New Friends, Ex Commanders. (Wiktor Boguslaw)

[Furey "Blondie" Campellone]

Furey found himself, as usual, hunched over the dull and boring piles of paperwork that he had to finish as a Major. He hadn't seen the front lines in months, but his hair was graying faster than ever. He hated the feelling when he found out a group of his men died, and it was getting to him.

Today, though, he would be able to get the chance to relax. He found himself walking out of his office after finishing one of a forms that he had to fill out for a promotion. He found himself stepping into the fresh air of the french countryside, smelling the crisp air of the french countryside. In-front of his HQ sat his Plymouth staff car.

Furey yawned, and walked down the brick steps of the HQ. He found himself smiling at his priviatly hired French Driver, a 73 year old man whom needed a job after his little business was destroyed by german forces retreating out of Paris. For twenty dollars a month, he was one of the greatest friends he had made.

He looked at his driver, and said "Hiya, Pierre, 1st armored division HQ"

Pierre nodded, opening the door of his car for him, and Furey got into the car, watching Pierre shut the door, then walk over to the side of the car, and getting into the drivers seat of the car, and beginning to drive it away.

He saluted a few of his men that were busy doing things on the airfield, and soon found himself speeding out of the front gate, and down the long winding roads through a thick forest that separated the 9th Air-force and the 1st Armored Division, the fresh air blowing through his open window during the crisp March day.

After about 20 minutes of driving, he found Pierre coming upon a clearing, and found himself watching Pierre slowing to a stop in-front of the gates of the divisional Headquarters. He watched one of the men walk over to the side of his staff car, and salute at him, before Furey showed him the orders he'd written himself.

As the other guard opened the gate, Pierre nodded, smiling, and pulled the car forward. He began to speed down the fields of the divisional HQ, passing by tanks and groups of infantry on parade. He looked around as the HQ Building came into view.

As Pierre slowed to a stop in-front of the HQ, Furey got out of his staff car, looking around at the many men that were busy with their tanks. He set his Visor cap ontop of his head, fitting it firmly with his head, before pulling a cigar out of his Jacket pocket, and clipping the butt of it, then light it, putting it in his mouth, and taking a deep breath. He stood there, waiting for Wiktor Boguslaw to greet him.

[Wiktor Boguslaw]

Wiktor woke up to a pleasant spring breeze gently blowing through the open window to his right, located just next to his bed. He rose from it, stretching his arms as he did so, and letting out a yawn. Today would be a busy day, he had to do training with some soldiers, and something else this evening, though he couldn’t quite remember it at the moment, although he was sure he would remember in due time. He got up from his bed, and walked over to his cupboard, extracting his toiletries and his uniform. Then he proceeded to head out of his room toward the bathrooms located in the officers’ quarters.

Minutes later, Wiktor was standing outside of the mess hall, after changing into the olive drab uniform he wore now, and eating his early breakfast, alongside the other officers of the 1st Armored. Now all he had to do was walk down towards the training field, where his new acquired beauty, his Pershing tank, and a crew that needed to be taught how to use it, was located. Wiktor sighed, and began making his way toward the large open field where the 1st Armored held training, fake operations, and the occasional soldier games.

Upon reaching the field, Wiktor was happy to find his five crewmembers waiting for his arrival. Next to them, gleaming in the spring sun, and recently painted with camouflage, was the 1st Armored’s giant, the Pershing. Wiktor walked over to them, and began explaining how to use the heavy tank to its highest capability. This exercise would include a lecture, and run down of the tank, and a small test run that included a captured German Panzer IV for target practice. Wiktor wasted no time in starting on all these things.

Couple hours later, Wiktor was once again outside of the training field. The tank behind him began moving towards the garage, piloted by her new crew. The crew had done an excellent job, and Wiktor couldn’t wait for the Pershing to see action. Now that the training was finished, Wiktor decided to head back towards his quarters. The sun was almost directly overhead, being almost noon, and the sun was scorching him. Right now, all he wanted was a shaded room with a nice glass of a cold beer.

He began walking towards his room, arriving there twenty minutes later, due to him running into a fellow officer, who proceeded to chat with Wiktor. Now that he had some alone time, he opened his fridge, to find some sort of beverage. Seeing that sadly all the beer was gone, which was quite a surprise since Wiktor wasn’t a heavy drinker, he had to take a glass of ice cold water, which was the next best thing and was still a relive. After taking a long sip from the glass, he lied down upon his bed, closing his eyes for a few seconds, and listening to his clock gently ticking. Once more he opened his eyes, and this time noticed a small sheet of paper on his desk, opened by the looks of it, yet Wiktor could have sworn he never read it. He stood up, walking over to his oak desk, and lifting up the slightly bent sheet of paper.

He glanced at it for a second, reading it solemnly and carefully. After finishing reading, he almost dropped the piece of paper and fainted. He completely forgot that Major Furey of the 9th Air force was coming to see him today. And he was due to arrive in a few minutes! Wiktor quickly jumped up and grabbed his cap, speeding out of the room. He almost ran into another officer as he was placing his cap onto his head and hurtling down the hallway. “Whoa! What’s the hurry Wiktor?” “Sorry John, I have a meeting in a few minutes and I completely forgot about it!” “Well you better get going then.” John started to laugh as he walked away, much to the annoyance of Wiktor. Either way however, he didn’t really care, and he continued his race towards the HQ, the place of the meeting.

Ten minutes later, after running across half of the base, and almost running into two more officers, a group of five soldiers, and a tank backing up out of a garage, (quite frightening), he arrived near the HQ. He immediately noticed a Plymouth staff car; one that he knew belonged to Major Furey. Turning towards the grim concrete building, although more like a bunker, that was the divisional HQ, he noticed a man standing in front, lighting what appeared to be a cigar. Around him were officers and soldiers alike, walking here and there, and they all stared a moment at the Major. Seeing a man of the Air Force here was something rare.

Wiktor straightened his uniform, brushed his hair with a slight wave of the hand, and attempted to catch his rasping breath. He looked quite comical, and he hoped that the Major hadn’t seen him yet. Now that he was in a good shape, or as good as he would get, he began walking towards the Major, now standing upon the HQ’s steps, smoking his cigar, and glancing here and there, attempting to locate the late Lieutenant.

Wiktor arrived in front of the Major, and gave off a quick salute. “Major, I’m glad that you made it, I hope your short commute was enjoyable. I am sorry for being late, I had training this morning, and I will admit that this meeting slipped totally from my mind.” Wiktor patiently waited for a response, hopefully one that wouldn’t mock his lateness, but Wiktor knew Furey, and he wasn’t one of those men, as far as he knew at least.