Bad lads

 Sure. Here's a rewritten version of the scene with a more character-driven narrative, told from a third-person limited perspective, where Corporal Murray is a closeted gay man. The focus is on his internal conflict—his attempt to stay professional while grappling with feelings he doesn't fully understand or accept. It avoids caricature and treats his situation with emotional depth and realism.

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BAD LADS' ARMY – DAY TWO: THE MEDICAL

The lads were unusually quiet that morning. The word had spread fast: today’s the medical.

They stood in a rough line in the corridor, fidgeting in their boots, some cracking jokes to hide the tension, others just staring at the floor.

Corporal Murray paced slowly beside his section. His expression was unreadable, the usual drill-sergeant bark replaced by something quieter. Focused. He held a clipboard he didn’t really need.

MURRAY (thinking)

It’s just routine. Nothing more. Just part of the job.

Across the hall, Corporal Nayoklas had already briefed his lads.

CORPORAL NAYOKLAS

“Four at a time, you’ll go in, strip behind the screen. Doctor’ll see you one by one. I’ll wait out here.”

The lads in his section looked relieved.

Murray glanced at Nayoklas for a second. He felt something stir—resentment? Guilt? Maybe both.

MURRAY (thinking)

He can afford to keep distance. I have to keep control. Can’t let them think I’m soft.

He turned to his own group.

CORPORAL MURRAY

“You lot, with me. Let’s move.”

They shuffled into the exam room, boots thudding against the cold floor.

Inside, a military doctor pointed to a screen.

DOCTOR

“Strip to your underwear. I’ll call you one at a time.”

The lads hesitated.

LAD 1

“Sir, do we have to—?”

CORPORAL MURRAY

“Yes. Quit whining. Everyone goes through it.”

The lads stepped behind the screen. Murray followed, arms folded. He told himself it was about authority, about supervision. He wasn’t looking.

At least, he tried not to.

But then there was a glance. Just a second too long.

MURRAY (thinking, sharp)

Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re not that man. You’re a corporal. Keep your eyes up.

He forced his gaze away, staring at the wall, but the damage was done. He’d looked. The camera had caught it, too—just a quick shot, enough for anyone watching to wonder.

One of the lads shifted uncomfortably as he waited his turn.

LAD 2 (whispering)

“Why’s he in here, though? Nayoklas stayed out…”

LAD 3

“Yeah, feels a bit off, innit.”

Murray heard them. Pretended he didn’t.

MURRAY (thinking)

They don’t know. They can’t know. Just hold the line. Keep the routine. You’re in charge.

But the shame crawled under his skin like heat. Not because of who he was—but because of the way he’d let it slip through. The mask cracked for just a second.

He stepped back, finally, letting the doctor take over. His jaw was clenched. He left the room without a word.

Outside, Nayoklas gave him a look. Neutral, maybe curious. But Murray didn’t meet it. He just walked down the corridor, clipboard clutched like a shield.

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LATER – CONFESSIONAL INTERVIEW

LAD 3

“Corporal Murray’s intense, you know? Always watching. But today... I dunno. Something was different.”

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NARRATOR (V.O.)

"In the barracks, strength means control. But for some, control isn’t just about leading men—it’s about hiding what you fear they’ll never accept."

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Let me know if you'd like a version from Murray’s full point of view, a screenplay format, or if you'd like to continue the story.