Saving Private Bryant

"Uh, Yes Sir!" Said Theodore in response, alongside the other private.

First day out of the Parking lot and this happened.

Private Connelly was not too far away from his commanding officer and a fellow grunt. Compared to the Sergeant, he did not stand out at all. Even his rifle, polished to a thoroughly unnecessary shine, was as standard issue and impersonal as it could be.

At a glance, it was easy to see in his body language that he was considerably more on edge than either of the two for a few reasons. Inexperience was one of them, but nowhere near close to being the main one. 

For you see, this was the first time since he had become a trooper that he was actually working outside of the aforementioned Parking Lot. And if it ended with another private missing, or worse yet, dead?

The Sergeant might get the bulk of the blame for it, but he would never see the light of day again!

Because he would become blind as a mole from spending so much time inside the bloody underground parking lot!

"Come on, Bryant...! Don't do this to me, man..." He muttered lowly under his breath as he glanced around worriedly. His sharply moving gaze eventually came to settle upon a dilapidated church they were passing by.

Well, that didn't look ominous or anything. 

Nowhere near as much as the thought of guarding the parking lot for life, at any rate.

Taking a careful grip of his rifle, the youth began to inch towards the church, moving towards the entrance with obvious trepidation in his step.

Sergeant Oswald walked up to the door of the church and kicked it open while he held his rifle in his hand. The doors quickly gave way to his foot and slammed, kicking up a bit of dust off the ground. A sanctuary rowed with pillars was revealed, its centerpiece a bed of flowers growing in the middle where sun shined down from a broken roof.

“Flowers?” Oswald asked as he looked left and right. “Wonder if someone has been tending to these?” it was a passing curiosity and he brought himself back to the task at hand in short order.

“…Come on Bently, Connely. Sweep the area for signs of our idiot.” he ordered as he continued to take the room in. He stood at the entrance while he expected the others to pan out. “Whatever you do, don’t run off out of my sight. Clear this room first, and we’ll check the next one together.”

He did start to look up at the rafters above, but didn’t catch a glimpse of anything of interest. He was totally unaware of Quiet, for now. He pulled his radio out again, maybe Bryant would finally answer his damn radio.

"B52 what is your position? Over..."
...Nothing but static.

---

Theodore Connelly

“Hello friend,” Blake mumbled at the freshly pulled weeds he’d lined up on the little bench inside the confessional. He was crouched down in the cramped little space despite his lanky build. The man’s hair was greasy and unkempt, his clothes reeked from neglect, and he wore one worn out shoe on his right foot (the other lost somewhere nearby).

“What are you?” He looked quizzically at the weeds as he crushed one with a heavy rock. A crimson liquid dripped off the sharp edges and onto the withering leaves. “What purpose do you serve? To live and die and live again… Maybe you were a friend before. Are we friends now?”

Blake’s neck straightened up and he cocked an ear to listen for a moment. He raised a finger to his lips, fresh soil beneath the fingernail. There were voices nearby. B52.

“B52.” He repeated as he took a piece of charcoal and added the call sign to a smattering of other numbers he’d scribbled on the wall, “B52. Is that you? Are you counted amongst those that have received the blessing of the mother?”

A pained moan filtered through the screen that led to the other side of the confessional where a tied up Private Bryant was beginning to come to consciousness.

"Dude, be careful!" Snapped Theodore at Benson, motioning to the trampled flowers with his rifle. "You know how hard to come by these a-eeep!" 

Connelly yelped in surprise as a new voice echoed across the 'empty' chapel,  turning quickly to the doors where a middle aged man now stood. An irritated middle aged man, with a big sword strapped to his back, looking at the doors the Sergeant had expertly turned fireplace worthy.

Uh. Awkward. 

Nowhere near as well trained in the art of good cop bad cop as the mission leader, he grimaced while apologetically shrugging his shoulders at the man from behind the Sargeant, who did little more than a token effort to explain their group's raid of the man's... refuge?

"Whu? Oh! Yes, Sir!" He replied, his eyes lingering on the irritated man for a moment before slowly turning towards the old booth. His boots crunched against the gravel and stone as he advanced towards it, not particularly worried about that- because his thoughts were on the man with the big sword instead, a far more tangible and threatening looking individual than any of his imaginary dangers.

That is, until he thought he heard the faintest of muffled moans.

For a moment, the youthful trooper looked as though he had been hit with a stop spell, his face blank as he froze midstep.

"_{... Come again?}" Came out of his mouth, squeaky and high.

---

Quiet

“Oh,”

A hint of remorse? Maybe this one was human after all. A rare trait in Shin-Ra’s army. Leonhardt could feel a seed of respect being planted for whoever this man was. He hoped it would bloom into something worth admiring, worth keeping.

“We need to inspect this building,”

And there it went, as quickly as it came. Empathy replaced by authority. It made Leonhardt tighten his jaw. Maybe he was expecting too much, too quickly. He could hear the man speaking again, something about the next room, it mattered little. What did matter was the soft crunching of grass and flowers under heavy boots. He was about to protest, but the Sergeant beat him to it.

“And don’t step on the flowers!”

And with that, the seed began to sprout. He stepped through the threshold, and placed his long sword, point down, against the wall by the door and her turned his back to remove his coat. He had little intention on fighting, and did not wish to test his mettle against whatever contemporary weapons Shin-Ra was ‘gifting’ their troops with. At least not on an empty stomach.

There was a sound, however, of pebbles and dust falling from up high. It was slight. Subtle from his distance, but it was there. We weren’t alone. He held angled his weapon, hoping to see something without rousing suspicion, and there it was. A reflection of something pale. A coat, maybe? A person. They were watching the troops it seemed. Leonhardt sighed and released the weapon. This could only end in tragedy.

“I have a strict no-fighting rule within these wall.”

This wasn’t for the Shin-Ra troops, they would do as they pleased. This was for their other guest who observed from on high, and any others who may have found their way into these broken down halls in the night.

“There is food and water for those who are hungry.”

It was small, but it was still fresh. Leonhardt removed several small, wrapped packages from his largest pouch. They call contained slices of topside bread, ham, and cheese.

---

Quiet

Oswald had no awareness of the dust from above, too busy keeping his eye on the man in front of him. He held his rifle about halfway up until the man disarmed himself. Benson though, the other private in his charge, started looking up at the ceiling, scanning near the source of the dust with his rifle pointed up, trying to figure out where it came from.

“There won’t be any violence unless…”

That is when Bryant came bursting out of the confession booth in front of Connelly, covered in loose wrappings, followed by a deranged looking man. Bryant’s rifle was missing and he stumbled forward and fell on the floor.

“On the deck!” Oswald yelled at Leonhardt pointing his rifle at him with a commanding voice. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he wanted to take total control of the situation. “Tackle him, Connelly,” he yelled in reference to Blake Jones.