Bad Coffee, Bad food, and a Good Soldier (O'Brian)

[rspeirs]

January 30th, 1943
0700 Hours
Allied base in London, England[/u]


Today was anything but uneventful for First Sergeant Ronald Speirs. It was Friday, and this morning, he was appointed to Commanding officer of the newly made Foxtrot Company. He could remember the scene vividly. He was standing, on what was a rather brisk morning in London, at attention for roll call in front of the flag pole, which bore both the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack. All of a sudden, a small private called “Sergeant Speirs.” Speirs turned around, still at attention, saying “Yes private?” The Private answered back to Speirs “I have received a letter from Captain Patterson, which is directed towards you. Please, come inside.” Inside, Speirs was given the news that he was to be commanding officer of Foxtrot. It came as a shock to Speirs, but he was honored. The private also told him that he had to men under his jurisdiction-Private First Class Hartley, and 1st Sergeant George O’Brian. He had not heard much about either men, but he had met Hartley on one occasion in Patterson’s office, and Speirs thought he had come off as a brash, otherwise impetuous individual. Speirs knew that taming such a person would be difficult, but he was up to the task. Hartley may be a brash individual now, but Speirs vowed that by the end of his stay in Foxtrot, Hartley would be a veteran soldier.

Now however, Speirs was in line at the mess facility. It was still a cold, bitter morning in January and Speirs was shivering from standing outside. He looked forward to receiving his morning’s coffee. It wasn’t really coffee, not to Speirs at least. It was just hot, black water. It didn’t taste all that great, sometimes the coffee taste was strong, other times it was dull. Albeit it though, it warmed Speirs up, so he drank it. As for the food, it was tasteless to Speirs. To a man who had traditional Scottish and American food for most of his life, it tasted all the more like tree bark. Today’s meal was eggs, bacon, and toast, or so they said. Speirs did never trust London’s mess facility, or the Army’s mess facilities in general. Speirs could not come to call himself this gelatinous yellow mess on his tray eggs, nor could he call these brown colored bricks bacon and toast. Never the less, he ate them on the sole principle that they would get him through the morning.

Speirs walked to find his usual seat, which was off in the corner, alone and isolated, the way he liked it. He was never too fond of the other soldiers, mainly due to the fact that they were not too fond of him. Mindless rumors had sprung up about Speirs’ ruthlessness, his anger, and his quiet nature. This however, did not concern Speirs in the slightest. They were mindless soldier jokes, nothing more. Speirs could care less about what other men had to say about him. He only cared that his men respected him in battle. Afterall, The Third Infantry Division was built off a system of respect. It was this respect that gave soldiers a bond with their commanders. Speirs didn’t care about this bond, he just cared that his men followed his order.

Next, Speirs pulled out some papers that dealt with Foxtrot Company. He took a sip of his coffee as he read a line saying “Your men are as follows-Private Red Hartstock, Private Gary Jasper, Private First Class Hartley, 1st Sergeant George O’Brian.” This George O’Brian character intrigued him. He knew little about him, besides the fact that the last name “O’Brian” was Irish. He had heard of the tenacity, and fiery spirit the Irish had. He knew that, in time, O’Brian would grow into a good soldier. He continued to read. “This appointment of O’Brian is temporary. When Foxtrot Company is built up, I intend on giving O’Brian his own company.” As he continued to read, he heard footsteps. Then, Speirs heard a tray clang onto the table. He lowered the papers to see a soldier sitting in front of him.

[George O'Brian]

There are several things a soldier can be reliant on. One being the fact that breakfast, while being a vital meal to get through the day and combat, often, looked, smelt, felt, and tasted absolutely crap. This morning was no different.

O’Brian shivered slightly, as he moved along the line in the large draughty mess hall, muttering small words hear and there with the odd soldier he recognised. The hubbub of morning talk and banter, griping and celebrating was as usual a buzz in the background, sounding similar to a swarm of bees, backed up with the clatter of metal on plates, scraping chairs and flapping doors. The squeak of boots stood out in particular this morning to the First Sergeant working along the bench of food, he had spent half the evening before polishing the black leather adorning his feet to make a good impression. His uniform was crisp, all the necessary badges sowed in perfectly. He slowly tapped at the blue and white striped square edged in green that was on his upper left sleeve, the symbol of his new division, the Third Infantry.

He mumbled a thanks to the apron-adorning kitchen staff, as a weird stew that he had grown fond of was ladled into a bowl on his plate, next to a chipped mug full of coffee and a small plate holding a pair of slices of toast. He felt around beneath him in a pair of large plastic draws for cutlery before laying that on his plate.

He turned around, and surveyed the room. He walked along the wall, slowly circling around the edge of the hall looking for a table that wasn’t full to the brim. He spotted one, the only occupant a lone First Sergeant. This suited O’Brian fine, he wanted to work through the division one man at a time until they all seemed familiar to him. The red plastic tray was placed on the table, clattering slightly as he pulled out a chair. As he did this, he made sure his right shoulder went forward, displaying the golden chevrons with the central star to the man opposite. He settled into the seat, and looked at the man opposite. He gave a small friendly smile. ”First Sergeant George O’Brian. Who might you be then?”

As he asked, he picked up the knife and sliced along one side of toast, cutting it into a pair of neat triangles. He dipped a corner in to the stew in his bowl, steaming slightly in the morning chill, and he pulled it out, balancing a small bit of meat on the bread. He slipped it in to his mouth and crunched down. It wasn’t as bad as he first thought it might be. This new division might not be as bad as it first seemed.

[rspeirs]

As the man introduced himself, Speirs looked down at his paper, just to double check the name. Yes, this was indeed his first officer, 1st Sergeant George O’Brian. Speirs grimaced and almost gagged at whatever it was that the man was eating. He took a bite of his so called eggs, and then introduced himself. “I am 1st Sergeant Ronald Speirs, commander of Foxtrot Company, and as it seems on this paper, your commanding officer.” He took a sip of coffee and gave a faint smile to the newly acquainted Sergeant.

Speirs really did not know what to say to this man. He had never encountered a soldier so enthused to meet him. Usually they sat down to toy with his emotions, or crack a joke directed towards him. Never did someone express such interest in Ronald Speirs before, and at this time, Speirs was speechless.

A Myriad of topics now rushed into Speirs head at once. It had been an eventful day, and Speirs decided to talk about the company itself. “I am glad you came along. Up until now, I had some Private as my first officer. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He wasn’t a good soldier, at least not in my eyes. Too brash. I hate that in a soldier. Now, you are my first officer. Our job in Foxtrot is support. We may not be on the frontline, but from what Patterson told me, we will be there if need be. In addition to that, we are to provide suppressing fire during most battles, usually with mortars, grenade launchers, artillery, and if Patterson feels generous, maybe even a Sherman tank.” Speirs smiled. “I know for one, I wouldn’t mind riding around in one of those.” Speirs took a sip of coffee to wet his pallet, which was dry from speaking. “If you need more clarification, I have these papers.” Speirs handed the papers, which were directly given to him from Patterson, to the 1st Sergeant.

“Up until now…” Speirs said, “We had 4 men in our company-Myself, Thomas Jasper, Private Hartley, and Joe Hartstock.” Speirs took a bite of bacon, chewed it, and then swallowed. “About Joe Hartstock, you would be better off to refer to him as Red. Soldiers don’t just call him that because he is a red head. He is a very fiery, vehement, and outspoken individual. He follows orders, but might get in your face about it once and a while, or so I have been told. I have only spoken to him once. I don’t really have a connection with my men. I am not their favorite company leader, and if I were tell the truth, I think they even fear me.” Speirs took a bite of his eggs and continued to speak, still with his mouth full. “I don’t really care what they think though. It’s all based on stupid rumor, which I take no part in. If you couldn’t tell, that was why I was so shocked when you came up to sit with me. I usually sit alone.”

Speirs didn’t feel like giving O’Brain his life story. He decided to continue on in regards to the company. “Due to our small numbers we have one platoon. Once are numbers grow, I will assign you to second platoon, along with Private Hartley…” At this time, O’Brian interrupted Speirs.

[George O'Brian]

George coughed slightly on his toast as the piece of paper was slid over to him. It was true, for the time being First Sergeant O’Brian was in Foxtrot Company. ”Well, you’re only my Company commander for a few weeks max. We have a load of guys coming over from the State’s in a little bit. I’ll be starting G-Company. It’ll be quite experimental, a mixture of Rifle Platoons, and Parachute Infantry. “

He stopped for a second and took another bite from his toast that had once again been dipped into the warm orange mass dominating his bowl. He listened, nodding slightly as Speirs talked, chewing his food over letting the warmth roll over his tongue and into all the corners.

”Support? I take it you’re going to turn into a vital role for the 3ID. From what I hear, it’s one of the most proficient Divisions in the Army, with armour, infantry, artillery, and vitally air support. I hope I’m going to be seeing you and your guys giving a bloody good beating to the enemy.” As he said this, his eyes scrolled across the latest sheet of paper, absorbing the information, but he also wondered why the fear surrounded Speirs, and what he could have done to earn it. Butcher a load of unarmed soldiers, perhaps? But he gave a small nod, showing he understood, and pressed the subject no further.

”We have a few more men than that. Less than an hour ago, a squad got pulled over to us, some guys I used to know, so I assume they’re going to be fighting with me. I’m briefing them sometime this afternoon; actually, for a small mission we’re taking part in, showing ourselves in Russia, and helping our allies and all that. Lieutenant Scott is coming with us. I believe, though, you’ve got to stay behind and do all that administrative crap.” He gave a smile at this, showing how he didn’t envy one bit what Ron would be doing stuck here. This fun would be short lived though; in a few weeks he could be behind a desk. It was a question of how long it would be before he sat down.

He stood up in his seat slightly and sat down again to get himself a bit more comfortable as he lifted his coffee up and took a sip. He decided to try and make a bit more of a Social move. If he had to be fighting and serving with this man for a bit, he may as well get to know him. ”So, before the war what did you do, Ron?” The most basic, most clichéd question in the war, but it worked for starting a conversation. Atleast, it did most of the time. It was entirely dependant on the company and what they did. It could be quite awkward if they said something along the lines of, “I was a serial killer.” What could you say then, “Oh, how interesting. Meet many people in that line of work?”

He slid the piece of paper back over the table, being careful to make it avoid a small stain as he picked up his fork and began stabbing into the stew, lazily chewing at it to get all the flavour and goodness out of it. There wasn’t enough of it to waste.

[rspeirs]

Speirs took a large gulp of his black coffee. He liked his coffee bland, but strong, and he enjoyed the strength that army coffee had. He listened intently to the creation of Golf Company. “It saddens to hear you go so soon. Foxtrot Company could have been the pivotal force with you and I leading it. Not that it won’t be with me leading it. However, it does help to have more leadership. I hate to be stuck with…that private.” Speirs had yet to gain the trust and respect of Hartley, and he knew that he would rather place his trust in O’Brien then some random private. He felt that at the time he made himself feel dependent, so he changed the subject. “Paratroopers huh? I wanted to be one of those. Sadly, the roster was filled, so I was moved to infantry. I would switch to the Airborne, but I feel Patterson needs me now. If anything O’Brian, I am a man of obligation. Where I am needed, I stay.”

“A bloody good beating indeed.” Speirs chuckled at O’Brian’s comment. “I don’t take much from my men in the way of disobedience. I guarantee you, we will be a force out on that battlefield. Who knows? Maybe one day my Company will be able to save Golf Company from being flanked.” This was in poor taste of humor, Speirs thought as he recanted from laughter. He decided to change the subject once more as he took a bite of his bacon strip.

However, before Speirs could change the topic, O’Brian mentioned more men. “A squad of soldiers you say? Alright, I will assign them to second platoon, which will be commanded by you. My platoon will consist of Hartley, Jasper, and Hartstock. Russia, aiding the 3rd Shock infantry, I presume? I heard they are one bloody tough fighting squadron, surprised 1st Sergeant Ramenov needs your assistance. I have heard stories of him, and they say I am cold. I am surprised Stalin hasn’t promoted him to Lieutenant. Anyways, I wish you luck. Hope Foxtrot can teach those Reds a thing or two. As for office work, I don’t mind it really. Work is work, and besides, you will be stuck doing the same office work soon enough in Golf Company.”

Speirs spooned some eggs into his mouth, and took a sip of coffee to wash it down. He crossed his legs, to ease his left leg, which at this point, had fallen asleep, and it was now on pins and needles, which made the Sergeant cringe. The next question of O’Brian had intrigued Speirs. What he did before the war? “Well, I worked in the family business. Fixed things. Did that all my life really. Times were tough though, what with the Stock Market crash in 1929. I am amazed that I am still here. I really can’t complain though.”

At this moment though, he noticed O’Brian was acting awkward, and almost, a bit frightened. Speirs made note of it. “Sergeant, I hope your opinion of me will not be affected by empty rumor, and soldier banter.” Speirs scoffed, and chugged what was left of his coffee. He would eat more to satisfy his hunger, but he was sickened by multiple things-the soldiers, the war, and the food.

[George O'Brian]

OOC: Only a short one. Sorry.

The noise in the background seemed to grow a bit, and George half turned in his seat to see if anything interesting was happening. The line to get to the food was beginning to turn a bit rowdy, but a Staff Sergeant was already breaking it up. George had another glance and took a gulp from his coffee before turning back. Speirs was going on about wanting to assist Golf, and saving them. He gave a snort of derision, and muttered ”Not if I can say something about it.”

He nodded politely as the First Sergeant went on about his life, the Crash almost wiping him out. O’Brian nodded solemnly, it had happened to so many good people, his family had only just got by, his childhood certainly wasn’t flash, but it was good enough. He’d learnt to be happy with what he had, to get on with everything, no matter how bad it seemed at first.

Speirs, however, didn’t seem interested at all, changing the subject almost as quickly as it came up. George didn’t press the question, if Speirs didn’t give a monkey’s, then so be it.

Speirs seemed to see something in George that even he didn’t. ”Speirs, Ron, I know of no rumours on your name, and whatever the lads are saying may be rumours. They may be a spot of truth in them, but please, tell me what these rumours are. Just for my curiosity. If I’m going to serve with you, I’d at least like to know the opinion of you by the men.

[rspeirs]

Speirs felt himself a little offended at O’Brian’s refusal of help, that is, when he would assume command of Golf Company. He did however, find a tinge of irony in what O’Brian said. This made him chuckle. Speirs then took a napkin from the table, and wiped off some food, which had fallen into his lap. He then focused again on O’Brian, still laughing slightly. “O’Brian, we are a support company. That is our job. To provide support. You know, tactics. It just works out that way. Don’t shoot the messenger, shoot Napoleon Bonaparte.” Speirs hoped that O’Brian was not ignorant enough to miss such a historical allusion. Speirs may not know much in the way of schooling, but he did know that Bonaparte was a renown tactician, and that he himself had studied Bonaparte’s battle technique, which by today’s standards are irrelevant. As Speirs ran through this little tangent in his mind, he took a sip of his coffee.

Then, as Speirs tried to point out that he thought O’Brain was on edge, the Sergeant himself came back with an answer that even Speirs didn’t expect. He wanted to know about these rumors Speirs talked so much about. Now Speirs didn’t delve into these matters, in fact, he could care less. He knew these rumors existed, but he didn’t know what they were saying about him. In fact, a part of Speir’s animosity toward other soldiers comes from his cynicism. Speirs is, by his men’s standards, an idiosyncratic individual. Thus the men have come to loathe his command. Speirs knew this, and made their lives a living hell for it. Hence why some of his men resent him. Speirs ran through that explanation in his mind, but decided on taking a short route out of the conversation. “To be honest” Speirs said “I don’t really know, nor do I really care. I don’t partake in such foolish banter. I instead do what I think is right. What I think is right is to let them go. Their day will come when they find out that such rumors mean nothing in battle. That off the field of battle, I may be alien to them, but in battle, I am their Commanding Officer. They either accept that, or they die. Simple as that.”

Speirs could no longer eat, and in all honesty, he didn’t really wish to speak any longer either. O’Brian, he thought, would turn out to be a good field Sergeant, he was just a little too annoying of a person out of battle, Speirs thought. It wasn’t the fact that he was friendly that Speirs disliked, rather the thought that some man he just met today was shoving difficult questions into his face. He took the last gulp of his coffee, and slammed the mug on the table.

[George O'Brian]

Speirs began explaining about tactics, support, and Napoleon. It had been a simple bloody joke, saying he hoped he wouldn’t ever get in a position where he was reliant for heavy Artillery to come down and save his ass.

O’Brian carried on eating, a bit faster this time. George suddenly had an urge to get moving, Speirs seemed to be turning in to a bigger git every second. He was now going on about his men, and from the message he got, the First Sergeant opposite him didn’t care about his men as long as they fired their weapons. This was wrong. As commander of the soldiers, Speirs should take a lot more care of them. The soldiers would be his right arm on the battlefield, the only way he would survive. If this was the way he was going to act, then it would only be a matter of time before the enemy got him…Or his own guys.

It reminded O’Brian of a CO he had for a short stretch in basic training. Not one friend was held by the Lieutenant, and he was quickly moved away from the men, to Battalion Staff. A good job too, the hopeless bastard would only have served to get his own men killed.

The table lapsed in to an awkward silence that lasted for the best part of a minute as both men ate, unsure of what to speak about. They seemed polar opposites, Speirs to himself, O’Brian a man with the soldiers. It was an explosive mix really, and O’Brian found himself already counting the seconds until he could get out. He couldn’t wait until he got to Russia. He’d briefly met Lieutenant Scott, and he seemed alright. British, but alright.

He took the last forkful of food, and mopped his plate quickly with a slice of toast before quickly putting that down. He pushed his chair backwards, scraping it on the hard floor. ”As much as I’d love to stay, Speirs, but I’d best make sure everything is ready for Russia. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He grabbed his tray as he stood up, turned and walked away. He stopped only briefly by the table that his men were sat at on his way out, and left the room. The sooner Golf could get set up, the better.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post

The following CP has been issued:

Speirs - 6CP

O'Brian - 5CP, had a short post bubba

-JT