Post by jimbobdudley on Aug 13, 2007 18:06:05 GMT -5
August 7th,
1914
The sun shone brightly through the sea-like sky over good ol’ ‘Blighty’ that morning. Crowds of people swarmed in the streets of Peckham, London. All of them were going in one direction and all of them had the same motive for being there that morning. To sign up for a worthy cause. To fight for King and Country. It was good ol’ Great Britain versus those bullying Germans. The Great War many had called it, and it was all to be over by Christmas. People all over the country were signing up. Rumour had it that the army was struggling with the demands for uniform and armoury for the vast number of people joining.
Young Jimmy Davies was one of these many people. Each step closer to the registering office, or in actual truth the Community Centre, was full of pride and spirit. He was willing to put his body on the line, look in the face of danger and spit at it. Germans wouldn’t be able to hold him back. He would be un-stoppable, un-controllable, un-…
“Hey Jim! Jim! Over here!”
Jimmy Davies’ imaginary bubble burst at that moment as he heard the voice of Norman Crosby. In the corner of his eye he caught his friend’s instinctive ginger mop of hair appeared between two men as he barged his way through them, much to their disgust. At the same speed and with the same determination he jogged to Jimmy, before resting his arm on his shoulder while he gasped for air.
“Blimey Norm’s, what’s with the sprinting, hey chap?”
“Been trying to find you in this lot…I saw you a while back but I got pushed back by two big fella’s…fat sh*ts…”
Jimmy chuckled; Norman Crosby lived on his street. They had spent ages playing football on the street, so Norman’s foul mouth came as no surprise to him. Norman took in a few more big gulps of air before continuing.
“Some fine birds by the centre I tell you. Their kissing everyone good man that signs up. Nothing to do with the army, all on their own accord…”
He paused once more for breath before giving Jimmy a cheeky smile.
“I think one of them had true feelings for one truly.”
Jimmy guffawed. Norman wasn’t exactly what he thought ‘ladies material’. He had plenty of freckles still visible from when he was a kid, he had still not seen the last of his spots from his puberty years and to top it all off, literally, he had a scruffy bunch of flame-orange hair on his head didn’t help his cause one bit.
“No problems with signing up then? Nothing with the age limits or anything?”
“Nope, daft f*cker behind the desk didn’t even batter an eyelid. Why do you ask?”
Jimmy grimaced. The one thing that bugged him about this war was the age limit. It had been proclaimed in all the advertisements he had read about signing up. ‘Age limit: 18’; it had read in bold lettering. Jimmy was only seventeen, a year too young. Norman was a year younger, and this was something very noticeable about his appearance. Jimmy told Norman of his worries, but to his surprise, Norm’ laughed it off.
“Jim’, ever heard about lying? Half the boys in my class at school have gotten in thanks to it. Just say you’re eighteen. I mean, their not going to look at you and not think that are they?”
Jimmy sighed. He hated lying. He thought it was a horrible thing. His mother had always told him it was a sin to do, she being a strong catholic. But then again; if that’s what it took to get him in the army…
“I have to be off Norm’, I don’t want to get there after they close down again…”
“Right-o, bye old chum.”
With that Jimmy Davies once again set off down the street and disappeared into the now dwindling crowd. Behind him he could hear Norman shout.
“See you in Belgium, hey Jim!”
Jimmy chuckled, continuing onwards into the crowd.
-------
August 7th,
1983
General Harry Logan marched hastily through the fields of the Lincoln Army Base. A hardened war veteran, he had seen many a gruesome war. Now he had been awarded with a new rank, and a new task ahead of him. He turned sharply on his heels to face one of the many barracks. He took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
He forced the door open with a mighty push, causing it to slam on the wall. He waited to watch the young troops jump in fear of his appearance as they scrambled for positions at the end of their beds. Once the sudden panic had settled Logan slowly made his way forward, inspecting each bed at a time. Some were good; some were fantastic, while others were miserable attempts. Those with the later had an official shouting at from the general himself. No-one could be sloppy on the battle field, and he would know.
He had fully inspected all of the beds when one thing caught his eye. One soldier at the end of the row, right at the very end in the corner of the barracks, had his top button undone. He had known many generals had passed this kind of thing off, but not him. Oh no. He was going to do things right.
He walked slowly and calmly over to the man in question. He stood in a close range to him. The air being blown out of his nose glided down the man's face, as Logan had a superior height advantage over him.
“Name, soldier?”
“Paul Charles, sir.”
The soldier didn’t even bat an eyelid. He kept looking the same direction as he did before Logan had come up to him. Logan sound this somewhat pleasing. He had guts. Very good for a kid… Still, he had a duty to carry out.
“Mr. Charles, do you feel hot in this barrack?”
“Why no, sir.
“Then why is that top button on your top loose?”
Charles paused as he stumbled on the answer. Logan was disappointed; his approval of the kid was slowly fading…
“I found it uncomfortable, sir.”
“Oh, uncomfortable is it?”
He slowly advanced that bit nearer to make his intentions clear. This still got no reaction physically from Charles, except the look from his dark eyes. Logan continued as Charles and the rest of the barracks listened on.
“I’ll tell you uncomfortable, boy. Being stuck in a foreign country, jumping onto hard, unforgiving concrete to take cover from bullets being shot everywhere. All of them with a purpose; to shoot you dead. Then, your fellow soldier, a fellow American, falls on you with no life left in him. Blood spilling from his guts and his veins and going all over you. His body But you can’t do anything to save him. You got to carry on. That’s a parent’s child, a woman’s lover and possibly a child’s dad, and you got throw him to one side and clutch every part of you in a cold corner as more bullets still rain upon you. And that happened to me many a time in ‘nam boy, and I couldn’t get up and walk away. I had to continue on with the sight of that man in my head. And he hasn’t left me ever since…”
He sighs. Perhaps he spun away from the point a bit, but he felt he made his point known. Paul Charles continued to stare in his eyes as he turned and left. Logan could still feel his stare as he left the building.
So many bad memories rolled round his head, most of which he wished those kids never would have to witness. Ever.
Yukio Blaze...Yukio Blaze...Yukio Blaze. The more and more I say that I can help but think that’s the name of a character in some cheap Japanese cartoon...
But, then again. I should be treating you with more respect that I give you. You are, of course, the reason I'm here where I'am today, with your booking of the House Show. You were the potter, I was your clay, and you moulded me well. I should be grateful, I know that, you know that. But with all my might...I just can't. That’s nothing to do with you, it’s just me. You can't take the Jack out of the box. It'll pop out, but it'll return to its dark home eventually and be trapped by the cruel lid.
You’re quoted of being unlucky in the WFWF. Of course, you've just had your first title run and you could be set for another and obviously with everything looking up for you, so obviously these things change. But then, like all things, what goes up, must come down. Newton’s law, Blaze. It never fails. The bigger the object, the faster it falls. The bigger the opportunities, the faster reality hits. And I'm afraid to say it, but Yukio. Check your altitude. You’re about to nose drop any moment...
1914
The sun shone brightly through the sea-like sky over good ol’ ‘Blighty’ that morning. Crowds of people swarmed in the streets of Peckham, London. All of them were going in one direction and all of them had the same motive for being there that morning. To sign up for a worthy cause. To fight for King and Country. It was good ol’ Great Britain versus those bullying Germans. The Great War many had called it, and it was all to be over by Christmas. People all over the country were signing up. Rumour had it that the army was struggling with the demands for uniform and armoury for the vast number of people joining.
Young Jimmy Davies was one of these many people. Each step closer to the registering office, or in actual truth the Community Centre, was full of pride and spirit. He was willing to put his body on the line, look in the face of danger and spit at it. Germans wouldn’t be able to hold him back. He would be un-stoppable, un-controllable, un-…
“Hey Jim! Jim! Over here!”
Jimmy Davies’ imaginary bubble burst at that moment as he heard the voice of Norman Crosby. In the corner of his eye he caught his friend’s instinctive ginger mop of hair appeared between two men as he barged his way through them, much to their disgust. At the same speed and with the same determination he jogged to Jimmy, before resting his arm on his shoulder while he gasped for air.
“Blimey Norm’s, what’s with the sprinting, hey chap?”
“Been trying to find you in this lot…I saw you a while back but I got pushed back by two big fella’s…fat sh*ts…”
Jimmy chuckled; Norman Crosby lived on his street. They had spent ages playing football on the street, so Norman’s foul mouth came as no surprise to him. Norman took in a few more big gulps of air before continuing.
“Some fine birds by the centre I tell you. Their kissing everyone good man that signs up. Nothing to do with the army, all on their own accord…”
He paused once more for breath before giving Jimmy a cheeky smile.
“I think one of them had true feelings for one truly.”
Jimmy guffawed. Norman wasn’t exactly what he thought ‘ladies material’. He had plenty of freckles still visible from when he was a kid, he had still not seen the last of his spots from his puberty years and to top it all off, literally, he had a scruffy bunch of flame-orange hair on his head didn’t help his cause one bit.
“No problems with signing up then? Nothing with the age limits or anything?”
“Nope, daft f*cker behind the desk didn’t even batter an eyelid. Why do you ask?”
Jimmy grimaced. The one thing that bugged him about this war was the age limit. It had been proclaimed in all the advertisements he had read about signing up. ‘Age limit: 18’; it had read in bold lettering. Jimmy was only seventeen, a year too young. Norman was a year younger, and this was something very noticeable about his appearance. Jimmy told Norman of his worries, but to his surprise, Norm’ laughed it off.
“Jim’, ever heard about lying? Half the boys in my class at school have gotten in thanks to it. Just say you’re eighteen. I mean, their not going to look at you and not think that are they?”
Jimmy sighed. He hated lying. He thought it was a horrible thing. His mother had always told him it was a sin to do, she being a strong catholic. But then again; if that’s what it took to get him in the army…
“I have to be off Norm’, I don’t want to get there after they close down again…”
“Right-o, bye old chum.”
With that Jimmy Davies once again set off down the street and disappeared into the now dwindling crowd. Behind him he could hear Norman shout.
“See you in Belgium, hey Jim!”
Jimmy chuckled, continuing onwards into the crowd.
Little did he know that that would be his last words with Norman Crosby.
-------
August 7th,
1983
General Harry Logan marched hastily through the fields of the Lincoln Army Base. A hardened war veteran, he had seen many a gruesome war. Now he had been awarded with a new rank, and a new task ahead of him. He turned sharply on his heels to face one of the many barracks. He took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
He forced the door open with a mighty push, causing it to slam on the wall. He waited to watch the young troops jump in fear of his appearance as they scrambled for positions at the end of their beds. Once the sudden panic had settled Logan slowly made his way forward, inspecting each bed at a time. Some were good; some were fantastic, while others were miserable attempts. Those with the later had an official shouting at from the general himself. No-one could be sloppy on the battle field, and he would know.
He had fully inspected all of the beds when one thing caught his eye. One soldier at the end of the row, right at the very end in the corner of the barracks, had his top button undone. He had known many generals had passed this kind of thing off, but not him. Oh no. He was going to do things right.
He walked slowly and calmly over to the man in question. He stood in a close range to him. The air being blown out of his nose glided down the man's face, as Logan had a superior height advantage over him.
“Name, soldier?”
“Paul Charles, sir.”
The soldier didn’t even bat an eyelid. He kept looking the same direction as he did before Logan had come up to him. Logan sound this somewhat pleasing. He had guts. Very good for a kid… Still, he had a duty to carry out.
“Mr. Charles, do you feel hot in this barrack?”
“Why no, sir.
“Then why is that top button on your top loose?”
Charles paused as he stumbled on the answer. Logan was disappointed; his approval of the kid was slowly fading…
“I found it uncomfortable, sir.”
“Oh, uncomfortable is it?”
He slowly advanced that bit nearer to make his intentions clear. This still got no reaction physically from Charles, except the look from his dark eyes. Logan continued as Charles and the rest of the barracks listened on.
“I’ll tell you uncomfortable, boy. Being stuck in a foreign country, jumping onto hard, unforgiving concrete to take cover from bullets being shot everywhere. All of them with a purpose; to shoot you dead. Then, your fellow soldier, a fellow American, falls on you with no life left in him. Blood spilling from his guts and his veins and going all over you. His body But you can’t do anything to save him. You got to carry on. That’s a parent’s child, a woman’s lover and possibly a child’s dad, and you got throw him to one side and clutch every part of you in a cold corner as more bullets still rain upon you. And that happened to me many a time in ‘nam boy, and I couldn’t get up and walk away. I had to continue on with the sight of that man in my head. And he hasn’t left me ever since…”
He sighs. Perhaps he spun away from the point a bit, but he felt he made his point known. Paul Charles continued to stare in his eyes as he turned and left. Logan could still feel his stare as he left the building.
So many bad memories rolled round his head, most of which he wished those kids never would have to witness. Ever.
------------------------------------------------
Yukio Blaze...Yukio Blaze...Yukio Blaze. The more and more I say that I can help but think that’s the name of a character in some cheap Japanese cartoon...
But, then again. I should be treating you with more respect that I give you. You are, of course, the reason I'm here where I'am today, with your booking of the House Show. You were the potter, I was your clay, and you moulded me well. I should be grateful, I know that, you know that. But with all my might...I just can't. That’s nothing to do with you, it’s just me. You can't take the Jack out of the box. It'll pop out, but it'll return to its dark home eventually and be trapped by the cruel lid.
You’re quoted of being unlucky in the WFWF. Of course, you've just had your first title run and you could be set for another and obviously with everything looking up for you, so obviously these things change. But then, like all things, what goes up, must come down. Newton’s law, Blaze. It never fails. The bigger the object, the faster it falls. The bigger the opportunities, the faster reality hits. And I'm afraid to say it, but Yukio. Check your altitude. You’re about to nose drop any moment...
.
.