#across the pacific 1942

[ugisfeelings]

my hot take on the awful nuclear war movie discourse is that i do actually think there is a way to create a critical but sympathetic biopic abt the jewish leftist/communist scientists involved in the manhatten project, who at the moment of 1942 did earnestly (and had reason to) view themselves as part of an urgent struggle against global nazism, and which can cut thru the usamerican imperialist apologia hero-fetish impulse and lay bare the genocidal devastations left in the wake of continuing us counterinsurgent militarism across the continent and pacific (which means addressing the anticommunism!) w/o resorting to white man existentialist handwringing. such a film however, would not be politically commensurable as a bajillion dollar summer blockbuster directed by christopher nolan!

#qq #film directors who think they are existential philosophers will almost always be insufferable to me and it's not even just nolan #that being said. the 'takes' r tiring (i say as i contribute the inaneness) #like. no offense but did /u/ even know abt us nuclear testing and the fall of the scientific popular front in the 40-50ss???

[soberscientistlife]

‘I Want To Do My Part’

When the USS Gregory sank in 1942, a mess hall officer named Charles Jackson French dragged a raft full of his wounded crewmates to safety through shark-infested waters.

Born on Sept. 29, 1919, Charles Jackson French spent his early years in Foreman, Arkansas. At the time, Black and white pools were segregated, making it difficult for Black people to find opportunities to learn to swim. Swimming World Magazine speculates that French may have learned to swim by visiting the city’s stone quarries and the Red River.

However he learned to swim, French’s days in Foreman were numbered. After his parents died, he left Arkansas and moved in with his married, older sister Viola in Omaha, Nebraska. And by the time he was 18, French decided to strike out on his own and enlist in the U.S. Navy

The Navy, like swimming pools across the country, was strictly segregated. As a Black man, French had virtually no other choice than to work as a mess attendant. In that capacity, the U.S. Navy Office Of Information reports that French spent four years the USS Houston, serving meals to the white sailors, cleaning their tables, and keeping the mess hall spick and span.

French returned to Omaha when his deployment ended in November 1941, but he wouldn’t stay in Nebraska for long. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, French promptly re-enlisted.

“I want to do my part, because I’m already trained and I can start right away,” French said at the time.

He had spent his last tour cruising around the Pacific. But this time, Charles Jackson French would see significantly more action.

On Sept. 5, 1942, the USS Gregory and the USS Little were attacked by Japanese destroyers around 1 a.m. while patrolling the waters near Savo Island and Guadalcanal. The U.S. Navy Office Of Information reports that the Gregory, outgunned, sank after just three minutes. Its surviving men were plunged into shark-infested waters as the Japanese fired on them.

But French leaped into action. The 23-year-old helped injured sailors onto a makeshift raft and — when U.S. Navy Ensign Robert Adrian told him that the current would pull the raft toward a Japanese-occupied island — volunteered to jump in the water and pull the raft in the other direction.

Adrian told him it was impossible. French, according to Adrian, replied: “Just keep telling me if I’m goin’ the right way.”

He shed his waterlogged clothes, tied a rope around his waist, and started to swim. For the next six to eight hours, French tirelessly swam as sharks got so close that they sometimes brushed against his legs. At sunrise, an American scout finally spotted him and the others and sent rescue.

But French’s ordeal didn’t end there. As he later recounted, as recorded by Chester Wright in Black Men and Blue Water, French and other uninjured soldiers were taken to a rest camp by their rescuers, who wanted to separate French from the white sailors. To French’s surprise, the sailors insisted that French stay with them as a fellow member of Gregory’s crew.

“Them white boys stood up for me,” French emotionally told Wright.

The story of Charles Jackson French’s heroism was later made public by Adrian, who described it on a radio program called It Happened in the Service in October 1942, according to Swimming World Magazine. Adrian had never learned French’s full name — he and the others only knew him as “French” — but he fully credited him for their rescue that day.

“I can assure you that all the men on that raft are grateful to mess attendant French for his brave action off Guadacanal that night,” Adrian said.

The story was soon picked up by the national news, and Charles Jackson French was identified by NBC. He was celebrated across the country, featured in a comic strip, and lauded by the Black press.

Adrian “and other white Americans owe their LIVES to a black man whom he identified as a ‘mess attendant named French,'” the Pittsburgh Courier, a Black newspaper, wrote after French was identified.

The newspaper continued: “Although Mess Attendant Charles Jackson French of Arkansas was not in a heroic job, he MADE a heroic job out of it. He who had been looked down upon as a caste man, frozen in status, suddenly was looked up to as a SAVIOUR.”

Though rumors spread that Charles Jackson French might be awarded the Navy Cross, he was given only a letter of commendation from Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., the then-commander of the Southern Pacific Fleet.

French may have been denied the medal because a Silver Star was awarded to one of his superiors — and it was unprecedented to award a higher medal to a subordinate. But the Omaha World-Herald noted some decades later that future president John F. Kennedy had been given the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for a similar act of bravery.

After his service on the USS Gregory, Charles Jackson French didn’t rest on his laurels. He returned to his role in the mess on the USS Endicott and the USS Frankford, and witnessed D-Day and the invasion of southern France.

After World War II ended, French faded from the public eye. Black Past reports that he suffered from alcoholism and depression, and passed away on Nov. 7, 1956, in San Diego, California. He was only 37 years old.

But since then, there’s been a push to give this forgotten World War II hero his due. In April 2021, a post about French from the International Swimming Hall of Fame revived his story. And a year later, Rear Admiral Charles Brown, the Navy public affairs officer, presented eight of French’s relatives with a posthumous Navy and Marine Corps Medal — just like Kennedy’s.

“It will inspire generations of sailors,” Brown said at the medal ceremony, reported by the Omaha World-Herald. “It’s a story of the best of who we are.”

French has been honored in other ways, too. A training pool at Naval Base San Diego was named after French, and a post office in his hometown of Omaha also bears his name.

Black History Month Day 24

#black history facts #black history month #blackhistory #black lives matter

[rebelsandtherest]

Frater Familias

Words: 5,719

Summary: Churchill lies, Singapore falls, an empire abandons his children in a sea of wolves. When their brother finds out, there will be hell to pay.In early 1942, Alfred Jones travels across the globe to save his baby brother and sister from the betrayal of their father. When Arthur Kirkland returns at long last, his eldest is waiting for him, ready to spill blood.

Warnings: Language, mentions of death and bodily injury.

Author’s Note: I kept things very vague to make it easier for myself, but this takes place not too long after the Battle of Coral Sea in May 1942.

You can also read on Ao3 if you prefer

--------------

Alfred Jones hadn't wanted to kill his father this badly since 1781. Come to think of it, Alfred wasn't sure he'd ever wanted to kill his father as much as he did now.

Sure, he hadn't been pleased that President Roosevelt acquiesced to Britain's insistence on a Germany-first strategy. The scar of Pearl Harbor was still fresh and livid, and he was spoiling for a chance to hunt Kiko down personally. Even so, he'd kept his mouth diplomatically shut and had taken heart when Churchill assured him that British forces in the pacific would hold, that the ANZACs would have plenty of reinforcements to hold allied territories there.

That, as it turned out, had been a massive lie. Gargantuan. Colossal. Titanic, in fact. His father might as well have designed the ship himself, stuck his two youngest on board without lifeboats bound straight for an ice field, and stayed cozy in Belfast while Alfred broke his back feeding coal to the Carpathia in a blind, unplanned panic. Churchill fiddled while Singapore fell, and Father fiddled along with him.

"Where is he?" Alfred demanded, ignoring the guard at the entrance who was trying to slow him down."

"I'm sorry?" Asked the startled British soldier stationed at the war room door.

"Arthur Kirkland. Where is he?"

The soldier took a few tries to say, "General Kirkland hasn't yet arrived, sir."

"Fine. Which room will be his?"

"Sir, I'm so sorry, can I get your name, I'll need to ask–"

"Where?" Alfred demanded, and there was something in his too-perfect voice, his too-blue eyes, that made the soldier startle and point immediately down the hall.

"End of the hall, on the left."

Alfred stormed in that direction without a word. The soldier blinked a few times. A deer released from headlights, it took him a moment to get his bearings.

"Wait," he called after Alfred, quickly jogging after him. "Wait sir, you're not allowed to-" but Alfred was already inside, going around to sit in the officer's chair behind the empty letter desk. "Sir, the General won't be here for another five, six hours."

"Fine," Alfred said, and had this young Australian known him better, he would have known to be frightened by his stoic, collected anger. Facial expression unchanging, the American wheeled back in the chair and propped his feet on the desk. "I'll wait."

--------------------

There was quite a bit of hubbub around the base when the British entourage finally arrived. None of the humans here knew what Arthur was, but they did know he was a high-ranking General, so the arrival had caused quite a bit of fuss and bustle. Alfred remained in the office, unaffected. When he heard English accents appear down the hall, he closed his eyes and mentally braced himself. When he opened them again, the click-clack of English bootheels was just around the corner, and in seconds he was staring up at his father, England himself.

Arthur stopped short just inside the threshold of his office, flanked by two aides, one young and fresh-faced, the other brunet with a trim mustache.

"Alfred," he said plainly, as if he hadn't expected to see his eldest here, after everything, the 's glare was fixed solidly on Arthur, but he spared a dismissive glance at the humans. He returned his ire towards his father before he told the aides,

"You two, get out."

Arthur didn't even blink. The younger aide looked to his mustachioed companion for help.

"Sir," the elder man said, glancing diplomatically between Arthur and Alfred, whose crossed arms and lack of cover disguised whatever rank he might've been. "This office has been assigned to General Kirkland, I must insist that—"

"Yes, it has," Alfred said in a patronizing tone. "Now get out."

Bewildered, the aide looked to Arthur, but though the General's eyebrows had fallen in a dark look of annoyance, his eyes hadn't moved from the seething American before him.

"It's been a long journey, Hesten," Arthur said stiffly, "go find your lodgings." The younger aide immediately began to splutter some confusion, but his elder quickly shushed him and shepherded him out the door. "Close the door on your way out," Arthur instructed. The brunet man did, glancing fleetingly at Arthur and then at Alfred before the door clicked shut.

The walls were battle-thick concrete, and as the door shut, the sound of the outside hall faded into a dull ambiance.

"Of all the asinine American theatrics I've witnessed, Alfred, this must be among the worst."

"How dare you," Alfred spat.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said," Alfred yanked his feet off of his father's desk, not caring that he left scuff marks. He stood to his full height and god it had never felt so right to be taller than this cowardly, self-righteous excuse for a father, "how fucking dare you. Show up now? Of all times? Where were you?"

"Alfred," Arthur didn't have to physically roll his eyes for Alfred to hear the intent in his voice, "I did not ask for you to—"

"Where were you?" Alfred demanded, raising his voice louder than he'd intended. "Because I can tell you right now where you weren't."

"I'm not going to to stand here and allow you to lecture me in my own office—"

"By the time I got here, Jack had already died twice!" Alfred shouted. Arthur had been ready with a retort, but he stopped short as the 'twice' rang off the walls. "Zee was only alive by pure luck, stuck as a nurse on a doomed destroyer, blown up by so much shrapnel that by the time I got her to shore I thoughtshe was dead. And where were you?"

For a moment, silence was his only answer, father and son locked in a staring contest while Alfred took in loud, furious lungfuls of air.

"I realize you've only recently opened your eyes to the fact," Arthur said flatly, "but we are at war, Alfred. We all must make sacrifices."

"Sacrifices," Alfred scoffed, surprised they'd reached this point so quickly. "And who is it that decides what's worth sacrificing?"

"We are Nations," Arthur insisted. "Difficult decisions such as these are an unfortunate necessity of what we are, how we must conduct ourselves in times of—"

"They are your children, Arthur!" Alfred hadn't meant to call his father by his first name, and he hadn't meant his voice to crack like it had. "Damn the nations, damn Churchill, damn you, damn it all, they are your children!"

"They are my children," Arthur matched Alfred's volume, but kept a stern expression, "and they, along with the rest of my family, are at war."

"Fuck you!" Alfred shouted back, "Fuck you and this entire fucking family, Jack is barely over a century old, Zee even less so, they're babies, dad, infants! And you just fucking left them out here!"

"We've all seen war within our childhoods," Arthur snapped back, with a surprising amount of bite behind his words.

"With muskets, bows, and daggers, not this!" Alfred swept his hand as if to indicate the entire world. "Go to the artillery, go to the infirmary, go to the foxholes and tell me this war is like anything you or Ifaced as children. Jack's only recently got over the shellshock from the last time you left him to the wolves, and now this!" Alfred took sick satisfaction in seeing his father's face flinch.

"I've tried to shield them from it," Arthur bit back, "Just like I tried to shield you and Matthew when you were young, but it's never worked, not once. It's not worth lying to them."

"Lying to them about what? Your reinforcements? Their chance at survival once Churchill wrote them off?" Alfred demanded. He watched his father flinch again and hoped to god he was listening. He was aware that he was shouting loudly enough to be heard outside the office, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Let the humans know exactly what their general was—a callus empire, and an absent father. "Curtin was preparing a speech to brace his people for invasion, and how to break it to their children—their children!" the American spat. "Your son was deluded enough to believe he could fight them off alone, because what other choice did he have?" Arthur was emotionless. "Tell me! What other choice did either of them have? If I hadn't heard the rumors coming out of the pacific, what do you think would have happened?!"

"But you did hear them," Arthur said, voice straining to keep its composure. "And so your very complaint here is rendered moot-"

"Don't you go making this out to be my fucking responsibility," Alfred spat, coming around the desk to face his father directly, where no tip of Arthur's chin could hide how much his eldest towered over him, "don't you sit there and act all sanctimonious because I managed to get here at the eleventh hour. It wasn't your doing, it wasn't your plan. I'm here in spite of you, not because of you."

"And yet," Arthur wasn't actually looking at Alfred when he said it, straightening his shoulders to some invisible mirror, saving face as he always has when he said, "You are here, as am I, now."

"I was here before you had the decency to do your own duty as father," Alfred yelled, "I was here before the order reached the SecNav's desk. You were off in fuck knows where doing fuck knows what drinking tea farmed thousands of miles from your stupid cozy island, while I commandeered a ship to offer your children hope." Alfred glared, a thousand things he wanted to say simmering under the bonfire of anger. "I have a court martial waiting for me in Los Angeles," he confessed angrily. "They'll drop the case before I get home, once I've told the President about the hell you've left us here, but don't you dare act like my being here was part of any grand plan. They are your children, and you chose to abandon them. If I didn't know that it would fuck them over even more than you already have, I would've stuck a bowie in your liver the second you stepped through that door."

A long stretch of silence passed in between them, but it offered no resolution.

"Are you not my child, as well?" Arthur asked, venturing a glance at his eldest.

"I am," Alfred replied, glaring, "but none of us asked to be." When the words landed, Arthur's furious expression cracked and morphed through shockwaves of hurt. Alfred knew he'd hit his target, so he took a step closer. Quiter, but not quietly, he said,

"For the last century, I've looked on in envy at the father they had. A doting father, a loving father, a father who was there," Alfred pressed into his father's personal space, and Arthur was glaring up at him with a mix of hurt, anger, and trepidation writhing underneath his drawn brows. "Nothing at all like the man who paid humans to raise me. I thought you had changed. I've seen you change, become someone you never were for me, and I praised God and all his fucking angels that my brother and sister would be so lucky. It took him four kids, but Arthur Kirkland finally figured it out. Now it's all gone right out the window because his empire's gotten too big for his goddamn war," Alfred's fists were trembling with anger. He'd never said such things to his father in all his life, and he hadn't planned on saying them today. It was the memory of Jack's dead eyes, the tears of relief on Zee's bloodied cheeks, how thin and worn they'd both felt under the weight of his hugs, that dug up a protective sort of anger for them that he'd never felt for himself.

Arthur looked like he wanted to slap Alfred across the face. If he wasn't so completely dumbstruck, he probably would have.

"You are not going to do to them what you did to me," Alfred growled, getting right up in his father's face, "because if you do, I'll fucking kill you." With that, he stormed out of the office and slammed the door louder than a gunshot.

Arthur stood motionless for several long minutes afterwards, before slowly moving around his desk and gingerly lowering himself into his chair. At great length, he bent over his lap, ran a world-weary hand through his hair, and let out a shaking sigh.

--------------------

It felt as though the entire building was staring when Alfred left his father's office. He tried to ignore it, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers and trying to level his rapid breathing. God, he needed fresh air. He'd taken not even ten steps toward the exit before he came to a halt, faced with the last person he expected to see.

"Jack," he blurted, heart leaping into his throat. "How long have you—" Alfred stopped short, because it was clear enough from the boy's expression he'd been there more than long enough.

"I-I was just here to give him-" Jack looked down at his hands, and it was then that Alfred realized the teen was holding a dossier. "I heard dad got in this afternoon—since he's not been briefed on the–" his voice was steady, but he wasn't, swaying on his feet, hands making the folder wobble just slightly. Underfed, underslept, and overwrought, he looked like a stiff breeze might knock him offshore. "I mean, I thought I should be the one to tell him about everything, and you know how he likes having things written down- I didn't write all of it, but I wrote one of the reports, edited some of them, you know, included the things I thought he would find important, everything we were able to…" Jack trailed off, staring down at the folder in his hands, wondering if there'd been any point in putting it together. It wasn't as though the British Empire had any need for retrospectives on what was essentially a United States Navy rescue operation.

"I guess I just wanted to let him know I was alright," Jack muttered, almost to himself. He heard a sigh and looked up. Unfamiliar wrinkles cast shadows across Alfred's forehead, a mix of grief and pity and fading anger. The American reached under his glasses to rub at his eyes.

"C'mon, kid," he said behind his hand, voice hoarse from yelling and fatigue. "Let's get you outta here, aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"I haven't been able to sleep much," Jack replied. They both had dark circles under their eyes.

"Fair enough. Any good place to hide around here? I nicked some of the old man's gin." Alfred shook what sounded like a partially empty bottle, and Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"He's going to notice that," he said, eyes flickering to his father's office. "Soon," he added.

"No he won't," Alfred used the bottle to wave Jack into step with him as he left their father to sulk alone. "He drinks rum when he knows he's fucked up. And the fact that he hasn't already come out here to search my pockets means he knows he fucked up."

Jack led Alfred out past the perimeter of the small base and up onto a small hill a few hundred meters from the beach. Though grassy and dusted in the shade of several short, scraggly trees, the area was still dusted with sand. It made a comfortable place for the pair to sit and stare out at the ocean, passing their father's gin back and forth until they were both tipsy enough to deal with what the day had wrought. The sun was hot on their backs as it tilted past afternoon an into a long autumn dusk.

"Did he really mean it?" Jack blurted, breaking the silence. Alfred looked over at him.

"Mean what?"

"I mean, when you said that Churchill planned to give up the… surely dad have to have known, right? Did he… I guess I just… did he really plan to do that? To take Churchill's side of things, if things got really bad?"

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but quickly thought better of it. Things got 'really bad' a long time ago, kid, he'd almost said. Alfred wasn't willing to guess whether or not Arthur had really planned to abandon his youngest son and darling daughter to the fury of the Japanese military, if it had come to that. Deep down, past all his anger and resentment, even Alfred did not want to think of his father as a cruel man. Callous, yes, stupid, absolutely, but not the sort of man who would watch his children sink beneath the waves of invasion and remain unaffected.

Yet if Alfred's ships had not sailed swiftly enough, what would Arthur be doing at that moment? Alfred realized Jack was staring at him, eyes lost. He sighed.

"Dad is… a complicated man," Alfred told him lamely. "As far as fathers go—and never tell him I said this—he's not… the worst out there. But wars turn him into a moron, make him forget his human side. I think we all saw that well enough in '15." Jack looked away quickly, jaw clenching. Alfred was grateful that at least that he hadn't had to say Gallipoli to get his point across. "He's always been like this. It's nothing you did. It's just him being the dumbass he hides under all that 'keep calm and carry on' bullshit." He watched Jack's back for a moment. The teen fiddled with the sandy grass and found a pebble, flicked it down the hill and watched it trace a line in the sand.

"Always been like this?" Jack asked, and glanced back to Alfred, unable to hide his curiosity. Alfred actually laughed.

"God, kid, he used to be even worse. I mean, hell, he was still a fucken' pirate when I was a baby, he ever tell you that?"

"He what?" Jack's face grew into a wicked grin.

"Sure as shit! I still remember—I mean, not well, but I know he had this ludicrous red coat and earrings and a cutlass and everything. God knows what a pirate was doing with a baby."

"So what, did he take you out on the ship with him?" Jack was transported, trying to imagine Alfred as a baby, much less their stick-up-the-arse father as a pirate.

"That, I don't know. It was a long time ago, and I was really small. I do remember his ship, though, at least the one he had when I was a bit older." Alfred's smile faltered. "He'd be gone for years at a time, even decades. He'd come back unannounced, stay for a week, and then leave without saying goodbye. He did that because of a war. We'd always have a year or so of peace in between, and he'd stick around and be a decent dad, and then, boom, another war, and off he goes. Actually," Alfred chuckled, "I'm not sure he was ever not at war, when I was growing up, I think the letters just took a while to cross the Atlantic." he shrugged and looked over at Jack, who was frowning at him. It made him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

"Listen, all I'm trying to say, is that he's always been like this. And he's gotten better—god, so much better, but this war…" Alfred began to say something, but came up short. He let out a breath with a shake of his head.

"It's different," Jack said quietly. All the nations knew it—even Jack, who was scarcely 150, could feel it.

"What he did to you and Zee is indefensible, in any century, in any war." Alfred said, eyes landing on the edge of a bandage peeking out from under Jack's sleeve. "I just want to make sure you understand, it's nothing you did, nothing Zee or anyone else did. It's just… dad." It was an unsatisfactory, unjust answer to the horrors that had unfolded in the last six months. Alfred knew it wouldn't wipe away the uncertainty in Jack's guileless face, but maybe, over time, it would temper his resilience to exist as the son of a deeply flawed man.

"Right," Jack said softly, sounding more thoughtful than was his wont. He picked at his fingernails, lost to his own musings for a while. In the quiet that followed, Alfred realized how exhausted he was, and let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the feel of the sun warming his face in flickering patterns as it twinkled through the leaves.

"So wait," Jack broke the silence once again, "if dad was a pirate, does that mean that the King sent out men to hunt him down? His own nation?"

"Oh, man," Alfred sat up, reaching for the gin, which was closer to Jack. "Gimme that. I can't tell this story as good as uncle Rhys, but I'll try."

--------------------

Though she was probably a fiercer fighter than virtually anyone in their family, barring perhaps Alfred or Arthur himself, in wartime, Zee's sex relegated her to hospitals and infirmaries rather than battle stations. It'd been this way in the last war, and she found she preferred it. War was death, and if she had to watch her people die, it was far better, she thought, to see them die after doing her damnedest to save them.

She and Jack had their separate forces, but the two had clung close together as the situation in the Pacific soured. She'd been aboard the destroyer for a little over a week by the time the Americans arrived, but she hadn't had a chance to see the Yankee himself before a Japanese bomb blew her floating hospital to bits. It had in fact been Alfred who spotted her bobbing in the surf and dragged her to shore, later admonishing her with a wobbling voice that it was the worst kind of way to say hello to one's estranged brother. Left with open wounds and a dislocated shoulder, she'd been brought down the coast to the base where Jack was holed up, becoming the first female resident of its sparsely-appointed infirmary.

In the short, hellish time that Alfred had fought alongside her, he'd seen his sister absorb all kinds of pain with the iron-willed composure of their father, but after a thousand small cuts, the shoulder is what did her in. She'd vomited and promptly passed out when the medics had set it. They'd given her morphine when she woke up, but it had left her deliriously nauseous. Unfortunately, when they'd taken her off it, the pain kept her awake so long she'd cried, which had startled Jack so badly he begged her to take the morphine until the swelling went down. She'd capitulated, but the nausea had kept her abed.

Alfred rapped his knuckles on the open doorframe before ducking in. Tired brown eyes squinted open to see him, and she grunted to acknowledge him.

"Hey Kiwi," Alfred said softly, unconsciously slouching to make himself smaller, quieter. He unfolded a canvas chair that had been stashed in a corner and sat near the head of her rickety hospital bed. "How're you holding up in here?"

"This place fuckin smells," she complained, voice gravelly and hoarse. "Or maybe that's just you." Alfred snorted.

"Feeling better, I see," he smirked. Zee sighed, using her right hand to manually adjust her left arm, which was strapped to her torso in a sling.

"If one more person talks about how I'm feeling, I'll vomit again."

"Alright," Alfred lifted his hands, "I won't ask. Jack said you'd convinced them to let you go tomorrow?" Hearing this, Zee's eyes opened a little wider, and she turned her head towards Alfred, one eye obscured by her curly hair that was pressed against the pillow.

"You've talked to Jackie today?" she seemed surprised.

"Yeah," Alfred frowned at her, "have you not?"

"This morning I did, but dad said no one could find him," she said. It was Alfred's turn to be surprised.

"You've talked to dad?"

"Yeah, 'bout an hour ago, give or take." She watched Alfred's face with catlike attention. "Dad mentioned he'd spoken with you. What did you say?" Alfred couldn't help it when he let out a snort.

"Spoke with me, huh."

"What did you say?" Zee asked again. "I haven't been coddled like that in thirty years. And what with how he's been…lately," Zee's eyes were distant for a few seconds before she shook herself and looked up expectantly at her brother. Alfred drew in a deep breath and leaned back in his chair before letting out a long sigh.

"He's been acting like a shit father, you and I both know that," he began, picking at a stray thread in his sleeve so he wouldn't have to make eye contact, "I just told him so."

"What, just… Just told him that?" Zee was incredulous, "and he listened?"

"Apparently," Alfred demurred.

"Christ," Zee let her head fall back into her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "That must be nice." Alfred would've had to have been deaf not to hear the bitterness in her tone. It made him angry at their father all over again. Zee had always been the apple of Arthur's eye; that he had ignored even sweet Eleanor so profoundly was a testament to how low he'd stooped.

"He doesn't listen to me because he sees me as his equal, if that's what you're thinking," Alfred cut in. "He listens to me because I was his biggest fuck up, and he doesn't want to fuck up more than he already has with you two." Zee had no immediate response to that, and continued to stare up at the ceiling, swollen arm rising and falling with every breath. The wall lamp shone through her half-full IV bottle, casting abstract patterns of light that morphed gently against her hair.

"Well," Zee said at length, still staring at the ceiling, "I guess the coddling is nice." Quieter, hoarser, she muttered, "Could've used a few more fucking troops."

"He'll pull his head out of his ass and remember how to be a good father, eventually," Alfred told her, not really knowing if he had that kind of faith in their dad, "in the meantime, I got you. Both of you. You need something, anything, even if it's just yelling at Admiral Lord Father again, you tell me." Zee smiled at the sardonic title.

"Thanks, Yankee," she said, voice thicker than before. He'd never heard her use the moniker so affectionately. "I… might take you up on that."

"'Course. Us victims of the Arthur Kirkland School of Parenting gotta stick together." Zee let out a laugh that quickly turned into a hiss when it jostled her arm.

"I don't suppose you could get rid of this goddamn morphine and convince my arm to heal, could you?" She asked him, blinking away tears of pain.

"I will happily yell at the Empire till the cows come home, but even I can't work miracles, Kiwi-girl."

"Damn," Zee grit out. Alfred glanced at her shoulder, and then out the window; it was getting late.

"We'll have you outta here in no time. But I think it's about time you got some sleep."

"I've been trying," Zee huffed, clearly frustrated with the entire situation. She glanced at the empty glass on the stool by her bed. "Would more water be too much of a miracle?" Alfred smiled.

"Course not." He plucked up the glass and left the room, returning with not one but two full glasses of water, which he deposited on her bedside stool. While Zee gratefully took a few large gulps, he dug around in his pockets and produced a few squares of Red Cross-issue chocolate. He waved them at Zee. "Motivation for you to rest up and get off that morphine," he said, setting them beside the water glasses. She looked at them hungrily but warily, obviously still nauseous.

"Do you know how to motivate with anything besides food?" She teased.

"Food is an excellent motivator. Now get some sleep," he bent to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. "And don't tell Jack I gave you chocolate, I'm not made of the stuff."

--------------------

Alfred didn't see much of his father in the following days. When he did, it was always from a distance, and generally one of them would make themselves scarce before they crossed paths. He heard by way of mouth that the General was making something of an apology tour with his two youngest, or at least as close to apologies as the British Empire was capable of crafting. Zee left the hospital but kept the sling, and was, apparently, coddled quite fiercely by her prodigal guardian and given free run of the base, much to the discomfort of the men. She milked Arthur's guilt for all it was worth, and Alfred could tell it would be some time before she'd give him the forgiveness he hoped for.

Jack received similar coddling once Arthur tracked him down. Unlike his sister, Jack seemed eager to receive the affection and make amends, putting the harms of days past as far away from his mind as possible. Jack had always been trusting and kind, though Alfred didn't think Arthur deserved it. Jack was young, baby fat not yet making way for the angled jaw that promised to fill in as he grew more and more to look like his father. Even so, Alfred could still see the shadows that clung to the boy's features when Arthur wasn't looking. They made him look far older than he was.

Throughout it all, Arthur avoided speaking with his eldest son with obvious intentionality. Alfred didn't plan on stopping him. His anger towards his father was still not completely slaked, and it wouldn't do anyone any good to butt heads now that the Empire and his children were negotiating apologies.

Still, Jack had begun sneaking looks over his shoulder at Alfred whenever Arthur suggested a new plan of attack or promised reinforcements. It took a few times for Alfred to realize that Jack was looking to him not just for reassurance, but for a second opinion—for approval.

He had a feeling he and his father would argue about that, some day.

"But they're both okay? I mean, as okay as can be?" Matt's voice was tinny, worried words garbled somewhat by the thousands and thousands of miles of cables that brought his voice to Alfred's ear from the other side of the globe.

"Yeah, they'll be alright. I think it's going to take them a little longer to heal than normal, but they'll be alright."

"Good. And what about you?" Alfred wanted to tease his brother for how mother-hennish he sounded, but separated by so much distance, Matt's concern was a welcome comfort.

"Oh, I'm fine," Alfred shrugged, resisting the urge to rub at the spot by his collarbone where the lingering ache of Pearl Harbor had taken root. "I'm just glad I got here in time."

"Me too," Matt said darkly. A moment of silence passed before the Canadian added, "I'm not… happy you were dragged into this war, Al, but I'm not unhappy either." Alfred clenched his teeth and sighed out through his nose, fighting off a flare of anger towards their father.

"Well," He joked, because what else could he say? "Someone's gotta keep this family kicking, right?"

Arthur had been on base for a little over a week when Alfred went to the Officer's mess to meet his siblings for breakfast, as had become their habit, only to find both missing. Alfred had already finished his eggs and half of his pancakes when Jack and Zee arrived, Jack looking crestfallen, Zee furious. They slid into the bench opposite Alfred.

"Dad's gone," Zee said bluntly.

"Wait, what?" Alfred frowned, stopping mid-bite.

"He left—early this morning, apparently," Jack griped. "Didn't even tell anyone. Didn't even say goodbye to Zee, much less me!"

"He left this for you," Zee said, reaching across the table to give him a small envelope.

"Oh, god," Alfred groaned, taking it. The Anzacs watched with interest while he opened it and scanned its contents. It was a small notecard, but with the sun shining on it over Alfred's shoulder, Zee could see that it was packed with text, their father's neat handwriting compressed into a wall of ink.

"What's it say?" Jack asked eagerly. Alfred's expression remained unmoving as he read. At length, he took a stiff inhale and slid the note into his breast pocket.

"Says I owe him a bottle of gin," he said. Zee looked at him quizzically, but when Alfred volunteered no further information, she shook her head and stood.

"Jackie, d'you want tea?"

"Nah, I'm good," Jack waved her off, still sulking. He began to pick at the wooden edge of the table, prying off a small splinter of wood and flicking it away. Alfred watched the sad, annoyed tilt of Jack's eyebrows and wondered if this was how he had looked, a lonely child left on the shores of Virginia.

"Hey, don't be so glum," he told Jack, "like I said, war makes him act stupid. He won't be like this forever." And hopefully, it would not be years or decades. "In the meantime," Alfred flipped his plate around and handed Jack the fork. "I'll be here as long as you need me, for whatever you need"

"Really?" Jack took the fork gratefully, and surveyed the two pancakes left on his brother's plate.

"Really really." After a little hesitation, Jack managed a smile. He used the fork to give a playful, grateful salute and dug in, immediately transported from his sadness by the contraband maple syrup. Zee soon returned with her tea and lounged against Jack while Alfred sipped at his coffee. While the troops ran drills and the officers ferried new intelligence to and fro, the three siblings, long separated by the world's largest ocean, shared the first of many morning reprieves together, the faults of their father temporarily forgotten.

#aph america #hws america #aph england #hws england #aph australia #hws australia #aph new zealand #hws new zealand #aph canada #hws canada #historical hetalia #hetalia #my writing #my fanfic #fanfic

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 3- The Letter

Summary: The US Navy had fled allowing the Japanese control of the sea, leaving the marines to fight the battle for Guadalcanal alone. They were vastly undersupplied, and many were on the verge of starvation and some at the mercy of malaria. As thousands of Japanese reinforcements poured onto the island, Kate, Blanche, and the boys were strafed and bombed relentlessly. It was during these harsh times Kate found herself becoming closer to the guys and in a constant state of worry when Hoosier isn't where she could hear or see him. 

A/N: Mature audience, BillHoosierSmithx!FemMedic, WW2, OC/Kate Danaher, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO The Pacific References, Mentions/Descriptions of Death, Blood, Weaponry, Smoking, 💚Very small Band of Brothers cameo quote…if you blink you might miss it💚

Story takes place Episode 2 Basilone Chapters 1-5

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real Marines the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction* 

~~~~~~~ 

Guadalcanal 

September 1942 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sgt Stone asked Kate while she kneeled over a young marine. 

She had been holding a thermometer to the man’s mouth, and when she removed it, it read 105. 

“His temp is 105. He’s clammy and sweating bullets but says he feels cold-has to be malaria, sarge.” Kate finalized with a frown. 

Sgt Stone shook his head, “He’s the fifth marine to catch this shit.” 

“He won’t survive here if he stays. I don’t have anything to treat him with since that cruiser sank with all the supplies we needed.”  

Sgt Stone nodded, “I’ll try to arrange for transport if it’s available. We’re pretty much on our own out here.” 

Kate nodded, “I’ll do what I can for him, sir.”  

~~~~~~~ 

H Company was due to push forward the following day upon hearing D Company making contact with the enemy some 15 miles ahead. The men were instructed to police their gear to be ready by 0500 the next morning for the convoy. Around sunset, Hoosier scavenged beyond the camp for anything palatable to bring back to his buddies and himself for dinner. 

Leckie, Runner, Chuckler, Sid, and Gibson sat in a 7’ by 8’ foxhole they had dug for all of them to fit in. 

As darkness engulfed the island and thunder rolled through, Hoosier returned with chow. 

“Supper’s on, supper’s on.” he announced as he jumped into the hole. 

“Anything good?” Gibson asked hopefully. 

“What are those?” Runner asked skeptically. 

“Army rations from 1918. Quartermaster at Dog Company claims they’re edible-” Hoosier began as he handed each of them a small, unmarked package of food. 

He noticed the look of disgust stretching across each of their faces as they tried biting into the stale hard-tack crackers that were stiff enough to crack their teeth. 

“-after you suck on them for about an hour or two.” Hoosier added. 

“This is all you could find?” Chuckler asked. 

“You fuckin’ forage next time.” Hoosier spat back. 

They all begrudgingly continued to eat. 

Kate appeared kneeling over the edge of their foxhole. 

“Hey, guys. Just making rounds. Everyone doin’ ok?” she asked. 

“Yeah, just havin’ some dinner while Leckie reads us his letter to his girl back home.” Runner replied playfully. 

“Who said I was writing to anyone?” Leckie retorted. 

“Come on, you can tell us. Go on, read it.” Chuckler pushed. 

“We’d do it for you.” Runner added. 

“Guys, leave him alone.” Kate chuckled, knowing it was all in good fun. 

Leckie shook his head and returned to writing on his pad of paper. 

“So, you guys are ok, then?” Kate reiterated. 

They collectively responded, “yeah yeah,” knowing she’d keep on them until they answered her. 

“Ok, good. Make sure you keep hydrating, too. See you guys later.” she reminded them before standing and walking off. 

“Speaking of girls; how’s that bet going Hoosier?” Runner asked. 

“I’d say I’m in the lead.” he stated assertively. 

“That’s because I’m giving you a head start! She won’t be able to resist me once I’ve unleashed my charm on her.” Chuckler countered. 

“Yeah, and he’s a Corporal now! The ladies love rank.” Runner pointed out. 

Hoosier scoffed, “Yeah? Well, I don’t think she’s that type of girl. She’s not impressed by the number of stripes on a marine’s sleeves.” 

“How would you know?” Chuckler asked. 

“I had a little visit with her yesterday. Sat and talked to her for about two hours sipping on that shit Jap wine that we had left.” Hoosier revealed. 

They all stared at him waiting for him to continue, but he remained silent knowing the anticipation was killing them. 

“And!?” Leckie prompted. 

“And she told me she was only here to do her part for her country by keeping us alive. No matter what I said or did to “charm” her, she went right back into talkin’ about medical mumbo-jumbo or about her two brothers in the 101st airborne,” he paused, “she’s actually real smart.” Hoosier explained. 

“Well, maybe you just don’t got it like I do.” Chuckler returned. 

Hoosier laughed, “Have it at, pal, I’m tellin’ ya, she’s a tough cookie to crumble. She doesn’t melt over the same things most dames do. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”  

“We’ll see!” Chuckler shot back confidently. 

~~~~~~~ 

By midafternoon the next day, H Company caught up with D Company, setting up outlook posts about a mile away in case the enemy approached. With an entire battalion in the same area, a proper aid station was available with tables and cots to tend to the wounded and sick. There was also a chow tent serving hot meals which none of the men have seen in weeks. 

Hoosier, Leckie, Chuckler, and Runner sat in a semi-circle with their plates of hot rice. 

“I hear the army finally landed.” Leckie shared. 

“Nice of them to join the party.” Runner stated sarcastically. 

“They have no idea what they’re walking into.” Chuckler added. 

“Yeah, well word is they came with loads of crates filled with some good shit.” Hoosier voiced. 

“Oh yeah?” Leckie asked, his interest piqued. 

“Maybe we can get at some of that!” Chuckler suggested. 

“If you do, see if you can get some clean bandages, and some morphine. And get me some goddam scissors, I can’t get any.” Kate requested as she walked past the group after hearing them scheming about the army supply delivery. 

“Yes, ma’am!” Chuckler confirmed enthusiastically as he shot a cheeky grin at Hoosier. 

Hoosier released an exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes at him, 

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Juergens.” 

~~~~~~~ 

As the Army staged the dozens of wooden crates and drawstring laundry bags on the beach, an air raid siren sounded off alerting the men of an enemy attack. The newcomer soldiers, unaware that the siren was signifying the attack on the airfield and not the beach, started running for cover leaving the boxes and bags unattended and up for grabs.

The marines waiting in the brush of the jungle like predators waiting to pounce, watched as the last few soldiers disappeared before they took advantage of the situation. 

Platoons of marines scattered out of the tree line like roaches, breaking open boxes and foot lockers, and dumping bags to grab what they could before the army came back. 

Hoosier found a good-sized crate with a red cross insignia painted on it.  

“Has to be scissors in here.” he thought outloud to himself. 

He looked around and found a crowbar lying on the ground. Snatching it up, he got to work on opening the box. As he removed the final nail, he pushed the cover off revealing an assortment of medical supplies to include cases of morphine and first aid kits.  

Hoosier scanned the area around him, “Hey Runner! Come here!”  

Runner trotted over to him and looked into the box, “Nice, you found the medic supply.” 

“Help me grab a few of these, will ya?” Hoosier asked as he handed him a couple cases of morphine.  

“Why don’t you ask Chuckler?” Runner teased as he tucked the box under is arm. 

Hoosier laughed, “You snooze, you lose.”  

Runner snickered as he grasped the handles of three syrette cans in his right hand while slinging a sack filled with tactically acquired treasures over his left shoulder. 

Leckie ran over, “Here! Throw some of those in the bag so we can carry more back.”  

He presented a large empty duffel bag for Hoosier to throw more syrette cases and first aid kits in. 

“Perfect.” Hoosier commended. 

As he tossed as many as he could into the bag, the army rushed back shooing the marines away. The marines took off running towards their camp, each cackling triumphantly at the soldiers behind them. 

~~~~~~~ 

After the excitement settled down, Hoosier, Chuckler, Sid, Gibson and Runner sat in a more secluded area of camp shifting through the prizes they obtained. Leckie sauntered up while carrying his drawstring bag of goods, sporting his new pair of moccasin slippers to the foxhole as a campfire kindled.

“Anything happen while I was prospecting?” Leckie asked the group outloud. 

“Betty Hutton stopped by giving out blowjobs,” Hoosier replied, “What’d you get?” 

Leckie took a seat on the log and showed off the items he got. While he was handing out cans of peaches to the guys, Kate approached them. 

“Hey, guys, did you hear that the army was looted during the air raid earlier toda-”

She stopped a few feet behind Hoosier as Chuckler was waving a can of peaches at Runner who had been sitting by the tree line with his pants down dealing with a bad case of diarrhea. 

“Peaches? I’ve got the goddam runs, and you had to get peaches.” Runner hissed at Leckie. 

“They were all out of cheese, Runner.” Leckie called back. 

The puzzle pieces started to come together as she looked over the scene in front of her. She noticed Leckie with a pair of comfy patent leather house shoes on, the multiple cans of fruit, and the brand-new M-1 rifles next to each man where they sat. She watched as Leckie excitedly carved an opening in his can, eager to eat the peaches and drink the nectar inside. 

“Uh, Bob, you’ll wanna take that slowly,” she cautioned, “you haven’t had real food for weeks, you might-” 

“I’ll be fine, Ace.” Leckie insisted cutting her off. 

Not at all heeding her warning, he inhaled the peaches and sugary liquid from his can. He slowly lowered it looking suddenly alarmed and pale, apparently regretting his hasty decision. He began gagging as he rushed over not too far from where Runner was and vomited the peaches he just consumed onto the grass in front of him. 

Runner laughed at Leckie, pleased and entertained by his misery. 

“Ugh, I told you, Leckie.” Kate pointed out with her hands on her hips shaking her head at him. 

The others sniggered as they slowly ate from their cans so as not to end up like Leckie. 

“Well, I was going to ask if you guys heard the air raid siren earlier, but I assume you did.” she continued as she crossed her arms in a motherly fashion. 

The guys responded with a collective, “Mmhm.” 

She waited, her lips pursed together as she scanned each of them with skepticism to see if they’d own up to what they had been doing during the air raid. They remained quiet, hanging their heads as they avoided eye contact with her while eating their peaches. She already knew, though. She just wanted to see if they’d confess without her outright asking them. She shook her head again, deciding it best to let it go. 

“Hey, Ace-” Runner called out to Kate, “my ass is killing me, can’t you do anything about this??” he begged. 

“Is there blood?” Kate asked invasively outloud in front of the guys. 

Runner’s eyebrows creased together inquisitively, “Huh?” 

Kate huffed irritably and walked closer to Runner, “Is there blood in your stool?” she clarified, speaking slowly. The others groaned in disgust, each placing their cans down. 

“Um-” Runner looked over his shoulder, “-no.”  

“Ok, good,” she stated as she turned on her heel to walk back, “When you’re finished relieving yourself over there, come see me. The nurses over at Dog Company gave me a case of sodium solution that can help that.”   

Kate walked past the group, “Enjoy your haul, you hooligans.” she said with a playful smile, winking at Hoosier as they made eye contact when she passed. 

Leckie slumped back onto the ground across from Hoosier, “When are you giving her the morphine and shit?”  

“Tonight.” Hoosier affirmed. 

“No way! You found her some morphine? What about bandages? And scissors!? How!?” Chuckler asked genuinely befuddled when Hoosier nodded. 

“Simple, I looked for it.” Hoosier responded smugly as he leaned back on his elbows. 

The guys laughed as Chuckler grimaced, resentfully drinking more juice from his can. 

~~~~~~~ 

That night as Hoosier was preparing the aid kits and morphine to bring to Kate and Blanche, fire clouds exploded in the distance and were steadily progressing closer towards them. Japanese aircraft’s were heading towards them dropping bombshells in their wake.

Whatever man wasn’t under the safety of cover dove into the nearest foxhole they could get to.

Enemy aircrafts soared over H and D Company posts, relentlessly deploying one bomb after the other as they passed. Multiple men shouting to take cover, and some crying out in fear, there was nothing they could do other than wait it out. 

The following morning, every marine across the camp that wasn’t injured or stuck beneath the sand was either digging to find survivors that were buried alive or carrying the wounded to the medical personnel. The entire site was in shambles with Jeeps destroyed and burned to a crisp while fallen palm trees lay across where the men’s foxholes were, trapping marines' underneath. 

The hustle and bustle of the aid station was never ending. Kate and Blanche along with a few Dog Company medics and a couple of nurses scampered from one man to another trying to keep them alive while able marines brought more wounded on stretchers. 

“Put him on that table there!” Kate directed to the men who brought another marine with a wound to his right leg. 

Kate rushed over, “What do we got?”  

“Right thigh wound. He said shrapnel impaled him after one of the explosions went off right by him when he was running for cover.” one of the men explained quickly. 

Kate tore through the pantleg to get to the wound. She knew right away by the saturation of the blood that the artery was severed. 

“Blanche! Bring me gauze, sulfur and bandages! I need to pack this, NOW!” Kate yelled across the floor. 

Blanche hurried over with what Kate needed, unraveling the long bandage and opening a bottle of sulfur to clot the wound. Kate balled up the end of the dressing, pushing it down deep into the gash packing it as tight as she could. The man shrieked and bawled, kicking and grabbing at Kate to escape the torture. 

“Jesus, hold him down! I can’t do this if he’s moving around like that!” Kate bellowed. 

The two men that brought him in pinned him down by his arms while Blanche secured his legs by his ankles. Kate layered the bandage hard into his wound, then when she couldn’t fit anymore, she placed a padded bandage over the top wrapping the ends snug around the thigh tying it down to maintain pressure. The bleeding had finally stopped. 

Kate took a syrette and injected it into the meatier part of the marine’s shoulder. 

“Take him over there where the rest of ‘em are.” Kate panted as she weakly motioned over to the treated casualties, recovering in the shade of a hanging tarp. 

“You doing ok, Kate?” Blanche asked. 

Kate nodded, “Did you see Sid?”  

“No, thank goodness,” Blanche breathily replied, “What about Hoosier?”  

Kate looked at her shocked, “Well, no. But I haven’t seen Leckie, Chuckler, Gibson, or Runner either.” she added.  

Blanche raised an eyebrow at her best friend, “Honey, I know you fancy the man. You don’t have to hide it from me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re-” 

“Ssshhh...” Blanche shushed Kate placing her fore finger over Kate’s lips, “your secret is safe with me.” 

 Kate scoffed at her then rolled her eyes, “We got more work to do.”  

She turned around and made herself busy with the next injured marine. 

~~~~~~~ 

Kate sat alone behind the rickety medic shelter, taking a minute to let her brain rest by closing her eyes and humming a tune quietly to herself. The hum of her voice slowly became words as she sang the song softly outloud.  

“There you are.” Hoosier’s voice came crashing through Kate’s tranquil thoughts. 

Kate gasped as her heart and body jumped from surprise. 

“Bill, you have GOT to stop sneaking up on me like that!” she told him clutching the front of her uniform. 

Hoosier chuckled, “I am sorry, I really don’t mean to.”  

Kate released a long exhale, “Glad to see you’re ok, though.” she admitted looking up at him through her eyelashes as he stood over her. 

“You, too.” he returned. 

Kate blushed, smiling weakly as she looked down at her lap. She looked behind him and noticed a dog sniffing around.

"Looks like you got yourself a new friend." she acknowledged.

Hoosier looked over his shoulder, "Yeah, after all the bombings last night this little fella slipped into our foxhole, so I grabbed him. Hasn't left my side since." he explained.

The dog looked up at him as if he knew Hoosier was talking about him.

"He's adorable." Kate cooed.

“I have something for you.” Hoosier declared. 

“For me?”  

“Yep. But you need to close your eyes.” he instructed. 

Kate narrowed her eyes in suspicion, “Why?”  

“Trust me.” he insisted grinning proudly. 

Kate clicked her tongue at him but closed her eyes as he requested. 

“Hold out your hand.” 

She presented her hand palm up in front of her.

"Stay." she heard him command to the dog.

She felt his calloused palm gently slip under hers. His surprisingly tender touch sent electrical currents up her arm and through the rest of her body. She almost wasn’t able to contain her shudder. 

Just then, she felt a hard slender object placed on her palm as he slowly removed his hand from under hers. 

“Ok, you can look now.” Hoosier told her. 

Kate opened her eyes, face to face with Hoosier kneeling right in front of her, his eyes as blue as the water behind him. She looked down at her hand to find a pair of scissors.  

Kate’s eyes widened with excitement as she smiled at him. 

“You got me scissors!” she squealed throwing her arms around his neck pulling him into a hug. 

Hoosier chuckled as he loosely embraced Kate around her torso, “Yeah, I found a crate full of first aid kits and morphine and grabbed you a whole bunch of ‘em.” 

Kate leaned back looking at him in disbelief, “You did?” 

Hoosier nodded, “Leckie and Runner helped, too so we could get as much for you as we could. I brought them over and left them by the aid station for you. There are at least a dozen scissors over there so you’ll never run out of them again.”  

Kate’s heart almost rocketed out of her chest.

“You didn’t get anything for yourself while you were out there?”

“Nah, I don’t need much.” he dismissed.

She beamed adoringly at him and pulled him back for another hug. 

“You missed your chance to get something for yourself to get me what I needed? Thank you.” she whispered to him.

He squeezed her tighter, “Of course.” he purred back. 

They pulled away slowly, still smiling at eachother. Kate patted Hoosier’s shoulder before standing up. 

“I’m going to go take a look at those kits before anyone tries to get their mitts on them.” Kate proclaimed as she headed towards the casualty collection point. 

Hoosier fixated on Kate as she walked away. He was lost in a daydream relishing the feeling of her pinned against him when they hugged. It was the closest feeling to home he’s felt since he got to Guadalcanal. 

Kate stopped and turned to Hoosier, “You comin’?”  

Hoosier snapped out of his trance and clumsily scurried over to join her for the walk back to the aid station. 

~~~~~~~ 

As D and H Company fixed up the camp as best they could, they returned to foxholes to keep watch of the line. Col Puller (known as ‘Chesty’ to the marines) disclosed intelligence that the enemy was going to try to take Matanikau which was south of the airfield where the Americans currently had control. Most of the battalion was to join the 5th and 1st marines there to help defend the coast road into the airfield to maintain that control. This meant that Dog Company would be entirely alone on the front lines as they relocate to sector 3 of the island. H Company had their own orders. 

Hoosier and Runner were tasked to set up a listening and observation post 30 yards inside the treeline. While they were gathering their weapons and gear, Kate walked up with two ammo cans in her hand. A look of concern appeared across her face when she saw a tired rough looking Hoosier with his dog and Runner packing up gear behind him. 

“Where you two going?” she asked. 

“We’re settin’ up a little less than a mile that way along the perimeter.” Runner replied pointing in the direction they were going to be heading. 

“Oh?” Kate queried. 

“Yeah, the Japs decided to go around us to hit the airfield. We got the first watch for two hours at sunset.” Hoosier explained. 

Kate looked down at her boots inadvertently kicking at the sand, “I see.” 

Hoosier stopped what he was doing to look her over and noticed what she had been holding. 

“Whatchya got there, Ace?” he asked gesturing with his head at the small metal boxes. 

Kate’s breath hitched in her throat as she looked up at Hoosier, “Oh-” she looked back down at the cans perplexed like they just appeared in her hands, “-it’s for you guys. I figured you’d need these more than me and Blanche.”  

She walked closer to Runner and Hoosier handing them each a container. Runner opened the can and saw stacks of crackers neatly packed to the brim. Hoosier looked into Runner’s can, then beamed back at Kate. 

“I heard you guys traded your saltines for the peaches and figured once you ran out of fruit you’d need more rations in the field. Good thing I caught you before you two took off.” she remarked. 

“You’re giving us your food?” Runner asked utterly surprised while Hoosier gaped at her. 

Kate’s eyebrows drew in together, “Of course. Someone’s gotta take care of you boys.”  

Kate averted her eyes to Hoosier.  She blushed seeing he had been gazing at her the whole time, his lazy smile and droopy blue eyes, ready to worship the ground she walked on.  

“We’re so lucky to have you.” Hoosier muttered. 

“Yeah, thanks, Ace!” Runner said as he ascended into the cubby hole shelter they all built to share the fresh crackers with the rest of the group. 

“Anytime, Runner!” Kate called out. 

Hoosier, still smiling, walked towards Kate, leaving very little room between them when he reached her. Kate hiccupped when he stood inches from her, looking up at him with her sparkling green eyes. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” he asserted. 

Kate grinned, “I know. You guys would do the same for me and Blanche.”  

Hoosier’s smile widened, “Absolutely.”  

“I have one other thing,” Kate stated as she dug into her dungaree pocket, “-here.” 

She held a sealed envelope with the name ‘Bill’ written in cursive on the front. He took it from her and as he looked it over, he realized he didn’t recognize the handwriting.  

He looked back at her, “Who’s this from?”  

Kate laughed, “Me, silly!”  

A smile returned to his face, “But why?” 

“Well, I heard you saying something about Leckie having a girl back home to send letters to and that you didn’t. So, I wrote you one.” Kate explained. 

Hoosier’s heart melted, practically becoming a puddle at his feet. He looked back at the letter smiling so hard his cheeks started to ache. 

“Well, thank you Kate Danaher. That’s about the nicest thing that any broad has ever done for me.” he admitted. 

“Glad to hear it. Oh, and you should wait to read it when you’re feeling crummy during one of your watches. It’ll cheer you up.” she insisted. 

“What if I want to read it now?” Hoosier asked with a mischievous smile. 

Kate laughed, “Defeats the purpose of me writing it for you! It’ll be worth the wait, cross my heart!” she promised as she drew a crisscross over her chest with her fingers. "-And when you do read it, you'll have to write me back. Those are the rules."

Hoosier was absolutely mesmerized by her childlike innocence. 

“Ok, I’ll save it.” he pledged placing the letter in the breast pocket of his uniform. 

Kate standing on her tiptoes snaked her arms over his shoulders pulling him into a hug as his arms instinctively embraced her pulling her flush against him.

“Please be careful. Both of you.” Kate whispered. 

Hoosier’s heart pounding against his ribcage had his chest heaving as his strong hands kneaded Kate’s upper back. He nodded, agreeing to her request. 

“Promise?” Kate implored. 

“I swear it.” Hoosier reassured; his voice low and calm like a song to Kate’s ears. 

~~~~~~~ 

#the pacific #hbowar #hbo war #bill hoosier smith #hoosier #hoosier smith #jacob pitts #ww2 #us marines #h company #medic #band of brothers #cameo #scissors

[latibvles]

Hello, I’m Poet, I’m 20 years old, and this is my (updated) intro / pinned post! I’m an English major (so, longwinded), and enjoy history (WW2 & Civil War history specifically), TTRPGs, animanga, and somehow tying everything back to a Taylor Swift song. I am afrolatina, queer, and go by he/she pronouns (equal preference). We love female friendship and burning, arduous pining around these parts. Chances are if you have an OFC I will be declaring her as my wife upon first meeting. Do not be fooled by my interests, this blog is like 60% Ronald Speirs loveposting /hj. Also the notorious unhinged tagger which I wear like a badge of honor.

Current Fandoms: Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Tolkienverse, Riordanverse, Attack on Titan, Jujutsu Kaisen, The Hunger Games, Dungeons & Dragons, The Walking Dead, 1883, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, Yellowjackets, and much more.

If you’re here for the writing, check me out on AO3 or at the tag #poet’s notepad. If you’d like to peruse the cast of characters we have going on around these parts, check out the OC DIRECTORY CARRD. And of course, if you’re looking for fic recs, check out POET’S FIC CORNER (which I update regularly) or simply the tag #fic recs.

TAGS: inbox asks : #poet’s mail box video edits + graphics : #poet’s gallery general shitposting : #poet’s think thoughts mutuals tag : #poet’s pals anon tag : #poet’s secret friends writing tag : #poet’s notepad

WRITING PROJECTS: Sad, Beautiful, Tragic [ongoing] | AO3 , Tumblr | fic tag

Losing someone is one thing. Losing someone you don't think you ever had is another thing. But losing someone never had, only to see them again two years deep into a war tearing the world apart? It’s the worst luck of the most terrible draw. And it’s the only lot that Ronald Speirs seemed to pull.

In December of 1942, Daisy Clarke made herself a promise — she would not pen another letter to Ronald Speirs, no matter how many he sent to her.

Apparently, she needn't write one anyway — because the universe would deliver her directly to him after she becomes a nurse to do her part in a war felt on both sides on the Atlantic. It’s June, 1944 — now forced to face what she left behind head-on, one has to wonder if she can upkeep the promise she made all those years ago, or if her resolve will crumble when facing the man who once lived right across the street.

And one also has to wonder why she would take such a vow to begin with.

#about poet #pinned post #I am still updating my recs list #because I have to leave my little remarks on every one #but this is a good start

[swan-of-sunrise]

Meet The Thompsons (Tales From The SSR)

Summary: On the night before shipping out, Jack Thompson contemplates his future as a commanding officer in the United States Navy and reflects on his strained relationship with his father before sharing a quiet moment of goodbye with his mother.

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning/Disclaimers: None

A/N: For this one-shot, we’re gonna focus on Jack’s last night before shipping out and touch on the complicated relationship he has with his family (which we’re definitely gonna explore more in the future, so don’t worry!). Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Meet The Thompsons March 1942 The Home of Richard and Julia Thompson, Philadelphia (Previous One-Shot)

The muffled sounds of laughter and music filtered through the cool night air and up to where Jack was perched on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the edge as he rested his weight back on one hand and smoked a cigarette with the other; he was staring up at the constellations mapped out in the dark sky above, silently naming all the formations he’d learned about in school and wondering how different they’d look halfway across the world. True, the twenty-two year old was shipping out to a battleship stationed just off the coast of San Francisco first thing in the morning, but it would only be a matter of time before he’d find himself onboard a destroyer or attack transport deep in the heart of the Pacific Theater; if they don’t look too different, then it’ll be like bringing a piece of home along with me, Jack thought with a small smile, trying and failing not to think about the very real possibility that he might never see his family again.

Jack wasn’t one of those idealistic young men who foolishly believed that the war that had been raging for three years would come to a quick and easy end now that America was in the thick of it, and he certainly didn’t have any delusions of grandeur about what he’d encounter halfway across the world; he remembered his Pop-Pop’s stories about serving in the Army during the Spanish-American War, he’d heard whispers about what his father and uncles had endured throughout the Great War and he’d spent the past several months watching the newsreels that played between each film shown at his favorite movie theater. The brutal images emerging from both Europe and the Pacific had only encouraged Jack, a volunteer enlistee in the Navy’s V-7 program at his alma mater of Cornell University, to study harder at the OCS courses and graduate as one of thousands referred to as ninety-day wonders, deploying with the rank of ensign and the assurance of a promising career in the Navy. He knew exactly what he was getting himself into…but truth be told, that didn’t stop him from feeling nervous about whatever the future had in store for him.

“Jack Grant Thompson, you’d better not be smoking out there after you promised your Gam-Gam that you kicked that nasty habit!”

Cursing under his breath, Jack put his half-smoked cigarette out against the sole of his dress shoe and flicked it into the garden below, waving a hand around to clear the surrounding air as he loudly called over his shoulder, “I’m not, Ma!”

He could detect the exasperation in his mother’s chuckle and a moment later, she sat on his bedroom’s window ledge and looked out at him with a knowing smile on her lined face. “Breaking a promise to your Gam-Gam and lying to your mother all in the same night? That doesn’t sound like the well-behaved little boy that I raised, does it?”

“Geez, it was only one cig, Ma…” Jack sighed at his mother’s attempt to guilt him into apologizing and fought back the smile that threatened to form as he stood and walked across the roof to his bedroom window. “I wouldn’t stress too much about it if I were you; startin’ tomorrow, the Navy’s gonna ensure that your well-behaved little boy lays off the vices for good.”

Julia Thompson hummed in interest at that. “That’s a fair point. In that case, I’ll be sure to write a letter of thanks to Admiral Nimitz.” The evening’s gentle breeze ruffled his mother’s styled blonde hair as her jade-green eyes carefully considered him. “Is the smoking the only reason you’re up here, or are you avoiding the party?” The muffled sounds of Richard Thompson’s booming laugh broke through the music playing downstairs, and Julia’s face dawned with realization when Jack crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the window frame. “Jackie, you’re a smart young man; you know that your father isn’t the best at expressing himself but believe me, he’s proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. After all, you graduated from the V-7 program at the top of your class – and in only ninety days, no less – and now you’re entering the United States Navy as a commanding officer. What parent wouldn’t be proud of such an accomplishment?”

Jack clenched his jaw and looked up at the stars littering the night sky as he stiffly replied, “Yeah, but would it kill the old man to say it once in a while? All he can ever manage to muster up is ‘Good work, son, but that final GPA could’ve been higher if you only applied yourself more’ or ‘Congratulations, son, but you need to practice more so you don’t fumble the ball after a good pass next season’ or ‘Well done, son, but you ninety-day wonders won’t have half the respect that the CO’s back in my Army days earned.’” He took his frustrations out on a fallen apple from their apple tree, kicking it off the rooftop and running an agitated hand through his freshly-trimmed hair. “I dunno, maybe he’ll finally have somethin’ to say when I ship out and don’t come b-”

“Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence, young man.” The older woman made the sign of the cross and kissed the gold crucifix dangling from her necklace before giving Jack a sharp look. “How do you think I – or the rest of the family, for that matter – feel whenever you fixate on this unnecessary need of yours to prove yourself to your father? We’re all so proud of you, Jackie, and we never miss an opportunity to tell you how proud we are; isn’t our love and approval just as important as his?”

A sense of guilt began gnawing at Jack’s stomach and he slowly nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he heaved another sigh. “I’m sorry, Ma, and I’m sorry for not bein’ a better man of the hour. Some going-away party, huh?”

“Over there, over there, send the word, send the word over there! That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, the drums rum tumming everywhere!”

“From the sound of it, your uncles and cousins seem to be enjoying the party just fine.” They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Jack sensed that his mother was quietly searching for the right words to say. “You may be able to put on a brave face and fool the rest of the family, my sweet boy, but you can’t fool your mother. You’re scared for what the future has in store for you.” Julia’s smile was patient and loving and the hand that briefly caressed his cheek was a familiar comfort, but Jack could detect a glint of her own fear in her jade-green eyes as she continued. “You’re not the first in this family I’ve sent off to war, Jackie, but I pray every day that you’ll be the last. Oh, and that reminds me!” She reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew a small black box. “I’d rather you open this out here away from the rest of the family.”

With a sneaking suspicion of what the box contained, Jack arched a brow but went about opening it, biting his bottom lip to keep from chuckling when he poured its unsurprising contents into his open palm. “Hey, a Saint Christopher medal. How much convincin’ did it take for Father Fitzsimmons to bless this when he found out it was for me?”

His mother covered her mouth to muffle her chuckles. “Now that you mention it, he did wait until I placed my donation into the collection box before beginning his blessing. He’s forgiven the little eleven-year-old who smashed one of the church’s windows during a game of street baseball, but he certainly hasn’t forgotten.” Motioning for him to kneel on the roof in front of the window, Julia took the necklace and fastened it around his neck, her eyes beginning to water despite the smile that she struggled to maintain. “Jackie, while you’re overseas I want you to do two things for me: I want you to wear your Saint Christopher medal, and I want you to…I want you to promise me that no matter what you’ll see over there or how hopeless you might feel, you won’t forget about all the loved ones back home who will be praying for your safe return.”

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded as he forced himself to return his mother’s smile and readied himself to reassure his mother with promises they both knew he couldn’t keep. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I will, Ma. Now that Roosevelt’s finally gotten us onboard with the rest of the world, this war’ll be over in no time and I’ll be back here before you know it.”

When Julia’s lower lip trembled, he leaned forward and allowed her to wrap her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. “Godspeed, Ensign Thompson.”

His mother’s sweet farewell was what finally brought a prickle of tears to Jack’s eyes, and he found himself returning her hug and burying his face into her shoulder as he savored their private goodbye. In that moment, he made a silent vow to himself: that he would do whatever it took, move heaven or hell if he had to, to return home a war hero worthy of his family’s pride. And with a shiny war medal pinned onto my chest, my father won’t be able to add a stipulation to his praise, he thought with a small inward smirk despite himself.

“So prepare, say a prayer, send the word, send the word to beware! We’ll be over, we’re coming over and we won’t come back ‘till it’s over, over there!”

“I should go and make sure that your uncles and cousins haven’t gotten into your Pop-Pop’s good liquor…” Julia pulled away and gave Jack’s brow a chaste kiss. “Come down whenever you’re ready, Jackie, but don’t wait too long; you have an early train to catch tomorrow morning, after all.”

His mother gave him one last smile before standing and exiting the bedroom, taking care to close the door behind her. After glancing down at the Saint Christopher medal resting against his blue necktie, Jack tucked the necklace into his shirt’s collar and reached into his pocket for his beat-up carton of cigarettes; if he was going to march head-first into one of the largest wars the world had ever seen and finally do something to earn his father’s pride, then he might as well keep fibbing to his Gam-Gam and enjoy his vice to the fullest while he still could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: It was rough writing this, knowing what Jack would end up experiencing during his years of service, but I liked exploring more of his character and can’t wait to revisit the Thompson family in the future! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new one-shot! Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0iKzLZlEK1rTaSIiW5zRlk?si=97af3c9ce3ff4b65

“Tales From The SSR” Masterlist

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @hufflefluffy @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @coffeeandcrimeshows @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @fannyspammy @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @nincompoopydoo​ @seeing-but-not-observing​ @supervoldejaygent​ @momc95​ @brooke0297​ @kinda-c0nfused​ @outoftheregular​ @mads-weasley​ @mostclevermiss​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @groovy-lady​ @xxruinaxxmcu​  

#tales from the ssr #specs and the flyboy #jack thompson #agent thompson #chief thompson #agent carter #strategic scientific reserve #marvel cinematic universe

[warsofasoiaf]

Would it be fair to say the US focused more on Japan during WWII in 1942-43, or was the US simply requires to carry more of a burden in the Pacific War because Britain had already committed most of its forces in Europe?

I think it was simply the fact that invading Europe was going to be very difficult, whereas taking the fight to the IJN was much easier logistically. While the USSR hemmed and hawed about opening up a second front, the actual landing of troops across the relatively narrow English channel was a monumental undertaking, requiring an extensive amount of transport craft, floating harbors, etc.

Thanks for the question, Cle-Guy.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#history #world war ii #world war 2

[asexual-juliet]

hey we are not free nation (@igizzz @snarkiestchicken)… go listen to 1942 by no-no boy (aka julian saporiti)!! it’s a folk album "named for the year 120,000 Japanese Americans were sent off to concentration camps across the US." in writing 1942, Saporiti reflected on his childhood as a half-Vietnamese kid in Tennessee and "chased the yellow threads in the American tapestry" in order to tell the stories of the Asian Americans who came before him.

After moving to Wyoming as an adult, Saporiti began to look into the history of Heart Mountain, a former Japanese-American internment camp, and 1942 is the product of that research. While it focuses on many Asian American stories--Vietnamese refugees who fled to Canada in the late 20th century, modern Boston college kids, Japanese lovers sending letters back and forth between Hawaiian islands--the Japanese-American internment of the mid-1940s remains at the heart of the album, making it a perfect companion piece to Trachi Chee's We Are Not Free.

especially relevant highlights include:

“Pacific Fog” - there's no tangible narrative here, but whenever I listen, I imagine the Golden Gate Bridge emerging from the San Francisco fog like in one of Minnow's drawings.

“Disposable Youth” - Saporiti's "imagining of what it would have been like to be ever experience a Memorial Day BBQ with people who looked like me." A group of teenagers enjoying each others' company in a distinctly American way.

“Heart Mountain” - the tale of two young lovers living at Heart Mountain internment camp in Wyoming and the beauty they found there in spite of everything.

“Two Candles in the Dark” - a moment in time, two kids dancing a clumsy waltz in the dark of a Heart Mountain root cellar Reminds me a lot of Bette and Frankie's dance under the orange lamps outside the mess hall.

“Instructions to All Persons” - A song assembled out of stories Saporiti had been told by some of the former incarcerated Japanese-Americans he met during his research. One of these snippets actually took place at the Tanforan racetrack (though Saporiti changed the name of the racetrack to make the song flow more easily)

and also definitely check out “The Best God Damn Band in Wyoming,” a song off of one of Saporiti’s other albums, 1975–it tells the story of the George Igawa Orchestra, a swing band formed at Heart Mountain incarceration camp in 1942.

#I fucking LOVE this album I can't believe I haven't recommended it before #no-no boy #no no boy #1942 #we are not free #wanf #may have just successfuly convinced a friend to read so here's this

[taraross-1787]

TWIH: Thomas Conway, WWII Hero

At about this time in 1908, a baby boy is born. Thomas Conway would go on to become a priest—and a World War II hero!

It’s surely not what anyone expected. Conway had been serving as a priest for nearly a decade when he enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1942. The new Navy chaplain spent much of the war caring for our boys in the Pacific.

He was aboard USS Indianapolis during the summer of 1945.

Indianapolis, you may recall, completed an important task that summer: She safely carried parts for the Little Boy atomic bomb across the Pacific. Unfortunately, Indianapolis suffered tragedy a few days later. A Japanese submarine appeared out of nowhere, firing on the cruiser just after midnight on July 30. Indianapolis sank in a shocking 12 minutes.

The story continues here: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-thomas-conway

#this week in history #history #history blog #America #world war II #wwii #us navy #navy #heroes #military chaplain #sharethehistory

[pulpsandcomics2]

Across the Pacific (1942)

#movie posters #across the pacific #humphrey bogart #mary astor #sydney greenstreet #keye luke

[herecomesthefirstday]

herecomesthefirstday's year in review

Big things: Published a paper & a letter with my job, moved out of my parents' house and in with my boyfriend, stopped having a job, started watching One Piece, flew to Atlanta even though I hate flying, caught up with One Piece

TOP 20 FILMS OF 2023 / more & more year in review (music, TV, books, games) under readmore

Bottoms

Past Lives

Polite Society

The Holdovers

Oppenheimer

John Wick Chapter 4

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Rye Lane

Killers of the Flower Moon

May December

Barbie

Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning

The Pope's Exorcist

Asteroid City

Theater Camp

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar

You Hurt My Feelings

Poor Things

They Cloned Tyrone

80 For Brady

BEST SHORT OF 2023: Take Me Home

Songs on repeat / movies I watched and rated 4.5 or 5 stars / books read / TV watched / games played by month

January 🎵 Marigolds - Kishi Bashi American Teenager - Ethel Cain 🎬 Hail, Caesar! (2016) 4.5 Embrace of the Serpent (2015) 5 Fail Safe (1964) 4.5 Honorable mention: The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) 3.5 📚 World War Z - Max Brooks 🔁1/16 Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir 1/18 Harrow the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir 1/23 Nona the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir 1/26 📺 Dark

February 🎵 Partita for 8 Voices - Roomful of Teeth God Is a Freak - Peach PRC 🎬 Third Kind (2018) 4.5 Showgirls (1995) 4.5 Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-2003) 🔁 5 📚 The Memory Police - Yōko Ogawa 2/7 Authority - Jeff VanderMeer 2/15 📺 Crazy Ex-Girlfriend 🔁 Bloodline S1

March 🎵 Not Another Rockstar - Maisie Peters 🎬 Banshees of Inisherin (2022) 4.5 John Wick (2014) 🔁 4.5 John Wick: Chapter 3 (2019) 🔁 5 Honorable mention: 80 for Brady (2023) 3 📚 Acceptance - Jeff VanderMeer 3/4 How To Hide An Empire - Daniel Immerwahr 📺 Crazy Ex-Girlfriend 🔁 Yellowjackets S1 🔁 S2 Poker Face Defending Jacob

April 🎵 2 Be Loved (Am I Ready) - Lizzo Daytona Sand - Orville Peck Little Dark Age - MGMT 🎬 John Wick: Chapter 4 (2023) 4.5 Honorable mention: Rye Lane (2023) 4 📚 How To Hide An Empire - Daniel Immerwahr 4/1 📺 Succession Grey's Anatomy Yellowjackets

May 🎵 Home - Diana Ross Lipstick Lover - Janelle Monáe Gloria - Laura Branigan 🎬 Polite Society (2023) 5 The Joy Luck Club (1993) 4.5 Crank (2006) 4.5 📺 Succession Grey's Anatomy Yellowjackets White Lotus 🎮 Tears of the Kingdom

June 🎵 Lipstick Lover - Janelle Monáe Movin' Out - Billy Joel 🎬 The Fabelmans (2022) 4.5 Casablanca (1942) 🔁 4.5 Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) 4.5 Deep Blue Sea (1999) 5 What We Do In The Shadows (2014) 🔁 5 📺 White Lotus Grey's Anatomy Marriage The Bear 🎮 Tears of the Kingdom

July 🎵 My House - Diana Ross Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell 🎬 Lady Bird (2017) 🔁 4.5 Pacific Rim (2013) 🔁 5 Whiplash (2014) 5 The Watermelon Woman (1996) 4.5 Howl's Moving Castle (2004) 🔁 4.5 Oppenheimer (2023) 4.5 📺 The Bear Grey's Anatomy Black Mirror What We Do In The Shadows Foundation 🎮 Tears of the Kingdom Rocket League

August 🎵 It's All Coming Back To Me Now - Celine Dion Adagio in D Minor - John Murphy 🎬 Marcel the Shell with Shoes On (2021) 4.5 📺 Foundation Only Murders in the Building Grey's Anatomy One Piece 🎮 Tears of the Kingdom We Love Katamari 📚 The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco

September 🎵 American Pie - Don McLean 🎬 Bottoms (2023) 5 📺 One Piece Foundation Grey's Anatomy 🎮 We Love Katamari 📚 The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco (9/9) Stone Butch Blues - Leslie Feinberg (9/26)

October 🎵 No One Comes Close - Infinity Song New Body Rhumba - LCD Soundsystem No One Dies From Love - Tove Lo 🎬 Past Lives (2023) 5 Deep Blue Sea (1999) 🔁 5 📺 One Piece Grey's Anatomy Lupin GBBO 📚 Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Thief - Maurice Leblanc (10/26)

November 🎵 Liability - Lorde Together in Electric Dreams - Philip Oakey & Giorgio Moroder 🎬 Annette (2021) 4.5 Electric Dreams (1984) 5 Honorable Mention: Light & Magic (2022) 4 📺 One Piece Grey's Anatomy GBBO The Crown Mindhunter 🔁 📚 The Uranium Club - Miriam E. Hiebert (11/16)

December 🎵 Isumagijunnaitaungituq (The Unforgiven) - Elisapie Butchered Tongue - Hozier Christmas Baby - Infinity Song Home For Christmas - Infinity Song 🎬 The Holdovers (2023) 4.5 x2 Take Me Home (2023) 5 - short Pro Pool (2022) 4.5 - short Mamma Mia! (2008) 5 🔁 Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (2018) 5 🔁 The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992) 5 🔁 Honorable mention: The Quiet Girl (2022) 4 📺 One Piece Grey's Anatomy Only Murders in the Building New Amsterdam Frieren Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury The Crown Pokémon Concierge 🎮 Fall Guys Super Smash Bros. Ultimate 📚 Station Eleven - Emily St. John Mandel (12/25)

[citizenscreen]

Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor in John Huston’s ACROSS THE PACIFIC, which hit theaters 80 years ago this week. (1942)

#humphrey bogart #mary astor

[bowdre]

The Pacific OC

i. Basics

•Name•

Kassandra Bloom Ellwood

•Nickname•

Kassidy

•Age•

In 1942> 21

•Birthday•

October 5th, 1921

•Gender•

Female

•Sexuality•

Straight

•Zodiac•

Libra

•Height•

5'6"

•Occupation•

Medic (Nurse) Marine Corps

ii.Relationship Status

Marries Lew Juergens in 1946.

Kassidy met Lew during their training days. She was instantly attracted to him, but decided to keep things strictly professional between them when he too started showing interest. After the Battle of Guadalcanal, and seeing all the death and gore that would surround her for the rest of her time in the war, Kassidy decided to confess her feelings to Chuckler. He responded by instantly pulling her into a kiss, lifting her off the ground and shouting to the rest of the Company; "Kassidy's my future wife, boys!"

iii. Appearance

•Hair colour•

Brunette but has red undertones in the sun

•Hair length•

Shoulder blades

•Eye colour•

Blue/green

•Skin tone•

Pale

iv. Personality

•Good traits•

Hard-working, humble, courageous, dependable, charitable

•Bad traits•

Rebellious, short-temper

•Strengths•

Logical

•Weaknesses•

Perfectionist

•Likes•

Astrology, tennis, hot chocolate

•Dislikes•

Extreme heat/cold, kamikaze planes + pilots, the ocean (after the war)

•Habits•

Asking a lot of questions

•Talents/skills•

Strategic planning

v. Relationships

•Mother•

Aoife Ellwood

•Father•

Brendan Ellwood

•Siblings•

Rosabelle Ellwood (1918)

•Lover(s)•

Lew (Chuckler) Juergens

•Friends•

Sidney Phillips, Wilbur 'Runner' Conley, John Basilone, Manuel 'Manny' Rodriguez, J.P Morgan, Bill Leyden, Merriell 'Snafu' Shelton, Eugene Sledge, Andrew 'Ack Ack' Haldane

•Close friends•

Romus Valton 'R.V' Burgin, Robert 'Lucky' 'Peaches' Leckie

vi. Backstory

Kassidy and her siblings were practiced raised by their grandparents. Their mother and father were either working or across the sea in Ireland. Despite this, Kassidy was close with her mother, constantly writing letters back and forth. When she was thirteen, Kassidy moved and lived in Ireland for nearly five years until returning to the USA in '39. Kassidy's parents believed she and her sister be safer in the States when WW2 broke out, despite Ireland being a neutral country.

When Kassidy had even a minute of free time, she found herself on a makeshift tennis court. It was her father that taught her how to play, and when she enlisted herself into the Marine Corps as a nurse, she taught her Company the art of the game.

She trained and fought with H Company until being transferred to K Company. This was done on the orders by Andrew Haldane after Lew went missing. Andrew thought the change in companions would do the girl some good until they hopefully found Chuckler. This was when Kassidy became close friends with R.V.

#the pacific #romus valton burgin #hbo the pacific #lew juergens #hbo war #sidney phillips #john basilone #snafu shelton #original character #eugene sledge #andrew haldane #ack ack

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful magic. // a heart's first flutter

they wrote, and then she stopped.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: a series of letters spanning over eight months between Ronald Speirs and Daisy Clarke.

TAGLIST: @softguarnere , @liebgotts-lovergirl , @monalisastwin , @brassknucklespeirs

formatting this chapter was a nightmare

i also recommend listening to this for more DaisRon letter-writing feelings.

APRIL 1942

Dear Ronnie, Things have finally quieted down around here. Everyone always gets so excited when you boys march off to war — I’ll never understand it. Your mother’s doing fine — your sisters were able to console her some. Although I don’t think I’ll hear the end of it from them now. They think something’s going on between you and me. I told them it was nothing but I don’t think they believed me. Guess you’ve got a lady waiting at home for you after all — according to your family’s logic. You’ve dug your own grave at this point.

All of this, and I won’t even be getting any of your benefits. What a shame.

Missing you already, Daisy

Daisy, Good to know that mom’s in good hands — but if you think I’ll be able to change their minds then you don’t know my sisters. Should I ask them to change my status to married on my recruitment forms? Your brother’s gonna be real mad we’ve apparently been in cahoots this whole time and left him out. It’ll make for one hell of a Thanksgiving story — and maybe the guys here will leave me alone about having a girl back home. Don’t know what’s got them so curious.

Sorry about the benefits. Guess I’ll just have to send a part of my officer’s checks to make up for it.

Missing you too, Ronald Speirs

Dear Ronnie, I definitely wasn’t expecting you to change their minds, but let it be known that I am expecting flowers on Valentine’s Day now, or else you’ll have a very upset letter waiting for you in the mail. Jimmy says that Boot Camp should be called a Hell Camp instead. Of course, you know how he is. Probably got in trouble for something dumb, like having one of those graphic magazines in his bunk.

I suppose I can forgive you for the benefits. I’m feeling charitable. You’ll simply have to pay for the rest of my debts at nursing school. How does that sound?

Thinking of you, Daisy

Daisy, I’ll write a reminder for that. Daisies right? Or is that too on-the-nose? I’ll do my best to ensure they don’t wilt when I send them across state lines otherwise. Boot Camp is about as “fun” as you’d expect it to be, at least by Jimmy’s standards. You get up early, you work your bones into dust and everything comes out of a can for your meals. Showers also run cold pretty quick, so yeah, it probably is hell for him.

Mrs. Speirs, your debts from before our nuptials are not my burdens to bear. You’re lucky I happen to like you and I’m feeling nice.

From, Ronald Speirs

MAY 1942

Dear Ronnie, Everyone in my class is getting all antsy. I guess with the war and everything a lot of the people here want to help. Better us than a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing. Or even worse — people who know what they’re doing but their hearts aren’t in it. A few friends of mine have already been sent out to the Pacific, if you can believe it. They’re setting up hospital stations for the incoming troops.

We’re all okay up here. Just restless. Everything on the radio’s all about the war. The troops. More and more boys leave every day. Makes my head spin, to be completely honest. I want to ask if you’ve made any friends but it almost feels weird to phrase it that way. I mean, it’s not like school is it?

Try and let me know whether you end up in the Pacific or Europe at least. I don’t want to ask any stupid questions.

From, Daisy.

Daisy, I’m glad you’re okay. I still don’t know where I’m headed, but I’ll let you know when I find out, if I can. I don’t think you’ve ever asked a stupid question, but that’s besides the point.

It’s not a weird question to ask. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like school, no. In school they can’t make you crawl through mud and barbed wire if you forget a math textbook. But it’s hard not to get to know the guys you’re with when you all share showers and bunks. I’m getting along with most people just fine, if that’s what you mean.

Bet there are gonna be a lot of jobs open once you’re done with school, if so many women are becoming military nurses. I’ve only met a few. They’re okay.

Good luck on your finals.

From, Ronald Speirs

JUNE 1942

Dear Ronnie, We went dress shopping today for graduation. I’m having a hard time picking something. Our high school photos were so nice, I guess I just don’t want these ones to look bad either. It seems silly to worry about in the grand scheme of things, I hope you don’t mind.

I hope you had fun in Florida. The other guys aren’t still ribbing you for not having a girlfriend, are they? I remember you mentioning it. Just use my name if you have to.

Mom and Dad say hello. They hope you’re well. Mom’s sending some of her peanut butter cookies, I hope you like them.

Sincerely, Daisy.

Daisy, You’re going to look pretty no matter what you wear, and I don’t mind you telling me about this stuff. It’s a nice break from all the talk about war. Keep talking about it, I don’t mind. I’m sorry I can’t be there. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.

The men still do, sometimes. More often than not they try to set me up with their girls’ friends who need dates. But I might take you up on that if it gets too annoying.

Tell your mom I said thanks for the cookies. I’ll have to safeguard them with my life.

From, Ronald Speirs

JULY 1942

Ronnie, Mom’s having one of her spells again. The tears and all. It used to be easier when you and James were still here. Now I feel like a little kid again. I know by the time this reaches you it’ll be over, but this is just a long winded way of saying I really miss you. Just not the same without seeing you everyday, I guess.

James writes. He says he’s getting ready to ship out soon. He’s headed to the Pacific. I wish you two weren’t so far away.

Missing you, Daisy.

Daisy, I don’t know if this makes it any better, but if I could be there I would. I hope that she’s feeling better by the time you get this. I miss you too. Please try not to get too down about it, though. I think they’ll let us go home for Christmas, so we can count down the days until then.

We still don’t know where we’re headed. I’m thinking about transferring to the Paratroopers. The pay’s better anyway and they’re supposed to be the best of the best. I got this on one of my trips to Florida on pass. I hope you like it

162 days until Christmas.

Hang in there, Ronald Speirs

Dear Ronnie, The bracelet is beautiful. You really didn’t have to get me that, but thank you. I think it might be a new favorite. I’ll have to send you something really nice in the mail.

I don’t know how I feel about my best friend jumping out of planes, but as long as you come home in one piece then you have my blessing. If the pay’s better and you really want to do it, I think you should. You should tell James. I think he might even get a little jealous. He’s always wanted to skydive.

148 days till Christmas.

Hanging in, Daisy.

AUGUST 1942

Daisy, That new Abbott and Costello film just came out. It’s better than the films they show on base, to give you some idea. I don’t know if you’re planning to see it. I’d like to go see a movie with you when I come back up there. For the sake of fairness, I’ll let you pick.

I nearly beat a guy running Currahee today. I was able to keep up just fine. Georgia heat makes summers up there seem like nothing. But I can complete the trail in 45 minutes now. My ankle’s hurting something fierce though. Hope it’s not a sprain.

128 days until Christmas.

Take care of yourself, Ronald Speirs

Dear Ronnie,

I haven’t seen it yet. Some of my coworkers wanted to go out and see it. You’ll have a review in your next letter, promise. But I’d like that a lot, now that you mention it. We can go halves on the tickets since it’s my pick anyway. Don’t forget.

I know that in the Army you’re all supposed to be a bunch of “tough guys” but please don’t make me come down there. Get it checked out, or Camp Toccoa will have a very disgruntled visitor in the coming weeks. And don’t you doubt that for a minute.

121 days until Christmas.

Worry about yourself, Daisy

SEPTEMBER 1942

Dear Ronnie, Summer heat’s finally going away. Leaves haven’t started to change quite yet though. I can’t believe I’d ever say that I miss football season. To be honest, I mostly miss your track season. I liked watching you run, and you were always good at it. I really took little things like that for granted.

Mom’s apples are coming in nice. She’s excited to start making cider and tarts and all that other stuff. I’ll try to send you some, when I can. She’s always worried about what they’re feeding you down there. Dad’s been trying to get her not to worry so much.

106 days until you’re home.

Sincerely, Daisy

Daisy, I didn’t know you liked watching me run. I always thought you were just there for Jimmy. It still feels like summer here sometimes. I think we both took it for granted. I liked walking you home after your ballet practices. You probably already knew that, though.

I finally have my dates. I make my last practice jump on the 26th, so the day after Christmas. I’ll be home right after that for ten days. Tell your mom they’re feeding me fine. My mom has similar worries, but I don’t think she actually listens when I tell her I’m okay.

94 days until I’m home.

See you soon, Ronnie

OCTOBER 1942

Dear Daisy, Turner is still as much of a jackass as usual. With all the arms training we do I’m shocked he hasn’t been accidentally shot yet. If I ever start acting like one of those self-righteous West Pointers I want you to set me straight immediately. I don’t know what he wants from me, but he can lick my goddamn boot.

If he wasn’t a superior officer, I would’ve socked him in the jaw by now.

At any rate, jump training starts after Thanksgiving at Fort Benning. They had us officers all compete to be leading the sticks in an Olympics of sorts. I’m finally used to crawling through pig guts.

81 days until I’m home.

Thinking of you,

Ronnie

Dear Ronnie, I know you hate the guy, but please don’t do anything stupid. That includes punching anyone in the jaw. I don’t think you have the ability to act as arrogant as this man sounds, but you can count on me to set you straight if it happens. You get along with the men under you and that’s what matters. Hang in there.

Is it weird to say I’m glad you’ve gotten used to it? At least it isn’t so awful anymore. Unfortunately hospital work isn’t as invigorating as crawling through pig guts. You’ve got me beat there.

67 days until we’re together again.

I’m in your corner,

Daisy

NOVEMBER 1942

Dear Ronnie, Happy Early Thanksgiving. Mom ran a food drive out of the school and it did great. Dad had some of his veteran friends who hadn’t been called back help promote it. A lot of people won’t be going hungry this winter.

I’m getting a little antsier now. I can’t wait to see you. We’re all missing you up here. My Aunt Marie and Uncle Allen are coming up for Thanksgiving from Maryland — she’ll probably end up asking about you. I’d send you leftovers if I could.

There’s something I want to talk to you about when you’re back. It’s nothing bad, just something I’m curious about, really.

47 days until the movies.

Yours,

Daisy

Dear Daisy, Happy Thanksgiving, Dais. I hope you’re having a good time with your family. I’m glad that your mom’s food drive went well and that your dad’s friends helped. Sounds like a lot of good things are going on.

Try not to lose your head, alright? I can imagine you doing the leg-bounce thing right now. But I hope Remembrance Day went by fast for you. I know how hard that day is — if I helped at all with that, then I’m glad.

32 days until the movies.

Yours,

Ronnie

DECEMBER 1942

Dear Ronnie, By the time you get this, you may already be packing your bags. Apparently we’re going to Aunt Marie’s for the holidays. In Maryland. And we won’t be coming back until after New Year’s. Do I want to go? No. Not really. But family is family.

At any rate, leave a letter in my mailbox and I’ll read it when I come home. And whenever you come home next, you can pick the movie. I’ll try to keep my head up in the meanwhile.

I really, really miss you.

Yours,

Daisy

[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1943 10 05 Pacific Glory - Anthony Saunders

On 23 December 1942, just days after their infamous attack on Pearl Harbor, the Japanese captured Wake Island, a small, but strategic coral atoll in the western Pacific.The small garrison of mainly US Marines had already repulsed one landing but, on 23 December, the Japanese succeeded. Wake fell, as had Guam before it and now, across the breadth of the south-west Pacific, islands large and small tumbled like dominos, as did Hong Kong, Malaya, Singapore, Java and Burma. By March Australia stood on the brink of invasion and the might of Imperial Japan seemingly reigned supreme.But Pearl Harbor was a hollow victory. Although the US Navy had suffered a calamity, the Japanese had failed to destroy the American carriers; a legacy that would soon return to haunt them. After stalemate at the Battle of the Coral Sea, there was no doubt of the outcome at the Battle of Midway where the American carriers inflicted a catastrophic defeat on the Japanese, who lost four carriers, a heavy cruiser, over 300 aircraft and 5,000 officers and men.Fought at the beginning of June 1942, Midway marked the turning of the tide; the US Navy, its aviators and the Marines were back, stronger and more determined than ever. From now on the Japanese would be on the defensive. Over the next two years, the US Navy would build the largest naval force the Pacific had ever seen and one by one, island by island, base by base, the Allies would slowly advance in some of the bloodiest and most costly campaigns of World War 2.  The Japanese now faced only the specter of humiliation and defeat.Anthony Saunders’ stunning painting graphically recalls a moment during the Allied fight-back. On 5 October 1943, ten months after the island had fallen to the  Japanese, American naval aircraft raided Wake, one of many such operations carried out by the US Navy and Marines. At the forefront of the attack was Lt. Cmdr. Edward “Butch” O’Hare, the US Navy’s first Ace and first Naval recipient of the Medal of Honor. Throwing his F6F Hellcat into a furious dogfight, he engages Japanese Mitsubishi A6M Zeroes based on the island and in the process adds two more victories to his tally. Under O’Hare’s experienced guidance his young wingman, Lt. Alex Vraciu, claimed his first kill, and would later become one of the foremost Aces in the US Navy with 19 victories.

[michellelebelle]

Who Were the Navajo Code Talkers?

During World War II, the act of sending messages which could not be intercepted was becoming a more and more difficult task thanks to the advent of new technologies.  As a result, code began to be used more and more prevalently.

This is where the Navajo Code Talkers, also known as Diné code talkers, come in.  Comprised of U.S. Marines that descended from at least 14 Native nations, they used their indigenous languages to develop special codes which allowed for communication across the Pacific front from 1942 to 1945.  Not once during those three years was the code ever cracked.

These individuals and their knowledge of indigenous language proved a great asset to the U.S. military.  An incredibly ironic fact as many of them had been forced to attend government or religious-run American Indian Residential Schools.  Schools which actively sought to force Native American children into assimilation, in part by discouraging indigenous languages.

Learn More: National WWI Museum, United Service Organizations, Naval History and Heritage Command

#Native American Indian Heritage Month #WWII #World War II #Navajo Code Talkers #Diné Code Talkers #Military History #Code