Inspection [McMillan/Open]

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Conditions: HOT / Sunny
Time: 1355hrs
Environment: ~Currently outside of the garage compound, on the strip~

Plucking the cigarette from off his lips, Captain Brentwood bellowed out a long breath of smoke and flicked the cigarette onto the ground carelessly. Liam had grown a small stubble of beard across his jaw lines and cheeks, he looked rough, but tough with it; He’d hardly slept the past forty-eight hours and although his mind was tired, which reflected through the sockets of his eyes, his body was more than awake and rearing to go - he was beginning to wonder whether he were truly human, feeling lethargic mentally from the tiresome work and having a fit body as if he’d been sleeping for the past two days, or whether war just done this to all the men? Tired them out, but had their bodies eager for more?

“You ain’t got a fucking clue Shaun! Look, you grease the tracks at the connecting bolts, not the whole bloody thing you muppet!” jokingly spoke Richard who was trying to mentor Shaun on how to grease up the Churchill’s main comprised nooks and joints. “Well you bloody do it then! You cheeky sod!” sensitively responded Shaun, who shoved the ‘re-used’ paint bucket filled halfway with grease, into Richard’s chest. A couple of the other men sitting atop the tank browsing letters and sharing a cigarette laughed at the two bickering like an old couple below. “Aye! The pair of ya, pipe it down, the Captain’s coming”[/b] sensibly announced the Irishman at the helm, dusting off a pair of worn goggles, the lads almost stiffening up as they folded up their letters quickly, dotting out their cigarettes.

Captain Brentwood walked over casually, yet it still looked like the Officer was marching keenly. “Sir!” respectfully acknowledged Richard who was standing beside the treads with Shaun, the pair of them straightening up, Richard giving a quick salute on behalf of the men. “Private --” Saluted back Captain Brentwood, who overlooked them sharply, before nodding some to continue “At ease lads…” he said calmly, winking some. He hadn’t met the men properly yet, but he was tired and hot to begin playing soldier soldier. “So you’re the crew of GEARS, right?” he questioned firmly, his hands folding up behind himself as he stood there, dressed in the formal karki British outfit, his officer’s cap slightly off by a tad, but he was more used to wearing berets. “Yes Sir, I’m Private Griggs, this is Wilko, the two on the front are Nevil and Driscoll -- oh and the Irishman at the helm, McCarthy. He’s our driver”[/I] said Richard Griggs, introducing the crew who one by one, nodded towards the Captain as they were mentioned. “Good, good” he muttered out, just happy to see the crew of the Churchill seemed to be old friends of sorts.

Taking a breath, he looked down the strip of road momentarily, before looking back to Private Griggs who stood a little desolate, awaiting to be told what to do. “Alright Lads, form up in five minutes…” he said sharply, the men nodded and stirred out a “Sir..”[/b], before Captain Brentwood twisted upon his heels to take a few steps away from the tank. He could already hear the second Churchill making it’s way to the rendezvous of the garage; Right on time. He was beginning to wonder whether his Company Sergeant Major, McMillan would show up? He’d ordered an inspection to take place several minutes from now, but he trusted the Company Sergeant Major to oversee his own armour - none the less, it was regulations he himself overlooked aspects and today was that day…

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan was standing quite stiff, barely breathing, even when the smoke would waft from his mouth as he slowly exhaled, almost looked as if a small fire was burning in his gut than if he was actually smoking. His eyes were squinted from the sun, he leaned over a bit and peered over his shoulder as he saw the good Captain step out of the office. The window was too dirty to be able to see through plainly, but McMillan was close enough to it to gaze through a small hole and notice. He heard the sheet metal door slap against the opposite exterior of the tin building as the spring attached to it did it's job behind the Captain.

"Bout that time I guess." he muttered to himself, "Better go round 'em up and move 'em out." he continued as he tossed the butt of his cigarette of to the side. The revamp of the unit had everyone almost giddy, well everyone that had just been transferred, the guys that had been here for the RMC knew that just adding a coat of paint to a new car didn't make it a smoother ride. The lot of them had seen some rough times here and McMillan was still kicking himself a bit for a failed flanking maneuver that got three good privates killed. McMillan's emotions were on hold, but he could still get the job done.

McMillan walked across the gap in between the buildings to the far side of the motor-pool area, passing among a pair of identical storage units. He came to the street area and looked over to his men, then scanned the horizon as if almost expecting something. "Alright guys, start her up, bring Sandy to life and let's move, looks like the inspection is gonna be a street over..." he glanced at them as he finished up then back down the road "...bout frickin time." he muttered to himself as he noticed the newest additions to the Desert Rats pulling up. He had his carrier their but was wondering about the heavy tank and the newly found abandoned German truck that they were lucky enough to tow on back and get into operational condition.

McMillan waved his arm to basically say Keep them running and follow the carrier! he had no patience for these new recruits, yeah they could operate some nice technology but he was unsure of there grit in the field. He just left it be, he knew the only way to find out was to see them and what they could do in action, he didn't think about it too much, wasn't anything he could really do about it until the time came.

The carrier started rolling almost before it had roared up, McMillan just looked on as they set off down the road to make the turn at the end and then the very next one to come on line for the gathering. The Blitz truck came on by about a foot and a half from McMillan, he blinked, nothing more, the tank, commonly referred to as Dingo had to keep a slightly slower pace as to not tear the road to pieces, as it strolled by McMillan leapt up and grabbed some odd contraption on the back and climbed on. He maneuvered his way to the front and sat down to enjoy the ride. The sun was still beating down and the metal was slightly warm, but not bad enough to try and surf on the beast.

As they rounded the second corner he saw that the carrier was about on line, or close enough, it didn't look too formal, just a big gathering mainly. The carrier crew pilled out as the Blitz, called Pigeon as it came on line as well. McMillan could see the Captain standing among the small crowd looking down the street, McMillan saw that the third tank had yet to arrive but it could be close, he wouldn't have heard it over the rumble anyway. The swiveled on into place and McMillan plopped down from his perch walking over to meet the Captain.

"Sir." he said as he snapped a salute out in respect to the great man. McMillan had never been big on showing things but he would follow Liam to the gates of hell and whoop Satan's ass just to prove his worth to Brentwood and get a soldier back or two. "Got a big group of recruits in haven't we sir?" it was more of a rhetorical question, but he asked it anyway. "Sad to see the berets go but glad to see that someone high up finally realized how much the SS has been doing as they pleased and sent us a bit of hardware." he halfway cracked a smile, but he wasn't too keen on being nice to the new guys, but he knew that the Captain didn't mind it.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Shuffling his shoulders a little, he wasn’t too keen on the formal dress he was wearing in the heat. When the Division was known as the Royal Marine Commandos, most of their clothing was light weighted, casual and smooth; now with a Infantry Regiment beneath their command, to help wade the tanks into battle, he was promptly finding himself being tapped on the wrist to wear an accusatory Officer’s Outfit on duty. The heat of the day may as-well be compared to Africa! Yet in Africa, they’d be supplied shorts, short sleeved shirts and cropped socks… It was ironic really.

Reframing from dirtying his sleeve by wiping a couple of beaded drops of sweat forming at his temples, he shuffled his forearm up to look down at his watch. It was almost two o’clock and thankfully, the Company Sergeant Major came bawling out of the nearby garage with his armoury and vehicles. Stepping back a few steps, he stood closer to the Churchill ‘GEARS’ and allowed the vehicles a little more room to move about into line upon the strip, without running over their commanding officer…

As he stepped back out into the open, his eyes latched onto Company Sergeant Major McMillan who formally and respectfully straightened up and saluted. Captain Brentwood straightened up in return and saluted back in gesture, with a nod. “Sergeant” he said in response to the ‘Sir’, before he inevitably folded his hands back up behind his back again, shuffling his feet to accommodate and face the Company Sergeant Major more leniently on the legs. “Yes, we do have an eager bunch of green necks” he replied firmly, listening as the crew of GEARS dropped from off of the tank and formed up from of it smoothly, standing in a straight line, sort-off, as they sorted their own outfits out -- one of the men tugging at his belt, trying to get it to lay right. Not the brightest bunch on a parade.

“Well… Sergeant, it seems as if we’ve proved our worth” he replied once again, to the Sergeant’s comment on getting some heavy gear. “I think these lads will need a bit of polishing Sergeant and some need a bit of help reading the time…” he trailed off distractedly, as he watched the final Churchill of the company slowly pull up; Followed by Captain Brentwood’s small reconnaissance and tactical group, huddled in the jeep. “Form up your men Sergeant, would you please” he requested towards Edward McMillan, unfolding his arms from behind his back as he began to walk towards the new group who technically, didn’t arrive late - late, but a minute after schedule. The Captain wouldn’t take the brunt out on the guys in the jeep, considering they’re recruits from the abandoned RMC and experienced men at that.

“Form up you lot!” he bellowed out towards the newly arrived Churchill, the jeep’s inhabitants had already slumbered into a line, whilst the tank crew were fumbling out of the hatch - one of them trying to put his top on in the process of getting out. As the crew of VICTORY came trotting over, they almost choked on their hot breath to find their commanding officer bawling out the order, rather than a Sergeant. “Chins up, shoulders back” he quirked out towards the hot crew of the Churchill, Victory. Neither did the Captain relish new soldiers either, they were fresh, civilised still and didn’t understand the chain of command… They were foolish… Looking over towards the Sergeant’s direction, Captain Brentwood walked to the centre and twisted upon his heels, awaiting the Company Sergeant Major to adjoin him upfront for the inspection. Not just of the crews, but this was an inspection of the vehicles too… The Captain could ill afford a malfunctioning engine during battle. They had to be in tip-top condition.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan to the Captain's responses, nodding along and replying with a hearty "Will do sir." he acted as if his spirits were high, but only for the sake of the ceremony. He honestly wasn't in the best of moods and really didn't want to be there, but there were no such things as sob stories in the military and McMillan knew that, and there was a very good reason for the inspection. McMillan shook it off as he walked over to his men, thinking back to that trip to France when Brentwood rode in the jeep causing all kinds of havoc for the German's, a smirk crept out only to be suppressed immediately.

"Alright men, line it up and dress it down, let's try to get this right." he pulled a cigarette from Carlson's mouth "Forget something?" took a drag and then killed it with a twist of his boot heel. he walked along the front of them, glancing at each briefly, straightening a collar here, rotating a hat there. He told the drivers "Pop those hoods, this isn't just for you guys." and then looked over at Digby "Digby...did you dress yourself in the dark...with an old mop?" McMillan shook his head walking up to the lad, brushing his shoulders a bit. "I'm not a babysitter, just try to look like the rest of the guys here, it's called uniformity, we have it in the military."

McMillan glanced down the line one last time and nodded before catching up to his Captain, stepped over in front of him, executing an about face "COMPANY...ATTEEEEN..SHUN!!!" McMillan ordered, executing another about face "All present sir, minus Tessa that is, I didn't figure mixing her in with all the new guys would have the best of outcomes." he snapped up a salute with a brief smile so that only Liam could see it, once the Captain had saluted him back he would step to the side, come on line with his commander and face the men as well.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Standing idly in front of the men, Captain Brentwood once again folded his hands up behind himself, flustering out his chest in the process. It seemed as if this ‘Typical Stance’ was common amongst British Officers, they’d bulk out their chest and narrow their legs together. Perhaps it was more of an instinct, human instinct to make yourself look taller and bulkier at the torso; Either way, he awaited the Company Sergeant Major to fall in line beside him after he’d addressed the men formally. A small grin slipped across his face momentarily as the Sergeant, with an heir of authority, ordered the men into shape, before twisting upon his heels with an about-turn to salute him.

Tightening up his jaw, Captain Brentwood saluted back with a sharp hand, before speaking. “Thank you Sergeant, I’ll take it from here…”, he gestured kindly, awaiting the Sergeant to stand beside him before he addressed the men himself. Clearing his throat, he rolled back upon his heels to strafe his daunting gaze along the long line of crewmen trying to keep their eyes pinned straight. “As you all know lads, I’m Captain Brentwood, your commanding officer - I also expect the same amount of respect to be shown to Company Sergeant Major McMillan here…” he said introductory to the fresh faced men, continuing to glance upon them as he continued to speak. “The Company Sergeant Major is a Veteran in the field, he will be the closest to family you’ll get from here on out” he firmly stated, knowing fully well that the Sergeant would be spending more time with the men than himself.

“IF any man here is seen unfit during today’s inspection, that man will be replaced immediately. I expect all of you to know your roles, your friends and your god-damn enemies!” he slightly yelled out towards the end, his face almost immediately changing as he cut the crap of being kind for a split second. Taking a step forwards, he unfolded his hands from behind his back and glanced to the Company Sergeant Major briefly, before glaring towards one of the men trying to hold back a laugh. Almost as if hearing his mother being insulted, Captain Brentwood cracked from off his heels towards the Private throatily holding back a laugh. “What’s your name son?” -- “Jack Peterson -SIR!” he spat out between a laugh, keeping his eyes up front the whole while. Captain Brentwood, un-amused by the man and short tempered, grabbed the soldier by the gruff of his uniform and dragged him out of line a few foot single handed, before spinning upon his heels to face the Sergeant that would’ve been accompanying him on approaching the line of men. “Obviously this man thinks were here for a laugh Sergeant…” he said bewildered somewhat.

Leaving the man standing a few steps from out of the line, Captain Brentwood quickly prowled down the line, glaring at each and every man’s lips, finding another smug chap holding back a laugh. “Name…” calmly ordered the Captain, the soldier immediately going blank as he realised he’d been caught. “E-Er… Jason Richardson, Sir!” he said hesitantly, before being grabbed by the gruff of his uniform to be dragged and marched a few steps out from the line. “Looks like we have another jester, Sergeant” he announced, before returning to the centre, observing the others callously before him. “Sergeant, have every single man - apart from these two delinquents, drop to their noses and give you a satisfactory amount of push-ups. It seems as if these two brats need to realise they don’t need our respect, but the respect of their comrades… In which they are going to lose right now” he ordered somewhat firmly, knowing just how important it was to have friends, rather than foes in the military.

Sure, they hadn’t even begun inspecting yet, but if they couldn’t learn to respect the rank and find things funny, then they’ll be here all night. Oh how he hated new recruits, he could already sense his Jeep Unit of men, the lads that have served with him for a couple of years now, scold the new recruits beneath their breaths… Hitching a hand up against his Webley Revolver’s holster, he awaited the Company Sergeant Major to bawl at them. Sure, it wasn’t the two idiots being punished, but by bringing down the other’s, he knew all too well how this would impact the two joker’s way of life back at barracks. Which was far worse than having them run about for a punishment.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched as the new men failed miserably from the start. He shook his head a bit, never letting his gaze fall. The Captain vented a bit on them and McMillan smiled inside. But it was true, they had a long way to go before they would be soldiers, even farther before they would become the battle hardened veterans that Brentwood and McMillan had been transformed into by an initiation of guts, glory and gunpowder. He stepped close to his Captain and whispered "Sir this may be unorthodox but I hope you trust me enough to let this pass upon a blind eye." McMillan was not in the mood for the normal techniques and was in the mood for something more...effective.

He reached his left arm behind his back as the privates still standing were paying attention to the men on the ground, released the mag from his 1911 on his right side and sliding it into his back pocket so as not to be seen, and emptied the rounds out of it as he walked over to one of the lads. He jerked the empty pistol from it's holster as he did not keep it hot unless outside the wire. Slid the empty mag halfway in and yelled out. "HEY!!! Richardson!!" Richardson snapped into position from the overbearing tone and set his eyes on McMillan, normally he might not have being at the position of attention but the pistol was enough to break his concentration. McMillan slammed the empty mag into place and racked it hard. The pistol being completely empty would feel a little odd but he was hoping to shock the man enough that he wouldn't realize. "Shoot me!" McMillan spat as he came almost face to face with the young man, shoving the pistol into his chest, almost knocking him off of his feet. Richardson stumbled back and just looked at the pistol.

McMillan turned and took a few steps away from him, then turned again to face them all. Most of them had stopped pushing, mainly because they were not in the best of shape, but the few that were didn't seem to want to miss this. Richardson just looked at McMillan with a blank face. McMillan unholstered his pistol with a quick snap of his wrist and let it dangle at his side, "I say again...Shoot me boy!" McMillan said with a glare in his eye. Still the boy just stood there, mouth hanging open. McMillan raised his pistol to eye level and aimed towards the lad. "Last chance!" still nothing, McMillan quickly racked his pistol, chambering a round "Can you comprehend this?" McMillan waited for about two seconds and the boy seemed to have even quit breathing, McMillan twisted his arm upward and fired a round.

BAAANG!!!!!

The silence that had settled in from the engines going to sleep had been erupted by the sound, every recruit flinched, most of them being low as it was, just layed down and covered their heads. "I'm the enemy son, I just gave you a second chance, don't let the rest of the men down, their survival might ride on your shoulders one day!! What part of this can you not understand, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU......SHOOT ME!!!!!" McMillan screamed at the shivering man. That's what I thought. McMillan holstered his weapon and stormed over to him. "These men are too nice as well, I will kill you myself if you ever freeze like that by my side on the field of battle." he yanked the pistol away from the boy, held it up into the air and pulled the trigger.

CLICK

The distinct sound was the only thing heard, even over the ringing in most of their ears, the recruit didn't even flinch. Urine began to trickle down his leg and stain his pants. A few of the men had tears in their eyes, some had yet to look up again. One thing was certain, they were no where near ready for war, and the other thing...McMillan's tail was riding on the Captain's view on the whole incident. So McMillan turned, after holstering the second of his hand cannons, towards his commander "It'll never happen again sir!" he said as he stepped away from the men a little towards Liam.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

I'm guessing we won't be finishing this one?

-JT

[Nathan Whyte]

Moderation Post

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Brentwood:[/u] Three awesome posts, as usual, ended early. 6 CP

McMillan:[/u] Same as Brentwood. 6CP[/color]

Issued -JT