The Limey and the Yank [Patterson/Open]

[Nicholas Ealing]

Conditions: Uncomfortably warm
Time: 1815hrs
Environment: ~ In the 3ID's Officer's Mess

Nicholas Ealing strode down the well-trodden path towards the officer's mess and wiped the beads of persperation from his brow. Although the scorching afternoon sun had long retired, the evening was stuffy and clammy and the great star bore down on the Lieteunant like a wild animal stalking its pray. Nicholas would never get used to life in America. He had spent most of his life in Wales and subsequently, anything warmer than "damp" was sweltering for him.

It had been a hard day for the Lieteunant; he had been visiting an old companion in the field hospital. A battle-hardened Sergeant who had saved his life in Normandy. A battle-hardened Sergeant who was set to die. He would get a medal after his death, that much was certain. But Nicholas somehow doubted that that would bring much comfort to a man who had last half his face.

Nicholas approached the daunting Officer's mess and nodded at the two Sergeant Majors guarding the door to make sure no recruits or NCO's snuck in for a drop of the mess' fine wine.

"Good evening, Lieteunant," said the first pleasantly in a drawling American accent with a vague kind of salute. "Have a nice time now,"

"I intend to," grinned Nicholas, stepping past the men. "At ease, Sergeants,"

"Sir," said the second Sergeant shortly, allowing the Lieteunant to pass

Nicholas pushed his way into the mess and let out a sigh of relaxation. The 3ID took care of her officers, that much was certain. Everything was different in the Officer's Mess, somewhat...classier. Even the air smelt different within. And one thing was for sure; the yanks sure knew how to have a good time.

The Lieteunant moved over to the bar manned by a middle-aged Captain who Nicholas knew as a certain Derrick Winner. It felt strange being waited on by a superior officer but Nicholas certainly wasn't complaining.

After ordering a kind of whisky he had never heard of before and paying the Captain the ridiciolously cheap set price for the beverage, the Lieteunant took a seat next to a couple of junior officers who ignored his presence. Nicholas shrugged and took a sip of the surprisingly sweet drink in his hand. One of the officers at his right turned towards him and nodded towards the whisky.

"You'd better slow down, man," he smirked. "That's powerful stuff. Take a coupla more glasses and you'll be climbing the walls,"

"I'll bear that in mind," replied Nicholas with a grin.

"Ah, you're a limey then?" grinned the American, noting the newcomer's strong English accent.

"A thousand years of British culture summed up in one word," laughed Nicholas, raising a glass to the Lieteunants.

"To limies," smiled the first American, clinking his own much larger glass with Nicholas'. The second remained silent, seemingly more interested with the newspaper on his lap than any forthcoming conversation.

Nicholas was about to say something along the lines of "I didn't know Americans could read," but thought better of it. Who knew how tetchy the 3ID could be when riled? He had no intention of being shot to bits by his allies; he reckoned it was much more sporting to let the Germans have a go.

"So where is his High and Mighty then?" said Nicholas after an uncomfortable silence. "Our lord and master Henry Patterson? Is he in? I don't believe I've had the pleasure,"

"Should be in in a couple minutes," said the second Lieteunant sullenly, speaking up for the first time in an Italian-American accent before returning to his paper.

"I'd better stick around then," grinned Nicholas. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity of saying bonjour,"

His companions raised their eyebrows quizzically at the foreign-sounding word that had snuck up on them at the end of the Brit's sentence. Nicholas sighed.

"It's French,"

The Americans' expressions didn't change. If anything, they looked even more confused.

Nicholas walked away from the duo. If he was going to engage in conversation, he would prefer it to be with someone who did not have the intelligence of a delirious wombat.

[riley]

"Yo' Bartender! Irish Whiskey please." Riley muttered to the man who stood before him. He knew the man as a Captain Winner. The captain rummaged through some of the bottles of alcoholic beverages, before finally grasping a nice bottle of Irish Whiskey. Almost reminded Riley of the landscape of the nation he and his forefathers descended from. But it was nearly impossible, seeing as he had never been there. The captain set a down a small glass and began to fill it with some of the whiskey. Riley nodded in thanks, and sloshed the drink around with his firm grip, watching as the whiskey began to reach the rim of his glass. The Lieutenant tipped Winner and allowed him to get on with his life. He tasted a sip of the whiskey, breathing it in all at once, and allowed the beverage to linger on his tongue, letting it coat his mouth. Oh god how the Irish-American loved his whiskey! He couldn't resist to just chug it down in a few seconds flat. That was now his fourth whiskey.

Rotating in his stool, until he was now facing the excitement of the Officer's Mess. Men from the 3ID drinking the night away, playing pool, and smoking cigars. God Riley wanted to get his hands on a cigar. "Lieutenant Riley, could I interest you in a cigar? " Riley slicked his hair back with his left hand and turned to the man who was holding a small stack of cigars. "Oh you bet you can. Just what I was thinking about" He finally got his hands on a fine cigar and tipped the boy, before pulling out his lucky lighter, and setting the cigars tips on fire. Riley inserted the cigar into his mouth and tasted the fermented tobacco. He blew some smoke out of his mouth and a grin stretched from ear to ear. Now this was place to be. He wondered if Patty would have a heart attack if he came into this fine establishment. After all, he went insane when he saw Riley drinking,smoking, and playing some pool when the two had first met.

Leaning over to his left, Riley listened into the conversation the group of men next to him were having. Although, most would call it eavesdropping, Riley called it getting to know the people he was about to introduce himself to. It isn't like he was eavesdropping for the fun of it...that was only sometimes. It appeared a new limey to the division was talking about Patterson. He was the same rank as Riley too. Great...just great. This man would give him a run for his money now. Riley had grown fond of being Patty's loyal second in charge. They developed a relationship. A weird, rather sick relationship, but still a relationship. The limey ended the conversation rather abruptly, and walked away, probably feeling as if all Americans were dumb as bricks. A bit ignorant. Maybe he should go back to Britain if he felt that way.

But Riley decided it would be best if he befriended this man, rather then stick a knife to his throat. You learn something in the military. Friends are always better then enemies. Especially in your division. See, when you make an enemy in your division, and when something happens, you have a better chance at survival. No doubt about that. A fifth Irish Whiskey had magically appeared at his side, and Riley tipped the captain generously for being so quick with the drink. He grasped the glass in his right hand and put out his cigar, placing it on the counter top. Tobacco could only taste good for so long, before it suddenly got old. But whiskey? That tasted good to Riley all the time. He shot up from his seat, and strolled on over to the new Lieutenant. "This gonna be your first time meeting Good Ole Patty?" Riley chuckled. "Good luck with that man." He sipped on his whiskey before switching it to his left hand, and outstretching his right hand for a shake. "First Lieutenant Shawn Riley."

[MAJ Patterson]

It had been a rather uneventful day but busy none the less. Patterson seldomly frequented the old dance hall down the street that had been converted into the Officer's Mess for his lovely unit, but he ran it so he figured he would try to stop in no less than once a week. He always tried to loosen up a bit while he was there, but it usually just didn't fit him and he would get a strange look once in a while. Patterson straightened his tie and ran a comb through his hair quickly before checking his weapon and locking it up, he never let himself near it if the chance of taking a drink was possibly in the near future.

"Giles." he said as he nodded to his Headquarters sergeant while turning to lock his office door, the sergeant just nodded back, he was the only one that ever got away with it. As he was leaving he checked his Lieutenant's door out of habit, always locked which is what Patterson liked, he didn't like Riley to much as a person, but he had yet to fail him in the field of battle. Then Patterson turned and headed out of the building to visit the fine establishment.

Once close to his destination, he stopped and turned to his right as he always did to salute the beautiful flag that flew from atop the tall flagpole of the base. He always stood for a moment or two to think of what all had been payed so that they could just breath, not to mention be free. He nodded to the sergeants at the door who saluted promptly, they remembered the butt chewing they got the first time he had visited and they made sure not to have to go through all that again. As usual Riley was there, Patterson figured Riley was always there, at least on the few occasions that Patterson was. He looked to the bartender and raised an eye brow as the bartender held up his left arm a little and outstretched all his fingers. Only five, he must not have been here too long then. He thought to himself. Only once has the bartender had to give him the kill signal across the neck, but it wasn't really needed, shortly after Riley broke a lamp, with his head, on the way to the floor, but it had never happened since, or at least Patterson hadn't heard of it. Only a few times has the bartender had to go to a second hand, but Riley seemed to drink like a fish, so he never seemed to let it show. Just one more of Patterson's ways of checking on the ones that mattered.

He strolled on over to Riley after the bartender nodded in the right direction, looking about at everyone on the way over, no one saluted which was the way it was under this roof, everyone was just another man here, outside was a different story, but newcomers tended to not get the word, of course most of the regulars just didn't tell them to get a laugh out of it. "Evening Lieutenant." Patterson said as he approached Riley from his left side, slightly on the away side.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas accepted the Lieteunant's hand gratefully and inspected the newcomer with interest. He was one of the few fellow CO's he had never spoken to but he had seen him around the barracks and a couple of times in the training grounds. But many times in the officer's mess. He looked a lot more immaculate today than he had the previous night, mused Nicholas, looking him up and down. Riley didn't look like he had seen much fighting, his scarred face and wary eyes symbolising many nights of drunknenness rather than war. Nevertheless, he seemed a nice enough man, and seemed to double as Patterson's personal assistant, or maybe even dogsbody.

"Nicholas Ealing," said Nicholas, introducing himself as he took a sip of the wine which he was growing more and more fond of with every sip. "First Lietunant, English transfer. With Staff Sergeant David Bevan, I believe. D'you know him, because if you do, I'd like to offer you my deepest apologies,"

Nicholas grinned and took another sip of his glass, growing anxcious as he realised that but a few drops remained. He would have to be careful, he told himself, and ration the remaining drink. He shrugged and downed the remainder. Rationing was all well and good but he was thirsty. And the wine tasted so good. The Lieteunant suddenly felt a tad dizzy - it certainly was strong stuff - but managed to regain himself at the last minute and steadied his feet firmly to the ground. Just as he was attempting to sober up before he collapsed into utter drunkenness, a new figure entered the building and everyone fell quiet.

The Englishman turned around to see Captain Henry Patterson greeting Riley intently and saluted his Commanding Officer with respect. He had never spoken directly to him before and had only seen him once when he had briefed the Bravo Company on a minor camaign in Sicily. But he knew that he was a strong man, a brave man. A good friend and a terrible enemy. A man who, if befriended, could open up all doors for Nicholas. The Lieteunant wanted to retire as soon as the war was over, and retire with respect and a decent pension to go with it to care for his wife and children. And the more respected he grew during his military career, the more powerful he grew, the closer he came to that dream.

"Good evening, Captain," he said respectfully. "First Lieteunant Nicholas Ealing, Bravo Company Commander. It is an honour to finally meet you, sir,"

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

Closed due to request.

The following CP has been awarded;

Lieutenant Ealing: 3CP

Lieutenant Riley; 2CP

Captain Petterson; 2CP



~Dan