Post by Bernard de Montfort on Jul 7, 2013 15:22:54 GMT
Bernard de Montfort stands to attention inside a dusty tent, his arm raised in salute as the Major-General of his Division marches in to join him, ensuring the tent is clear before addressing him.
“Sergeant de Montfort, at ease.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bernard relaxes his muscles, lowering his salute and placing his hands behind his back as he stands still.
“How did your father’s rifles perform?”
“Admirably, sir. 2 Insurgents dead, 12 neutralised and in custody. The squadrons accuracy increased by 8% and their rate of fire by 5%.”
“It seems your father has done it again.”
“He is rigorous in his process before releasing the weapons to our care, sir.”
The Major General smiles.
“We’re lucky to have one of his own here to test his toys. Excellent work Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Were there any casualties?”
“Private Gillespie was wounded in the leg, sir, but otherwise the men returned unscathed.”
“Will he be ok?”
“Yes, sir. The bullet grazed his thigh, he will be eligible for duty in a few days for the next patrol.”
“Ah yes, the grenade launcher. Another one your father’s toys…”
“Testing indicates that it can clear insurgents with far greater efficiency and less fatalities. It also produces less damage to the structural integrity of the buildings.”
“Let’s hope it holds up in live combat then, Sergeant.”
The Major General rests a reassuring hand on Bernard’s shoulder, who remains stoic throughout.
“I trust you with this task entirely, Seragent de Montfort. Any advantage over the enemy is a welcome addition to our arsenal, regardless of the name printed on the barrel.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”
“Now, please, consider yourself dismissed Sergeant, you’ve earned yourself a break. Rest up, we need you in peak condition for the next round of testing.”
Bernard salutes one again.
“Yes, sir!”
Bernard lowers his arm and turns and leaves the tent, returning to the oppressive humidity of the Afghan summer as he rushes to retrieve his sunglasses, relieving his eyes of the glare. Suddenly, a figure steps out from behind a tent and a familiar voice drifts into his ears.
“Congratulations, Bernard, you just secured us a very lucrative contract with her Majety’s armed forces.”
Bernard turns and scowls.
“Henry, what are you doing here?”
“Making sure that our investment is paying off.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Henry de Montfort snorts.
“Ask a stupid question…”
“I am more than capable of selling the family wares without your involvement, leave the war games to the real soldier.”
“The heat must be making you cranky.”
“What do you want, Henry?”
“I want you to remember that just because you’re out here playing soldier, your loyalty is to your family, not a flag. Your duty is to sell our products, not earn yourself medals. This isn’t Bernies little war to show off to daddy...”
Bernard takes a step forward and stares Henry straight in the eyes.
“Don’t speak to me about family, Henry. I’ve never been made to feel like a member of this family yet I am more loyal to our name than any of your sycophantic leeches. I will prove the quality of our father’s equipment and I will do my duty for my family and my country. If there’s nothing more, I have more important matters to attend to, like visiting my friends who’ve lost limbs, we can’t all enjoy the champagne lifestyle.”
The pair stare at one another before Henry backs off, smiling.
“Don’t let me hold you up, hop along to your buddies. I’ll see you later, Bernie. Don’t fuck this up.”
Henry turns and walks towards a group of higher ranking officials, his arms out stretched as he smiles warmly at them, leaving Bernard seething before he turns and trudges away towards a set of tents with a red cross draped across them.
“Sergeant de Montfort, at ease.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bernard relaxes his muscles, lowering his salute and placing his hands behind his back as he stands still.
“How did your father’s rifles perform?”
“Admirably, sir. 2 Insurgents dead, 12 neutralised and in custody. The squadrons accuracy increased by 8% and their rate of fire by 5%.”
“It seems your father has done it again.”
“He is rigorous in his process before releasing the weapons to our care, sir.”
The Major General smiles.
“We’re lucky to have one of his own here to test his toys. Excellent work Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Were there any casualties?”
“Private Gillespie was wounded in the leg, sir, but otherwise the men returned unscathed.”
“Will he be ok?”
“Yes, sir. The bullet grazed his thigh, he will be eligible for duty in a few days for the next patrol.”
“Ah yes, the grenade launcher. Another one your father’s toys…”
“Testing indicates that it can clear insurgents with far greater efficiency and less fatalities. It also produces less damage to the structural integrity of the buildings.”
“Let’s hope it holds up in live combat then, Sergeant.”
The Major General rests a reassuring hand on Bernard’s shoulder, who remains stoic throughout.
“I trust you with this task entirely, Seragent de Montfort. Any advantage over the enemy is a welcome addition to our arsenal, regardless of the name printed on the barrel.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”
“Now, please, consider yourself dismissed Sergeant, you’ve earned yourself a break. Rest up, we need you in peak condition for the next round of testing.”
Bernard salutes one again.
“Yes, sir!”
Bernard lowers his arm and turns and leaves the tent, returning to the oppressive humidity of the Afghan summer as he rushes to retrieve his sunglasses, relieving his eyes of the glare. Suddenly, a figure steps out from behind a tent and a familiar voice drifts into his ears.
“Congratulations, Bernard, you just secured us a very lucrative contract with her Majety’s armed forces.”
Bernard turns and scowls.
“Henry, what are you doing here?”
“Making sure that our investment is paying off.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Henry de Montfort snorts.
“Ask a stupid question…”
“I am more than capable of selling the family wares without your involvement, leave the war games to the real soldier.”
“The heat must be making you cranky.”
“What do you want, Henry?”
“I want you to remember that just because you’re out here playing soldier, your loyalty is to your family, not a flag. Your duty is to sell our products, not earn yourself medals. This isn’t Bernies little war to show off to daddy...”
Bernard takes a step forward and stares Henry straight in the eyes.
“Don’t speak to me about family, Henry. I’ve never been made to feel like a member of this family yet I am more loyal to our name than any of your sycophantic leeches. I will prove the quality of our father’s equipment and I will do my duty for my family and my country. If there’s nothing more, I have more important matters to attend to, like visiting my friends who’ve lost limbs, we can’t all enjoy the champagne lifestyle.”
The pair stare at one another before Henry backs off, smiling.
“Don’t let me hold you up, hop along to your buddies. I’ll see you later, Bernie. Don’t fuck this up.”
Henry turns and walks towards a group of higher ranking officials, his arms out stretched as he smiles warmly at them, leaving Bernard seething before he turns and trudges away towards a set of tents with a red cross draped across them.
Well?
I’m waiting.
Oh, sorry, I really ought to explain myself. My opponent, Mike Laszlo, was about to describe what my weakness is. I am still waiting, Michael. No? Nothing?
Well that was a let-down, but then hey, start as you meant to carry on and all that, right?
Wait… is my weakness that I could take out a man you were repeatedly inferior to in one go? That I have resolve and skill? Are you a simpleton? My strengths are weaknesses because you live in a world of make believe where you’re everyone’s superior in every single category and the sky rains gum drops and jolly ranchers?
This coming from the guy who has a grand total of one victory in six attempts?
Oh yeah, you’re my superior alright…
It’s cute that you’re able to justify your mediocrity by ignoring how all the facts, stats and records prove you’re complete incapability to get a job done but seriously Michael, one day the façade will crumble and you won’t be able to hide behind blind bravado forever. Sooner or later you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that you’re just…
Average.
A few flips and tricks doesn’t make you a champion, an overinflated sense of oratorical mastery of prose doesn’t make you a champion and simply saying you’re better when all evidence points to the contrary doesn’t make you a champion.
Oddly enough winning the big belt makes you a big time champion, something you’ve proven to be unable to do on multiple occasions.
So you can sit there pontificating your alleged superiority all you like and you can promise all the little patriots at home that you’re going to celebrate July 4th with a little historical re-enactment all you like but you’re a few Frenchmen and bundle of Founding Fathers short of a realistic chance of recreating anything.
Unless you’ve taken to stuffing them down your trunks to perpetuate another illusion.
It is time you started facing a few home truths, little Laszy. You’re not as good as you think you are and if you think anybody here is buying it, you’re going to crash harder than Wall Street did in the 30’s. Nobody is intimidate by your little show pony routine, the only emotion it will inspire from me is pity.
I pity you Mike.
You call this a war, but you’ve no idea of how a war is fought. Sometimes, nobody wins. Sometimes all that is achieved is the indoctrination of generations of victims who never let things go. Sometimes all you have to show for your exploits is blood on your hands.
No, that may be enough for me, to sit back and just enjoy the chaos I have inspired amongst my colleagues.
But we both know that isn’t enough for you.
You have one goal and one goal only, the Imperial Championship, and normally, that’d be an admirable trait, but when you’re simply incapable of accepting your failures and constantly trying to put a spin on them you’ll never learn the lessons they are meant to teach you.
When I saw my closest friends get blown into pieces because of a roadside bomb, I learnt to be damn careful when travelling in a convoy. When I get shot in the leg I learnt to pay a lot more attention to my surroundings than I did previously.
What the hell have you learnt?
Roberto Verona humbled you for three months straight, and yet here you are, a 16.65% win ratio and you’re acting like you’re Xander Famularo at the apex of his streak. You haven’t learnt the lesson humility should have taught you, Michael, and it is going to bite you on the arse. If you want to learn from your mistakes, you’re going to have to start admitting them.
I am not going to stand here and promise a damn thing about this belt.
If I win, great, if I don’t, as long as I hurt a few of you arrogant little nobodies along the way, I’ll chalk it off as a good start to life as a professional wrestler.
I don’t need a piece of leather and metal to validate myself, I have war medals if I must attach my pride to an inanimate object which mean a damn sight more to me than pinning a moron like you to a mat for three seconds.
This is about winning or losing for me.
It is about instigating chaos and making an impact, and I did that one when I took out Verona and I’ll be more than happy to do it again by hurting a few of my opponents in this tournament whether I come out of the other side with a trinket around my waist or not.
That belt for me is merely a target on my back, to encourage the pack to chase me down.
A thrill ride.
This weekend I will make one simple promise. I am going to hurt you. I am going to beat the arrogance out of you. Winning is immaterial to my goal. See you on Monday, kid.
Isabella and her guardian, the Watchman, stand backstage in a locker room talking about something that isn't clear to the camera when suddenly, from off camera, Bernard de Montfort walks into the room tentatively, keeping on eye on the giant.
“Well, well, fancy seeing you here. Last I saw of you Bernie, you were flat on your back staring up at the stars.”
“I don’t like this anymore than you do, Isabella.”
Isabella giggles.
“Oh, I like this a lot. Watching you crawl on your hands and knees and grovel.”
“Then I hate to disappoint you, I won’t be apologising to you or trying to beg for your forgiveness.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Bernard stares at the intimdating frame of the Watchman who stands silently, his arms crossed.
“Does he really have to be here?”
“I don’t know, last time we were alone you were a little… hands on. I don’t think I can trust those naughty little paws of yours.”
“Cute.”
“Aren’t I? It’s a curse.”
“Listen, this week, we need to co-exist, we have to ditch all this bullshit and get the job done. I want see Laszlo beg for mercy and I don’t want any of your games to interfere in that.”
“Keep your hands to yourself and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“I am serious, Isabella. If I see your insurance policy anywhere near ringside, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Isabella’s smile is suddenly rapidly replaced by a frown.
“Neither will I. You forget, Bernard, that the world is a dangerous place for a woman. With men like you around there always be a need for men like him.”
Bernard suddenly leans forward and stop inches away from the side of Isabella’s face, whispering in her ear.
“Just remember, he isn’t around all the time, it’d be a shame if anything happened to you when his back is turned.”
Bernard then pulls back as the intimidating frame springs into life.
“Easy big guy, this isn’t the first time a guy has whispered sweet nothings in her ear.”
“Piss off, Bernard.”
“Touched a nerve?”
Bernard smiles.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Isabella. Just uphold your end of the bargain.”
Bernard turns and exits the room as the beast steps forward to follow him, but Isabella raises a hand and stops him, the giant immediately following the implicated orders.
“No. Let him go, he’s just a bully, W. If he wants to ruffle a few feathers and push out his chest, let him. A confident team mate is more beneficial than a scorned one.”
The big man steps back calmly as Isabella turns back and stares at the door Bernard exited from.
“Well, well, fancy seeing you here. Last I saw of you Bernie, you were flat on your back staring up at the stars.”
“I don’t like this anymore than you do, Isabella.”
Isabella giggles.
“Oh, I like this a lot. Watching you crawl on your hands and knees and grovel.”
“Then I hate to disappoint you, I won’t be apologising to you or trying to beg for your forgiveness.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Bernard stares at the intimdating frame of the Watchman who stands silently, his arms crossed.
“Does he really have to be here?”
“I don’t know, last time we were alone you were a little… hands on. I don’t think I can trust those naughty little paws of yours.”
“Cute.”
“Aren’t I? It’s a curse.”
“Listen, this week, we need to co-exist, we have to ditch all this bullshit and get the job done. I want see Laszlo beg for mercy and I don’t want any of your games to interfere in that.”
“Keep your hands to yourself and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“I am serious, Isabella. If I see your insurance policy anywhere near ringside, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Isabella’s smile is suddenly rapidly replaced by a frown.
“Neither will I. You forget, Bernard, that the world is a dangerous place for a woman. With men like you around there always be a need for men like him.”
Bernard suddenly leans forward and stop inches away from the side of Isabella’s face, whispering in her ear.
“Just remember, he isn’t around all the time, it’d be a shame if anything happened to you when his back is turned.”
Bernard then pulls back as the intimidating frame springs into life.
“Easy big guy, this isn’t the first time a guy has whispered sweet nothings in her ear.”
“Piss off, Bernard.”
“Touched a nerve?”
Bernard smiles.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Isabella. Just uphold your end of the bargain.”
Bernard turns and exits the room as the beast steps forward to follow him, but Isabella raises a hand and stops him, the giant immediately following the implicated orders.
“No. Let him go, he’s just a bully, W. If he wants to ruffle a few feathers and push out his chest, let him. A confident team mate is more beneficial than a scorned one.”
The big man steps back calmly as Isabella turns back and stares at the door Bernard exited from.
Well howdy there pardner.