Visting the Folks [David]

[Rhys Bevan]

Country: Wales, UK
Current Time: 6:45 PM
Weather Conditions: Cloudy, mild

Rhys stepped off the bulky train and looked around at the surrounding area, a broad smile plastered across his face. He was home. He bent down and let a handful of rich, earthy soil crumble in his hand as he smelled the disctinctive Welsh air. For once, it seemed, it wasn't raining.

The Staff Sergeant shifted to the side to allow the small troop of passengers to exit the great engine and continue on their way. The last of these was the young Private Harry Morgan, who tentavely stepped onto the gravel. His eyes were half-closed as his feet touched the earth and when he opened them at last, it seemed as though a wave of relief had washed over him.

"What are you so happy about?" grinned Rhys.

"Well, you 'ear all these stories," mumbled the dishevled Morgan. "About villages being bombed and whatnot. Building falling down, people crushed, little kiddies blown to bits..."

"Why would the Germans bomb Beddgelert?" laughed Rhys. "It's hardly the HQ of British Intelligence, is it?"

"I s'pose," answered the Private bashfully. "It's just...a bit of a relief that nothing's changed, you know?"

"Come on, Harry," said Rhys after a moment's pause. "Tell you what, why don't you come and meet my family? I'm sure there'll be enough bread to go around,"

"Well, I'm meant to be meeting my mam, you see, Sergeant," replied the Private.

"I'm sure she won't mind if you're a few minutes late, will she?" chided Rhys with a grin. Morgan gave in and Rhys led him down a narrow pathway.

It was a nice change of scene to be in such a rural village as Beddgelert, away from the noise and sheer magnitude of London. The two companions came across a couple of young boys, idly tossing stones at tin cans as they passed. The older of the two, who looked about twelve or thirteen, rose to his feet with excitement and saluted enthusiastically. The younger, a boy of no more than seven or eight, followed suit.

"Is you a soldier then, sir?" asked the older boy in a distinctive cockney accent, surprising the Staff Sergeant. An evacuee, he told himself. Rhys nodded in response and the two boys exchanged excited looks.

"I'm gonna sign up when I'm old enough," said the older boy boisterously. "And I'm gonna go down to Germany and I'm gonna shoot Mr Hitler in the face with my machine gun. B-R-R-R-R-R-R-M-M-M!"

Rhys looked on bemusedly as the young boy proceeded to display his skills as a machine gun impressionist. The younger boy let out a little shriek at the outburst and shielded his eyes with his grubby little hands.

"Can I see your gun, please, mister," asked the younger boy when he at last mustered up the courage to withdraw his hands. His accent was almost comically upper-class and he spoke with a lilt that befitted a member of the royal family.

"Course you can, lad," grinned Morgan, handing the evacuee his pistol. Rhys pulled the weapon from Morgan's grasp and tapped it experimentally.

"Little tip for you, Private," he said. "Don't give passing children your weapon. You don't want to be shot by accident by someone four foot tall, do you?"

Realising that he would not be recieving the promised weapon, the younger boy's face suddenly turned an alarming shade of puce.

"You're both rotters and I hate you!" he shrieked and with that, he stomped off, the Londoner at his tail, still making his machine gun noises.

Rhys laughed at the child's outburst and signalled for Morgan to follow him down the road towards his cottage. It was a relatively large house for such a small village and it had a familiar warmth that Rhys had grown to love. He had scarecly knocked once when his mother ran to the door.

Martha Bevan was a plump and stocky Irish-Welsh housewife who had lived in Beddgelert for the past twenty-seven years of her life. She was a strict discliplinarian and a devout Catholic, but she cared deeply for her family and was a kind woman in every respect. The second she saw her eldest son at the doorway, she blinked stupidly for a few seconds before launching Rhys into a full-scale embrace. After a couple of seconds, the thoroughly embarassed Staff Sergeant withdrew from the hug and smiled.

"Mum, this is Private Harold Morgan," he said introductively, as the Private held out a hand for Martha to shake. "He served with me in Africa,"

"Where's David?" asked Martha suddenly, her eyes growing wide with fear and horror. "Where's David? Where's your brother?"

"Mum, he's alright," said Rhys slowly, trying and failing to calm his mother down. "He just got on the wrong train and ended up in Bontnewydd. He should be here in a few minutes,"

His mother's breathing grew more relaxed and she let out a relieved smile.

"Where are my manners?" she said suddenly, as she scuttled out of the way for the men to pass. "Take a seat at the table by all means, Mr Morgan,"

"How are the others?" asked Rhys, entering the cottage alongside Morgan and hanging up his jacket.

"Little Jim's been going on and on about you for the past six months," beamed Martha. "And your Dad's fine too, his leg's healing up a treat,"

Jim was Rhys' seven year-old brother and the most hyper child Rhys had ever met and wasn't afraid to say that he was a little bit scared of him. He bounded about the village, firing imaginary pistols at vicars and generally making a nuisance of himself. He had once stolen Rhys' Sergeant uniform and gone to the nearest village, ordering the Home Guard to call him sir. That had been a memorable weekend.

"Jim, eh?" said Rhys wanly, as he joined his mother, his father and Morgan at the table. "To be honest, I think I'd rather face the Nazis!"

[S.SGT David Bevan]

David leapt quickly off the huge steam train thrilled at being home again. He could hear the sound of sheep and dogs in the distance which was so familiar to him having worked on the farm with his father before joining the Army. He laughed as he saw the expressions on the faces of his men who were overjoyed.

Most had been met as they exited the train by family and girlfriends. But David knew there would be none there for him and Rhys as the farm was so far from the station. Making his way towards the village he noted a black shape come speeding over the crest of the hill it was a dog. As it got closer it began to bark madly and David realised it was his dog Pero. The huge sheep dog leapt up at him winding him and almost causing him to fall.

David glanced to his left where his brother Rhys along with Harold another Soldier were having a conversation with a group of boys from the village. It seemed the conversation had slowed Rhys down as David had caught the wrong train and was running late.

Having reached the cottage where his parents lived minuets later his mother emerged with tears in her eyes and a look of relief on her face. David grinned as she threw her arms around him and embraced him tightly. Noticing that Harold was there to he pushed her away gently to avoid further embarrassment.

David grinned again as he saw his brother Jim as energetic as he had been and Rhys frowning at him. Pero then rushed in quickly and began sniffing Harold suspiciously.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys grinned as his mother scuttled into the miniscule dining room, a rather sheepish looking David behind her. The Staff Sergeant expected that his brother had too fallen pray to his mother's embrace and was trying to muster up as much dignity as he could in light of this fact. Morgan rose to his feet immediately and nodded in respect to his superior. Rhys sat back in his chair bemused.

He wondered whether his parents knew how brutal and mechanical a killer David Bevan was. He was a powerful and popular combatant and one of the most feared NCO's in the RWF or indeed Britain. David was respected greatly by his friends and foes alike, but Rhys' parents seemed genuinely surprised at the level of repsect shown by the Private, who was after all a year David's senior and at least three inches taller in height. Every soldier had a reason to be fighting in the war. For King, for country, for glory, for respect but David seemed to be fighting because he enjoyed it. Either that or he was just plain bored.

Ifan Bevan was the head of the household; a dour man in his early fifties, he was a fanatically patriotic Brit who had made quite a fuss when he hadn't been allowed to join in the war effort in France. A veteran of the Great War, Ifan had resigned at the comfortable rank of Brigadier and, despite his ferocity, old age had caught up with him at last and he was in no state to fight on the front line. He fought the war through his sons and had, at times, trained them harder than any General ever could.

"My dear boy!" he cried out, pulling David into a powerful embrace and laughing uproarously. "I see you've made Staff Sergeant! Well done, lad, well bloody done!"

Martha tutted disapprovingly at the mild profanity her husband had uttered but no one paid any notice to her. All eyes were on the retired Brigadier who had began to entertain the guests with tails of his exploits fighting in the Passchendale. Rhys sighed. It was good to be home.

[S.SGT David Bevan]

Private Morgan rose from his seat and nodded at David full of respect David stood completely still baffled by what had just happened. He remembered Morgan vaguely from his school days and the two had never particularly got on. He had had a reputation of being a bit of a prig if he remembered correctly. The tough army life must have changed him and tought his discipline and respect. David replied with a quick salute and the Private sat back in his chair.

David then remembered how Rhys had been the smartest kid at school and had achieved better marks than the other thirty pupils. It was obvious that he still had this intelligence as he was a great tactician. Even officers would occasionally consult Rhys for last minute adjustments to their battle plan.

David smiled as Ifan Bevan his father and the head of the household made his way into the crowded dining room. Ifan was now a fairly small man unlike the giant he had been in his younger days but he was still muscular for someone his age. As David made his way toward the table his father grabbed him and hugged him fiercely.

"My dear boy I see you've made Staff Sergeant! Well done,lad,well bloody done!" he cried bursting with pride.

After waiting patiently for what seemed like an age the embarrassment was killing him his father let go.

"Dad Rhys also made Staff Sergeant" said David loudly watching Ifan making his way towards Rhys and dragging him into and equally tight embrace.

All eyes were on Rhys and his father and Harold was in a fit of laughter.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys let his over-enthusiastic father hug him sparingly and smiled warmly. Ifan Bevan certainly cared a good deal about his sons' military career and it was rumoured that he had pulled a few strings to get them into the comfortable position they were in at that moment. Rhys had heard that Tom Edwards' father had given him such a slap when he'd been demoted. Rhys wouldn't have been surprised if his father hadn't turned a blowtorch on him if he had been in Tom's shoes. But, as an old military buff, he was entitled to his eccentrity. He was still viewed as a senior figure in the army and assisted as best he could with planning and intelligence, despite his frail ways.

"Now, what about this war then, eh?" said Ifan uprariously, slapping his thigh gruffly as he took a seat between Rhys and Morgan. "What's the latest news on the front line?"

"I think you know more about the front line than we do, Da'," grinned Rhys. Ifan laughed loudly, visibly shocking Morgan at the old man's power.

"I've heard nothing but good things about you two," began Mr Bevan. "From that jumped up officer. Umm...what was his name now? Arrogant fellow, tall..."

"Lietenant Day," grinned Rhys, delighted to hear his father talk about his Commanding Officer in such a way that would earn all three soldiers there fifty laps around the barracks.

"Aye, that's the one. I've been telling 'im and all the others at those meeting to land in Normandy to teach those Gerries a lesson but do they listen? No, apparently Monty wants to land in Brittany of all places. Mind you, plenty of time left. Maybe I can change 'is mind, eh?"

"Yes, dad," answered Rhys, barely listening to his father. It wasn't as if it would be anyhing particularly important.

Suddenly, Jim ran up to his older brother and launched onto his lap in a bid to embrace the relative he hadn't seen in just short of a year. Rhys almost lost his balance in his surprise and breathed a sigh of relief as the chair stood its ground.

"Rhys, Rhys!" yelled the young boy delightedly. He turned to David and smiled mischeviously.

"Hello...shoe head!" he cried, before falling into a fit of maniacal giggling. Jim was certainly original when it came to his insults. They were potent enough to confuse the victim and leave him speechless but never so harsh to get a smack from his mother. Rhys suspected he was an evil genius. Maybe Hitler in disguise.

"Guess what, guess what, guess what?" squealed the child at lightning speed.

"What?"

"I found a BIG piece of shrapnel," Jim explained, making wild gestures with his hands to demonstrate the sheer magnitude of his find. "Me an' Elis an' Susan an' Will found it behind the big church and we hid it in a special place in the forest. And it's secret cos you can't see it," he added as an afterthought, prodding Rhys pointedly.

"Good for you," smiled Rhys, ushering his brother from his lap. "Nice to see you again, Jim,"

"I'll fetch it for you," said Jim and with that, he darted from the room and out of the house.

"Oh, no you don't," scowled Mrs Bevan. "We'll be eating in five minutes,"

But it was too late. Jim had gone.

"That boy will be the death of me," she sighed, returning to her cooking.

[S.SGT David Bevan]

Pero had obviously grown an appetite for Martha Bevan's cooking as he suddenly leapt onto the table and tore a huge chunk of meat from David's plate before pouncing back down to the floor non-chalantly, gnawing at his newfound feast. David blinked stupidly in disbelief at the sheepdog's disregard for his master before bursting out laughing.

"At least he's got better table manners than you," he grinned, nodding at his older brother, gingerly inspecting the now less- than-appetising meal before him. He pushed his plate away apologetically as his mother tutted under her breath.

"Looks like I'm done here," he said, rising to his feet.

"I'll get you some more if you like," said Mrs Bevan, already scuttling back over to the kitchen area.

"No, I'm fine, Mother, honestly. I'm not hungry," called David after her truthfully. Besides, seeing a rash of bacon mauled into a disgusting mess by Pero has caused him to lose his appetite. The Staff Sergeant checked his watch and raised an eyebrow.

"Rhys, Morgan, we should be going," he said. "Captain Rake said he'd be meeting us near the church at seven. It's five to now,"

"Going somewhere, lad?" said the Brigadier, turning towards his middle son.

"Recruitin' for the army," piped up Morgan. "A couple of us are going around town, looking for volunteers,"

"Now, I'll be having none of that," scowled Martha Bevan, re-entering the room glaringly. "The folk around here are happy enough without you three filling their heads with talk of war,"

"Mum...don't," answered David quietely, knowing full well that his mother hated being referred to as "mum". An awkward silence filled the room for a couple of seconds before it was broken by Ifan.

"You'll be coming back though, won't you? After the recruiting and whatnot?"

"Yeah, course," said David seriously, turning to look his father in the eye. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye,"

"Well, if you ever need an old dog in that division of yours, don't hesitate to ask," said the Brigadier, holding out his chest proudly. "I've won medals, you know,"

"Yes, dad, I know...you've said before," muttered David distractedly. "And...I won't leave before saying goodbye. Not this time,"

"Make sure you don't," said Martha, pulling her son into a powerful embrace.

"I'm not even leaving the village, mum," David grinned.

"Even so, anything could happen,"

"Mother, it's unlikely there's going to be a German sniper in Beddgelert..."

But his mother couldn't be persuaded. She took one last look at her son before moving over to the far corner of the room to give her eldest a hug. She promptly turned towards Harry Morgan and nodded curtly.

"Look after my boys now, Mr Morgan,"

David was about to point out that Morgan was in fact three ranks his inferior and was in no position to look after him whatsoever but decided against it.

"I'll make sure to, ma'am," replied Morgan, a pink tinge appearing at the tip of his ears.

David turned to his father and smiled; he had always felt closer to him than he had his mother. He saluted him with a grin and his father returned it. They hesitated for a couple of seconds, before embracing eachother bashfully. David pulled away first, nodded embarrassedly and opened the farmhouse door.

"Come on, Rhys!" he called out to his brother, waiting for him to say his goodbyes. He nodded curtly at Morgan, still unsure whether he liked him or not. "You'd better come too,"

He then took one last look at his parents, feeling sorry that he had spent so little time with them and walked down the dirt path without looking back to check whether Rhys or Morgan were following him. David drew to a halt as he approached his trusty Jeep, Wolf, parked in the Bevan field, as it had been for the past seven months since his last visit home. True, the heavily armed vehicle didn't really fit in with the scenery and the machinegun perched on the rear had caused quite a stir with the locals. But, on the other hand, David observed, it certainly did look stylish.

He patted the vehicle fondly, before unlocking the doors and practically leaping into the driver's seat.

"Come on, you two!" he yelled after his companions. "Are you coming or shall I leave you behind?"

[Rhys Bevan]

After saying his hasty goodbyes to his parents, Rhys gestured for Morgan to follow him and the two jogged down to join the ever retreating back of David. As the three walked down the country path, Rhys shivered slightly. The air was cold and an ill breeze had wafted itself around the village. Rhys was just counting himself lucky it wasn't raining. For once.

Rhys and Harry followed David gingerly until he came to a sudden stop. Slightly confused, Rhys stepped out from behind his brother and stood open-mouthed as he saw the monstorous jeep standing before them.

"David, what the hell is your jeep doing here?" he said pointedly. "Patterson's been looking for that for months and you left it in a field in WALES?"

David's only answer was to swing the doors open and take a seat behind the wheel.

"The church is five minutes down the road," he frowned. "We don't need transport, let alone a monstrosity like that!"

"Hey, I'm not complaining," grinned Morgan, pulling a door open and taking a seat next to David.

"Oh, what, so I guess I'm in the back with the machine gun, then?" muttered Rhys, deeply annoyed at how the day was turning out.

"Pretty much," said Morgan.

Rhys sighed exhasparatedly and clambered into the back of the jeep, taking special care not to nudge into the looming 30. Cal, a mere couple of inches away from him. Being shot to death in a jeep in Beddgelert was not on his to-do list.

It was unlikely that the miniscule force of soldiers would be able to muster let alone one volunteer. The population of the tiny village was dubious to say the least, seeing as no one had ever actually seen the point of working it out. Rhys reckoned there could be a hundred odd villagers at a stretch, but the simple fact was that of that moderate sum, very few would be fit for service. There were a good few in the Home Guard, however, but from what Rhys had heard, their incompetence far exceeded even that of Tom Edwards, a young private Rhys had regrettably spent much of his military career with.

Suddenly, Rhys encountered the uncomfortable experience of the jeep's initial vibration as it kicked into life; David or Harry had obviously switched the engine on. Rhys sighed. They weren't even moving yet and already he was more uncomfortable than he had ever felt in his life. The cold winter air was harsh and unforgiving and to Rhys' extreme annoyance it looked like rain clouds were forming.

"Great," he muttered to himself miserably. "Just great,"

[S.SGT David Bevan]

David felt the great jeep explode into life as the familiar rumbling roared from her engine. The Staff Sergeant grinned and patted the steering wheel fondly, before pushing his heavy boots down on the pedal as powerful as he could and juddering down the countryside. It was a breath of fresh air to be driving Wolf without getting shot in the face. Yes, he could get used to this.

"You OK back there, Rhysy-boy?" he grinned, as he span the steering wheel furiously, jutting the huge vehicle and the companion's within into a sharp left.

"How long till we arrive?" asked Morgan hoarsely, a green tinge in his face. David suspected he was carsick. Not the best asset to have under your belt when you're fighting under the Desert Rats admittedly.

"Two minutes, Harry," David said in reply, stifling a loud whooping as they charged down the cobbled road at phenomenal speed. That was the great thing about being in the army, David mused. A Police Officer would be quaking in his boots at the prospect of facing down three battle-heardened killing machines and a tank.

Well, three battle-heardened killing machines and a jeep.

Well, one battle-heardened killing machine, a car-sick dimwit and an irritatingly sarcastic know-it-all and a jeep. OK, he thought. Maybe I should slow down.

The jeep suddenly halted to a stop opposite the great stone church of Beddgelert. David had spent most of his childhood avoiding the grey building, if he was being honest. Ever since he had eatan fifteen pounds from the church collection plate at age three.

A portly figure approached the vehicle with a pompous swagger, his large belly wobbling about as he walked. He had thinning, grey hair and a spectacular black moustache adorning his upper lip, while his officer's cap perched proudly on his dome-like head.

"Good evening, sir," said David, stepping clumsily out of the jeep and saluting hesitantly. Morgan stumbled after him and too showed his respects.

"At ease, men," said Captain James Rake gruffly. "Two minutes late, I see,"

"You see, sir, the traffic..."

"Sergeant, this is Wales," interrupted Rake harshly. "The only traffic we can expect to see here are a couple of joyriding sheep,"

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir,"

"Now, you know the deal, Bevan," continued Rake pompously. "We march down the street, make a bloody big fuss and get these simple-minded villagers to show some bloody patriotism and show Gerry what we're made of!

David rolled his eyes. Rake always made the same speech every three or so months without fail. The fact that they had only recruited one able man from the rural village in the past eight months hadn't dissuaded him.

But secretly, David liked working close with officers. He needed someone to put a good work in for him. Or he would if he ever planned on advancing above his brother at any cost.

"Now, where is your brother?" asked Rake.

"He's in the back," said David, jerking his thumb towards the looming presence of the 30. Cal. "I'll go and help him out now,"

David ambled down to the back of the jeep and pulled his brother firmly out of the rusty jeep, notoriously difficult to withdraw from.

"I'm delighted to inform you that Rake hasn't changed a bit," said David sourly. "Just one thing: don't make any fat jokes,"

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys hopped out of the back of the jeep, grazing his leg irritatingly as he did so and ran a hand through his raven-like hair absent-mindedly. He gestured for David to follow him and approached Rake cautiously.

He looked even worse than when he had met him last. His great belly billowed over his belt like a waterfall and the great folds of flab that adorned his midriff seemed to indicate that he was either hideously obese or, alternatively, a walrus.

Rhys suddenly realised he had spent the past few seconds staring at the Captain's stomach with a look of awe on his face. He shook his head firmly and stood to attention, his back arched almost painfully.

"Sir," he said, saluting extravagantly.

"Nice to see at least one of you has a sense of respect," Rake sniffed haughtily, apparently oblivious to the freakishly enticing spectacle of his stomach. "Bloody good to see you, Sergeant. I last heard you were fighting Gerry down in Poland?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Splendid, splendid," said Rake, rubbing his hands together. In his mind, he felt he was raising the mens' morale. In everyone else's eyes, anyone who used the word "splendid" in everyday conversation was clearly a git and Rake fell neatly into that category.

"Right-o, chaps," continued Rake after clearing his throat loudly. "I have been crawling around your arse of a country for the past month searching for volunteers and very little have come my way,"

Rhys could see that Morgan was livid. He placed a hand on the private's tense shoulder.

"Of course, you two are somewhat...celebrities around this bloody village," said Rake, nodding towards Rhys and David. "So, hopefully, the turn-out will be much greater than previous occasions. We will march down the main road with our banners held high," - he gestured towards an enormous Union Jack in the hands of a meek-looking private at his side - "And shouting at the top of our voices. When we come to the crossroads, the Sergeants will continue down the right whilst myself and the privates will follow me down the left. Any questions?"

Rhys shook his head.

"Good," said Rake, indicating that had there been questions, he would not have been particularly well-deposed to answer them.

As Rake pushed onwards, waving the Union Jack high above his head, Morgan scurried over to where Rhys was marching.

"I can't believe I have to walk with him," he said sourly. "He's an idiot!"

"That's not the thing that worries me," replied Rhys with a grin. "But Rake seems blindingly unaware that if you parade around a Welsh village with a Union Jack high above your head, you're unlikely to receive a particularly warm greeting!"

Morgan grinned back and opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a roar from the Captain that made him yelp in fear.

"Stop your nattering," bellowed Rake from up ahead. "You're like old ladies. Forward march!"

Rhys glared at the buffoon of a captain before him with contempt and began to march, without looking to check if David was following.

[S.SGT David Bevan]

David laughed as he saw his brother come to attention before Rake. In Davids opinion the plump English officer deserved no respect as he had obviously never fought before. In his mind David saw a clear image of Rake attempting to retreat from the enemy while constantly being dragged to the ground by his immense weight. David knew that Rake hated him as much as he hated Rake they were only working together to finally get some fresh young recruits who could go off ad die in the army.

Davids thoughts were interrupted by Rakes briefing "Right -o chaps I have been crawling around your arse of a country for the past month searching for volunteers and very little have come my way"

"Maybe you should change the flag" whispered David to himself knowing that brining it up with Rake would only cause an argument and they had no time for that they had to get going.

The party soon began to march down the pothole infested streets of Beddgelert with a union Jack being held proudly alloft by Rake at the head of the column. David glanced to his right and noticed Rhys and Morgan chatting away quietly. From what David could hear Rhys was explaining that if you march through beddgelert raising a Union Jack your likely to be attacked by some old farmer with a shot gun.

David walked casually over to a Private and began talking loudly "He says that seeing us will make the soldiers join up but we wont be seen if Rake is blocking all view with his fat" said David jokingly meaning to be heard. As he had hoped the march came to a swift halt.

"Why the hell are you talking David this isn't bloody womens institute" shouted Rake red with anger causing some of the Privates to recoil in fear.

"O isn't it?" said David with mock confusion "Well in that case I'd better go and find it." and with that David walked away swiftly towards his jeep.

[Rhys Bevan]

"Where the devil are you going, Bevan?" bellowed Rake hot-headedly as David left the Captain's side for seemingly no reason.

"He's buggered off, sir," answered Rhys simply, used to his brother's strange mood swings.

"Well, go and bloody get him then!"

"Oh, piss off, Captain," scowled Morgan, contributing to the conversation as helpfully as he could. Rake turned towards the private as his bulldog of a face turned a deep shade of puce.

"Be warned, Mr Morgan," he hissed. "I will not stand for insubordination in the ranks. If you disrespect me again, I will make your life very difficult,"

"You pompous piece of..."

Rake rounded on Rhys who closed his mouth too late.

"Do you want to add to this cosy little conversation, Staff Sergeant?" he said coldly. "Or would you like me to remove one of your beloved stripes?"

"You could do that," answered Rhys cooly, staring the much more physically intimidating man down. "Or, alternatively, I could let the whole world know about you and Mr Jones, the butcher..."

Rake's face flashed from puce to ghostly-white in a second. He opened his mouth hopelessly before closing it again as his brain tried to comprehend what the NCO had just said.

"How do you know?" he breathed.

"Call it inuition," answered Rhys, a smirk spreading across his face. "I think myself and Mr Morgan will be off, don't you?"

"Umm...by...uh...gah...by all means..." stuttered Rake. Rhys nodded towards a puzzled Morgan and the two left the gibbering Captain's side. As they approached David's jeep, Rhys couldn't resist calling back at Rake.

"Oh, and Mr Rake," he shouted as an afterthought.

"Y...y...ye...yes?" squeaked the Captain.

"You're an arse,"

"Y...y...ye....yes..."

Satisfied that he had at least ruined the Captain's weekend, Rhys drew to a halt at David's side next to the jeep.

"Shall we be off, then," he grinned, opening one of the large doors and making to step inside. He jerked a thumb towards the back of the jeep and nodded pointedly at Morgan. "You're going in the back this time,"

"The only way to travel," muttered Morgan darkly.

[S.SGT David Bevan]

David laughed as the argument between his brother and Captain Rake came to a humiliating end. Rake sat kneeling on the floor probably wondering where Rhys had gained the information but it's seemed Rhys knew a great deal of things.

"O and Rake piss off back to your arse of a country" shouted David loudly causing villagers to peered out of their windows.

Eager to be away David stepped down hard on the accelerator causing the jeep to surge forward before speeding off down the country path. The tires screeched loudly as they gripped the road tightly as the jeep skidded around each bend. David knew he would have to change the tires when he arrived back at the farm. Reckless driving came at a price he though to himself.

David preferred the countryside when he was driving as their was so little traffic that he could drive at insane speeds the only danger was colliding with a passing group of sheep. David then glanced behind at Rhys who was sat fairly comfortably in his seat and behind him Morgan was clinging on for dear life. David noticed the thick cloud of brown dust that had been kicked up from the road behind them.

David began to slow down as they neared the farm where they had been just ten Minuit's before. David drove on for another one hundred yards before slamming on the brakes and suddenly stopping in the farmyard. David dismounted the jeep and walked over to his father who had just made his way outside from the farmhouse.

"David how did the recruiting go" he said affectionately.

"Brilliantly" replied David jokingly.

The brigadier looked at him a puzzled look on his face before responding with "come inside David Martha has made more bacon and given that bloody dog a good slapping".

David made his way inside where his mother stood busy at the stove.

"Ah you have arrived just in time for some more bacon" she said happily.

"Is that nice boy Morgan with you" she inquired.

"Yes mum he and Rhys are on their way" he said glancing back into the narrow hallway expecting to see the two men enter the small farmhouse.

David then sat down at the table as Pero ran over to him and whinnied loudly hoping for some sympathy from David who simply smoothed his head a little before tucking into a thick slice of bacon.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys stepped out of the Jeep in time with Morgan and made his way towards the farmhouse. Morgan hesitated.

"Come on, Harry," grinned Rhys. "I can guarantee that David's dog won't attack you this time,"

"It's not that," replied Morgan awkwardly. "But I promised I'd meet mam tonight,"

"Oh, sure," said Rhys, forgetting that Morgan had a family of his own. "Well...enjoy yourself, I guess. I'll meet you at the train station tomorrow, then?"

"I'll see you there," said Morgan, giving a final wave before striding down the muddy pathway.

"Unless you'd rather David give you a lift in the jeep," grinned the Staff Sergeant.

"I'd rather die," replied Morgan seriously. And with that, he was off.

***

Rhys entered the farmhouse and smiled as David gave his dog a little stroke. They were pretty close; the old sheepdog had been with the family since David's fourteenth birthday and was a loyal dog and no mistake. He wondered how Pero would fare in a war. He'd teach the SS a lesson they'd never forget!

"Don't play with David, Pero, you don't know where he's been," grinned Rhys, taking a seat opposite his brother.

"The private not with you?" asked his father.

Rhys shook his head. "Went home,"

"Oh, aye," said the Brigadier, wiping his brow firmly. Rhys guessed he's been out working since his sons had been gone. It seemed almost disrespectful that a man who had done so much for his country shad to do manual labour to feed his family.

Suddenly, Jim charged into the farmhouse, his clothes ragged and torn, a large metallic object in his clutches. The boy was dripping mud and, as his mother saw the mess he had made on the carpet, she actually let out a little shriek.

"So where have you been for the past half an hour then, James Patrick Bevan?" she scolded, her accent shifting closer and closer to Dublin as she grew more and more anxcious over the mess on the floor. Rhys turned to grin at his brother before his face turned white.

"Jim..." he whispered. "Where did you get that?"

"Found it behind the church," replied Jim proudly. "It's the biggest shrapnel ever, even Elis has got a littler one. And you can't have it!"

"Jim," breathed Rhys. "That's...that's a bomb..."

"Whizzo!"

"No, not whizzo, Jim. That's an unexploded bomb,"

"Whizzo," repeated Jim, his eyes narrowing.

"Give it to me," said Rhys carefully, taking a cautious step towards his little brother. Jim scowled and handed over the bomb far more roughly than Rhys would have liked. He turned towards his horrified parents. "Must have been dropped in an air raid. Probably hit something soft; a bundle of hay or something. Dad, get to a phone box; call the bomb disposal team. I...uh...I recommend that we evacuate the building and, you know, leave it here..."

He gingerly placed it on the table and awkwardly made his way out into the field. His parents - dragging a curious Jim by the scruff of his neck - exited and even Pero sensed that evacuation was the best bet and scurried out of the farmhouse.

Suddenly, a droplet of rain splashed down onto Rhys' skull. Within seconds, the entire village was being hammered by the rain and the Bevans seemed to be taking the lion's share of the beating.

"Only in Wales," Rhys sighed, running a hand through his soaking wet hair. "Only in Wales..."

OOC: THE END! Sitcom material or what?

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

Ve-ry nice posts, guys.


The following CP has been awarded:

S. Sergeant R. Bevan: Providing good, long and descriptive posts you made this thread very fun to read. 16CP

S. Sergeant D. Bevan: Also giving long and well written posts. 13CP



DISMISS!

~Dan