Meanwhile, in England...

Erik was glaring away across the Channel, he could see the French coast on the other end. It would've been a grand sight, worthy of a postcard, but Erik knew better. He knew there were men there somewhere along that long stretch of sand, fighting the Jerries for the gateway into France. He took his fag (British slang for cigarette) and flicked it off the dock edge, and went down to the warehouse to check on his crew. When he got to the right warehouse, he entered to a small, cheery scene. His crew had found their way into his personal whiskey stash he bought from an American supply clerk and had cracked some open to the tunes of Britain's best singer, John Mcormack. 

"Geeman!" Erik yelled "There better still be six of those bottles filled, cause we are definitely going to sell some of them back to the Yanks for cig money, you hear?" 

"Well, we could piss in some of em and say its whiskey, maybe get some men sober enough for combat while we're at it," he replied while laughing his head off.

"Or..." Erik said, cutting him off, "I could sell you to Jerry, hell, as if they could stand an hour with ya in the same tent as em."

The crew laughed, and it was a jaunty celebration all the way through, the Bren was in shape, and stocked with shells that could tear any tank's hull in two as far as its been tested. As for Jerry's Meds itself, it had been polished and hooked up to the back of the Bren, ready to pop some pills to cure the German blokes of...well...themselves.

All was good, Jock got a deck of cards from a marine and the gambling began, Erik was away with himself, popping half his pocket's worth on the table at the start, and losing it all in a flush. Yet somehow, even with all his failures, he still managed to bring himself to a net gain of nothing and net loss of nothing. Jock had passed out from whiskey and was lying on the back of the Bren on top of the shells while Tim had left to go back to his bunk. Geeman choose to head into town for the night, as if he hadn't been to town already. As for Erik, Erik went back to the dock edge, sat down, lit up a fag, and took out his pocketbook. In only a matter of hours, he and his men would be across the waves and on the sandy beaches of France. He wondered if any of the Frenchies had extra fags to spare, I mean, he was saving them from Jerry, after all...