Chapter Text
Title: "A Pint at the Vic"
The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over Walmington-on-Sea as the familiar faces of the local platoon began filtering into the town’s only pub, The King's Arms. The atmosphere was relaxed for once, no drills, no enemy spies, just the comforting clink of pint glasses and the murmur of friendly chatter.
Joe Walker, the ever-scheming spiv, was the first to make his entrance, his trademark grin plastered across his face as he swaggered to the bar. His well-worn leather boots creaked with each movement, and his eyes scanned the room with the intensity of a hawk hunting for prey—except his prey was always an opportunity to make a quick profit. He slid onto a stool, winking at the barmaid as he took his place.
Frank Pike entered soon after, trailing behind with the awkward gait of someone who had been stuck in his boyish body for far too long. He looked around at the faces of his comrades—Captain Mainwaring, Sergeant Wilson, and even Corporal Jones were chatting in their usual spots—and sighed with relief. For once, there were no maps, no drills, no battle plans to discuss.
"Evening, Joe," Frank said, his voice still sounding younger than he actually was.
"Frank! My mate!" Joe replied, slapping him on the back a little too enthusiastically. "Here for a pint, eh? Or just to get away from the old man for a bit?"
Frank laughed awkwardly. "Oh, you know... Just wanted a bit of peace and quiet, I suppose."
Joe raised an eyebrow. "Peace and quiet? In here?" He waved a hand around at the jovial, noisy pub. "You must be joking, Frank. No peace in a place like this. But hey, a pint's a pint, eh?"
The barmaid, a cheerful woman with a twinkle in her eye, came over and placed a pint of bitter in front of Joe before turning to Frank. "And what can I get you, love?"
Frank hesitated, his face flushing. "I’ll have the same, please."
Once the drinks were served, the two of them clinked glasses, though Frank’s was more of a tentative tap.
"So, Frank," Joe began, leaning in with a grin, "how's life in the platoon? Keeping everyone on their toes?"
Frank shifted uncomfortably. "I try to, but… Well, you know how it is. Captain Mainwaring always takes over. And then there's Sergeant Wilson…" He trailed off, unsure of how to finish his thought.
Joe nodded, his smile widening. "Wilson’s a soft touch. Always has been. But you, Frank, you're a real soldier in your own right, aren’t you? I’ve seen the way you handle yourself in a scrape."
Frank's eyes widened. "Me? Really?"
"Yeah!" Joe said with gusto. "You’ve got the spirit, mate. Might be a bit of a dreamer, but that’s what sets you apart. You’re the heart of the platoon."
Frank scratched the back of his head, clearly flattered but unsure how to respond. "Well… I do my best."
Just then, Captain Mainwaring’s booming voice interrupted the conversation. "Ah, Walker! Pike! There you are. I see you've found time for a pint, have you?"
Joe turned his chair slightly to face the Captain, his smile turning mischievous. "Oh, just a little break, sir. You know how it is. A hard day's work and all that."
Captain Mainwaring raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious. "Well, make sure you're not getting up to anything untoward, Walker. We need you sharp for the next drill."
"Wouldn’t dream of it, sir," Joe replied with a wink. "Just enjoying the finer things in life."
Sergeant Wilson, who had been leaning against the bar with a glass of gin, chuckled softly. "You know, Mainwaring, you’d be much more popular if you joined us in the pub every now and then. Relax a little."
"I don’t need to relax, Wilson," Mainwaring retorted, though there was a faint twinkle in his eye. "I have enough to keep me busy without indulging in… whatever it is that goes on in here."
"Right, of course, sir," Joe said, grinning as he raised his glass in mock salute.
The conversation shifted to the usual military matters, but Joe couldn't resist teasing Frank a bit more. "So, Frank," he said in a low voice, "did you see the look on Mainwaring's face when you suggested a little 'break' from the drills? He’s such a stickler, isn’t he?"
Frank giggled nervously. "He does like to keep things in order. But, um… I think he just likes having a plan for everything."
Joe’s grin softened, a rare, sincere smile appearing. "He means well, doesn’t he? Old Mainwaring. Bit too serious for his own good sometimes, but he’s got the best interests of the platoon at heart."
Frank nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I suppose so. I think he's just trying to make sure we’re ready for anything."
"True," Joe agreed. "And when he’s not barking orders, he’s not half bad, is he?"
Frank chuckled. "No, I suppose not."
The night wore on with more pints, the conversation becoming more light-hearted. Even Captain Mainwaring seemed to ease up a little, chatting with Sergeant Wilson about the latest town gossip. Joe leaned back in his chair, his eyes flickering over the familiar faces around him.
As he looked over at Frank, who was chatting with Jonesy about something that sounded like an old war story, Joe couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie. Despite their differences—Joe’s irreverence and Frank’s nervous energy—there was a bond between them all. They were more than just a group of soldiers; they were a family, in their own strange, eccentric way.
And for once, there was no war to worry about. No drills to run. Just a pint, some good company, and the promise of more days ahead, no matter what came their way.
"Alright, Frank," Joe said, raising his glass one last time. "To the platoon, eh? Here’s to us."
Frank grinned, lifting his own glass. "To us."
The two of them clinked their glasses, the sound ringing out like a promise of friendship in the dimly lit pub.
End.