I urge you to participate

[coolhand]

Jackson walked into the barracks, sat on the edge of his bunk, pulled up a footlocker and started to shuffle some playing cards. The heat that had been beating down upon the base had ceased temporarily and a light rain had began. The tapping sound of the large raindrops on the roof of the tent was very relaxing and as Jackson shuffled the cards he found himself at ease and peace. This is peaceful and a little company wouldn't hurt in my attempts to find a little more peace.

Jackson set out the cards and started to play a game of solitaire. He glanced at the entryway time and time again waiting for a possible visitor that may want to share a game or a discussion. A few soldiers came and left after getting what they came for; some came for their forks, some for their recreational gear, but most came in looked at Jackson nodded and left. It appears that I'm a little intimidating or really ugly... I'll go with intimidating that sounds better or maybe nobody really wants to talk about their experiences in war they probably don't want to be in.

Jackson leaned back on his bunk, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling listening intently to the soothing sound of a comforting rain that pelted on the tent roof. Jackson felt his eyes becoming heavier when he was awakened by somebody approaching the doorway. Maybe this fellow won't mind a good chat with me.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Bit of a desperate sounding title? Lol


Trotting along, Peter clamped a hand atop of his helmet as he ran through the downpour of rain, that seemed to dauntingly get heavier and heavier. A few convoy trucks had suddenly seized to move in the short distance, as one of them reared their back wheels, sinking into the mud inch by inch, a few soldiers falling out of the back as they began to govern some planks of wood and begin priding them under the vehicle… It seemed as if the sudden change from the outcast in weather had caught everyone by surprise.

Tripping over his own feet a little, the Medical Corp, continued to briskly move along, all of his gear jingling and thumping against his torso as he eventually made it to his tent - Right? Pushing back the hard flap and ducking into the tent, he let out a hard sigh and took a few steps inwards, the water trickling from off his helmet and gear from the sudden downpour that’d caught him; Peter cringed a little as thunder echoed in the distance, it sounded as if things could only get worse? Not a good prospect.

Walking in a little more, Peter yanked at the heavy medical bag’s strap stuck to his shoulder, moving it over his head to swing the ‘Hip bag’ off onto the floor with a clutter. Most of the materials inside were bandages and syrettes (morphine), so nothing would’ve broken with a heavy landing. Mumbling beneath his breath a little, his fingers plucked up beneath the webbing inside his helmet and prided the heavy headgear from off his head, the big fat ‘medic’ insignia painted across the front of the helmet still, it seemed as if time or war hadn’t faded the paint. Surprisingly.

Holding his helmet by the webbing, he slowly began to look around the tent and pulled a phased look as he suddenly realised he was in the wrong bloody one! Grumbling incoherently beneath his breath again, he took a look behind him out of the small gap in the flap and kicked himself mentally for even making a dart to his tent in the first place. He should’ve just stayed in the mess hall until this weather subsided, now he was in someone else’s tent -- wouldn’t look great on his behalf, but feeling the eerie sensation of being watched, he quietly twisted his head and as if with his sixth sense, looked towards the general direction of Private Jackson, his mouth opening as he gasped and caught sight of the man upon the top bunk.

“Whoa! You had me there!” Peter sputtered out, his heart in his throat almost as he patted his chest, laughing a little - the man had taken him by surprise. “Hey, look… I’m sorry for running in on you like this, but I got the wrong tent” he slipped out afterwards, hoping the guy wasn’t about to bite his head off for waking him up or disturbing him. For all he knew, the guy could’ve been a regimental sergeant trying to ease off after a hard day… He couldn’t tell the man’s stature from his place. So he could’ve even been a C.O for all he knew!

[riley]

Strolling along the base, the rain pounded down upon the Lieutenant's helmet creating a distinct tapping noise. Water sloshed around in the dirt with ever step Riley took. He was in no rush, he didn't mind to get his uniform dirty. He had been stained by blood, dirt, bullet holes, scorch marks, and even grass. Water, well hell water was a welcome asset to Riley's uniform. He had a thick grouping of mail envelopes, tied up in a bundle, in his hands. He wasn't prepared to flip through the envelopes to see who was getting mail, as he preferred not to soak and ruin his own mens mail. Although all the mail should be for men in his tent, so he wasn't going to make a far journey. He placed the mail into one of his upper breast pockets on his uniform.

Occasionally, Riley enjoyed to stay where the grunts stay, inside of the fancy office he had received upon arriving here. He liked to sleep along side the grunts and talk with the grunts and then give the grunts command. He wasn't the one to go into their office and be a good little C.O. and kiss up to their higher rank. Hell, the only man that had managed to get Riley kiss up to him in a long time was Patterson. Good ole' Patty as Riley called him. He was good at pissing Riley off, and when Riley got pissed, Riley would lose his rank...and fast. So, he had to do what he had to do.

Riley pulled open the flap to get into the tent, and plopped down into his top bunk on the right side of the tent. He glanced upwards and said, "Ah, Jackson your up." Then he glanced over to the man in the middle of the tent, a medic to be accident. It looked like a British medic to be exact. The man looked extremely frightened, apologizing to Jackson as if he were the damn General or something, before he slipped out of the tent.

"Hey relax man would ya? Jackson don't bite! He's just a Private too. Nothing to be scared of pal. " Riley chuckled. Jackson had just been recruited into his division, the 3rd Infantry Division, a while ago. He was pretty new here, along with pretty much 80% of the rest of the division. Riley yawned a bit, a little ready to take a nap almost, as he pulled out his pocket knife and cut the strings that were holding the mail in a bundle. He flipped through it and tossed the mail for each man onto their rightful bunks until he had nothing left in his hands. "Damn. Looks like no mail for us Jackson."

[coolhand]

Jackson sat up slowly as a frightened medic approached with apologies to spare. Jackson was laying on the bunk with his legs hanging off at his knees, he put his elbows on the bed and stayed there at a reclined position staring at the medic. "No big deal guy I was just waiting on something to do until the rain passed. You aren't necessarily in the wrong tent, you came in here for a reason and besides there's no rush to be anywhere, it's raining out. You could get sick, but I'm sure you already know that being a medic and all." Jackson let out a little chuckle and noticed a little relaxation in the medic's eyes just as his new Lieutenant stepped in. So much for that guy being comfortable in here. I'm just a private and he was a little fidgety now there's a lieutenant here.

Jackson wasn't the type to jump to his feet, click his heels together and salute everyone of higher rank than him that walked in the tent, there were just too many people of higher rank. Jackson caught wind of this particular lieutenant and heard that he was pretty laid back and easy going especially when it came to his "grunts" as he called them. Jackson sat there listening as his commanding officer told him not to bite and so forth and so on. Who's biting? Eh whatever let's see all the non-mail I'll be getting this time.

"You look a little tired LT. I know the rain always makes me tired. Take a load off, lay down and nap. I was just getting to know this fine upstanding medic. By the way I'm not sure we've been properly introduced I'm Private Lucas Jackson." Jackson hopped off of the bunk and reached his hand out toward the medic for a hand shake.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Ah, I didn’t slip out of the tent, I meant “Slipped out” in a verbal way, not physically. My bad! =P


Standing there, somewhat idle, he fidgety placed his hands upon his hips and bit at his bottom lip as the man prided himself up from the top bunk and reassuringly suggested that he was only waiting for ‘someone’ like him to pop by. The poor guy looked bored out of his brains, Peter could definitely sympathise. He was either running errands in the local field hospital or sitting in the mess hall, at least the soldiers had some comfort in one another to acquaint and talk; Peter hardly had any friends, wait, he didn’t have any. It was more, see a face come and go from the field hospital - they get wounded, they come in and in a matter of weeks they’re gone again. Suppose the same could be said with the guys on the battlefield, it was hard to make friends in a situation like this…

Grinning a little as the man suggested on lingering until the rain stopped made him feel a bit better, he certainly knew what it was like to get a cold. It only took one person to get it and… Well, this was no time to be feeling drowsy with a cold. “Cheers, I’d appreciate that” he said quietly, nodding a little as he stood there, still feeling a little awkward. He just wasn’t used to socialising, the job played a big obstacle in that, but then someone else walked in -- Peter stiffened up as he watched the Officer broadly walk in and dictate for him not to be frightened, Peter smirked and couldn’t help himself as his wit kicked in “I’ve seen some well talented Privates in my time Sir, I wouldn’t underestimate the average Joe” he kicked out jokingly, but also seriously.

As the man leapt down the bunk and casually walked over, Peter smiled and quickly wiped his rain-ridden hand down his clothing some, not wanting to get his hand wet. “Peter, Peter Branigan” he said introducing himself some, nodding towards the man as he gave a firm shake, surprisingly, Peter did have a real firm grip, shame the rest couldn’t be said about his normal physic. “So you all well?” he asked curiously, Peter had a very overworked mind, he just found it hard to shut-off at times - socialising just wasn’t something he particularly done often and finding the man laying in his bunk bored seemed to suggest a problem in his books… Peter didn’t think along the lines of, well, perhaps he was resting? No, he thought more along the lines of, well, maybe he was depressed or had a stomach ache? He just cared too much.

[coolhand]

Jackson shook Branigan's hand and noticed the medic had a rather staunch grip. Jackson retracted his hand and sat on the bottom bunk looking up at Branigan. With a gesture of his right arm Jackson offered Branigan a seat across from him. "Take a seat, loosen up, lose that heavy gear and relax for a bit. You seem a bit tense my friend" Jackson knew that medics didn't have the easiest job; they probably saw more death than the rest of the corps. This guy is really tense he needs to relax... well let's see what I can do. Jackson picked up his cards and started to shuffle them over and over again. "Shuffling cards is a relaxing thing to do Branigan, you should try it sometime." Jackson carefully put the cards back into a stack and offered them to Branigan.

Jackson sat in anticipation waiting for the rain to cease. Peaceful as the rain was Jackson would rather be walking around aimlessly trying to find something to do. There was a great deal of sleeping that Jackson could be catching up on but he usually slept at night even if he was tired during the day. Jackson thought of the little nook in the river that he had found as a refuge from the heat. He looked at Branigan once more before he looked up at the roof in attempts to stop the now heavy down poor of rain.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

After shaking the man’s hand, Peter dropped his arm back down beside himself again, sighing a little as he took another brief look around the tent. It seemed more cosy than his quarters. As the man sat and strafed his arm out for Peter to sit too, loosen up a little, he nodded quietly and almost hesitantly stepped towards the adjacent bunk Private Jackson was sitting at. Slowly he sat down and laughed to himself a little as he spoke “Tense, yeah, could say that” he said timidly, as if he was more tense at trying to chill-out, rather than work. Ironically.

Unbuttoning a few of buttons at the top of his uniform, he pulled the heavy fabric open a little, so it wasn’t so constricting against his throat. Glancing to the cards, Peter gently took them from the soldier and nodded some - it was worth a try? “Thanks, never been much of a player though… Don’t tell the lads that, they’d rob me blind” he said with a wink, as he idly played with the cards, shuffling them for perhaps a few seconds before placing them down beside himself, as he remembered something.

Reaching into his inside chest-pocket, he pulled out a bundle of dog-tags and dropped them down beside the playing cards. Most of the dog-tags were pretty dirty, a few blooded by war, it was obvious they were casualties’ dog-tags. “Oh… Don’t mind them, I was meant to take them to the registry office. I’ll wait until the rain subsides” he said, as if explaining himself a little, pulling a weak smile as he eventually found what he was looking for, his inside pocket was quite deep. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he slipped one out and slid it behind his ear, before casually holding the pack out towards Private Jackson. “Smoke Jackson?” he asked curiously, wondering whether the soldier would make a dig at him for smoking -- he was a doctor after-all…

[Nathan Whyte]

God-Modding![/b]
You can't control other people's characters.... End off.
~Danny[/color]


Nathan stepped out of the Willis and his boot was immediately swallowed in the mud. He swung his pack over his shoulder and took his rifle in his hand. His first priority was to find a tent with room in. The first one he found contained a pair of weather-worn soldiers, cigarettes in their mouths around a deck of cards.
"Kia Ora, I'm the New Zealander on attactchment. You don't have room for a little one in here do you?" He was anything but little, but made the joke anyway.
Jackson stood up and extended a hand, and the international sign of friendship, a cigaretts, "I suppose you can squeeze in. I'm Jackson, Private Jackson, and this is Peter."
Nathan happily took the light as he placed his bag and rifle on an empty bunk. "Thanks, I"m Corporal Nathan Knight, NZ 3rd Infantry Battalion. So what goes on around here?"
Peter took this chance to speak, "We get cold, wet and shot at."
"Nice neighbourhood then,"

[coolhand]

Jackson glanced at Branigan and then at the dog tags of dead soldiers he threw done. That's one way to keep track... better than hauling bodies around in trucks. As Branigan dug for his desired goal of a pack of cigarettes Jackson leaned forward to take a closer look at the dog tags. Branigan offered Jackson a cigarette and Jackson promptly refused. "Sorry but I don't smoke... Actually you're the second person to offer me a cigarette. First Sergeant McMillan an old pal of mine offered me one earlier this week." Jackson let out a little chuckle and observed the red cross on Branigan's helmet. "Smoke huh? Aren't you supposed to be some sort of medical personnel?"

As Jackson sat there enjoying a sarcastic but much needed relaxing conversation with Branigan a rather large drenched corporal stepped in the tent. The corporal was very forward and eager to share who he was and where he was from. A New Zealand attachment? Jackson shrugged his shoulders, stood up, and offered a hand shake along with an introduction "Hi I'm Private Jackson and this is Peter Branigan. Take a seat and join us if you like." Jackson motioned toward Branigan as he said "Peter Branigan."

Jackson turned toward Branigan and sat back down on his bunk. The rain continued to poor down outside as the four gentlemen sat in the tent. Thunder crashed and the maelstrom continued to rage on. Jackson was a little frustrated that the storm had taken most of the day but if the storm continued throughout the night, Jackson would sleep easily and comfortably. I haven't heard much from the lieutenant. Maybe he fell asleep. Jackson turned to try and locate Riley.

[riley]

"You look a little tired LT. I know the rain always makes me tired. Take a load off, lay down and nap. I was just getting to know this fine upstanding medic. By the way I'm not sure we've been properly introduced I'm Private Lucas Jackson." Riley nodded a little, a bit eager to take a nap. He didn't get to nap often, he was a rather busy man and with his new Captain always bossing him around and not taking a liking to him he was becoming all the more busier. Riley gave out a relieved sigh as he hopped up from the ladder onto the top bunk and tried to found himself a comfortable sleeping position. He rolled a little to the right and he rolled a little to the left, before deciding the middle was the best.

Closing his eyes tightly, Riley tried his best to fall asleep in the now noisy tent. The downpour of rain mixed with the chatting of the men down below was a bit hard to get asleep, but Riley had been through worse. When he had been down in North Africa fighting with the 9th and the Rangers, those crazy Rangers, it wasn't the easiest to get to sleep. There was always the gunfire in the distances, tanks rolling around and firing, artillery bombardments pounding the desert, and the moans of the wounded. Hell it was a miracle Riley got one minute of sleep during the war. Slowly though, Riley managed to fall asleep. He listened to the chatter below, not intently though, as he fell into a light sleep.

Five minutes or so later, Riley rolled over to the left, almost rolling off the bed. This instantly awoke him and Riley found Jackson's eyes staring up at him. Riley rubbed his eyes tiredly before he lay back down again on his back. This time it was wasn't for sleep. He pulled upon a small flap and reached into his left breast pocket and searched through it with his right hand. Eventually, he pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes. Ah thank god I still got some of these left in here. As Riley placed the cigarette in his mouth, he fiddled around with, with his teeth. Moving it up and down and left to right and in circles a little, as he searched a pocket on the right leg of his trousers. As he fumbled through the pocket, he pulled out a shiny silver lighter, but accidentally dropped it to the ground of the tent.

Riley slipped off the left side of the bunk, and leaped down to the ground. He grasped the lighter in his right hand, and steadied the cigarette with his left. With a couple of flicks on the "wheel" of the lighter, a flame lit the cigarette and Riley was a happy man again. He jammed the lighter back in his trouser's pocket and closed it up again. Then he realized he was standing in the middle of the tent, the three men looking at him. He took a couple long puffs on his cigarette and looked over at the medic, who he had overheard was named Peter. "A medic that smokes? Never seen this before" Riley blurted out with a chuckle then looked over at the newcomer in the tent, who had arrived about the time Riley woke up. A Nathan Knight or something... from New Zealand did he say? Riley extended his hand to shake with the Corporal. "I'm Lieutenant Shawn Riley. Nice to meet you. You new to the 3rd Infantry Division?"

[coolhand]

"He doesn't look to be much of a talker right now LT." Jackson spoke to his lieutenant before the pilot had a chance to answer. Jackson brought the lieutenant up to speed on all that had went on during Riley's nap. Jackson then turned to Branigan and asked about a scratch on his lower back. "Not to be too much of a bother doc, but could you look at this scratch? I don't want it to be infected or anything." Jackson lifted the back of his shirt and leaned forward a bit to allow Branigan a clearer view of the injury.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Quietly drawing baled breaths of smoke from his cancer stick, the Medical Corp began to dauntingly go quiet, he wasn’t used to so many faces talking and blurting out words. It was more screams of pain and yelling that he was used too; no, this was different and Peter began to diagnose himself with shellshock a little. As strange as it was, considering he hadn’t seen a great deal of combat, the field hospital seemed to be more than enough to put him into shock somewhat - as soon as things got quiet or people tried to talk to him, he couldn’t help but feel the place get smaller and the hysterical screams that he’s so commonly used too, make themselves present within the midst of his mind. It was beginning to comfort him, rather than disturb.

Standing there awkwardly for a moment, the Medic took a step towards the blowing flaps of the tent, as to not smoke out the men with his cigarettes that didn’t smoke, but also to try and get a whiff of fresh air from the rain. He wasn’t coping well in this war, he’d already dragged his Ex-Commanding Officer out of a blown up barn, him being inside it at the same time, now to be faced with screaming men and woman. He could only pray his new division, the 3rd Armour weren’t so forth coming. In a sense that meant he’d be stuck dragging his C.O from out of the battlefield… Only to barely survive himself. It wasn’t his job to fight.

Peter became extremely distant inside the tent, the timid sound of humming beneath his breath as he suddenly turned into a statue, almost like he were gone from his body. Standing there, cigarette between his fingers, staring outside of the tent through the small opening -- he didn’t hear one word from any of the people in the tent aimed at him, none of the remarks, gestures or anything. He just stared outside, humming quietly beneath his breath, finding the tent extremely quiet to what he was used too. Like he re-framed in his mind, this wasn’t screaming or turmoil, it was just quiet chatter to him and he just wasn’t used to this.

Suddenly, he felt the presence of someone nearing him and the Medical Corp turned his head to look towards someone’s back being pushed towards him, Peter merely looked glumly between everyone, before hesitantly muttering out “Oh.. Y-Yeah, sure”. He flicked the cigarette from between his fingers out of the tent, as it’d burnt away from his thoughtful thinking, before looking towards the man’s scratch marks upon his back… Peter grinned quietly and tilted his head a little as he looked them over. “Well, Jackson. I’d suggest you show me something else if you’re worried about it being infected” he said jokingly, as he tapped the man’s upper back, as if letting him know he can let his top down. “She must’ve had some nails on her, no, the scratches won’t get infected” he said winking, faltering a smile from his lips, trying to cover up the daunting feeling of wanting to hang himself… Peter needed some time out from the field hospital, he needed to be on the frontlines again.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The rain had been coming down hard all evening and there was little way to escape it. McMillan walked along and tried to keep out of it as best he could stopping under a tree here and there to wipe his face a bit. He had been drenched to the bone. As he trekked along in all the mud and puddles something, out of the corner of his eye, caught his attention, as he turned a burning cigarette thumped off his thigh and sputtered out in the muck. Hmmm, some company would be nice. He walked over to the tent and pulled open the flap. The sight he saw was not one he was expecting.

Wow, that is far more than odd, and he already finished his cigarette before they were completely clothed. He looked upon two men, they seemed to have somewhat of a relationship of sorts. "Uhh..." he mumbled out as he noticed two of his old friends, apparently caressing each other. It was Branigan and Jackson. McMillan had known Jackson before the war had even broken out and he had served with Branigan in France for a brief period of time. "...Well gentlemen, I know it gets lonely around here, but this might be a bit much." McMillan was able to break his gaze from the horrible sight and noticed two other men that seemed to be observing the spectacle. "You guys have got to be kidding me. You're watching this!?!? Wait, don't tell me you are in line." McMillan shook his head with great disdain and turned to exit the tent. "Branigan, I know Jackson has been in prison and all, but you getting mixed up in all this is just too much. Can I get one of those smokes before I go? Since you obviously have other things to smoke."

[nathansinfantry]

The Sergeant looked through the thinning rain as the jeep drove along the muddy English lane. He let out a sigh as he flicked through his wallet, whiling the journey away. He stopped as he reached a photo of his family. There was his father in the background, tall and stern, a shovel in his hand. His mother was stood next to him, jolly ans smiling, her hand on the shoulder of the youngest son. Either side of the parents were two sons in military uniform, one in the armies garb, the other the air forces. Jack put a finger on the face of the one in the air force uniform and felt a tear roll down his face as he thought of his brother. The last that he had heard of him was that he was missing, presumed dead after an air reconnaisance mission. He looked out the window, the rain had stopped and the vehicle was pulling up by a line of tents. He gave a hopeful smile to the soldier stood in one of the doors smoking.

He climbed out and pulled his pack onto his shoulder and helped the others from the back of the truck out and walked over to the tent. He had a peer inside and it seemed to him the same faces you'd see in any barracks around the world, battle worn and hardened, but one made him stop, and his heart leap into his mouth. He pointed accusingly at the wearer of the air force uniform, who wore an expression of equal shock. "You're supposed to be dead!"

[riley]

At a few moments of a conversation everyone had seemed to wander off, each finding their own place in the tent. Riley had pulled himself back up onto the top of his bunk. He glanced over to the medic smoking in the entrance flap to the tent, who seemed to look a bit depressed. If he could, Riley would try to cheer the man up, but he barely knew him and they weren't the best of buds yet. Instead, Riley closed his eyes and let his feet tangle from the edge of the bunk, huffing and puffing away on his cigarette. He took a few long drags and sighed with relief.

Conservations seemed to start up again as the medic was asked to take a look at Private Jackson's scratches. Branigan agreed to the task and the Private lifted up his shirt to reveal a few scars that he was afraid might be infected. Brangian gave the ok, patting him on the back, as a newcomer walked in. He seemed to know both Jackson and Branigan. The man seemed utterly shocked as he walked in, believing that the medic and private were...lovers. Oh boy Riley couldn't stop laughing to save his life. This man even seemed to believe Riley and a Aviation Corporal from his division were awaiting their turn to...

The Lieutenant was gasping for air as he just kept laughing...and laughing...and laughing. When he finally found it in himself to stop he just sat upright, his feet tangling, smoking his cigarette. Riley didn't even bother to explain himself and the situation. He didn't need to be Branigan and Jackson's parents. They could explain to this other man themselves. To think that this man, who seemed to be of a Sergeant rank, believed the scene to be...that...Riley had to restrain himself from laughing anymore.

A few moments after nonchalantly smoking on his cigarette, a jeep came to a halt in front of the tent. Out of the blue, a head popped through scanning each man inside the tent. What did he want? Just as Riley was going to say something, the man stared over the Corporal Knight, exclaiming something about how he should be dead. Riley stared closely at the two for a moment before suddenly realizing the two looked a bit alike. "Woah...woah. Are you two brothers!?! Damn, what a dramatic moment."