Intelligent Conversation...

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys entered the pub gloomily and hung his coat up on a low-hanging peg. The owner, a portly landlord scuttled over to the Staff Sergeant's side.

"Good evening, Mr Bevan, sir," he grinned toothily in a gravelly Bristolian accent. "To what do I owe this great pleasure, then?"

Rhys grinned. Old Gareth Sidney was a harmless old bloke who had fallen on hard times recently. A couple of months back, he and his wife had moved to the immediate vicinity of the local Barracks, knowledgeable of the fact that most soldiers were surly old drunkards. He was right of course.

The assorted soldiers at the Barracks were...tipsy...to say the least and Sidney knew it. Since relocating, he and his wife had begun to earn a decent wage and he now lived a comfortable life in a moderatley-sized house in the rich Suburbia of West England. It was a good life to be sure.

"Just a pint please, Gareth," said Rhys fondly. The old landlord stooped down low and hobbled off to get the Sergeant a drink.

Rhys scanned the comfortable-looking pub for a familiar face, wrinkling his nose at the foul stench of ancient alcahol. After a moment of searching, he noticed the young Corporal Edwards sitting gloomily at a lonely table all by himself, save for one obviously uncomfortable private. Rhys groaned. As a rule, he disliked the young corporal but there was no one else he recognised and so he reluctantly took a seat opposite him.

"So, Thomas," said Rhys shortly, grasping for a possible subject of conversation as he took a seat. "How's life?"

[Nathan Whyte]

Nathan stepped into the bar for the assured English hospitality as Corporal Edwards started laying into the landlord. Grabbing the shotgun from the floor, he cocked it noisily behind the corporal before calmly speaking. "I think Tom, that you should perhaps apologise to the poor barkeeper and buy me a drink before heading back to the barracks to calm down."

Nathan handed over the trench gun, and gladly accepted the drink the landlord offered him for breaking up the fight and walked over to Staff Sergeant Bevan who shook his hand in greeting and Nathan started a conversation with him.

[devros1]

OOC: Nathan you god modded so ill pretend i didn't apologize to the landlord

Tom watched the corporal point a shotgun at him."You don't want to do anything foolish now put the gun down"he said. He looked at the landlord lying on the floor. And could see the terror in his eyes he had only noticed that his private had dragged him from the landlord. He looked at the landlord and said "sorry I'm really sorry" "private,get this man to the hospital "He talked to Corporal "can you go with my private wont take him if he is with my private they will listen if you take him I'm sorry here he handed over one hundred pounds"this for the trouble i caused you I'll give you the rest tomorrow"he said. "In now I'll go turn myself in" he said as he walked to the into the foggy mist outside

[Rhys Bevan]

OOC: How do you have a hundred pounds? Do you have any idea how much its equivalent would be today? ;D

Rhys sighed as the young corporal exited the bar gloomily. He was an idiot. A total idiot. He was always overreacting, always lashing out for no reason at all. One thing was for sure, Rhys never wanted him fighting alongside him. He was too hot-tempered and, dare he say it, foolish. How he had been accepted into the army at all was a mystery to Rhys.

This Nathan bloke seemed nice enough. He had a slight tang in his voice, Australian Rhys guessed. Nathan Knight, Corporal. Rhys would have happily accepted him into the Royal Welsh Fusiliers if he so asked. Although Rhys guessed he was roughly the same age as Edwards, he seemed older, wiser, warier. This, he thought, was someone he could depend on.

"So, Corporal," grinned Rhys. "What brings you from down under?"

[Nathan Whyte]

Nathan smiled, it must have been at least the fiftieth time he had heard the question.
"I was sent up here on attatchment, early 1939, the whole 'bonding through the empire thing.' Then this bloody war started and I'm stuck here until it blows over." Nathan took a long sip of his drink. "Or I get shot," he added as an afterthought.

Nathan took a look around the pub, and realised that it was the same as any pub in any military village around the world. The officers were in the corner talking hushedly, locals were sat around, gossiping about everyone and everything, Nathan decided that this was the only intelligent coversation he would probably get all night, so he decided to throw the questions right back.


"So what made you come down here and fight, then?"

[Rhys Bevan]

"Well, the weather of course," grinned Rhys, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nah, I just wanted to achieve something, you know? I've only been fighting for about a year and you know...I just want to do my best for my country, you know..."

Rhys trailed off, hoping he didn't sound to...cheesy.

"So..." continued Rhys, banging his empty glass down on the table. "I've heard good things about you from the Captain. Patterson, I think it was. You're one of his men, then? Seen any action?"

[Nathan Whyte]

"Here and there, I'm sure you know how it is. I've flown over what must be most of France and I've never been shot down." He tapped the table vigourously,"touch wood I won't ever be. I've seen a bit of land action, but it's no way near as exciting as dog-fights."

He called over the barmaid and bought drinks for himself and Bevan. "And yourself, have you been in much combat?"

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys listened intently as the corporal told him of his numerous dogfights. The Staff Sergeant longed to one day fly in one of those magical contraptions and feel the wind rushing through his hair, the exhilerating thrill of swooping down from above the clouds at hundereds of miles an hour. Perhaps one day, he would be able to pursue that dream.

"And yourself?" asked Knight, as a barmaid hustled over with a drink in each hand. "Have you been in much combat?"

"Too much," answered Rhys grimly, the atmosphere of the pub finally changing. "I've seen my best friends die, I've seen my own blood pouring out of my chest like a waterfall, I've seen so much death, Nathan. And the one thing I ask is... is it worth it?"

Rhys leaned back in his chair and sighed.


"Is it really worth it, corporal?" said Rhys, almost to himself. "Who are the true enemy? The Germans or our own commanders who send men out to die every day. When I think of all the Germans I've killed, most of them were just young boys forced into this war. So...is it worth it?"

[Nathan Whyte]

Nathan shook his head sagely. "I to have seen far too much death. Some of the bravest men I have ever known have laid down their lives. Not for king and country, mind, but for their mates, wanting their friends to get home safe." Nathan's eyes lost focus as he stared into his drink, the memories pouring over him. "This war is not worth it. How I wish I was back in Aotearoa. My dad offered me a fine life of farming, but I swapped it in for a life of adventure. How foolish of me. All I can do now is try and stop the sacrifices made by others vain, and end this war. I'll not rest until my friends can be at peace. But Sergeant, tonight is a night to be merry. Let's speak less of this war, tell me about Wales, tell me about your life, your family."

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys thought back to his old life back in Britain. He had been a farmhand as a young man, a simple enough boy, working alongside his family to support his younger brothers and sisters. Until the distant call of war had stirred inside him and he had left that comfortable life for a time frought with fear and peril. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision after all.

"Well, I'm pretty much alone up here," he answered. "But my brother's serving under me so I see plenty of him. David Bevan. Maybe you've seen him around? He's a confident kid, if a bit cocky. He acts all tough but a couple years back when a private beat him in a single combat wrestling match, he burst into tears and wouldn't come out for training until he apologised!"
Rhys chuckled loudly, hoping he wasn't boring his new companion.

"But, yeah, I miss home. It's just so different down here. It took me a long time to get used to it, I can tell you! But if the propaganda's correct, and that's a big if, it looks like the war might be over pretty soon and then maybe I can return home. But what about you? I can tell you're not from around here; where are you from exactly?"

[Nathan Whyte]

Nathan smiled at the remark of Bevan's brother and thought back to his, a small lad of about ten eager to go to war, and fight beside his brother."I'm from New Zealand, and jolly little country on the edge of the world. There's not much really to say. I'm from a farming family, and I had the chance to just sit there and spend my days watching cattle, but I took the call and joined the Air Force, and that's dragged me up here. I've got a younger brother to, but too young to fight up here. I don't think I'd want him up here - I'd be too busy keeping an eye on him and crash into something probably." He looked up to Rhys hoping to find a smile, "I'll usually be the first to volounteer to help my mates and that, if you ever need some help, get on the radio and I'll fly over and give Jerry a hiding for you. You've got to be careful out there, too many times I've almost bought it. Ever been injured in battle?"

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys grimaced at the corporal's question as horrific images suddenly conjured up in his head. A single, lonely figure, drenched in blood, gasping for breath, breath he didn't have. Rhys.

"A couple of times," answered Rhys vaguely, hoping not to bring the already steely atmosphere down. "Nothing too drastic, though. And yourself? Fallen out of your plane yet?"

The Staff Sergeant grinned and took another long sip of his pint. He realised that both glasses were dangerously empty and as the senior soldier he would be designated the cruel task of buying the next round! Rhys worriedly stared Nathan up and down, hoping that perhaps he had a couple of pounds on him...

[Nathan Whyte]

OOC: I wonder how many more pints we can get away with....

Nathan's mind turned to the dogfights he had fought in, the agonised screams of his friends as they were shot down, and engulfed in flames, powerless to do anything. He vividly saw the lights employed by German gunners to find him and his wingmen as they flew over German cities, and he heard the krump of the AA Guns in his head. He brough himself back to his senses and responded. "Not yet, and hopefully never. There's been a few close calls, but nothing I couldn't fly out of. But those Germans do have one hell of a defence."

Seeing Rhys' glances at the near-empty glasses, Nathan reached into his back pocket and withdrew a battered leather wallet. He flicked through the contents and placed two pound notes on the table before showing Rhys the already yellowing black and white photo behind the plastic panel. "This is my girl, happy as can be. Do you have a special lady hidden away, Rhys? Someone to help you get through this horrid war?"

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys examined the aged photograph in Nathan's wallet. She was certainly pretty. He felt a hint of sadness strum in his chest. He had no one. Not since that fateful day.

"I used to," whispered Rhys, a far-away look in his eyes. "She was a nurse, serving with the Americans in Africa. They...they...shot..."

Rhys broke off from his sentence and suddenly rose to his feet, blinking furiously, trying to conceal the drops of tears that were ready to break loose.

"Thanks for the drink," he murmured, half to himself. "But...I've..I've got to go..."

Rhys digged into his pockets and withdrew three pounds. He tossed them down on the table for Nathan before stumbling out of the tavern blindly. He needed to be alone.

[Nathan Whyte]

"Rhys!" Nathan called after the retreating form, "Rhys!". Nathan cursed and picked up his coat, pulling his arms into the sleeves as he left the tavern. He picked up the pile of pounds and stuffed them into his pocket. He suddenly realized the amount of eyes staring at him. He waved his hand generally in a way telling them to mind their own as he walked through the swinging doors.

Nathan saw Rhys ahead of him and broke into a sprint to catch up. "Rhys," he breathed, "Are you all right? Do you need to talk to someone?" He fished into his pocket and forced the money into Rhy's hand. "Here, I'm not that thirsty at the moment."