Breakfast Cancelled?

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

OOC: Before you people start sulking about me not Mod Marking, I will be modding still, but I need bit of a stress release too. I made my first post in a whole month the other day, so count this as my second post in a whole month too. Gawd I spoil you children!

Anyone can enter this, but no more than 3 people (including myself!). Thankkk Youuu!


Folding open the daily newspaper left upon his desk, Captain Brentwood took a brief glance of the headlines and very quick look at the back-page sports, before he folded it back up and stuffed it beneath his left arm-pit. Grabbing his mug of tea also left upon the table, he walked to the office’s door, rattling out a bunch of keys in the process, fiddling with them momentarily as he clasped the silver key of the bunch. Hauling the door closed behind himself, he made half a paced turn to slide the key into the lock with perfection, clunking the sturdy locking mechanism closed; The noise of the bolt hitting the wood in the doorframe, made the lock sound a lot heavier than what it was…

Letting out a quick breath, he walked through a small corridor and out into what seemed to be a waiting area; With a small reception. Swinging the keys up into the palm of his hand, he placed them atop of the reception desk’s table and smiled at the young brunette behind the typewriter and intercom on the desk - the poor girl seemed to run errands for all the minor commissioned officers of this building block. “I’ll be back in a few hours” Captain Brentwood said with a small smile, skidding the keys over to her hands on laying plainly flat on the desk. She merely smiled and nodded, not quite sure what to say, other than “Have a good day Captain” -- Liam smirked, before turning to walk away. It was standard policy to leave all office block keys in the building, it seemed like security was a tight restriction now; Reports of keys going missing, spares made. Ironically, leaving the keys at the desk with a young woman to handle them, seemed all the more insecure in the Captain’s eyes.

Briskly pacing down the few steps, he waltzed along the courtyard towards the main barracks on the opposite side of where the Officers were situated in the camp. Sipping his tea, he shuffled the newspaper up against his armpit a little more and nodded to a few local faces in the short distance as he made his way along the busy courtyard quickly. Pushing in through one of the double doors to the barracks, but watched as he accidentally stumbled in to what seemed to be a session in progress in the main-hall. Most of the benche-tables were cluttered with troops sitting on top of the tables and benches, all of them facing the large wall with a white screen pulled down; A projector rolling a movie for the recruits. It was surely odd to be stumbling into a movie reel being shown in the morning? But after standing there for at least five seconds, looking a little startled, he realised the movie was explaining the basics of warfare -- ah, new recruits.

A fresh red faced Sergeant bounced up from off his seat and saluted Captain Brentwood, which attracted a great deal of attention; The Sergeant almost opened his mouth to shout out “A-TEN-HUT! Officer --”[/I], but Captain Brentwood put his hand up and shook his head some “As you were” he quickly interrupted the Sergeant in mid slur, stopping a few privates in mid session of raising their bottoms from their seats, to sit back down, looking towards the educational movie again. Nodding to the Sergeant who smirked at being interrupted, Captain Brentwood moved through the dim room towards the back of the once brightly lit mess hall to try and find a seat; Placing his mug of tea down against an empty table, he unfolded the newspaper and dropped it alongside it. Taking a moment to glance towards the movie the men were watching, before he took a seat, wondering whether he was going to get anything to eat this morning? Or was breakfast cancelled…?

[nathansinfantry]

Training Basic’s was not the nicest of jobs. Some of them were idiots, some had egos the size of the room, and others lacked the balls to even fire a gun. Each of these required a similar approach. Bollockings, bollockings and more bollockings. And the RSM had had the cheek to pull Jack out of bed at three in the morning to help set up the movie for the recruits, which was a joy to no end. The New Zealander was now tired, hungry and severely pissed off. Woe betide any person who so much as put a tow out of line.

After rousing the recruits for a 5 A.M. run, and at the orders of his superiors joining them, Jack was dead on his feet, all of his muscles aching at the ungodly hour. To make matters worse, the hall was down to standing room only, apart from a few seats set up incase any officers felt they might like to venture out of their offices. This meant Jack had to lean against the wall at the back of the hall while he watched the recruits. Once he had to move himself and whack a boy around the back of his head for talking which had sent a murmur of giggling through the room only for a big pile of rank to yell at them to “Shaddap!”

Now he was only kept awake by his rumbling stomach and the caffeine surging through his veins. Jack looked a bit startled as Brentwood settled into the seat next to him. He pushed himself off of the wall and unfolded his arms. ”Sir” was the only word he said as his right arm flicked up to his brow in salute. As officers went, Brentwood was one of the better ones, not afraid to get his hands dirty and quite friendly when he could be. Jack worked hard to stop a smirk rising onto his face as he saw the sports headlines, a NZ v. England football match had ended in a monumental colonial victory. He looked at the watch on his hand and tried to work out how much longer the torture would go on before he could attempt to get some more food, if he was allowed. The senior sergeants could be complete bastards.

[⊕ Owen Pearson]

In the dimly lit room, Owen sat in the main hall at an empty bench. He had decided to take a break before he would go to breakfast, if it was even being served today.

When he had gone through his stuff he had found his old sketchbook at the bottom of his bag, right next to a handful of pens and pencils. He had some time off before the joys of a hot morning meal might have been fulfilled, so he took his worn and half used sketchbook and went to look for a good place to draw.

When he was out looking around, he saw that there were a bunch of new recruits sitting in the main hall watching a training movie. He felt that it would be a perfect place to draw; all the subjects held their positions for long periods of time and the bad lighting would give him a challenge when he drew the various positions that they were putting their bodies in on the bench-tables.

Owen had chosen to sit at one of the benches that was nearly empty, and slid in without being acknowledged as he was still a newcomer to the base. He sat down and laid out his eraser next to his sketchbook. He opened the sketchbook up and began to draw.

He had just finished drawing the awkward lips of a private sitting two benches away from him; the subject was leaning on his hand, practically sleeping while his palm caused his face to distort. A captain had just walked into the room and startled the entire bunch of new recruits. The man who appeared to be in charge jumped up to greet the new arrival to the room, but was quickly hushed up.

The new person in the room came over to the table that Owen and a few others had been sitting at. One of them greeted the new arrival with "Sir" and a quick salute, so Owen thought it would be good to do the same. He set down his pencil so that he could put his hand into a salute and let out a brief "Sir." He then picked up his pencil and went back to drawing, expecting a continuing conversation.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Shuffling in the hard seat, Captain Brentwood couldn’t help but feel out of sorts, as he listened to the movie-reel’s narrator talk on about the war and different soldiering methods; It must’ve been the twentieth time he’d laid eyes on the damn movie, ironically, he’d never seen it from beginning to end - all the way through. Feeling the his back catch something or someone behind him, as he fussily tried to get comfortable on the hard bench, he twisted his neck to look towards a Sergeant who saluted him; The face was familiar, but the name wasn’t there. It hadn’t been long since Captain Brentwood had taken command of the Desert Rats, so quite a lot of faces were coming and going over the weeks. The Sergeant being one of them.

Nodding to the salute, he winked at the Sergeant and turned back to his paper, reaching out for the mug of tea to take a brief sip, a small mutter beneath his breath as his eyes lisped over the football game. Licking his thumb, he turned the page and made a brief look at the news, before the inevitable churn in his stomach grumbled mildly. Captain Brentwood had put himself on normal rations as of that to his men, he needed to know how physically well and mentally well they were, particularly for some upcoming training sessions or better still, any ventures into battle. He couldn’t have the men going out on empty stomachs, so this was a real wakeup call, knowing just how hungry or thirsty his men were, by levelling his diet to their level.

Hearing another voice utter Sir, with the salute, the Captain nodded to the young man drawing something, before he shook his wrist out from under his sleeve, taking a look at the time on his wristwatch, before he pulled a partially frustrated look; whilst simultaneously looking onwards towards the movie-reel hardly halfway through. He could tell that much, even though he hadn’t watched it completely. It seemed as if breakfast was cancelled and Captain Brentwood wasn’t quite happy with that, mainly as his diet was the same as his own men, so by now, they must’ve been just as hungry as he was - maybe even hungrier, with the arduous training they endured, whereas he flexed his pen on paper most days in the office.

Grabbing the bull by the horns, he grumbled beneath his breath a little irritated by the fact the new recruits had taken over the mess-hall with a movie presentation, leaving a lot of good men un-fed. Standing, he looked around briefly for the kitchen interior’s door, before he nudged the Sergeant who he’d accidentally nudged during getting comfortable. “Alright Sergeant - you fancy getting some grub?” he asked quietly, hardly giving the formal presentation of himself, but rather a more relaxed demeanour. Barely awaiting for a reply, he turned to the next nearest man, who happened to the young lad drawing at the table by his side. “You, Corporal. I’ll be needing your hands” he said in a quick demand, rather than request, as he nudged the Sergeant again to nod towards the kitchen’s door’s on the opposite side of the room.

“Unless you’re watching this Sergeant, let’s go get a brew” and with that, Captain Brentwood grabbed his luke-warm cup of tea and made his way across the back tier of seated recruits towards the kitchen door. A slight disapproval look from a nearby Regimental Sergeant Major caught his attention momentarily, as Captain Brentwood smirked at him, pointing at the film with a gesture that said - “watch your film”. Pushing in through the hard door, he flipped the switch for the light and placed his mug on the canteen side, the kitchen almost looked clinical with it’s shiny surfaces. He was quite pleased to escape the dark room with bumbling new recruits, better still, he could get some grub on the pan and have a chat with a couple of soldiers who knew what they were doing - he was sick of the sarcastic attention of the lieutenants back at his office block, they were posh-twats to say the least!

[nathansinfantry]

”Sir, after watching this movie with nearly every group of recruits over the past few months, I think I can miss is, just this once.”

Jack happily followed Brentwood, but it was almost too tempting to pull the fingers at the RSM, but the whole “saving your ass” thing stopped him. He followed on into the kitchen, and instantly the odour of grease and stale coffee hit his nose. After spending the last hour in a room of mostly unwashed men, it was like heaven!

”Corporal, would you mind getting coffees, or whatever the Captain would like and I’ll see what’s in the fridge over there.” He spoke this while striding across the dirtied tiles on the floor, his boots squeaking slightly on the surface. He seldom had access to the kitchen, macho women usually dominated the room, ready to crack the whip on any who dare set foot in the room. Rhys probably would have found it quite kinky.

Glad to get the cramp out of his legs, Jack began talking. ”So how are you today, Captain? You haven’t been around much lately, have you?” It was small talk, but he was hardly going to stand around and look like a dickhead, was he?

”What do you two want then? We’ve got some eggs in here, bacon?”

[⊕ Owen Pearson]

After he was asked to come and help out with the food raid, Owen realized just how hungry he was. As if on cue, his stomach growled. He had missed dinner last night because of some paperwork that he just had to fill out. Although he had not noticed until it was mentioned, he was starving. He quickly grabbed his sketchbook and threw it into the messenger-style bag that he had been issued; although it was in bad shape, the bag was perfect for what he needed it for around the base, where it appeared he would be staying for a while.

Owen grabbed the bag and followed the two as they went into the kitchen. He had lived in an orphanage for most of his life, with the amount of kids they needed to feed there they needed as much help as possible; Owen had volunteered and became somewhat of a culinary expert. The kitchen smelt terrible. The Sargent that was with them said to him, ”Corporal, would you mind getting coffees, or whatever the Captain would like and I’ll see what’s in the fridge over there.” So he asked the Captain, "So what would you like?" Owen walked over to what looked like the drink area. It had a coffee pot filled with what smelt like really old coffee right next to a case of what was probably warm beer. He checked in the nearby fridge and found all sorts of cold drinks. "It looks like we've got some milk, OJ, or I could get a pot of coffee started, unless you want some alcohol to start off your day." He awaited the answer as he emptied out the lukewarm coffee into the sink.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Moving into the kitchen a little more, as the two young NCOs came trotting in behind him, Captain Brentwood folded his arms together up against his chest and turned his back against one of the large cookery appliances used to dish out the dirt to the recruits day in and day out. Watching the Sergeant make haste in approaching the large American style fridge to store the large sums of food, his attention soon diverted to the young Corporal appointed the job of making a drink by the Sergeant. “Coffee? Alcohol?” he questioned a little quizzical to the man’s suggestions, laughing beneath his breath in the process. “First of all Corporal, you can fill up the kettle and make me a cup of tea; I’m neither a Yank or Irishman” he said jokingly, before his attention returned to the Sergeant half bent into the fridge.

“I’ve been busy Sergeant, war doesn’t seem to care for us lot” he said a little dauntingly, faking a smile for a brief second. “Plus, I just got word of Company Sergeant Major McMillan is presumed dead - I’m to identify the body they’ve hauled back from the field. The good ol’ Company Sergeant Major didn’t want to be buried in the field, it was his due rights to be brought back home if possible” he said softly, concealing the solemn guilt and despair he was feeling inside, putting on a hard charade and act, as if dear Edward McMillan was nothing but another soldier of the war, lost in combat like anyone else. Taking a couple of steps along the tiled floor, the Captain sighed and avoided eye contact with the Sergeant as best he could…

Reaching into one of his pockets, he dragged out a small piece of paper and unfolded it, slowly extending his arm out towards the Sergeant. “It’s a letter from the red cross, they recovered his dog tags. His body was recovered from the outskirts of Germany, it’s a blessing they even had the chance to recover any of the bodies” he said a little surprised, feeling somewhat strange about the incident on the whole, it was very unlikely any bodies were recovered during war; It was the standard procedure to bury the bodies on sight in most cases. Shrugging off the eerie feeling, he looked to the Corporal briefly. “That cup of tea ready yet? Two sugars” he demanded some, before looking to the Sergeant again to smirk, pulling on his hard persona again, shrugging off the whole low feeling. “Let’s get some bacon on the fryer eh? I’m starving Sergeant” he said with a warm encouragement, slapping the Sergeant on the back as he pushed past him, reaching into the fridge to pull out an assortment of packets, tossing them onto the side, making himself busy before he got angry or down - he had a fowl temper when emotions were involved.

[nathansinfantry]

The Captain was avoiding eye contact, and Jack was glad. Jack had been one of the last people to speak to McMillan before he left to… to his death, there was no other way of saying it. As much as people wanted to cover it, to avoid it, there was only one true way to say it. Death.

Jack crouched down and began rooting through the cupboards searching for various cooking utensils. He found the handles of a pair of frying pans and pulled them out, placing them over the range. ”It’s.” He stopped himself, and took a few deep breaths. The squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stay strong. Men like McMillan were one in a million. You only met a few like him and when he was one… everyone felt it.

He slid a knife into the first sealed packet of bacon steaks and threw a couple onto a chopping board and began violently taking the fat off of the outside with the knife, cutting into the wood underneath as he let an unusual anger take him over as he though of Edward. Normally Jack was quite calm, but he just couldn’t retain it. Not now, not as he though of Edward and the sacrifice he had made. No, he hadn’t made it, the fucking General’s had. As this thought went through his head, he gritted his teeth and stabbed the knife down into the word, leaving it quivering.

He turned around and felt the tears begin to sting. ”I can’t do it Captain. I’ve seen loads of men die in this war, but Ed…. It’s not right, I know it isn’t. He shouldn’t be dead!” He screamed the last sentence out before turning round and collapsing forwards onto his arms, his body quivering nearly as much as the knife was. Throes of sorrow sent themselves through his body. He couldn’t take it. His voice came down to a deathly-calm, a complete contrast to what it had just been. ”Captain, I want to come with you when you…. When you identify the body, I need to say a proper farewell.”

[⊕ Owen Pearson]

The Captian answered Owen's question with an amused but insulting,“First of all Corporal, you can fill up the kettle and make me a cup of tea; I’m neither a Yank or Irishman”. So, now he had to find a kettle in the mass of drawers as there wasn't one out laying about, a surprising coincidence for there being so many British soldier's. He began to try drawers in search of the kettle as the other two drifted away into their own conversation.

The first drawer contained a whole slough of polished silverware that glistened in the light outside of the drawer. He closed it and opened the one beneath it that had cooking utensils, not a very surprising place to put it. He looked in the cabinet above. It contained a large set of plates, bowls, and the like. In the next cabinet he found some cutting boards on the upper shelf and on the lower shelf the kettle sitting next to a bag of tea leaves. He left the cabinet open as he filled the kettle up with water and puled it into the wall outlet.

He went back to the cabinet and grabbed a cutting board and the tea leaves. He closed the cabinet and set the supplies on an open place on the counter that he made by pushing the coffee maker to the side. He pulled a knife out of the drawer that was filled with cooking utensils and set it next to the cutting board and went in search of cups and embellishments.

Owen found those quickly and set them next to the kettle. He was on his way back to the cutting board when the Captain said across the room, “That cup of tea ready yet? Two sugars.”

He stated back to the Captain just as he reached his cutting board, "Not unless you like it cold and flavorless. Sergeant, you want some?" He pulled out a small handful of leaves from the bag and set them onto the cutting board. He gripped them between his thumb and pointer finger and began to cut them swiftly into smaller pieces. He brushed them to the side and pulled out a second handful.

”I can’t do it Captain. I’ve seen loads of men die in this war, but Ed…. It’s not right, I know it isn’t. He shouldn’t be dead!” came in a loud volume from across the room. Owen was startled and nearly cut himself with the knife. It hit the board hard and took a bit of force to be pulled out. He split up the piles and put them into individual bags just as the kettle reached a boil. He dropped the bags into the cups and the extra embellishments. He unplugged the kettle and double-checked that he put two sugars into the Captain's cup before he started pouring.

Just as he finished the last cup, he said to the others, "The tea is finished." He brought the Captain the correct cup before he forgot which was which.

[Nathan Whyte]

Guys, do you want to carry on, or close this?

[⊕ Owen Pearson]

We can close it I guess.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post

The following CP has been issued:

Brentwood - 6CP

Knight - 3CP

Pearson - 4CP

-JT