#might drop the occasional vinny lore like how he isn’t actually religious

[neptunes-blue]

CORPSMAN’S PRAYER - VINCENT KRAWCZYK - THE PACIFIC

short summary: Vincent Krawczyk graduates from Illinois’s Naval Hospital Corps School after first enlisting on the 8th of December, 1941

warnings: implied child neglect (sort of?), sailors get drunk and slip off chairs

(Main) characters: Vincent Krawczyk (oc), Terence Flynn (oc)

word count: 1.8k words

notes: this is like. The only time ever I will post my writing… if it disappears tomorrow I have succumbed to my shame and deleted this 😔. I had to format this on my iPad with no idea how any of this works…. Also if you see spelling/grammar mistakes no you didn’t I was too scared to share this to a friend to proofread ☹️ (looks at the ‘art blog’ in my bio hmmmm)

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Grant me, oh Lord, for the coming events;

Enough knowledge to cope and some plain common sense. Be at our side on those nightly patrols; And be merciful judging our vulnerable souls. Make my hands steady and as sure as a rock; when the others go down with a wound or in shock. Let me be close, when they bleed in the mud; With a tourniquet handy to save precious blood. Here in the jungle, the enemy near; Even the corpsman can't offer much lightness and cheer. Just help me, oh Lord, to save lives when I can; Because even out there is merit in man.

If it's Your will, make casualties light; And don't let any die in the murderous night. These are my friends I'm trying to save; They are frightened at times, but You know they are brave. Let me not fail when they need so much; But to help me serve with a compassionate touch. Lord, I'm no hero—my job is to heal; And I want You to know Just how helpless I feel. Bring us back safely to camp with dawn; For too many of us are already gone.

Lord bless my friends If that's part of your plan; And go with us tonight, when we go out again.

— Navy Hospital Corpsman’s prayer 

When Vincent was 5, he woke up in his home to nothing.

When he tried to focus on where he imagined the hallway, there was nothing but black. And from the kitchen he heard a faint drip and nothing more. 

It’s hard to recall a memory in the muffling black dark. It’s more of a feeling really, cold icy dread that travels down your spine and keeps you at a standstill. 

Vincent still remembers how his body— much smaller in his youth, chattering with fear on the dusty couch. Too scared to call out for his parents.

10 years later, he’d brought up the memory at the dining table and was flattened by his father’s admittance to a fuzzy memory where he forgets to take him off the couch and into bed.

Currently, Vinny is 19 and fumbling with the neckerchief of his dress blues. His brow knotted while Terence Flynn shined his shoes.

“Vinny, how in hell are you gon’ take care of your wife? 20 and you can’t tie your own kerchief?”

Krawczyk swivels to face Flynn like you would in drill. His face in a crooked smile.

“20 in a week actually. I thought I told you yesterday that I was 20 next week.” He says in a voice dripping with a very matter-of-fact tone, a crooked grin plastered on his face.

“I’m gonna start praying for your future wife.” Flynn half-snorts, rolling his eyes. 

Vincent listens to Terence’s back click as he stretches, taking a ‘well deserved’ break from his shoe-shining; it was a lousy attempt to seem presentable and handsome for graduation. Terence Flynn, mousey-faced and dark-haired tucking away at least some of his antics for today.

Vincent had complimented how nicely Flynn’s chevrons were stitched once. Terence had flushed red and muttered ashamed that his mother had sewn them on for him.

Within each stitch a gentle kiss of a mothers love tucked under the dark fabric of the Navy’s pride— that’s what Vincent imagined anyways. He had responded with a quiet ‘oh’ and looked at his own chevrons that still had stitches leaking from the edges of blue fabric. 

Krawczyk tried to stare back into the mirror and ignore the eruptions of jealousy that burst across his face.

Men dressed neatly in their Navy dress blues begin to leave barracks, putting away shaving kits and slicking their hair back with their caps in hand.

“Bu-ddy?” 

Terence whistles and clicks his tongue, already standing at the door out of barracks. 

“Christ!” 

Vincent glanced at Terence and then back at himself in the mirror before quickly scampering after his friend. Finally figuring out the intricacies of his neckerchief while his shoes hit the plywood floor.

Vincent's rowing team had been best in Missouri, he was the best batter in baseball, captain of the swimming team, and one of the top boxers in school. 

It didn't count for much, all his trophies and awards were in a box underneath his bed. 

Krawczyk wouldn't know until after his enlistment had ended that his parents had pawned his gold medals off when he'd left for the Navy. Vincent would understand when he came back. Forgiving, sweet, war-torn Vincent who would believe his family was going through tough times.

His photos remained in the box however– the same crooked grin even as his face matured. Collecting an inch of dust.

The winter wind had calmed to a soft breeze (thank the lord) and Chief took to the stand saying speeches Krawczyk seemed to block out with his anticipation.

Rows of navy men with their chests puffed out with the boyish pride that never left them even as men. Preparing to leave for war with the promise to serve and a prayer for survival. 

Thomas Murray, a tall, gawky man with blue eyes and blonde hair had been a surgeon before all of this; Chance Henderson always wanted to be a doctor who and thought this was the quickest a cheapest way to get there; shy Samuel Davis who blushed easily and hated using the communal showers was plain kind-hearted and liked the idea of helping wounded; Dayton Bishop was smart and steady-handed, he was suited to the role of a corpsman with square eyes and a handsome jaw.

Terence had smirked at Vincent when he told him he joined up because he thought it’d make him popular with the ladies. 

Vinny had roared with laughter, telling him that he’d, ‘never even get a nice girl to look his way’.  

Flynn had tried to counter him, reminding Vinny that he had a girl— ‘A girl that left him’, he had responded with. Flynn wanted to argue but Vincent turned the topic too quick.

‘Colours, present arms!’

Vincent was beaming. 

The whole thing felt like his High School graduation but fancier. And if it wasn’t an important ceremony he wouldn’t have stopped himself from laughing but, he’d be lying through bared, grinning teeth that he wasn’t pouring over with pride. 

He (rather excitedly) stepped onto the stage, shaking hands with the CPO and then to the SCPO who passed him his graduation paper. Vincent was only able to glance at his name ‘Vincent Phillip Krawczyk’ scrawled in the middle of the paper before he had to ‘calmly and mild-manneredly’ walk across the stage.

"I solemnly pledge myself.”

"I solemnly pledge myself…” The bright faced men echoed. 

“Before God and these witnesses.”

“Before God and these witnesses.”

“To practice faithfully all of my duties.”

“To practice faithfully all of my duties.”

“As a member of the Hospital Corps.”

“As a member of the Hospital Corps…”

The band marched out soon after the Corpsman Pledge, Anchors Aweigh cutting through the dewy morning air and sending out that good ol’ Navy pride. Vincent could’ve sworn he saw Terence’s eyes water as he muttered the lyrics under his breath.

“STAND NAVY TO SEA, FIGHT OUR BATTLE CRRYY!”

Flynn roared, hopping from bar stool to bar stool— hand on heart while the other swung a bottle of beer. 

Davis was bright red, with 7 drinks too many he had joined Terence in his performance. Vincent clapped, repeating Terence and Davis’ “So vicious foe steer shy-y-y-y!”, despite not having even one drop of alcohol that evening. The rowdy sailors had scared off most of the other bar patrons. Dayton sat smartly as ever, Murray was playing craps with the increasingly drunker Chance and the other boys— Mark, Jones, Sutton, Kidd, Freeman, West, Patrick… were either pink-faced and whooping or challenging the other to another game, drink, or bet.

“Y’know, back in my home-place, Missouri I used to drink like there wasn’t a God!” 

“Anchors aweigh my boys! ANCHORS AWEIGHH!”

Dayton didn’t seem to be really paying attention to Krawczyk’s yammering.

“My pal, Nate, he drank beer like it wasn’t a Wednesday afternoon. Never trust a usual mild-mannered Missouri man, we might all seem pleasant but as soon as he gets a drink too many he’ll sock you right in the face if you even mention his favourite sport team’s rival team— I nearly got socked in the face for it once, can you believe it?” 

Vinny bursts into laughter, not really taking note that Dayton didn’t join in.

"Farewell to foreign shores, we sail at break of day-ay-AY-AY!”

“You’re not drinking.”

Vincent perks up when Dayton speaks.

“Yeah— yeah, no, I'm not a drinker," Vinny shrugs. "Christian, I keep it to special occasions." He finishes, grinning.

“Uhuh. Isn’t this a special occasion?”

“Someone has to be sober enough to hold caps when you all retch whiskey in the bathroom.”

Dayton shrugs, swirling his brandy on the rocks.

“Drink to the foam, until we meet once more! Here's wishing you a happy voyage HOME!”

And with the end of the second verse, Flynn missed the barstool he was jumping to by a foot and cracked his head on the side of the counter.

The sand was soft at Nunn beach.  

Vinny liked beaches, he liked the waves, how the seawater dried on his arms and left white salt stains on his skin. He even liked nursing his good friend after slamming his own face into a bench, who now had a rapidly growing lump above his right brow.

The sun had sunk halfway under the ocean, sending out stretching wands of orange light that sparked crashing waves yellow. It turned his and Flynn’s faces amber and made his bruise just slightly more obvious. 

“Finally put those corpsman skills to good use.”

Vincent was grinning— Terence was not. 

He reached into his wrinkled blues, pulling a silver rosary over his head, careful to not bump his tender lump. Terence cleared his throat, trying to clear the shame in his voice. 

“My gal got it for me but you know uh. We broke up”

“She left you.”

“We broke up!” He insisted, with a huff. Flynn turned from Vincent and admired the carving of Christ. Hanging by his hands on the silver cross, intricate swirls that seemed to grow from his hollow body and border the cross he was strung across. It seemed to glimmer white in the setting sun.

“Take it. A parting gift. Or an apology— I don't care. Or really believe in that crap anymore anyways”

“Don't call it crap.”

“Sorry.”

Vincent tenderly accepted the gift from his friend, thumbing the cross.

“Tell me a story, Vince.” Terence’s voice was flat, eyes glued onto the horizon instead of his friend.

“Well. Once me and my pal Nate thought it'd be funny to throw rocks at the school greenhouse.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”