A meeting of minds (Open)

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Sam pushed open the thick oak door and entered spacious and generously decorated room. The seats where many and very comfortable, mostly positioned around a coffee table, two pool tables stood in the centre of the room and the walls where covered in pictures and paintings of military tanks and planes and soldiers who stood tall and proud, saluting the flag they fought for. All in all it seemed rather lavish and unnecessary. A few officers where scattered about the room, talking in pairs and small groups while smoking thick, stinking cigars and sipping on expensive and rare beverages. Sam walked about the room a little aimlessly, he felt out of place here, he found himself wishing he was back in the hanger or in some garage with his hands covered in grease and oil, the parts and intricate workings of machinery and engines laid out before him.

He felt very uncomfortable in his formal uniform, the gold buttons polished to a high shine, the fabric pressed smooth and free of any wrinkles. He really didn’t like it, but he had agreed to meet someone here. So here he was, he stopped walking around the room in front of a large black and white photograph of a B-29 and he studied it for a moment, the still shot showed the massive bomber dropping its payload, more then likely the bombs forever frozen in time by the photograph had wreaked havoc on whoever was unlucky enough to be underneath them. Sam liked the photo; he had signed on as a bomber pilot but had yet to run and actual missions. Mostly he had flown transports or reconnaissance flights and he getting bored with them. He often found himself daydreaming of flying a fighter, a P-40E Warhawk into the thick of an areal battle, the thrill of the flight, the vibrations of the guns as they spat burning steel towards an enemy aircraft, the manoeuvrability and sensitivity of the stick and the knowledge that the only thing that kept you alive was your wits and skill.

Sam pulled himself out of his daydream and looked at his watch, his friend was late. He busied himself by watching a game of pool two men where playing, one of the other officers broke off from his group and made his way over to Sam.
‘Well well, look who finally decided to start enjoying the privileges of the officer rank.’ Sam smiled at the man.
‘You know very well Greg, that I much prefer the company of ground crew. They may not have all of this,’ he waved his arms at the room, ‘but they know how to have fun.’
Greg Phillips smiled and slapped Sam on the back, the men had been friends since they had joined the air force, both having joined the same day. They had flown almost every mission together and where a good team. ‘You keep hanging out with those grease monkeys you may as well become one. Turn in your wings and spend all your time under the plane rather then in it.’ Sam could tell that Greg had been drinking, he even held a half empty glass of some dark brown liquid, Sam couldn’t identify it but it smelled horrible.

‘Oh really, and I guess I’m just meant to leave the skies to a Galah like you? Not a chance. The last plane you brought in for me had a massive bullet hole in the engine.’ Sam laughed and slapped Greg on the back just as hard as Greg had slapped him.
‘You know that wasn’t my fault.’
‘The who’s fault was it eh?’
‘The bloody German pilot who dropped out of the sun and ambushed me.’
Sam shook his head, Greg was a good pilot, but he seemed to be having a streak of bad luck with flying lately, something always seemed to go wrong. Before Sam could say anything more Greg pulled him over to the photo of the B-29.
‘Hey, Sammy boy. Guess who did that.’ He pointed to the plane.
‘Are you going to tell me that you flew that?’ Sam looked at his old friend as he shook his head.
‘No you foolish Aussie. I took the photo, you honestly thought they would let me fly one of those?’ Greg laughed and looked around the room to see if anyone else would laugh along with his joke. The game of pool had ended and the winner was trying to wave Greg over.
‘I’ve got to go and win some money, ok Sam. Wish me luck and be my cheerleader. You’d look good in a skirt.’ Greg said as he took off over to the table. Sam stood there and watched the game for a bit while he waited for the person who invited him here.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Captain Brentwood sifted through the deck of cards between his moist palms, shuffling the deck with a determined demeanour spread across his face, a soft biting of the lower lip emerging as he eventually plucked out the top cards of the deck and toiled them across the drink stained tabletop. Counting within his head, Liam softly whispered to himself how many cards he was spreading out around the table to each person, a thin silted grin spreading across his lips as soon as he reached the last two cards to be dealt; squeezing what was left of the deck together between his palms and dropping it in the middle of the table and spreading the river cards alongside.

The four officers, including Captain Brentwood, looked at their cards with blunt faces and mulled over their course of action for the round’s troubles and toils. The kitty was, by now, overflowing with bob-notes inside of one of the officer’s overturned field cap, with a half glass of scotch poured all around for the officers at the small round table. Liam coiled a cigarette between his fingers, plucking it from the ashtray he left it to sit, taking a long winded drag of the tobacco whilst he pondered his choices for the round ahead; shuffling through his hand dealt, making a slight shrugging motion with his shoulders as he contemplated the moves at hand. Most of the other officers kept their motions subtle or dreary faced, but Liam didn’t care, he wasn’t one for holding back his tongue or body-language, besides he was the ranking officer in the room and perhaps alluded a hint of intimidation to the junior officers fallen prey to his game.

Placing his cards face down, he snatched the cigarette from his lips and blew a soft whirl of smoke into the middle of the table. “Alright ladies, I raise the ante” he broke first, diving into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes to aimlessly toss into the field cap. “Twenty bob” he said with a nonchalant tone, watching as the fellow lieutenants around the table made irritable movements upon their seats. “Well, don’t see the point in throwing my wage away - I fold”[/I] Lieutenant Dinby confessed, gently pushing his cards into the middle of the table and polishing his drink off, downing whatever was left in the glass, before arising from his seat with a gesture to the men still sitting and reaching for his coat draped over the back of the wooden chair behind him. “I agree, couldn’t be more wise chap. I’m out”[/I] another Lieutenant admitted, merely stubbing his cigarette out and leaving the table without much remorse - then again, good ol’ Lieutenant Granger did lose a wedding ring and a month’s pay in ten minutes, he probably didn’t have much to be celebrating.

Now it was just Captain Brentwood, Lieutenant Harris and Second-Lieutenant Fiddler; neither of which had a great hand to boast about, as both men displayed a passion of nervousness. “Anyone bloody well meeting me on the table here?” Captain Brentwood snapped, flicking his ash with a sharp snap between his fingers. “Well… I guess I could twenty”[/I] Second-Lieutenant Fiddler fessed up, his young rosy cheeks blemishing even more as he struggled to find the money, sifting through a few coins to make ends meet. “Don’t be a fool - put your money away child!”[/I] snarled the stiff upper lip of Lieutenant Harris, his moustache almost making him look twenty years older than he actually was. “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re right Lieutenant, I fold” the Second-Lieutenant admitted with defeat, smirking with nerves and embarrassment as he left the table with his glass of scotch. “Well, just you and me then” Liam said with a smirk, pulling on his cigarette once more. “Raise you forty ol’ chap, I intend on getting my bills paid for the next month”[/I] Lieutenant Harris boasted, making Liam laugh to himself a little, before he suddenly snapped from out of the blue and reached across the table, yanking the lieutenant down against the tabletop by his floundering un-tucked shirt. “I don’t bloody well think so, you cheating little bastard!” Liam angrily growled out between his gritted teeth, the lieutenant’s face crushed against the tabletop as Liam pressed against his skull.

“YOU’RE BLOOMING MAD!” the lieutenant bellowed, his face going blue as he struggled to breath against the wood, his chest pressing against the rimmed edge of the table also. “Nah, I’m not. Just take your crummy fat nose out of my sight and keep that gob of yours shut tight - alright lieutenant?” and with that Captain Brentwood released his head, looking to the attention he may have abruptly caught during the incident. Placing the cigarette upon his lips, he scooped up the field cap full of coffers and pinched his drink with the other hand, slowly and casually moving away from the table and towards the bar. Lieutenant Harris, rather embarrassingly and angrily got up, storming out of the room and pushing past Lieutenant Sam Coller as he angrily mumbled beneath his breath.

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The game of pool was quite boring and quick; Greg had the upper hand practically off the break and held his lead the whole game. Sinking the black ball while his opponent still had three of his own on the table. Greg took his winnings with a large smile before the next challenger came up the table and placed his money on the edge, weighing it down with an empty glass. Sam couldn’t hear what words where exchanged between the two but guessed by the thickness of the notes that the bet had been high. Greg was only too happy to put forward the money and a new game began. Sam quickly lost interest in the game; Greg always won so there was really no point in watching.

Sam started to wander around the room aimlessly looking for something interesting to tide him over while he waited. His mind drifted back to his workbench, he was running ideas of what he could build when stiff words reached out and stole his attention. He glanced over at a cards table where three people where sitting, a young Lieutenant was just getting up from the table, an embarrassed look covering his face as he rushed out of the room. Sam turned his attention back to the last two men at the table just as one of them reached over and grabbed the other, slamming him down against the hard wood and accusing him of being a cheater. Sam thought there was going to be bloodshed; in his experience with gambling anyone caught cheating was often dragged out the back and beaten to a bloody pulp.

He was slightly disappointed when the Captain released the Lieutenant, simply telling him to leave and keep quiet. A few people in the room where also watching the cards table but almost everyone had turned their backs, it seemed they didn’t want to see what was going on. If the Lieutenant reported the incident Sam guessed the investigators would not get any witnesses easily. The Captain looked around the room after he let go of the other officer, locking eyes and practically staring down everyone who looked at him. Sam’s line of sight was broken as the angry Lieutenant stormed past him, knocking into him and almost pushing him over in his rage. Sam caught himself before he fell and looked back at the table as the Captain moved off the bar with his winnings.

As the Captain approached the bar Sam was a little surprised when the other men mingling around parted as the Captain approached, clearing a direct path to the bar. Sam causally looked around at the other people in the room, he could sense a change in the atmosphere of the room, it now seemed heavy with caution and no one else was going anywhere near the bar. Sam shook his head at the so-called Officers in the room and confidently walked over to the bar, standing next to the Captain and calling out to the bar keep.

‘A shot of Bundy Rum, Barman. Make it snappy.’He looked at the man next to him, trying to gage his character.
‘Why’d you let the Lieutenant bail out? Back home if a man got caught cheating in a game of moolah he would’a been dragged out the back and had the pick handles flogged out of him.’ He paused for a moment before adding 'Sir.' Sam looked up as the bar keep came back with a glass of a dark brown liquid. He was actually surprised that they stocked Bundy Rum, though after he took a sip he realised that is wasn’t the brew from his home country. He payed the bill anyway as he waited for the Captain to speak.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Knocking back what was left of his scotch, Captain Brentwood puckered up his lips and swallowed the disinfectant tasting fluid, feeling it burn a hole deep down to his stomach, rather hitting the spot nicely. It didn’t seem like a bad day’s earnings, with all the new green-belt officers flooding into the conflict - damn replacements, they thought they knew everything and more. Captain Brentwood had been caught up in Jerry’s fine ol’ mess since nineteen-thirty-nine, when he was a Lieutenant with the Royal Marine Commandos stationed out in France as part of the expeditionary forces alongside the French. A lot of good they were. He recoiled a faint memory of how two French soldiers ambushed a jeep carrying a few of their wounded, just so they got to save their skins quicker during the retreat. The blighters were first to retreat to a safe distance, leaving poor ol’ Tommy to fend off the Hun by himself; Liam hated the bastards with a vengeance and he couldn’t help feeling as if the replacement officers were a bit like the motley crew of the French. Inexperienced, cocky and for themselves.

Placing the field cap upon the bar-top and clunking his empty glass of scotch down alongside, his eyes wandered cautiously towards those surrounding him. A lot of them had heard of Captain Brentwood, but a lot of them were curious nonetheless; he didn’t recognise any faces in the room, perhaps that was for the best. Leaning against the bar, Liam took another drag on his cigarette and reached across the bar-top for an ashtray, practically taking one that someone was using to his right. Their faint murmur of any complaint soon fading as they turned to see whom it was. Dispensing his ash into the ashtray, Liam toppled over the field cap and poured the notes across the table in front of himself, barely looking through the notes to see how much he had, before piling it together and folding it into a messy wad to lavish the line of his tunic pocket.

Feeling someone come alongside, Liam cautiously looked over his shoulder towards what seemed to be a fly-boy; flight officer to be precise, ordering a drink, before turning his attention towards Captain Brentwood, questioning his actions - in any incident, questioning the officer wasn’t really the best course of action, it has previously seen to a good black eye, but this time the fellow officer’s question was more appointed to why he didn’t go further? Beat the lieutenant down, give a little more justice. Liam was intrigued to say the least and smirked, merely taking a drag upon his cigarette once more and turning to face the man who’d spoken to him. “Or maybe he called my bluff?” Liam said with a stiff tone to his voice, grinning before looking towards the barkeep who brought the officer’s drink over. “Another scotch” he ordered for himself, glancing towards the man beside himself a little. “Fancy a game?” he joked, smirking behind the cigarette held between his lips as he puffed a whirl of smoke out from between his lips.

Captain Brentwood wasn’t much for the talk, but plucked up something to say nonetheless: “Flight officer eh? Seen much of Jerry lately?” he asked curiously, but rather making small talk, because the man hadn’t put a foot wrong just yet. In Liam’s eyes, if someone came across with the same sense of justice he shared, the man wasn’t a bad guy after-all. Just depended how he viewed Liam at the end of a conversation, more to the point.

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The rum slowly burned down his throat as Sam took another sip. He wasn’t much for shotting whole glasses, most of the time when he tried the liquid ended back up on the counter or floor along with his dinner. Sam concentrated on the burning sensation in his throat with an inward smile. He wasn’t a big drinker, mostly ordering a rum or two only when he went out just to be social. But for some reason the thick, sugarcane derived alcohol tasted much better today.

Sam watched silently as the Captain reached out and stole an ashtray from someone. He grinned a little at the other mans reaction to the theft and out right smiled at how he acted when he saw it was this Captain who had taken it. This man was obviously well known to the ground forces and mostly everyone, if not everyone, seemed to fear him. Sam couldn’t understand why everyone kept their distance, there was always a way of talking to people and as a pre-war international pilot Sam had spoken and interacted with a wide range of people. So far he hadn’t met a person yet whom he couldn’t talk to, once he’d found the right thing to say.

He watched the Captain closely as he spoke about having his bluff called and broke into laughter.
”Your kidding?” He managed to choke out between breaths, though by the tone Sam guessed he wasn’t joking. This man had lost, he had lost fair and square but rather then taking the defeat with grace or rage like many others would. This man turned the tables on the winner, causing a massive commotion and accusing the other player of cheating. Putting all the attention on the Lieutenant while he walked off with the money. The Captain had lost the game, but won the cash. Or was is lost the battle, but won the war? Either way it was a cleaver ruse.

As he offered Sam a game the Flight Officer stiffened. Sitting before him was a man who would to anything to win and would more then likely walk over anyone who got in his way. But the lure of the cards was strong; the thrill of the gamble seemed to call out to him. Sam had a gambling problem, he had never turned down a bet before and was always watching other people gambling, either in pool or cards or dice and wished that he were playing too. His smile twitched a little and he nodded slightly.
“I’m up for a game.” he said with a steady voice, the thrill of the gamble was already upon him simply by saying yes to the joke question. Playing against this officer would add a whole new level to the game; Sam would have to keep an eye not only on his cards but also on the Captain. If the game happens that is.

Disappointment slipped into Sam at the follow up question. War talk. That’s all that seemed to go on, everywhere he went people where talking about the war. For good reason though, obviously it was something worth talking about but he was just so sick of it simply because he hadn’t seen any real combat yet. He’d flown a recon mission and a paratrooper drop and that was it. There was no real danger in either and Sam found that he was longing for the battle. He knew it was insane to actually want to go into a fight, to test your skills and aircraft against those of the enemy. It was the ultimate gamble, where you played not with money, but with lives. Everyone who partook in a battle was risking everything and Sam wanted it. The longer he sat around in the hangers listening to other pilots talk about dog fights and bombing runs and how they just managed to barrel roll out of the way of a burst of tracer rounds that would have smashed their cockpit and sent them into oblivion, the more he wanted to do it. The so-called missions he had been on so far where a joke.

He suppressed his annoyance at his lack of real combat and looked at the bar for a moment, as he looked down he realised that he had his fist clenched and his other hand was gripping his glass tight enough for the skin to go white. He loosened up quickly and looked back to the Captain, but couldn’t look him in the eye as he spoke.
“No.” He said quietly. “I’ve been on a few missions. Recon and dropping troops but I haven’t seen Jerry yet.” He put emphasis on the “Yet” as he tried to hide his disappointment from his voice.
He looked at the Captain, sizing him up to be a true combatant. He wouldn’t have made Captain if he hadn’t seen combat, he wouldn’t have won his rank if he hadn’t gambled his life in the ultimate game the whole world was playing. He knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, so rather then asking it he simply stated it. “You’ve seen Jerry.”

[Nathan Whyte]

Coller: 7CP
Brentwood: 7CP

Good quality posts, gentlemen, pity it ended so soon.