Sand, Oh Sand.

[William Reid]

Sand was a mysterious thing. Tiny little particles, that when viewed from a distance would be so beautiful, but up close, when you started to live in the stuff, it became the bane of every man. Reid had only been in North Africa for a week, but already had hated the stuff. Every time you took a seat, it crept in to the shorts of the tropical uniform, in to your shirt sleeves, becoming thoroughly itchy. It stuck to the sweat-covered skin at every chance, got itself mixed in your hair and was impossible to wash out. The daily growth of facial hair soon gripped sand, making everybody look partly blonde in the desert.

Stood in the tent which served as Company Headquarters, he felt the tiny granules itching under his uniform, but he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, urging the feeling to go away. As he opened his eyes again, there was no change. He stood just inside the doorway, rifle slung on his back and helmet in his hand, eyes adjusting to the relative darkness inside the tent as he waited for the other platoon commanders and senior NCOs to arrive for a briefing. The tent was overly cramped, a large table in the middle covered in maps of the area with notes indicating known positions of British, Italian and German soldiers. Chalkboards were on smaller tables around the room, reading important things such as platoon strengths, friendly units in the area. A bank of radios sat in one corner, a Corporal sat in front of it speaking with a strong Norfolk accent, a small paper book already yellowed from the sun in front of him full of callsigns for various units. There was the usual hubbub of activity around, a hum of noise as officers debated. Overhead, the drone of RAF fighters gave a constant relieving note of air superiority. The rumble of armour drove around, as well as the gentle krump of artillery in the background.

Reid gave in to temptation, grabbing his rifle strap and pulling it up and down a few times, itching at the sand. He took a few steps to the side, creating more room in the tent and allowing his platoon Sergeant, John Walters in. The Canadian had been looking after the platoon since their old Lieutenant had been killed, and Reid was just the replacement officer. He looked up to the Sergeant; he had a lot more experience and knew what worked and what didn’t. There was a lot of difference between the training exercises held at Sandhurst and the real desert. Normally, there would be a build-up period before seeing the enemy in action, but given their current location, it was rather hard to hold training exercises with the whole unit, they were just as likely to be engaged with real life Axis soldiers.

Reid stopped scratching with the rifle. He hadn’t fired it in anger yet, in fact the weapon wasn’t even loaded, as was the standard operating procedure. He was away from the front line, so he was to keep his weapon with him, but he was to keep it safe. And empty meant safe. Looking around the room, Reid struggled for something to start a conversation with, before his eyes settled on the table in front of him. He quickly surveyed it, before settling on something. He turned his head to Walters, and muttered in a low voice, “Look at that, the 7th Armoured Brigade, they’re rather far out West. Do you think they’re going to try and find and destroy some of that artillery that was blasting us yesterday?”

[♔ Rupert Crawford]

Walking casually along a grooved footpath within the premises of the field headquarters, Lieutenant Crawford took his time somewhat and sipped his special brew of tea from a dark green canteen-cup clasped firmly within his right hand. Fingers entwined promptly around the handle, he wavered the warm beverage against his lips and sipped elegantly, as though he were dining with his mother for tea on a late Sunday afternoon on the front porch of a summer’s evening. He was in no hurry, yet he was expected at a briefing almost five minutes ago; unfortunately, Rupert Crawford didn’t quite understand the complete importance of time keeping as of yet, still accustomed to the pleasurable leisure of peace-time.

Dressed in a khaki-uniform; shorts, short sleeved shirt (unbuttoned at the neck) and field cap, he also wore what seemed to be an Arabian scarf hung loosely around his neck. The scarf was black and white chequered patterned, with frilly tassels around the edges. Although unpractical with the uniform, it did help maintain some equality of life with the sand, particularly when a breeze blew-up or the Lieutenant had to travel - although, he had done very little movement of any kind since his recent posting, but he figured he would be prepared, of some sort. The scarf had cost him a half an ounce of tobacco with one of the locals, who guaranteed it, perhaps Rupert was still slightly naïve? He primarily bought it as a souvenir more than anything.

Glancing to his wristwatch, Rupert noted the time and continued to walk casually towards the large tent designated as Company Headquarters Tent within their field barracks. Tipping the last of his tea into the sand just outside the tent, he left his green canteen cup on top of a crate just outside and made some final little adjustments to his uniform before entering the tent, feeling as though he had to look ship-shape before entering the tent. Wriggling his utility belt up against his waistline to sit more poignantly, he tucked in any loose ends of his shirt back into his shorts and flattened the visor to his field cap to sit just above his brow, menacingly. With one last dusting motion to the front of his shirt, he entered the tent smartly - although it didn’t really notice much - and made his way through the crowd of people towards the apparent Lieutenant Reid by the table within the tent.

With a widened smile, he spoke softly to the Lieutenant first of all. “Lieutenant - William” he first gestured with respect to the rank, before signifying a more friendly hello by name. They did after all serve their training together, Rupert didn’t feel the need for stiff pleasantries between them. “Seems awfully busy at this briefing, do we need all these heads in here William?” he questioned with inexperience showing, having not had a briefing quite as large before, which soon prompted Lieutenant Crawford with tapping out a cigarette from a rather nice looking silver cigarette case. “I do say my old fellow, that looks rather complicated” he said in correspondence to the table laid out before them with maps and items representing the British, Italian and German placements within North Africa. The sight merely confused and depressed Lieutenant Crawford, he hadn’t quite come to grips with the whole strategic play as of yet, he wasn’t entirely fond of maps altogether, but he did socialise splendidly with the men however… Ironically.

[Sgt. John Walters]

"Oh Africa, what a beautiful place in fact, BUT WHY IN GODS NAME DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO GOD DAMN HOT!".

John couldn't help but keep saying that in his head, he would much rather be staying in his cool environment back in Toronto. Even though It was cold, the overall atmosphere was much better than the blistering sands of North Africa. As John moved into his tent, he reached into his back pocket for his cigarettes. While his right hand was reaching back, he grabbed his Lee Enfield Rifle with his left. This trusty weapon was very powerful when put in the right hands. With it's smooth bolt system and a .303 round, this rifle had no problems with taking down some fat prick. As he walked out of his tent, he slung his rifle on his left shoulder, ensuring that his barrel was pointing downwards. He tried to teach that to his men, as he didn't want to loose a soldier from an accidental discharge to the side of someones skull.

With his right hand, John pulled out a cigarette from his case clipping it closed soon after. John that put the cigarette into his mouth, he could already taste the tobacco that he would soon consume into his system. Reaching into his pocket again, he pulled out a pack of matches. A flick of the match head against the sandpaper like strip on the back of the matchbook, ignited the match itself with ease. John moved the match up to his cigarette, igniting it and slowly took a large toke from his cigarette. He then threw the match towards the ground, and put the matchbook back into his pocket. As he slowly started to consumed his eventual
cause of death, he started to walk through the trenches built by his fellow soldiers which eventually led to his destination.

John was ordered to attend a briefing held by a Lieutenant William Reid. A new officer to the platoon, fresh from Officers school. John wasn't really worried to much about how he was so green, the thing that did worry him though, was the lives of his men. Even though his Officer was fresh, John was sure he could help advise his new platoon commander to make the right decisions. After all, that is John's job as the platoon's 2IC. As he continued on towards the tent, John could see men running around the trenches about. Moving from trench to trench, foxhole to foxhole. Despite all the movement, it was somewhat calm for the troops on the ground. Even with the shear gunfire of artillery fire in the distance, most of the men were comfortable in their positions. As John finally became feet away from the tent, he quickly finished up his last toke of his cigarette. As soon as he finished, he threw the cigarette into the sand around him.

Before he entered the tent, John took a quick look at his uniform. At a first glance, all John could see was sand. The thing that made the African desert the worst for. With a quick movement, John wiped as much sand as he could off his Khaki uniform. Looking down towards his boots, he could see that the black and been deteriorated to more of a brown colour. As he looked back to his front, he moved his hands up to his helmet. Adjusting it to the best he could, John straightened out the metal saucer, making it level to the ground. Finally being ready, John slowly walked into the tent where his platoon commander would be waiting. As he entered the tent flap, John could quickly see the amount of people in the room. Around everyone was several radios, boxes and of course more sand. In the middle of the tent was a table, and on the table were several things to represent different units. When John was fully into the tent, he quickly looked to Lt Reid, and gave him a quick salute.

As he moved beside his platoon commander, John placed his one hand onto his helmet, taking it off. He placed it onto a small box on the left of him. As he looked back to Reid, he leaned in to hear what he was saying.

"Look at that, the 7th Armoured Brigade, they’re rather far out West. Do you think they’re going to try and find and destroy some of that artillery that was blasting us yesterday?", muttered Reid.

"Let's hope so sir, I really don't wanna wake up tonight with chocolate running down my legs."

As he finished his sentence, he let out a little laugh and caught eye to another person entering the tent. It was another officer, Lt Rupert Crawford. He didn't really know him that much, but he was an officer, and should be treated respected. As he entered, John gave a quick knod to the officer and looked back to the table. Looking at the different pieces of paper, he slowly started to thing of things to ask his officers. After looking at the pieces of material, John looked up to the two officers, and waited to hear the briefing he had came for.

[William Reid]

The tent was starting to fill now, and Reid found himself being pressed towards a corner. Walters followed, as they continued their low conversation. As Walters made his joke, Reid could only give a small sigh. There was a different calibre of person, comparing the men he was working with now and the country club back home. Before he could come up with a suitably eloquent rebuttal, Lieutenant Crawford walked in, finding a space next to Reid. Turning his wrist, Reid glanced at his watch then at Crawford, it had been a running joke during training that Crawford would find a way to be late for everything.

”Late again, Rupert?” Reid asked, giving a small laugh to get his point across. After spending a 44 week training course together, and then the further armoured corps training, it was hard not to get close to the men around you. He pointed towards the map, the “Sandhurst chop” using his full hand. ”I don’t think it’s too bad. We basically have two lines, ours and the Italians, facing off against each other. We all have our artillery and advance units we just take our time waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

With a call of ”Gentlemen,” the room snapped to attention as the company commander Major Birch walked in. One guard by the door threw a salute, the rest of the men who had removed their headdress were unable to do so. After being told to relax, the room started to swell around the table. Standing shoulder to shoulder to get the best view, the Major began to talk through various factors, in a boring droning monotony. Given the uncomfortable heat of the desert, it felt all too easy to fall asleep as the man, a relic of wars gone past talked from under a particularly impressive moustache. Reid barely kept pace as his hands moved over the map, mentioning “our boys” this and “Italian resistance” that. A quick glance around the room told Reid he was not the only one he felt this way. Even the CSM looked rather bored, stood dutifully behind his Major.

After what felt like an eternity, Reid started to get an idea of what was to happen. Within the next few hours, infantry supported by Matilda tanks would push forward behind the creeping barrage of artillery, with support from the RAF to help eliminate any Italian positions. It was a rather standard assault as maps were handed out; detailing the area of operations, radio frequencies and call signs handed out, obviously to be burnt before stepping out for the evening’s activities. Finally, the call went around asking for questions. A collective sigh of relief was held as the men were given the chance to file outside and compose themselves before having to return to their platoons.

Reid moved over towards a pile of crates, lightly leaning against them whilst he waited for Crawford and Walters to come over. This was to be William’s and Rupert’s first foray in to combat, and he wanted to draw upon Walter’s experience. ”Sergeant,” he began, ”What do you think? From experience, are we going to have too much of a hard time out there tonight?”

[♔ Rupert Crawford]

Rupert puckered up his dry lips and swabbed the tobacco stick with a firmed squeeze between his lips. Clicking open his encased lighter, he flinted for a flame and lit up the cigarette, taking a couple of hardy puffs on it and billowing a plume of smoke from out of his nostrils soon after, which seemed to allude within the billet. The remark made by Lieutenant Reid about his lateness didn’t go unnoticed either and Rupert gave an amusing look to the comment, one which suggested that William knew Rupert all too well.

Taking a closer look at the unravelled maps spread across the table, Lieutenant Crawford began to understand the basic outline of strategy laid before himself. The line between themselves and the Italians was quite thin, yet shortly spread. With the amount of aerial bombardments and artillery barrages of late, it was no wonder any sense of a significantly spread line seized to exist, it was for all purposes constantly moving and Lieutenant Crawford had the glummest of feelings they were going to be tasked with the endeavour of pushing the said line forwards or at least stabilizing a frontline the Italians had to fight against. In the desert, it seemed armoured warfare was the only way to cover such ground respectively and with that amount of open terrain, it played diffidence against enemy artillery.

Rupert puffed idly on his cigarette and observed the map quietly to himself. Believe it or not, he did have a marvellous tactical mind, but was short coming on being anywhere near brass enough for the job. Inexperience was indeed the downfall, but it was the same for all fresh faced new recruits, although he was assured to have Lieutenant Reid alongside, at least he wasn’t in this boat alone.

Suddenly Major Birch entered the Company Headquarters Tent and the atmosphere thickened, with everyone standing toe to toe about the table ready for the briefing. Lieutenant Crawford stepped aside a little, allowing a fellow Staff Sergeant to get a better look at the maps laid out on the table, whilst he continued to smoke his cigarette and listen as best he could to the dribble and drabble of Major Birch’s wind blowing speech. He wasn’t being rude by any account, but most of the information seemed rather needless and the important aspects of the briefing were skipped with short and sharp military jargon - which Major Birch assumed everyone around the table understood. Lieutenant Crawford caught the best gist of what was about to happen, the maps helped immensely with explaining what was actually going to be happening, but Major Birch’s decrepit form of a brief killed anything worth knowing.

The briefing ended soon after and a few apparent sighs of relief were expelled from around the table. A vague look of distaste on Major Birch’s face was caught by Lieutenant Crawford, but nothing was said by the Major, whom was more than happy to get the briefing over with most probably. As everyone began to file outside, Lieutenant Crawford followed suit and casually left alongside everyone else; upon stepping outside, he noticed an eager Corporal Brown and Corporal Harris come walking over towards himself hastily. “Lieutenant, Sir - what’s going to be happening?” Corporal Brown questioned, with Corporal Harris simply looking intent on hearing the answer. Both of the corporals were attached to Baker Company, Second Platoon, under Rupert’s fine command. They were great chaps, perhaps far more battle worthy than Lieutenant Crawford would ever be, but not shy on coming forth to their commanding officer. Most men didn’t relish the thought even!

Noticing Lieutenant Reid and Sergeant Walters stood nearby, Lieutenant Crawford gave a quick simple reply to his worrisome corporals “I’ll brief the platoon presently, you will all be in the know-how soon enough” and without much else to reveal to the corporals, he moved away and made a bee-line towards Lieutenant Reid and Sergeant Walters, who he hadn’t yet officially had the pleasure of meeting. Upon approaching the two men, Rupert heard Lieutenant Reid’s remark on what they were to expect tonight and curiously pondered the same thing himself, but reassured William in his own little way, despite the question being something for Sergeant Walters to answer. “Sure we’ll be fine Lieutenant, they wouldn’t go sending us lot into the thick of it just yet, we’ve only just bleeding well got here!” Rupert joked slightly, but knew damn well the military was notorious for dropping you in the deep end instantly, regardless of how long you’ve been on tour and the constant distant drumming of artillery and overhead aircraft roaming the skies didn’t back-up Lieutenant Crawford’s reassuring comment much.

[Sgt. John Walters]

With the two platoon commanders and the platoon 2IC in the tent, everything was seemingly coming into shape. The troops were here, the equipment was here, but where was the Major? As John was waiting for the briefing, he couldn't help but listen to his boss on his right. The two officers seemed to know each other well, but It didn't really matter to John, to him they were still green.

Within a couple minutes, a man near the front of the tent signaled the rest of the troops to attention. With quick movements, everyone snapped their legs and feet together, along with their arms tight to their sides. As everyone stood at attention, Major Birch entered the clustered tent, along with his trusty CSM. The Major being a well born leader, and the Company Sergeant Major being a battle hardened veteran. None the less, John looked up to all of his superiors, after all they were his superiors and their job was to look after the men below them. As the two slowly began to walk in, the Major set out a small sigh and signaled everyone to relax. The atmosphere in the room seemed to drop a little, but everyone was still ready to listen. As they Major began his briefing, John started to move a little forward. He was hoping to gain as much information as possible if he was going to help his men and his boss. At first it seemed rather simple, the infantry move forward while covered by Matildas and various RAF fighters and bombers, but there was much more than that.

John quickly looked around the room to see how everyone was taking in the information. Some seemed puzzled, while others seemed it was just another day on the job. To John, it was much more than another day, and paying attention to a briefing was more important than day dreaming. As he looked back to the table, to took key memory on the positions of each unit. He wanted to figure out flanks, maneuvers and consequences of what might occur. Even with the tank support, somethings could easily go horribly wrong. With the final words being wrapped up, John took a final thought to his battle plan. After a couple minutes, the Major handed out call signs, frequencies and the like for everyone, and in a matter of seconds he was out of the tent.

With the briefing done, everyone inside the tent started to slowly file out. Before John left, he reached to the crate on his left where is helmet was sitting. After placing it on his head, John followed his fellow officers out where it would lead him to a pile of crates. As John slowly ventured over to Lt William Reid, he couldn't seem to notice the two gentlemen talking with Lt Rupert Crawford. By chevrons on their sleeves, they were told to be corporals. A rank that allowed them to lead a small fire team in the squad. Even with the rank, John didn't expect a couple junior NCOs to be speaking upfront with their platoon commander like that. As he stepped up to his boss, John waited for Rupert Crawford to join in as well. As he finally did, the two officers began to start talking.

"Sergeant, What do you think? From experience, are we going to have too much of a hard time out there tonight?", Said Lt Reid.

Before John could answer, Lt Rupert Crawford answered the question.

"Sure we’ll be fine Lieutenant, they wouldn’t go sending us lot into the thick of it just yet, we’ve only just bleeding well got here!",replied Rupert Crawford.

After the two spoke, a small smirk came upon his face. The two officers seemed to be ready for what was to happen, but John wanted to be sure.

"Wellsir, there are many things that can happen. The I-ties can call in some sort of support from their German friends, or we could be walking into an ambush."

"Despite that Sir, our best bet is to move hard and fast. That way, the Italians don't have a chance to do anything. With all this support, I'm sure we will do ok."

With the words spoken, John didn't really mean to set the mood down so quick, but he had to say what he needed to say. After all, these were his superiors and if he didn't say anything, he could be risking others lives and that is something John would not like to loose. After John finished, he waited to see what the other two had to say about his comments.

[William Reid]

The two officers and the Sergeant gathered around, Crawford sending a few junior men from his platoon away to wait, and presumably to gather the rest of the men. Crawford then had a little reassurance for Reid, before Walters stepped up, sharing the wisdom he had gathered with plenty of experience in the theatre.

”Hard and fast? I’ll remember that; make sure our men don’t get too lazy.” He stopped, before realising he had neglected one thing. ”Where are my manners? Lieutenant Crawford, this is Sergeant Walters. Sergeant Walters, Lieutenant Crawford. Walters is my platoon Sergeant, and Crawford and I were in the same platoon at Sandhurst.” He stepped back slightly, giving the other two room to shake hands, some other greeting.

Reid looked around, the desert sun was as harsh as always, and the azure sky only had a handful of lazy clouds to offer respite for a few moments. The sandy ground, which had been flattened from a combination of the Royal Engineers and their repeated movement of armoured vehicles, was hit even through the solid soles of combat boots. A few shadows existed in the tents and cam-nets which had been thrown up. There was a hive of activity as the motor pool was prepped ahead of the night’s mission. Last minute repairs being made to the armoured vehicles, lots of shots of swear words as engineers discovered they didn’t have the right parts, or something else broke. Reid phased out of the conversation for a few moments, feeling the dryness of his throat.

His eyes settled on a familiar half-ton truck, covered in camnets with a small line of soldiers stood nearby, inspecting beaten wallets. The NAAFI truck. Hearing his name mentioned, Reid returned to the conversation. ”Sorry, I just… I need a drink, would you gentlemen care to come?” He allowed himself to continue talking as he pulled his wallet from his pocket.

The brown leather was similar to that of the belt on Reid’s uniform, and slightly battered from living in his pocket. Inside, was a faded picture of Reid’s mother, dog-eared and creased. It was one of the few personal effects he carried. A few English pounds sat in the fold of the leather, and he fished one out, playing with it between his fingers. ”The officer’s mess is too hot, don’t you agree Rupert? And besides, they wouldn’t allow the good Sergeant in.” The traditions of the army were definitely stuck in their old ways.

[♔ Rupert Crawford]

Lieutenant Crawford squinted against the brazen sun’s glare and slanted his body ever so slightly in a bid to try and deflect the light’s narrow rays from his eyes. He wasn’t one not to enjoy a bright summer’s day back in England, the rarity of it, but the desert’s harsh environment and ridiculous climate made Rupert’s simple pleasure for a bit of sunshine seem much more like a day to day burden now. He adjourned the day they would have a patch of cloudy sky within the godforsaken-place he now resided, but the more worrisome thought of it all, was that he’d only been here a week and he was already fed-up with the notorious hot-beating sun and sand! You didn’t want to get Rupert started on the whole sand issue, the thought of the bleeding stuff made his toes curl-up inside his boots, it somehow got everywhere on one’s person and everywhere in one’s things!

Sergeant Walters answered Lieutenant Reid’s question with a steady stride to his words, Rupert couldn’t help but feel the Sergeant was probably being a little reserved with what he said however, but what more could you expect from the man standing before two of his new senior officers? He was brave enough to have answered the question in the first place, rather than reserve judgement. Once Sergeant Walters had spoken, Rupert looked to William with a cocked brow, as if to suggest subliminally that the Sergeant was ‘alright’, before Lieutenant Reid eventually introduced the two officially. Looking to Sergeant Walters with a smarmy grin, Rupert extended his hand across to the Sergeant for a formal handshake and spoke with a hardy tone to his words. “Yes, a pleasure to meet you Sergeant. Don’t mind Lieutenant Reid here, he never did have any manners” he said jokingly with a wink, referring back to the times at Sandhurst more than anything else.

Having shaken the Sergeant’s hand, Rupert recoiled his arm back by his side and looked to both men. Lieutenant Reid piped up with being a bit thirsty and Rupert could have slid in another inside joke to the comment, remembering back to Sandhurst once again and their jolly ol’ nights out to the local public houses with the lads. “Let’s go get a cup of rosy then” Lieutenant Crawford agreed, as he adjusted the Arabic looking scarf around his neck with a perfectionist touch to detail, before sliding his hand into the breast pocket upon his khaki tunic to pull out the silver encased cigarette holder once more. Unclipping the case and giving the cigarettes a little shake, he slipped one out for himself and then offered both the Sergeant and Lieutenant one as they approached the NAAFI refreshment van, with hot sausage rolls on a platter and plenty of tea being served, as they filled up the men’s canteens beneath a large industrial looking water boiler at the back of the van. It looked as though there was only powdered milk and most probably a cheap version of sugar on offer, but Rupert didn’t quite mind, as long as it was tea, it was worth it’s weight in gold right about now.

Lieutenant Reid paid for the drinks and Rupert glanced to the sausage rolls, wondering to himself whether they were a last morale boost to the men before they entered combat tonight? Most probably, they were. Helping to carry the drinks away from the van, Lieutenant Crawford lead the way into what almost looked like a huge bivvy, but was in actual fact a large tent (similar to a marquee) with a few rows of tables and benches. A nice shelter away from the sun outside, plus it seemed as though the men knew how to ventilate their tents, as a cool breeze swept through the middle, unlike the officer’s mess which was rather stagnant and humid. Setting his cup of tea down onto one of the long tables inside, Rupert felt a few glances cascade over the two Lieutenants and gave Lieutenant Reid an awkward look as he removed his flat-cap from his head. “Ever get the feeling you might not be welcome?” Lieutenant Crawford murmured to the Sergeant and Lieutenant as he sat down, placing the cigarette upon his lips ready to light and smoke.

[Sgt. John Walters]

OOC: I would really like to apologize for taking so long, I think it's because of my Lazyness.


IC:

The blistering sands of North Africa had made a huge impact on the men. It's scorching hot temperature, sandy terrain and overall drought made it a terrible leaving condition. Even with the hot temperature, it would be much better living in a place a little cooler.

As John stood there listening to his superiors, he quickly glanced over to his right. In his sight were several men traveling about, kicking up sand as they walked to their destination. John could only hope that they would not be attacked as they were preparing for their assault. John then looked back to Lt. Reid, as he began to make some comments to John's response.

”Hard and fast? I’ll remember that; make sure our men don’t get too lazy.” Said William Reid

Suddenly the officer stopped, only to change the topic for a sudden bit.

”Where are my manners? Lieutenant Crawford, this is Sergeant Walters. Sergeant Walters, Lieutenant Crawford. Walters is my platoon Sergeant, and Crawford and I were in the same platoon at Sandhurst.”

As Reid finished his sentence, John immediately looked over towards Crawford. The two quickly locked eyes, and similarly both extended their hands out. John quickly grabbed Crawford hand, firmly gripping it to show respect. As he was about to let go, John quickly spoke out to the Lieutenant.

"Well Sir, it's an honor to have you fighting for the Brits."
Said John.

As the Lieutenant responded with his comment to Reid, John let out a little smirk. The two officers both seemed to have a sense of humor, which of course was a good thing. He would rather have two friendly officers than those stuck up ones you would never want to encounter. As John stood there, he slowly began to put his hands into his pockets. The warmth from his body and the heat from the sun, quickly warmed up his hands. His wallet, cigarettes and many other things were also quite warm. As he stood there, Lt Reid slowly spoke about going for a drink. Even with a canteen on John, he wouldn't mind going for something with flavour. As he was about to walk, Lt Crawford agreed about going for a cup of rosy. At first, John had understood what he meant. As he thought about it, he quickly realized that he was going to hear these types of things a lot. After all, he was in a British unit, rather than with his brothers in Canada.

Soon enough, the three traveled over to the soldiers mess rather quickly. The large tent could be seen from almost anywhere in the camp. The long pieces of rope were used to pull it tight to the ground, ensuring that the winds wouldn't be able to knock it over. The flaps on the sides ensured an entrance for the soldiers, along with a nice flow of fresh air. As they finally entered the tent, John could see men and tables. Among the men were mostly privates and the odd corporals. Because it was the soldiers mess, you wouldn't often see officers due to the fact that they have their own. After Crawford paid for the drinks, the three quickly sat down at one of the tables. John quickly spoke to the Lieutenant, thanking him for the drink. As John was about to take a drink, Crawford spoke again to the two.

“Ever get the feeling you might not be welcome?”

John quickly looked around to see the odd man looking towards them. It had seemed that the men didn't want officers there, due to the fact that they had their own mess. Or maybe it was because they want their own space for themselves. Either way, John was sure it wasn't a problem to worry about. As John looked up, he noticed Crawford placing the cigarette into his mouth. John quickly reached into his pocket for his zippo. With a quick flip, the top of the zippo came off, revealing the ignition for the lighter. John quickly moved the zippo to the end of Crawfords cigarette. As it sat there, John quickly flicked the igniter and soon the flame was up. The heat quickly ignited the tobacco at the end of the cigarette. When it finally ignited fully, John flicked the lighter closed and placed it back into his pocket. He then reached down to his cup, and took another sip. Before he took another, he looked up to the two, clearing his throat as he did.

"After are drink, I'll be sure to check in with the troops."

John then raised his glass another time, drinking more of the tea. He then looked up to the two officers, as they looked at him.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:

[/b][/center]

The following thread has been closed and command points (CP) & skill points (SP) issued to all parties participating within the thread:

William Reid:[/b] 10CP & 1SP
~Damn you Nathan for going inactive on this thread, I was having such a ball.

Rupert Crawford[/b] 10CP & 1SP

John Walters[/b] 10CP & 1SP

~Danny[/color]