North or South!?

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Conditions/Weather: Cloudy & Mildly Warm (summer’s evening)
Time: 1845hrs (6:45pm)


The breeze blew silently through the gallows of the Farm, the crooked barn softly creaking to the gentle blistering breeze, whilst the foliage and trees swayed elegantly towards the sky. Peter’s head was thumping, his vision slowly coming ‘round, blurry and distorted, the taste of dirt against his lips and the hard Earthy surface bared against his left cheekbone. Where was he? Was one of the distance thoughts that echoed within the deep caverns of his mind, as he slowly came to realise, his body was flat against the ground, his gear weighing him down a little…

“Argh…” was all that uttered from his musk lips, as he slowly rolled onto his back, squinting a little as the cloudy, yet bright sky blew overhead. His new light weight M1 Carbine laid neatly beside his body and his Medical bag on the other side. A soft shrouding litter of black smoke caught his attention, as the young Medical Officer carefully sat up, somewhat slowly to avoid catching anyone’s attention and more so, careful incase he had any injuries? Peter couldn’t really remember what’d happened, but the smouldering black fog that drifted near a crater size pot-hole in the earth nearby him began to explain the unfortunate events he’d gotten himself into.

As Peter turned onto his knees and got to his feet, his body wobbled a little to the unnerving feeling of blood rushing around his body once again, a soft trickle of blood oozing down from the corner of his eyebrow, still a little dazed and unaware to what’d happened, but as the Medical Corp. Glared onwards towards the smouldering hole, the recollections of his last memories phased by his eyes “A mine…” he quietly uttered to himself, as he staggered sideways, hastily checking his legs, realising he must’ve stepped on it. “Oh god” he murmured further, patting his thighs, shifting his feet, seeing he was all in tact, remarkably.

The Field must’ve had mines scattered throughout it, but Peter was already at the end of it, a small Barn nearby his position, his first primary target he was approaching before the mine had dazed and knocked him down. Peter was separated from his Company the previous night, he hadn’t a compass and further more, he was unsure in which direction he was heading. Behind enemy lines or into Allied territory? By the previous events, concerning the mine, Peter began to doubt he was heading into Allied Territory… But still he slowly walked onwards towards the barn, wiping the oozing blood from off the side of his face, clutching his rifle tightly within his free hand.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The sun was just starting to set as McMillan continued onward through the lightly dense forest. The birds had started singing again and the wild life had almost returned to normal. "What was that explosion? And all the way out here none the less." It was practically the middle of nowhere and almost smack in the middle of no man's land. McMillan had met little resistance on his way to the rally point, but he had met a lesser amount of Allies, none to be precise. But then there was the explosion a few minutes ago, it started him in his current direction, not far off of his old one. He figured his best chance of meeting up with an Allied soldier was to go in the direction of activity but he remained at a slow pace, ever so cautious for about a tenth of a mile away is where he figured the explosion came from. Didn't want to walk up on any German soldiers and give himself away. The light was dimming though so he would tried his best to at least get within a stones throw before night fall.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

As Tech Corp. Branigan eventually reached the cumbersome wall of the barn, his body slumped against it slightly, his nimble fingers running up towards his head, as he slowly removed his helmet to clasp between his fingertips. Taking a long inhale, Peter still didn’t feel entirely right - not just physically from the shock of somehow tripping a mine and surviving, but who else he’d deterred around his current position!? He knew he must’ve been in Enemy territory to hit a mine, otherwise they’d be cleared by a crack squad of troops passing through already…

Staggering towards one of the large wooden shack doors, Corporal Branigan stepped in slowly, dropping his helmet onto the ground beneath him, grasping onto one of the many wooden beams holding the large structure up. There wasn’t much inside, hay bales and saddles, but no horses. Whoever owned the barn had been long gone, who could blame them, having mines in your back-yard?

Planting his rifle onto the side for a moment, Peter hastily withdrew a packet of cigarettes from inside his uniform pocket, ironic a medical officer would resort to a cigarette than first aid? As he planted the cancerous tobacco stick onto his crimson lips, flinting a light from his silver cased lighter with his initials imbedded on one side - taking a real long inhale to ignite the stale tobacco leaves within. “That’s better” he muttered to himself a little, as he leant down to pick up his helmet, dropping it onto the side with his rifle, only now opening his medical bag hanging at his hip for some gadgets to clean himself up.

Then something stirred Peter… A noise!? Abruptly withdrawing his hands from the medical bag and grabbing his lightweight rifle in the process, the Corporal accidentally knocked his helmet onto the floor, causing a ‘thump’ of a noise himself, a grimace look upon his face made him cringe, knowing he’d just given away his position. Raising his arms slowly, Peter aimed towards the common entrance, the doorway, awaiting something to appear, if he heard right.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

As McMillan neared the edge of a field the sun fell behind the horizon. The last of it's rays fell off the top of a barn, not twenty meters away, right as he layed his eyes on it. "Well if anyone is here, they are probably in there." He said as he squinted and leaned to his left, trying desperately to see further into the barn. What little he could see was vacant of all life.

Every so slowly he crept his way towards the barn hoping not to raise any suspision. As he came closer he discovered the cause of the loud noise that disrupted the tranquil life of the area not so long ago. He discovered it by stumbling over the crater. "Brilliant work!" He mutered under his breath, disappointed with his performance. Not two seconds later he heard a thud that came from the barn. He would try his best to handle this but he knew he had been discovered, somewhat. He got right up next to the exterior wall of the barn and peered through a little hole, he saw what had made the noise, it was a helmet,not just any helmet, it was a medic's. "Doesn't prove who is in the barn though. Well better try to get the upperhand just in case." He thought to himself. You have three seconds to identify yourself or your getting a grenade through both the front door and the back door and my squad and I are going to lay seige to this run down shack!!!!!!" He tried to sound as confident as he did to sound ruthless. Well the guy inside didn't know he was bluffing, hopefully.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

The Medical Officer took a deep squint to his narrow eyes, as he felt the cigarette smoke dwell around his features, the tobacco burning between his lips, whilst his hot nimble fingers clutched the gun, itching his fingertip against the cold steel trigger, just waiting patiently and quietly, the scuffling noise outside still stirring Peter’s conscious… Keeping him alert.

Without warning, a sudden voice erupted towards the barn, almost into it -- the intimidating tone sounding somewhat uncanny to a drill sergeant grilling his maggots caused Peter to chirp a little laugh to himself, more amused by the fact he’d finally found some friendly faces around. Slowly raising up from off his low posture, the slightly stunned male quietly made his way to the opening towards the front of the barn where his helmet had rolled off too, leaning against the crack in the door to peer out, looking upon a rugged muscular male before him; abruptly raising his hands a little to show he wasn’t about to fire - but still wielded his weapon in his left hand.

“You going to lay siege to my fortress still?” Peter asked jokingly within his dry sense of humour still, grinning a little to slowly drop his hands, holding his rifle at his side. Peter looked a little a rough, tired and still a small oozing patch of blood from the corner of his eyebrow still. As the young Medical Officer plucked the cigarette from his lips, he slumped back against the door somewhat, only now beginning to realise, the man was alone… “Ah, not much company” he muttered a little to himself, rather than the male before him, before looking towards the NCO appropriately and nodding a little to stand straight, once again only beginning to realise the rank of the Officer before-him… Peter was still very much dazed…

Straightening his posture and giving the man a quick salute, with a little wobble in his pride, Peter soon extended his hand to introducingly say “Tech. Corp Brannigan - First Rangers Battalion, sorry if I startled you… Sir”

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The Medic came walking out, almost without hesitation. As the Medic came into McMillan's view, McMillan lowered his weapon and sighed. "Finally, someone that speaks my language. Glad to see you friend. No I think I will let this structure stay a little longer, no need to raze it." He said it all in one deep breath then let out a small chuckle. He said his name was Branigan and he had a small injury on his eyebrow. He also saluted McMillan and called him sir. This did not sit well with him at all. First off he wasn't an officer and second of, even if he was, you DO NOT salute in a combat zone. "Corporal don't take this the wrong way but I am not an officer, I work for a living. Second off, even if I were an officer you DO NOT salute anyone in a combat zone. If a sniper had been watching us to decide which one of us he should let live, you would have just sealed my fate. For the sake of your ass not getting chewed, don't do that again, to anyone." McMillan didn't want to sound like a jerk but he did want to get his point across for the sake of future reference.

"My name is Edward McMillan and I am over joyed to meet you Branigan. I am not sure how you ended up all the way out here but if you would like to accompany me towards the south, that is where the front line is. If you have another objective I would be more than happy to assist you. Just so long as it didn't take too long. What do you say?" Either way, now that he found another allied soldier he was going to stick with him. Period.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Sorry - correct me if I’m wrong, but I presumed you was in uniform (with Chevrons on display).

The Tech. Corporal was happy to see a friendly face himself, even if his head was thumping like a bouncing sack of potatoes, that only became all the more worse as the brute of a male before him, gave him a lecture on saluting due in the battlefield. Sure, Peter hadn’t been a combat Medic long and he wasn’t used to the whole regime, heck, he wasn’t even a soldier -- just a man, there and ready to stitch you up when you yelled in pain, but since he’d joined the Ranger’s Corp, his Captain Insisted on him having Rifle Skills. Hence the shoddy marksmanship in saluting on the field of combat.

Biting his lower lip, Peter slowly planted the cigarette onto his lips and took a long inhale, feeling real guilty for a brief moment. (I’ll edit this if you are wearing a uniform) He could tell the man was a Officer, initially by the stature he held and further more, loud comments he made through the barn wall on infiltrating with his men, a mere ‘Squaddie’ wouldn’t have the balls or brains to do that. So the man was definitely an Officer in his eyes, even if he denied, discarded the NCO rank.

“Sorry, Sir” he quietly uttered, hanging his head a little low, taking another draw on his cigarette, before cuffing his shirt sleeve against his eyebrow, trying to wipe the small clotted piece of blood away from near his eye. “You too McMillian, just call me Peter by the way…” he said with a half-lit smile, bending down a little to grab his helmet on the floor, before looking to McMillian curiously to his last question. “No, I have no objective to cover -- I was cut loose from my company a nights ago, I’ve been wandering aimlessly since then, getting back to the frontline sounds good to me, sir” he said with a stern tone, flicking the butt end of his cigarette onto the ground, stepping it out beneath his boot.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

OOC: I am in uniform but you have to make lieutenant before you are a Commissioned Officer

He noticed that the Corporal felt regret for what he had done and McMillan was just glad he didn't get pissed off. "Hey no harm, no foul but just keep it in mind later down the road. And even if I asked you to call me by something formal I am not a sir, only officers are considered sirs. Just call me Mac, it's what the guys back home called me and I only let people I like use it. I want to be on your good side mainly because of the fact that we have been talking for a few minutes now and you haven't complained once about that cut over your eye. I like that, if it were more serious, by all means complain. Second your a medic, I've known too many people that got on the bad side of one of you guys, nothing horrible happened but too many of them have ended up with sleeping pills instead of aspirin. Sometimes it's pretty funny, this one guy busted his nose on a door though. Anyway, the front, right, well it's south south east of here if you wanna just wait here till day break or get a move on in the dark, I'm still good for about another five or six hours."

McMillan took out a cigarette of his own, figured he'd smoke one while he could sit in an old run down barn where no one could see the light coming off of it. "But whatever happened to you eye, you know better than I do that you should at least clean it up, and whatever made that crater that brought us together, a mine I'm assuming, there might be more of them." McMillan didn't exactly want to find a mine out there, especially with no engineers around to get anyone that did find one out of a tight jam. "Either way I'm gonna enjoy this cigarette immensely first."

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Oh, Duh - my bad, totally forgot CO’s (Second Lieutenant Upwards) only got the appropriate Salute, but still, it doesn’t hurt for Respectable NCO’s to get the salute - You are a 1st Sergeant.


Standing quietly for a moment, Peter continued to irritably wipe the drying blood at the side of his brow with his sleeve, prolonging the labour of getting out some cleaning material to merely wipe it up. “Yeah, I understand that --” he said a little in response to Edward’s plea on not being called a sir, it t’was only a Commissioned Officer’s pleasure, which he understood, but the ‘Dazzlement’ of the mine tripping off and lack of Field Experience had him making faulty errors already - which was not a good mark to be starting off with McMillan, let alone anybody else.

Although the 1st Sergeant gave him a little accreditation to his pain-barrier, the Tech. Corp stiffly remained guilty a little, giving a weak smile as he leaned back against the frame of the large wooden door, still feeling a bit groggy, but soon lightened up as McMillan made him chirp a slight laugh to his slight joke, but a realistic one. “Owh, poor guy” Peter said a little stubbed, trying not to amusingly laugh to himself, knowing fully well how arrogant and ignorant most doctors could be, but Peter was the type that ‘Laughter’ was medicine, rather than popping pills.

Nodding a little, Peter twisted his head to look off towards the horizon a little, biting his lower lip. “Yeah, well… I guess we could wait till’ morning” he said a little quietly to himself, Peter being renowned for his mumbling, rather than loud speech. As McMillan mentioned the smouldering pot-hole in the field, the Tech. Corp laughed a little, giving McMillan a sturdy look “Damn Krauts, had me hit one” he said a little between a laugh in between, stepping into the barn to join McMillan lighting a cigarette. “Alright, well… I’m happy to do whatever you say Mac, stay or go, just give me five to clean up the mess Jerry Made”

As Peter threw his medical bag onto a nearby wooden ledge protruding from the wall, he withdrew a rugged white piece of cloth, dousing it with a clear substance from a squeegee bottle - presumably a cleaning agent. Wiping his eyebrow some, Peter glanced towards the Sergeant to speak “You all good Sarg? No Cuts or bruises?” he asked curiously, wiping his brow some more.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan took off his helmet and sat it next to him on the bale of hay he rested his bones on. He pulled out his lighter and as he did a few drops of water fell from it. Dang, can I borrow your lighter, my canteen must have sprung a leak." As he said that he looked down to see that the cap on his metal canteen had been split almost entirely in half. "Must have done that up against the wall of this place, either that or a tree." Branigan said he hit a mine and all he had was a scratch, might have been the lapse in judgment he had earlier with the salute.

"Lucky bastard, I'm definitely keeping you close. You said you were with the First Rangers right? Where are they located and how did a medic end up out here by himself?" He was a bit curious as to how a medic ends up anywhere by themselves in a combat zone. He put his lighter into a different pocket and took out a cigarette, looking it over a little longer than normally, mainly to make sure it wasn't wet either and the fact that it had been a while since he last enjoyed an injection of cancer. He smiled to himself just a little when he thought that. "Well the way I figure it we can stay here if you need some sleep and I can sit watch for you or when you get done with that cut and I finish this smoke we can head out. I'm gonna need to find another way to transport water, I only have one good canteen left for now."

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

As Peter wiped the corner of his eyebrow, taking a slight glance at the white piece of cloth now and again, not really a bandage piece of material, the Medical Corp. shrugged to himself and wrapped the cloth up appropriately, twisting the detachable lid back onto his see-through squeegee bottle, slinging the pair back into the bag. Just by a rough feel, the cut didn’t need stitches or otherwise, but licking his finger, he rubbed a good bit of thick spit over the wound, hoping to give it a little coating.

Looking to the Sergeant, Peter nodded as he rummaged a hand into his inside pocket on his uniform shirt, tossing over his silver cased lighter with his initials on one side, grinning a little as the Sergeant remarked on keeping him close - hopefully ‘just’ for luck, not cannon fodder. “Oh… Ah, we ran into some trouble in the nearby woodlands--” he said somewhat with another shrug, before glancing out the door to continue with “I was advised to hang-back, whilst the guys took on a skirmish. Next thing I know, we’ve got Mortars flying all over, a rear flank assault, directly in my path - I had no choice but to withdraw, the guys were a good half a click away” Peter’s face dimmed a little as he starred towards the floor, biting his lower lip some, wondering if they were okay, he had no choice but to get out of there.

“Anyway…” he said a little beneath his breath some, as he looked to the empty canteen for a moment, before twisting his body to grasp something out of his bag, abruptly turning to walk towards the Sergeant, grasping the water holder to observe for a moment. Without saying much, Peter bit a ‘Plaster’ (Band-aid to you guys) between his lips, ripping the plastic side from off the stick-able bandage, wrapping it around the split in the lid to squeeze down tightly. “Here, that should for a couple of days” he said calmly, screwing the cap back on, dropping it down onto McMillan’s helmet. “Might need to fill it up though” he said with a small grin, before nodding a little to conclude with -- “It’ll be dark in a couple of hours, I reckon, but we can give it a shot - up to you, Mac”

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched as the Corporal searched in his pocket and pulled out a lighter and tossed it over. McMillan picked it up and put it to work. He took a nice long drag on it. the nlloked at the lighter and exhaled. "Ahh, that's good stuff. Nice lighter you have here. Was it a gift?" He tought it really was a nice lighter. He watched as the Corporal then proceeded to work on McMillan's canteen. "Hey, thanks, that'll do nicely. Wow mortar fire and a rear flanking maneuver. You're a hell of a lot luckier than I thought." He said it with a small laugh.

He took another drag off his cigarette and held it in longer than normal. "Man that tastes good. I know most people won't agree but it really does to me." Then he blew the rest of it out. The eager Corporal said that he was able and willing to move out if McMillan so wished, so he figured they might as well get a move on. "Well I guess we'll head out in three then. As much as I think this run down barn is the closest thing we'll see to nice shelter for a while, unfortunately I think a German patrol or two might think the same thing. How well can you shoot Peter?"

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Watching McMillan spark a light onto his glorious cancer-stick, Peter couldn’t help but take a moist swallow, feeling the sudden urge to have another cigarette of his own. The addiction was bad, but the Medical Corp. subdued his temptation “A gift? You would think so, but I actually had it made…” he said somewhat sharply, before smiling to pluck the light from out of McMillan’s grasp “Just incase my dog-tags ever get unreadable, I’m sure some bright spark would see my initials on here -if the worst ever happened,” but the Corporal gave a blank sort of stare towards the floor boards, obviously seeming grim about the outlook on his future within the war.

Turning back to his medical bag, Peter began to strap up the thick laces dangling loosely, chirping a slight laugh again at McMillan’s comment. “Yeah - could say I’m lucky, I guess” he replied a little dormant, not really feeling too lucky, as he closed his eyes to endure another woozy feeling coursing through his veins from the prior shock treatment of the mine he’d accidentally tripped.

Taking a brief moment to gain his bareings and appropriate frame of mind back, the Medical Corp. rolled his shoulders and dragged the rest of his items together into one pile, his medical bag, rifle and helmet all laying against one another, just so he didn’t forget anything for when he strapped up. “Alright, sounds good Sarg” he said with approval to the Sergeant’s thinking, Orders. “I’m, not the best shot, but I’m one hell of a stitcher” he said a little jokingly, before nodding his head a little to follow on with, “I’m getting there” before briskly turning his back to the Sergeant to avoid anymore demoralising looks he may give, due to his inaccurate shooting, as he thumped his Medical Helmet on, swinging his medical-bag over his shoulder and grasping his rifle to clutch by his side.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

"Had it made huh? Nice." He gave the lighter another once over before the Corporal took it from McMillan's hand. "Well, better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it." He answered back to the Corporal's dim remark. McMillan figured most people would have responded differently but McMillan had learned to enter every situation expecting the worst, that way he never became disappointed.

He placed the bitter sweet cigarette between his lips once again and drew in on it. He then gave a look around the barn for anything useful as he blew out the some that had been billowing in his lungs. The Corporal seemed ever so confident in his skills at patching people up and McMillan enjoyed hearing that, gave him a better chance at getting out of there, but he wasn't too concerned about the fact that he wasn't as confident in his shooting skills. McMillan didn't figure there to be be any patrols for them to run into but as always he prepared for the worst. "Well if you think you could do more damage with a pitchfork there happens to be one over there." McMillan said it with a slight grin as he pointed beyond the Corporal's left shoulder. He meant nothing by it he just liked to keep the mood light. "Just messin' around, no hard feelings. Long as you don't have to patch me up because you slipped in that piece of hardware and it won't bother me if you couldn't hit the broad side of this bard from the inside or not." McMillan wasn't one to jump on people if they weren't the best at everything, or anything. He was just glad to have a companion for the next little adventure into this war. The more the merrier.

McMillan took his last drag on his cigarette and dropped it at his feet. Embers splashed on the dirt floor by his boot that he then used to smother them with. "Well I'm all set, I figure we can cover two to tree miles before we hit any rough terrain, depending on the nature of the terrain we might just have to wait until daylight to negotiate it."

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

As the Sergeant, said something quite confusing, almost like a riddle to his acknowledgment on having a light with his initials carved elegantly into - the Tech. Corporal gave a slight smirk, totally and utterly confused by what McMillan had just said, almost seeming a little tantalized by the quick usage of words and syllables, but the Corporal soon smiled a little as he glanced over his shoulder towards the rusty old pitchfork against the barn-wall, mouldy with animal fesses on the pin-ends.

Nodding a little towards the Sergeant, who abruptly shrugged off Peter’s issue about firing a rifle - the Tech. Corporal gave a little smile, shuffling his feet beneath himself to nod slowly. “Yeah -- I just need more practice” he said a little reassuringly, not having seen much action, nor’ been through any weapons training. Just the average Medical Basics, which he’d already knew by being a doctor and train runs his platoon of Technical Cadets (Medical staff) ran through. As for firing rifles, machine-guns and throwing grenades - no, the Corporal had no training nor’ experience, roughly…

Standing straight and hoisting the strap to his medical bag further up his arm, the Medical Corp. looked onwards towards McMillan with an innocent look, almost expecting to be told, what to do. “Alright, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there?” he said a little questioningly, already knowing the answer though. Clutching his lightweight rifle, so much easier to carry than the Lee-Enfield, Peter twisted on his heels within the barn to briskly make his way to the barn-doors, taking a secretive look either way out of the barn as he done so, almost expecting there to be enemies outside. Stepping into the brisk open air, Peter took a long breath, making the most of the fresh air - before they headed further inland, the frontier.

“So, which way Mac?” Peter asked towards his newfound leader, standing quietly, adapting to the role of being a subordinate to the heavier muscular male beside him, with presumably, much more experience and training beneath his belt than most people Peter had met…