Little Coco island - 1st July 1884
'Fuck me it's hot here, how the hell did we get stuck doing this again?' The surly fireplug form of British Army private Seymour Hughes exclaimed as he wiped his brow with his palm, his khaki buttoned shirt strained a little over his gut. He fanned himself with his hard brimmed hat and scratched at his stubble as he placed his machete back into its sheath.
'We got stuck doing this because you shot that bloke in c wing remember!' Sergeant Vincent Amos scowled as he ran his hands through his sweat matted blonde hair. The much slimmer and more athletically built Sergeant rested against a coconut tree and drunk from his canteen.
'You're letting this island life get to you,' he laughed as he softly punched Seymour in his mild paunch.
'Fuck me it's hot here, how the hell did we get stuck doing this again?' The surly fireplug form of British Army private Seymour Hughes exclaimed as he wiped his brow with his palm, his khaki buttoned shirt strained a little over his gut. He fanned himself with his hard brimmed hat and scratched at his stubble as he placed his machete back into its sheath.
'We got stuck doing this because you shot that bloke in c wing remember!' Sergeant Vincent Amos scowled as he ran his hands through his sweat matted blonde hair. The much slimmer and more athletically built Sergeant rested against a coconut tree and drunk from his canteen.
'You're letting this island life get to you,' he laughed as he softly punched Seymour in his mild paunch.