. All the officers, the generals, the ones that hardly new Edward, but the ones that had sent him to his death were sat in their, probably making polite conversation but not caring in the slightest. Just the thought of it made Nathan's skin feel as if it would make the rain evaporate off of him.

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The best were the first to die. The words echoed through as his mind as he shuffled across a small patch of grass, the sodden ground slowly starting to pull his boots down. There in front of him was a lone Private, on the ground crying. He didn’t blame him either; Nathan wasn’t sure what was keeping him on his feet. He tapped the boy gently on his shoulder and offered him his hand to help him up. ”Here we go, mate. Be strong. Be like Edward.” At that, the Flight Sergeant felt even his legs start to buckle slightly and a pricking in the corners of his eyes as more teats prepared for their journey downwards. He looked upwards into the cloud-cloaked heavens and muttered the words to himself again. Be strong. Be like Edward.

He turned and found himself pressed against the back of Rhys. He was not surprised in the slightest to find him here and gently nudged him to get his attention. ”Rhys.” He only got one word out before his voice cracked. He must have looked a right state, red eyes, his whole body retreating into the trench coat he wore to keep the wind and the rain off of him. He looked at the sea of men in similar fashion. Be strong. Be like Edward.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

OOC: Sorry if this seems strong, but there is reason for Liam throwing a scene. No better way than to get things kick started like this eh?


The weather was horrendous and Captain Brentwood’s full dress of uniform was now a muddy karki colour, as the rain had soaked up into the entire length of his torso. His legs weren’t that bad surprisingly, but shoulders downwards, he looked like a muddy officer. His officer’s cap was quite wet also, most of the senior commissioned officers were given plastic hair nets to cover their hats from the rain, along with what seemed to be courtesy coats from their aides. Oh how pompass they looked! The Captain couldn’t stick the church anymore, he was meant to be saying a few words on behalf of the Company Sergeant Major at the small podium in front of the alter, cradling the coffin of what was meant to be Edward - but he just couldn’t bring himself to do, Captain Brentwood was harbouring a secret…

Mercilessly, he shoved his way through the crowd, needing to get out of the church before everyone’s eyes laid upon him the moment the dear vicar bellowed out his name to say some words; On the due behalf as his commanding officer and good friend. Stumbling against the concrete platter of stairs, Captain Brentwood more or less fell down them with a staggered balance, rather than make a brisk walk down them. A few eyes cascaded into his direction from the overflow of troops lingering outside the church, but the Captain avoided all confrontation as best he could and hurriedly made his way along the length of the church.

Unable to hold back any longer with his temper, he angrily kicked at one of the gravestones and yelled, before he proceeded to turn and kick at the dirt, gritting his teeth as he planted both of his hands against the top of his Officer’s hat, as if he were straining to hold back his temper - he’d been referred for anger management a year back, the therapist insisted on counting to ten whenever you got angry; Well, the Captain was muttering the numbers beneath his breath, trying to calm himself down, but basically irritating himself all the more. “This ain’t fucking right”[/I] he mumbled beneath his breath in between number seven and eight, a young corporal soon caught his gaze as the man wearily approached the officer, saying “Ya’ Alright Sir?”[/i] the middle aged Corporal asked, his thick northern accent irritating the English Officer as he yanked his hat off and threw it at the Corporal’s face, charging at him whilst he was momentarily startled and blinded from the hat obscuring his vision; Liam grabbed at the NCO’s uniform and swung him into the dirt, kicking him in the side angrily.

“No I’m not fucking alright! You northern bastard!” he yelled angrily, a group of young privates rushing over as they grabbed at the Captain’s body, tussling him away from the downed Corporal quickly, who startled, confused and hurting from the pointed end of the Captain’s shoes. Pulling against the restraining arms, Liam continued to angrily snarl beneath his breath, eventually wriggling one arm free to push at the subordinates on his other arm “Get the fuck off me!” he bellowed out, his hair stuck against his face somewhat as it began to get wet, his chest heaving as he breathed deeply, obviously the Captain was completely stirred up about something; It must have been major, in order for him to lose his temper so bad, he hadn’t had an episode of being aggressive for well over a year, he was still fuming now!

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys turned to see the fellow Staff Sergeant standing at his side and merely gave him a nod to recognise his presence. He was in no mood to engage in a conversation, nevermind with someone he had never met before; truth be told, he wasn't really in a mood to do anything. Suddenly, someone tapped him on his soaking shoulder and Rhys turned back round, expecting to see the Staff Sergeant staring back at him, demanding why he ignored him. Instead, he saw the bleary-eyed figure of Nathan Knight, standing there pathetically in the rain. "Nathan," he said almost apologetically. The Flight Sergeant had known McMillan better than anyone; apart from Colly of course. Rhys was beginning to grow worried over the supposed abesence of the young man but he ignored the rising fear in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Colly could look after himself.

"Come on, Nathan," he said, smiling wanly. "If Edward's up there looking down on you he'd think you were a right crybaby, wouldn't he? Pull yourself together, yeah? Anyway, I suppose it's just a mercy that Wolfram killed him before the cigarettes did,"

The words stuck in Rhys' throat. That was the first time he had mentioned Wolfram's name since McMillan had fallen. Why was it that a man like McMillan had been killed and a slug like Wolfram still squirmed on? It wasn't fair. On the other hand, he thought grimly, if Wolfram wasn't dead yet, then at least that opened up the opportunity for Rhys himself to rid the world of the bastard once and for all. That, he reasoned, would give him inner peace. If only killing the Major would be as easy as it sounded...

A roar from the other side of the graveyard shook Rhys from his thoughts. The NCO turned around to see Captain Brentwood displaying qualities of ferocity that would put a black bear to shame. He gestured for Nathan - and, as an afterthought, the Staff Sergeant Brennan - to follow him and he crossed the yard to where Brentwood was stood, an air of unbridled anger obvious on his face. "Sir," said Rhys carefully, looking Brentwood straight in the eye. "Calm down. McMillan's the hard-ass; he wouldn't want you to steal his title at his funeral, would he?"

Rhys smiled weakly and at last spotted Colly among the rabble. In the near distance, he could see very clear that the man's cheeks were wet with tears. He looked almost hysterical. Rhys considered going over to comfort the lad but decided against it. He guessed he needed to be alone right now and Rhys was all too happy to oblige. Colly's one true friend was dead; and there was nothing he could do about it. He considered the four men around him; all of whom he knew to have been some of the closest men to McMillan throughout the country.

Nathan Knight, trying not to let his emotions show although the pain in the pit of his stomach was etched forever upon his face, Daniel Brennan, stoic and unwavering, trying to be strong against the odds, Liam Brentwood, angry, furious, screaming at the death of his companion...and Stephen Colly, broken down into a crumpled mess, looking to all the world like an echo of the man he once was. Rhys stared at his feet. It seemed almost that when McMillan had died, so to had these men. And it didn't look like they would ever see the light again.

[Daniel Brennan]

Sergeant Bevan obviously wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. He merely rudely nodded at Daniel’s attempt at starting a conversation. Daniel didn’t hold it against him, though. It seemed everyone was down at the death of the super-soldier. Before he had come to the church Daniel had thought that he had been sad, but what he saw here shocked him deeply. Tears cut muddy swathes down the faces of soldiers who wouldn’t even cry out of they had their legs blown off in combat. But the death of one single man had left them crying for their mothers. It was sad, really. Grown men balling over the death of someone they barely knew. It was lucky that there were no civilians – that he could see – at the funeral, for if there were their moral would be going down pretty speedily.

Some man wearing a pilot’s uniform came up and tapped Bevan on the shoulder, thus starting a conversation. Daniel pulled his collar up higher against his face to ward off the stinging raindrops which were being blown in his direction by a strong wind. He uttered a few swear words, but they sound was muffled against the collar and it was impossible to determine they’re identities. He was starting to feel a bit lonely here now; his attempt to be friendly had failed and he was standing here doing nothing at all. Nothing at all apart from standing there, that is.

Loud noises from the crowd caused him to crane his head somewhat and a moment later a young looking officer barrelled out of the crowd, apparently in a fit of rage. He proceeded to start swearing at a young corporal and had to be restrained from clobbering him by a terrified group of privates. Daniel smirked; glad to have something to smile about. In every sad occasion there was always some drunk idiot who would come along and cheer everyone up; that’s what happened. ”Oh…” He breathed to himself as he recognised the man as Captain Brentwood, McMillan’s commander. Well, he used to be McMillan’s commander. That would explain why he was looking and acting like an intoxicated tramp.

Staff Sergeant Bevan made a gesture for Daniel and the pilot to come over to the Captain, but Daniel had already started moving. He walked quickly up to Brentwood and shoved a couple of Privates who had been restraining Brentwood away. Bevan started talking to him and made a weak joke. Daniel didn’t think that was going to work; Brentwood needed some proper reasoning to calm him down. He tapped the officer on the shoulder and started talking hurriedly. ”Sir, I’m Daniel Brennan. We’ve met a few times before although I’m not sure you remember. Sir, please calm down right now. McMillan was your friend, I understand that, and you should be angry, I understand that too. But you can’t act like that in front of your men! You don’t know how low their moral gets when they see their commander… flip out… like you did just there. They’ll start thinking that there is no way they can win the war without McMillan and so pretty soon you will have yourself a completely useless section of men.” Daniel stepped back, already facing the fact that he was about to get eaten by the Captain.

His attention was distracted by a distraught figure collapsing on the wet grass by the entrance of the church. It appeared Stephen Colly was after all, at the funeral. Daniel frowned at the Privates disregard for his own appearance, physically and mentally. He leaned down and picked up a small stone from the ground. He lobbed the stone at Stephen, calling out a low ”Stephen” as he threw it. He mouthed the words ‘get over here’ angrily and gestured at the ground near his feet as he did so. He was upset, but there had to be limits to how upset you could get in front of other people.

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen had started to control himself from weeping and was sitting on the ground, staring at the wet grass. He heard a soft voice in front of him and looked up but the man had gone away. Suddenly, he heard a shout and looked around, standing up as he did so to see what the noise was about, it was a Captain, Captain Liam Brentwood if Stephen wasn’t very much mistaken, showing his anger and grief by shouting at some other soldiers and kicking headstones which must have been painful.
A group of men, who Stephen recognised to be men that he had met, had rushed over to the Captain and were trying to calm him down, talking in low whispers. Daniel was there, Rhys and the man who had helped him just now.

He felt some eyes stray over to look at him and he looked away, brushing the tears out of his eyes, he hated people looking at him when he looked so pathetic compared to all the other soldiers who were trying to be strong but deep down, like Stephen, they hurt so badly for one man and that man was McMillan.
Stephen was debating whether to stay and see the funeral of hell through or just leave now and come back at a quieter time to pay his respects to Edward when he heard a stone land just next to him, bewildered he looked down at the stone but then heard a voice shouting his name.

Looking up, he saw that it was Daniel Brennan was calling him over, his face angry and mouthing the words Get over here and was gesturing to the ground at his feet. Frowning, Stephen started towards the group of men, not really wanting to go over and have to try and make conversation but he supposed he would have to given it that he knew most of the men in the little group anyway.

He made his way through the mass of people, keeping his eyes on the group until he reached Daniel’s side. ”Yes sir.” he muttered glancing up at Daniel and then around at Rhys and the other man…Nathan and then to Liam giving a small smile to each, his eyes then averted them down to the ground.

[Nathan Whyte]

OOC: Sorry guys, I just can not write tonight.

A ruckus emerged from the main church, a great deal of cursing and screaming. Nathan looked mildly interested as Brentwood threw a tempter-tantrum. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for his brother if he stepped on the wrong side of his CO and this temporarily cheered him up. Temporarily.

He returned Rhys’ weak smile, but it dawned on him that the usual cheerful persona he held was not their. A mourning Rhys, it showed how deep this ran, how well McMillan was known, and how much this was affecting everybody. McMillan, a veritable enigma now gone, just disappeared. Gone.

Nathan let his face fall, his eyes glued upon the wet mush of leaves that coated the ground. He looked up to see Brentwood storming out of the church, and Brennan trying to calm him. It occurred to the Flight Sergeant if nature took it’s course here, there would be another funeral in need of attendance here. He stepped forward and tried placing an arm on Brentwood. ”Sir, I really think it would be a good idea for you to calm down. Nobody likes them officers, but know’s not the time to let it out. Calm down, what would Edward want?”

Stepping backwards, out of striking range, he coughed slightly before looking every man around him in the eyes. ”I guess this is it then, what McMillan would have wanted was just a small thing, just his mates, just us really, and now they have the whole bloody brass filling that room and us, the guys that really new Ed stuck outside in the pouring rain.
“I just, y’know, want to say a few things. Ed was a brilliant man, a true hero for all of us. He shouldn’t be dead, he just shouldn’t. But to us, he isn’t, he’s still here with all of us, he’s still fighting the Hun. Through him we’re going to get our strength, and mark my words, we will get revenge here for this sin.“

He finished off and bowed his head again. He had meant every single word he had said, and would stand by it. Someday, somehow, he was going to find out who was responsible for this injustice, and make sure they entered a whole new world of pain.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Struggling away from the grasps of the privates trying to restrain their superior officer, Captain Brentwood grunted, almost looking seemingly drunk in the process - he was a very aggressive male. Looking to Staff Sergeant Bevan who approached him first, making a light hearted joke, Captain Brentwood glared at him through the squinted slits of his eyes; Rain was befalling from off his brow by now, the entirety of his head was soaking and his hair looked black from it; Before he could even contemplate a verbal response to the Staff Sergeant, someone else came fumbling over, pushing at the privates, but then yet another person caught the whiff’ of his attention - a young American, talking down to the Captain about Morale!?

Angrily, Captain Brentwood paced from off his towards the cocky American who’d briefly turned to get someone’s attention; Grabbing at his collar, he yanked the American Staff Sergeant up towards his chest and glared down into his eyes “Don’t you ever talk to me about Morale Sergeant! When you know Fuck-All!” he spat out, water spattering from his face onto the yank’s cheeks, before he shoved the man backwards, glancing to everyone around him briefly, as if he were a wild animal, ready to strike anyone who backed him into a corner. “You’re all fools!” he shouted out, angrily looking to a flight sergeant who touched him and soon backed away. “Don’t you dare touch me…” he snarled beneath his breath, before shaking his head some, to look amongst them all.

“None of you knew him, none of you! I had to identify his body and it wasn’t him! I’m not fucking crazy, that man in there is not Edward!” he yelled out, the veins in his temples throbbing. “But no one believes me…” he slipped out afterwards, taking a deep breath to look around himself, before he faced Rhys - someone he could trust. “You have to believe me, Edward’s still out there somewhere, not in that church” he said towards him in particular, before he suddenly turned to push past the Flight Sergeant in his way, walking away from the group that’d surrounded him…

He wasn’t crazy, he had to identify the body a couple of days back, but no one believed him - the face was disfigured with bullet holes, but Liam could tell it wasn’t Edward. The man was petite with lengthy hair, that was not Edward! Angrily, he made it but ten paces from the bunch of men surrounding him, before he leant against a tree in the middle of the graveyard, sniffing hard to try and unblock his nostrils from the cold. Why would they even ask him to identify the body and not take his word for it? He was no doubt a laughing stock by now, but Edward McMillan was a fine soldier and if he was out there somewhere, he was going to find him.

Wiping his eyes from the water, Liam coughed from the cold and stared at the ground; He’d already put a paper through on asking permission to hit the frontlines, precisely where a tank crew of his were murdered. He wasn’t quite sure if they’d give him the go ahead, perhaps they had better plans for him? But regardless, Liam was going to find the man and strike back. No one killed his men cold heartedly without a chance. The report handed to him had foretold of the circumstances, a presumable surrender from the tank crew, due to their bodies scattered alongside the tank in a huddled formation - but there was one body missing, someone by the name of Andrew. Liam was conspicuous about the whole even, he knew the Nazis had taken the highest ranked man there and put his tags on one of the bodies - heck, the uniform didn’t even match! It was a private’s! So why on hell didn’t anyone believe him with all the evidence!? He was going to find Edward in the haystack, capturing a Company Sergeant Major would prove more valuable than executing him. It was only a matter of time until poor Edward cracked under pressure and provided the intelligence they needed - he had to have been captured, he was not dead, he knew that for sure!

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys instinctively took a step back as the Captain spiralled into a fierce rage and roared at the small group who had all attempted to rise his spirits. Faces were turning as the officer swore and snarled and Rhys wouldn't have blamed his companions if they had actually ran away there and then. Friends could be deadlier than enemies, that much was certain. Particularly when the friend in question was ultimately decisive over your entire career, he added as an afterthought.

The Staff Sergeant wanted to believe the Captain - he genuinely did - but it was...it was ridiciolous. McMillan couldn't be alive, he just couldn't, it would make no sense. If he was alive and had been taken hostage then...why would his death be faked. Surely, the enemy would be looking to recieve a ransom for such a capture, not keep him kept away from those who would pay dearly for his release.

Brentwood pushed through the three men around him and stood alone, solemnly and stoically, against an ancient tree, seemingky oblivious to the rain that was hammering down upon him. Rhys turned to Nathan and Brennan. "Go to Colly; look after him," he said hurriedly.

Without waiting for a reply, Rhys moved slowly towards Brentwood's side. "Captain...say, just say, that McMillan's still alive. What would have been the point of disguising his death unless he was, I dunno, a deserter or a traitor," Rhys let out a hollow laugh. "And I don't see that, sir. He has to be dead. Unless..." Rhys looked up at him grimly. "If we can get a look at the "fake McMillan" then all of us, I know, will help you. We'll help you find out what happened to him - if that is the case - and we'll help you get him back. But for that, we're gonna have to...to...crack his coffin open,"

Even as he said the words, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Craclomh open a coffin. It was a horrific thought. And if it really was McMillan...he wouldn't be able to bare to look at his sightless face, let alone destroy the sancity of death by cracking into a coffin. But...if Brentwood truly believed the man within not to be the Sergeant Major then maybe he'd get a chance to prove it.

[Daniel Brennan]

Daniel felt guilty as he saw the dejected figure of Stephen Colly stumble over to him. He hadn’t meant to sound and look so mean when he had called Stephen over; he had only tried to make him see a little sense and not embarrass himself in front of the whole army. He was about to apologise to him and tell him that his rank did not benefit a ‘sir’ when he was abruptly yanked around by his collar. He uttered a small grunt as he was shoved face to face with Captain Brentwood. Why had he turned away from Brentwood!? If you had just kept his attention on one thing at once then he would probably have been able to run out of the mad captain’s reach, but now he was about to get killed! Definitely a bad day...

The Captain proceeded to tell him how much – or how little – he knew and Daniel answered with a quiet ”Yes, sir” The man spat at him after his outburst and Daniel wrinkled his nose in disgust. He just about stopped himself from making a smart comment before he was pushed away with force, causing his feed to skid on the mud but luckily not fall over altogether. Daniel grimaced, wiped his face with his sleeve, straightened his collar and stepped back an extra few paces in case the angry officer decided to bring his attention back to Daniel. Other than being entirely humiliated he was fine and he listened to the conversation with interest – from a safe distance of course. It appeared the anger was leaving Captain Brentwood. In its place there appeared... pathetic-ness ?

Brentwood was saying that the body in the coffin inside wasn’t actually McMillan! He had been called in to identify the body and it hadn’t been McMillan. It was obvious from his current mood that the seniors had dismissed this as Brentwood trying to make things better. Brentwood and McMillan had had a friendly relationship and the other officers knew this. Brentwood ended practically sobbing and pushed past the pilot and started walking away, only to stop after a few paces under the bare branches of a tree. Bevan turned to Daniel and the Pilot – who Daniel now knew to be called Nathan – and effectively told them to clear off. ”Gladly!” Daniel muttered darkly before side-stepping over to Stephen; keeping a wary eye on Brentwood in case he heard.

Daniel stood beside Stephen for a few seconds in silence before he walked away a few paces away from Brentwood, although he was interested in what was happening so he didn’t stray too far. He remembered what he was going to say before he was... interrupted... and started talking brightly to Stephen. ”Oh yeah, sorry about being so short with you there. I was going to say how you shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, but that would be a bit hypocritical after what I just did!” He grinned widely and looked to make sure Brentwood was still safely over by the tree; away from him.

[Stephen Colly]

Oh dear God. The CO Liam Brentwood was loosing it, he was shouting to the sky that was growing darker as the rain poured on down in torrents and the soldiers all stood, watching. Brentwood started to shout that McMillan wasn’t in the coffin, that his body wasn’t there and that McMillan was alive still. He wasn’t in the church…Stephen had backed away at this sudden outrage and after what seemed like ages of shouting from the CO, the poor man had calmed down and the churchyard was silent apart from the small sounds of the rain falling onto the heads and necks of soldiers.

Rhys had taken things under control and was telling the two men, Daniel and Nathan, to look after Stephen who was standing silently, watching the whole affair from a little distance. He couldn’t hear what Rhys was saying to the CO but it was something due to the quietness of his voice that he was trying to explain what the CO was saying. Stephen glanced up as he heard footsteps approach him and he looked over to see the Staff Sergeant Daniel Brennan walk towards him.

Stephen turned to the man and saluted quickly as if he thought he might have a go at making himself look more respectful.
”Oh yeah, sorry about being so short with you there. I was going to say how you shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, but that would be a bit hypocritical after what I just did!”
That was an odd remark to make, Stephen had expected a bollocking of some kind but no, it was just to say sorry for being short to him.

Stephen glanced over at Brentwood and Rhys and then back at Daniel…was he meant to say something towards that remark? He didn’t know quiet what to say to this…”Oh…um.” he stumbled over his words.

[Nathan Whyte]

There was an awkward silence as Brentwood shouted out. At was as if, for a brief moment, the entire world stood still. Nathan broke this silence with a single exclamation; ”Shit!”

At that, it was as if the world went into overdrive, the graveyard being consumed in a hubbub, everyone within earshot babbling, and it spread along the groups of people, jumping from conversation to conversation. Rhys jumped at the chance to take command over something more than a flock of sheep, but Nathan ignored him. What Brentwood had said felt right, not just right, but perfect. McMillan was too good to be dead, it would take half the German army to bring him down, and most of those guys would wind up dead. He stood his ground and turned to Brentwood. ”Sir, you’re saying that McMillan is in some god-forsaken hell-hole in the middle of Germany?” He stopped, letting the seriousness of the allegations sink in as Rhys spoke. ”I believe the Captain, Rhys. I don’t think we need to disturb the dead.”

It was most certainly a major revelation. Arguably the best fighter on the Allied side alive, alone. Alone. It didn’t bear to think about, really, a best friend in a deadly situation where at any second, the German war machine may strike, and kill him. Nathan felt a basic instinct in his gut, one that overrode everything else, including sense. An immense animal feeling to do something.

He sticked an arm out, grabbing Colly’s shoulder and indicating for Brennan to join in. He manoeuvred the Private around and sucked on his bottom lip as he looked at the men surrounding him. All of them had known, and were close to McMillan, all of them were adept fighters. Perhaps…

Nathan held silence for a few seconds before addressing all of the men around him. ”I don’t suppose any of you know how to parachute?”

[Stephen Colly]

We closing this....?