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#peleliu island
carbone14 · 1 month
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Marines Douglas Lightheart avec son calibre 30 mm et Gerald Thursby Sr. du 1st Battalion, 7th Marines – Bataille de Peleliu – Campagne des îles Mariannes et Palaos – Guerre du Pacifique – île de Peleliu – 15 septembre 1944
Photographe : Caporal Clements
©National Archives and Records Administration
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sgtgrunt0331-3 · 9 months
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A wounded U.S. Marine, is given a drink of water from the canteen of a buddy while he waits for the stretcher bearers to come for him.
As temperatures exceeded well over 100 degrees, the Marines continued to push through the stubborn and deadly Japanese defenses on the island of Peleliu in September 1944.
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Flight crews unload a Piper AE-1 30289 from a C-46 on Peleliu, 1944
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mowgliproductions · 7 days
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Discovering a Preserved WWII Tank on Peleliu Island: A Glimpse into History
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luckyricochet · 5 months
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"He was a clean-cut, handsome, light-complexioned man—not large, but well built. [...] No matter how filthy and dirty everyone was on the battlefield, Hillbilly's face always had a clean, fresh appearance. He was physically tough and hard and obviously morally strong. He sweated as much as any man but somehow seemed to stand above our foul and repulsive living conditions in the field."
Eugene Sledge, With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa
"When everybody else was sweating and filthy, Hillbilly always looked fresh scrubbed. None of us knew how he did it."
RV Burgin, Islands of the Damned: A Marine at War in the Pacific
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mads-nixon · 6 months
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See the Good
Eugene Sledge x Medic!Reader
Masterlist
A/N: Merry Christmas @iceman-kazansky!! I literally squealed when I saw I got you as my giftee! I loved your prompts, and I hope you like what I did with them!! I'm going to post one gift per day so that they'll be a little spaced out! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of k company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
Prompt: “You always see the good in people. Even me.”
Word Count: 5.7k
Summary: When Gene can only see himself as the terrible things he's done in the war, (y/n) is right there to remind him who he really is.
Warnings: descriptions of dead bodies (non-graphic)
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OKINAWA, JAPAN: MAY, 1945:
The ground beneath their boots trembled, and the deafening whistles of mortars filled the air as (y/n) and the rest of K Company ran for cover. They sunk into the muddy sludge below them, turning each step into a battle against the sucking earth. Gripping her corpsman pack with white knuckles, (y/n) followed Gene, not daring to stop in the barrage.
“They have us targeted!” Burgie yelled, hurdling over a giant boulder in his path. “Get to cover!”
Just as (y/n) ran past the remnants of a demolished shed, a sudden blast threw her violently to the ground, sending a cascade of mud in all directions. Her ears rang with disorientation as she blinked slowly, struggling to regain her senses. The ringing faded into a muffled whine and a face appeared in (y/n)‘s vision. Although the figure’s face was blurred, she knew it was Eugene. His mouth moved rapidly, but she couldn’t understand a word he said. Realizing this, he quickly grasped the front of her uniform and hoisted her to her feet, throwing an arm around her waist to keep her upright as they bolted for cover.
Reaching the rocks, (y/n)‘s hearing slowly faded back, and the sounds of booming artillery reached her ears.
Sledge pulled on her arm, helping her over the rugged terrain. “Come on. We’re almost there!”
Finally reaching the safety of cover, the company continued farther into the rocks to escape the barrage. Snafu was in front of them and on the verge of a panicked breakdown.
“This is bullshit!” he cried, plopping down on a rock. “If I ever find the FO that called that arty, I’ll shoot him!”
Gene maintained his hold on (y/n) as he led them toward a big rock, his frustration evident. “They’ll just do it again,” he huffed, gritting his teeth. “All because some asshole officer read a map wrong and nobody gives a shit about us!”
After he sat (y/n) on the boulder beside Snafu, Eugene took a deep breath and sank beside her. He turned to the dazed woman beside him, her once white corpsman armband a brown and muddy mess. “You alright?” he asked her, knowing even he himself wasn’t alright after what happened before the shelling.
The woman and her baby…
(Y/n) nodded slowly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. ”Yeah. Just got my bell rung. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” Sledge persisted.
“Yes, Gene. I’m okay,” she murmured wearily, rubbing her eyes. “Really.”
Removing her helmet, she threaded her fingers through her (y/h/c) hair, wincing at the dried mud that pulled at the roots. Over their time on the dreadful island, they all discovered that the jungle was just as much an enemy as the Japs.
Snafu stared wide-eyed at the ground below him, hands on his head as his chest heaved. His expression was the same one that each marine wore as they grappled with the massacre they’d just witnessed.
What country uses its own civilians as shields for a surprise attack?
As a corpsman, (y/n) had seen more death than the average marine, and after the fierce fighting on the islands of Peleliu and Pavuvu, she was struggling to remain afloat in the vast ocean of numbness that threatened to drown her. The only thing keeping her above water were her boys, the men of K Company: Sledge, Snafu, Burgin, and De L’eau, although Jay had been transferred to intelligence. They’d lost so many good men, and it made her even more thankful for the guys who had always been there for her.
“Corpsman up front!”
The call snapped (y/n) from her thoughts, and she quickly rose, momentarily losing her balance until a strong hand grasped her upper arm, holding her steady. She felt the warmth of his hand through her thin ODs as he held her in place, accompanied by a blush creeping up her neck.
“(Y/n)-” Gene started.
Shrugging him off gently, she turned toward the call. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Be careful,” he whispered after her, watching her form disappear into a sea of olive-green uniforms. With another deep breath, Sledge sat back down, trying to calm his still-racing heart. She had been right behind him…until she wasn’t. Panic had gripped him when he saw her motionless figure in the mud as the artillery rained down around them. When she opened her eyes, he felt a weight lift off his chest.
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Rain drenched the marines through the night as they held their position looking up to the ridge. Around 2000HRS the next day, (y/n) trudged back to her squad, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Dried blood clung to her cracked hands, refusing to wash away, no matter how many times she’d scrubbed them raw. The casualties were unending like the rain that constantly poured on them. Luckily, the downpour had come to a stop in the early morning.
She’d been at the BAS since the previous afternoon treating and evacuating wounded marines from the already bloody battle. Continued artillery and fire throughout the day brought a steady stream of bleeding men through the tent’s entrance. One of these men had been Bill Leyden. He wasn’t in good shape, and when (y/n) saw the damage on her friend’s body, the air rushed from her lungs. After pushing away the panic, she quickly helped other corpsmen stabilize him, before sending him off to a hospital ship. As she watched him go, her heart sank at the realization the company had lost another man…another friend.
“Hey Doc,” Snafu called out gently as she approached.
She looked up from her feet at the man with a tired smile. “Hey, Snaf,” she whispered. “You seen Gene?”
Motioning over his shoulder, Snafu replied, “He’s right over there. But, Bill…“
“Yeah,” she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We got him stabilized. He should make a full recovery. Lost a few fingers, though.”
In a trance-like state, Snafu nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. It was something they all did. A way to escape the horrors they lived through. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, (y/n) moved to find Sledge, but the Cajun’s voice stopped her.
“Eugene. He got a letter…his dog died.”
She turned to face him with raised brows. “Deacon?”
“I guess,” the man nodded. “I think he’s bothered more than he’s letting on. You know how Eugene is.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”
She found him staring into space ahead of him as he sat up against one of the island’s many rocks. Before she approached, (y/n) simply watched the man before her. She could see his growing stubble and the mud that splattered his cheeks, but what worried her was the blank expression on his face. She longed to see the lopsided smile that used to hang from his lips. (Y/n) didn’t know how long it had been since she’d seen that smile…too long.
Pulling her satchel off her shoulder, she quietly approached him and slouched down beside him. They sat silently for a moment, the warmth of their touching shoulders spreading through them. Gene was the first to break the silence.
“Did you see Bill?” he asked quietly, his eyes still glued on the rocks in front of him.
(Y/n) nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”
Gene leaned his head back against the ground with a thud, his eyes closed as a shuttering sigh escaped his lips. She sat up off the rock and turned toward him, gently taking his hand.
“I’m sorry about Deacon.”
The second her fingers intertwined with his, Sledge’s heartbeat accelerated, and the man felt heat spread through his body. He took a moment to compose himself before he opened his eyes. He looked down at their intertwined hands before meeting her concerned gaze.
In that moment, Eugene could have sworn she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t matter that she was coated in blood, mud, and sweat. She was there for him like nobody else had ever been in his whole life. Sure, he was close with his parents, but he felt they never completely understood him.
Who’d have thought that he’d have to travel almost eight thousand miles to find someone who could do so?
Eugene’s eyes flashed down to her lips, unable to control himself as their closeness made him suddenly bold. He always wondered what they’d taste like. How they’d feel against his. They were chapped, just like everyone else's, but that didn’t matter. The young man wanted a way to show her how much she meant to him. Sure, there had been moments where he told himself he was going to kiss her, but the moment ended before he had the opportunity. Something in the moment felt wrong, though, and he decided to wait once more.
“Thank you,” he whispered, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain his composure and keep the memories of his beloved dog at bay. “He was a good dog.”
“How old was he? 10? 11?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “10.”
The woman’s eyes searched his face, trying to get a read of what he needed from her. She saw pain in his hazel eyes. Pain from the loss of Bill. Pain from the loss of Deacon. Pain caused by the war.
She decided he needed some hope. Some laughter.
“Did I tell you about the time Snaf and I almost got caught stealing from an Army captain?”
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Later that day, Gene and the rest of his squad sat among the rocks, each lost in their mind. (Y/n) was beside him, writing in her journal, and they were doing the same…all except Peck, who was attempting to dig a foxhole in the soaked ground. Since the day they arrived on the wretched island, Sledge kept up with how many days they spent there with tallies in the back of his Bible. With the days running together, they rarely knew what day it was or how long they’d been there.
“What’s the date?” Burgie asked, putting down his small journal.
The group turned to Gene, who took a deep breath. “June 5th, maybe. Might be the 6th.” He turned to (y/n). “(Y/n/n), which one you got?”
“I have no idea,” she sighed. “I gave up keeping track a while ago.”
Peck decided to chime in as he dug. “We’re never getting off this island.”
Everyone was thinking it, but he was the one person who dared to speak it aloud.
(Y/n) rolled her eyes, glancing over at Gene with an annoyed expression. If looks could kill, Peck would be six feet deep from the redhead’s glare. His jaw clenched tightly, and his chest began to heave as he stared at the replacement.
Sensing his rising anger, (y/n) reached over and placed a hand on his thigh. His eyes moved to meet hers, and her (y/e/c) irises seemed to whisper, ”He’s not worth it,” and, “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Gene took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Beating the crap out of Peck wouldn’t bring Bill back, and letting anger consume you was a dangerous game. Every time he was tempted to let it in, (y/n) was right there, a soft presence telling him that hate was not the answer. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted daily. Sledge had seen what men could do to each other. He had seen what the Japs did to his friends.
Looking away from Gene, she was met with a strange stare from Snafu, who was smoking a cigarette and sitting on their makeshift toilet. His gaze was questioning, but not criticizing. When the man’s eyes drifted down to her hand, her stomach dropped, and she felt like she was caught red-handed. (Y/n) quickly removed her hand from Gene’s leg and shot to her feet.
“I’m gonna go-uh-do some rounds,” she announced, not daring to look at Gene or Snafu.
A few seconds later, she went treading through the sludge, her corpsman satchel pressed tightly to her side. The men all watched in confusion as she left, unsure what had made her so jumpy all of a sudden.
“She alright?” Hamm asked once she’d disappeared from view.
Burgie, always an observer, glanced over at Sledge to watch his reaction. He looked somewhat like a kicked puppy. Wrapping up his Bible, Gene began to tuck it into his pocket without a word.
“Don’t worry about (y/n), Hamm,” Burgie replied with a nod.
Hamm raised an eyebrow at his sergeant. “But did you see her-”
“She’s fine,” Snafu interrupted, pulling up his pants and rejoining the group. “Besides, she’s already got someone to worry about her.”
At the statement, Eugene froze, a cold chill running through him despite the heat. A million thoughts ran rampant in his mind.
Is there someone else in her life?
Does he know something I don’t?
Does he know how I feel?
Groaning, Burgie smacked the Cajun’s shoulder. “Shut up, Snaf. Don’t go starting crap.”
The sergeant first noticed the bond between Sledge and (y/n) back in training, but especially when the company landed on Peleliu. They always stuck by one another when they could, and she seemed to help calm the Marine amid his anxiety. As time went on and their relationship changed, Romus knew they had feelings for one another, even if they didn’t admit it. He’d never spoken about it to anyone, fearing it could become a rumor that would possibly get the pair in trouble if they ever acted on their feelings. Hearing Snafu insinuate something between them sent a pang of panic through him.
“We all worry about (y/n),” he continued. “But she’s a great corpsman. She can hold her own.”
Before he could finish his sentence, Eugene rose to his feet and went to take a leak. He did have to relieve himself, but he also wanted to get away from the conversation. If Snafu knew about how he felt, the man would never stop tormenting him. Even if it was in a joking way, Gene didn’t want to be the subject of Shelton’s teasing.
Just as he made it to a somewhat secluded spot, he heard Mac’s voice ring out from above him.
“I need a stovepipe boy up top!” he yelled, coming down from the ridge.
Gene slightly ducked his head behind a rock, hoping the lieutenant would miss him. To his dismay, Mac caught his movement in the corner of his eye.
“Sledge, that’s you. Bring some comm wire.”
Sighing when his superior disappeared over the ridge, he muttered, “Yes, sir,” and went to follow his orders.
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The stench of excrement and death permeated the air as (y/n) walked through their temporary camp checking on the men. Her eyes watered from the smell, and it took all her willpower not to gag. Even though she’d built a great tolerance to gruesome sights and smells over her time as a corpsman, sometimes it all got to her.
Snafu’s stare replayed in her mind, and she hoped that she didn’t accidentally give herself away to the group. Worry buzzed in her stomach like the disgusting flies that seemed to be ever-present among the mud and filth of Okinawa. (Y/n) tried to busy her mind with the long list of men to check on, but she couldn’t focus more than a few moments before getting lost in her head again.
Spotting a man on her list, she called out to him.
“Hey, James,” she greeted, approaching his muddy foxhole. “How’s the ankle?”
He groaned and shook his head. “As good as it’s gonna be, Doc.”
In the barrage the day prior, the private slipped and rolled his ankle in the mud trying to get to cover. He insisted he was fine, but some of his squadmates sent (y/n) to check on him. Henry James was a stubborn young man who wasn’t even old enough to drink, yet he was on a foreign island in Southeast Asia fighting for his country…fighting to survive. She crouched beside his hole, inspecting the ankle that was elevated above the entrance.
“Were you able to stay off it much?” (y/n) asked, gently prodding the bruised skin.
“A buddy of mine took my OP shift so I didn’t have to walk around on it. It’s more stiff than anything.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s how ankles are. They’re tough-”
Her voice came to a stop as yelling filled the air. It wasn’t cheers of victory or anything of that nature. They were cries of attack…of desperation…of death. The second the sound registered in her mind, she was darting toward the ridge, hoping to get there before the shooting started in case someone got hit. The rapid beating of her heart filled her ears as she ran through the mud and past battle-weary marines. A few of them called out to her, but she didn’t hear them.
The first ping of an M-1 being fired echoed through the air as she made it to the base of the rocky ridge. Cursing under her breath, she quickly began her ascent. Finding the most solid footing, she climbed the hill, using the jagged rocks as handholds. Gunfire filled the air, silencing the screams of the enemy. (Y/n) was out of breath when she made it to the top, but she didn’t stop. Most of the fire had stopped, but a few shots still rang out.
At the moment the corpsman reached the other marines at the top of the ridge, her heart sank at the sight of Eugene unholstering his revolver and aiming at a wounded Jap.
“Cease fire!” Mac cried from the other side of the ridge. “Cease fire!”
Gene didn’t care.
“Damn, Sledge. Leave him,” Hamm muttered to the redhead.
Whipping around to face him, Eugene scowled. “What for? He’s a Jap, ain’t he?”
(Y/n) watched in horror as Gene opened fire on the man already wallowing in the mud. He missed the first two shots, but the third hit its mark, hitting the Jap just above his hip. The soldier sunk into the mud face down, his writhing coming to an end.
“Cease fire!” The Lieutenant repeated as he neared them. “Cease fire, damn it!”
Satisfied with his work, Sledge grabbed his rifle from beside Hamm and turned to descend the ridge. When he noticed (y/n) a few yards away, he froze for a moment, his eyes resembling a dark storm cloud that could start down pouring any second. Guilt seemed to cloud his usual hazel eyes, and he looked away, unable to stay steady beneath her gaze after what he’d just done. He then continued down the ridge.
Mac was quick to confront him, gripping his carbine in one hand with white knuckles.
“I told you to cease fire. What are you doing?”
The private spun to face Mac with gritted teeth.“Killing Japs,” he seethed, turning to go down the hill again.
Before he could get far, the lieutenant spoke again. “You just gave away our position!”
“I think they’ve got a pretty good idea of where we are,” Gene chuckled bitterly.
Mac pointed toward the dead Japs. “I told you to cease fire. You’re supposed to be observing, and then I see you with a damn sidearm!
“We were all sent here to kill Japs, weren’t we?” Sledge screamed, climbing back up to be nose-to-nose with his lieutenant. “So what the hell difference does it make what weapon we use?”
(Y/n) couldn’t help but flinch at Gene’s sudden outburst. She’d never seen him like this before, and she wondered what made him finally break. What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? What had happened in the five minutes she was gone?
A tear streaked down her cheek seeing the man she cared about more than anything giving in to the war. Seeing a man be reduced to a shell of who he once was was always heartbreaking, and (y/n) didn’t realize just how much until she witnessed him finally crack.
“I’d use my damn hands if I had to,” he whispered to a frozen Mac, who clenched his jaw and slowly walked past him. (Y/n) was quick to try and follow Gene once he stormed down the hill, but a gentle hand on her shoulder held her back.
It was Burgin, his face scrunched with concern. “Let ‘em cool off, (y/n/n).”
“Romus, he-”
“I know what he means to you,” he interrupted in a whisper as he glanced around them for any eavesdroppers. “But trust me. You need to leave him be for a little bit. Let him think.”
(Y/n) swallowed thickly. “Please don’t tell anyone, Burgie. I could be-”
“Your secret’s safe with me…He needs you, (y/l/n), but give him a few hours.”
Releasing a shuddering breath, her gaze dropped to the ground. “He was fine when I left. What happened?”
“I don’t know. But we did hear him hollering about something right before he went up top.”
“Thanks for everything, Burg,” she sighed, patting his shoulder softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and the guys.”
A sheepish smile grew on his face, and he chuckled under his breath. “You’d be a lot more ladylike, that’s for sure. The other day, I’m pretty sure I saw you smoking Sledge’s pipe.”
“Whatever,” she groaned, rubbing a hand down her dirty face. “A lot of women actually smoke, ya know?”
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The rest of the afternoon did not go according to (y/n)‘s plan, and she was unable to check on Gene after he cooled down. Within an hour of his outburst, she was called back to the field hospital to assist in an all-hands-on-deck emergency following a Jap ambush. The corpsman was up to her elbows in blood, bowels, and every other bodily fluid from vomit to urine. It was a hard night, and it got even worse when a terrible rainstorm moved in, trapping her from returning to her company due to poor visibility.
(Y/n) spent the night, and most of the next day, helping around the hospital. She dressed wounds, administered pain meds, and helped transport men to the hospital ships on a Jeep. A radio call was received that told of the 1st Marine’s plans to take the ridge, and (y/n) knew she needed to be there.
She caught a ride to the ridge just in time for the assault. The men were checking their weapons and quietly conversing with each other as she walked through the various companies. When she reached her squad, however, silence filled the air. They all had thousand-yard stares, and the group was missing two guys who had been there the day before. Her pace slowed as she approached them.
“Hey, guys,” (y/n) said softly, her eyes flicking from man to man. When none of them acknowledged her, she knew something bad had happened. “Where’s Hamm and Peck?”
Silence.
She took a deep breath, trying not to imagine the worst. “Please, guys, whe-”
“Gone,” Gene interrupted harshly, his gaze snapping to hers. “Hamm's dead and Peck’s gone. He cracked.”
(Y/n) felt the all-too-familiar punch of grief knock the air from her lungs. Eugene’s hazel eyes were dark and stormy, even more so than the previous day. She swallowed thickly, attempting to push down the emotion that clogged her throat.
“What happened?” she asked shakily, her eyes never leaving Gene’s.
Before he could respond, Snafu spoke. “Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”
“Shelton’s right,” Burgin added. “It’s hard, but we’ve got other things to focus on.”
(Y/n) nodded once and dropped her gaze to the group, blinking away the tears that burned her eyes. Two more of their group were gone. Sure, Peck wasn’t her favorite person by any means, but he was still part of their company….on their side. And Hamm…he was a kid. A kid who deserved better than to die in the mud on some foreign island.
They all deserved better.
“Let’s move out!” Mac announced, waving for them to follow.
Each man followed suit, but Eugene hung back to wait on (y/n). Seeing her tear-filled eyes, he instantly regretted opening his mouth. The anger within him seemed to dissipate momentarily as he joined her side.
“Remember, you’ve got a bullseye on your arm,” he murmured, gesturing to the red and white medic brassard on her arm. “Please be careful.”
“I will.” (Y/n) lifted her helmet to look up at him through her lashes. “You take care of yourself, too, alright?”
“Yes ma’am,” he whispered, admiring her features. His eyes trailed from her eyes down to her nose, and then to her lips before flicking back to her (y/e/c) eyes. They stayed locked in each other’s gaze for a few moments, their eyes seeming to have a silent conversation communicating everything that was left unsaid. Gene slowly reached up to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. The racing of (y/n)‘s heart wasn’t from the artillery that had begun hammering the ridge, but Eugene’s warm caress against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the gentle touch.
They both wished the moment could last forever.
Another yell from Mac shattered the moment, leaving (y/n) missing the tenderness of his hand in its absence.
“I’ll find you after,” he said, turning around and backpedaling to catch up with his squad. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
The corner of her lips quirked into a smirk. “I’ll leave that to you.”
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Once the battle had died down and all the remaining Japanese were either killed or taken prisoner, (y/n) went searching for Gene. When the bullets began to fly, she couldn’t get the boy from Mobile off her mind, and anxiety churned in her stomach as she looked for him. The stench of gasoline, blood, and burnt flesh filled the air along her ascent to the ridge. Bodies of both marines and the enemy lined the narrow path up the hill, and her eyes scanned each one, praying that none of them were the men she’d come to love dearly.
“Burgie, you seen Sledgehammer? He was just over here.”
Hearing the familiar Cajun accent, she spun toward the voice and sighed in relief when she saw Snafu atop an old bunker, his legs swinging as he sat on the edge with a cigarette hanging from his lip. Romus was talking to another sergeant a few feet away, his rifle swung around his shoulder.
“There you are!” (Y/n) called out, reaching up and slapping Snafu’s foot. It was all she could reach from his elevated position on the concrete bunker. “You alright?”
He smiled and raised an eyebrow, blowing a puff of smoke into the humid air. “Not a scratch on me,” he mused. “I don’t know where Eugene is, but don’t worry, I just saw him. He’s okay, too.”
With this news, a wave of calm washed over her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding since they parted. “Thanks, Snaf. I’ll find him.”
“Have fun,” he laughed, waving his cigarette around in front of him. “And do me a favor and fuc-”
This caught Burgie's attention. “Hey!” He interrupted, scolding Snafu like he was a parent whose child was acting up in public. “Cut it out.”
Busting out laughing, Snafu winked at (y/n), who could feel the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks at his intended comment. She raised a hand and flipped him off with a grin before continuing her search for Gene.
It took her a few minutes of wandering to spot his familiar frame among the sea of dirty green uniforms, but when she did, a huge smile painted her face. (Y/n) almost called out to him, but something stopped her.
He was sitting alone on the busted remains of a bunker with his helmeted head in his hands, his weapon lying idle in the dirt beside him. She continued toward him slowly, observing the gentle shake of his shoulders that told her he was crying.
“Hey, Gene,” (y/n) murmured with a softness that matched the gravity of the moment, lowering herself onto the earth beside him. He reacted quickly, averting his gaze and hiding his face as he wiped the tears from his dirt-covered cheeks.
Reaching over, she softly turned his face toward her. After a moment of resistance, he gave in to her gentle touch. His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met hers. (Y/n)‘s fingertips traced the dirt-streaked paths on his cheeks, her touch a soothing escape from the horror they lived in.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, ducking to meet his eyes. “I’m here.”
Gene’s lip began to quiver, and a stifled sob escaped him as he covered his face with trembling hands. “I’m a monster, (y/n). The things I’ve done…” he strained, moving away from her comforting touch.
(Y/n) watched the play of emotions on his face as he stood up abruptly, throwing an arm out to point to a bombed-out building. The skeletal remains of what once was a home loomed in the smoky haze. “There was a family in there. Now a baby with grow up without a family! I called in the mortars up there! I did that! I’m a monster!”
“No,” she shot up, her voice cutting him off. “You are not a monster, Eugene Sledge. We are at war. We’ve all done terrible things here, but it does not make you a monster. The fact that you’re feeling like you are proves you’re not. It means you’re human, Gene.”
Another tear streaked down his cheek as he clenched his teeth. “After Bill and everyone we’ve lost, I wanted to get them back. I wanted to. You saw me yesterday!”
“Eugene! Look at me!” she ordered, cupping his cheeks as she implored his attention. His gaze wandered everywhere but her face until she spoke again, her tone much softer this time. “Hon, please look at me.”
Tear-filled hazel eyes met hers, and she tugged him a little closer, they’re faces only inches apart. “We all want to get them back. You are not a monster.”
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he croaked, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “What if this is who I am now?”
“I know exactly who you are. You are Eugene Bondurant Sledge. You’re still that same boy from Mobile, Alabama who loved his dog more than anything, the same one who loved to fish with his father, and the very same one who I fell in love with before we even stepped foot on foreign soil.”
A sob escaped his lips, and his eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed by her words. “There’s no way you can love me like this. You deserve someone else who-”
“I don’t love anyone else, Gene!” she urged, tears stinging her eyes. “I love you, and I’ll say it over and over, every single day, for as long as it takes to make you believe me.”
Shaking his head, he tried to break free from her touch, but she held on. “I’m not a good man.”
“You are good, Eugene. You are a good man. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but it’s how we respond to them that makes us who we are. This right here? It proves you’re a good man.”
Her words seemed to break through in his mind, and he froze for a moment. Pulling off his helmet, he moved (y/n)‘s hands from his face and cupped her cheeks, his red eyes still glossy. “I love you,” he murmured, voice wavering. “And I will spend the rest of my life working to be worthy of you if you’ll let me.”
The tears (y/n) had been holding back filled her eyes, a few of them trickling from her waterline. She nodded in his gentle hold. “You already are.”
He wiped a few tears away softly, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “You’re too good for this world, darlin’,” Gene cooed. “You always see the good in people. Even me.”
With utmost care, Gene reached up and removed (y/n)‘s helmet, her tousled (y/h/c) spilling out. The fading sun added a soft glow to their faces, emphasizing the exhaustion etched in their features. As he delicately held the helmet aside, Eugene’s eyes met (y/n)‘s, a silent understanding passing between them. He closed the gap, his breath mixing with hers as his eyes lingered on her face, taking in every detail-the mud smudges, the fatigue-as if memorizing each nuance.
With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was a tender blend of longing and comfort, a quiet promise to stay by the other’s side. In that moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Time slowed as they embraced, finding solace in the simple act of being together at last. The sounds of war faded into the background, replaced by the gentle symphony of two hearts seeking refuge in the warmth of each other’s touch.
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kodanshamanga · 5 months
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NEW Kodansha Print:
⚔️SHAMAN KING: FLOWERS, Volume 6⚔️ By Hiroyuki Takei
🌼Hana encounters a kindred spirit in Sakurai, Second Lieutenant of the Japanese Navy, whose alter ego is the flame-skulled grim reaper Death Zero.
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realspacejunk · 9 months
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Well, I guess listening to first-person accounts from the Pacific theatre of WWII is one way to traumatize myself. Obvious content warning.
Every Island landing for the Americans and Japanese was like D-day but worse. And it just got worse the closer Americans came to the Japanese home islands. And the way the Imperial army just threw themselves into death, continuing to kill Americans until the last second, soldiers sometimes being chained to their machine gun nests, while involving the civilians in this, might have been the worst of it all. Some men had to be evacuated from the battlefields because their minds just broke. Some of this shit is just so difficult to grasp.
One soldier (named John Garcia) recalled his traumatic experience from Okinawa, and it just shows the psychological wounds this conflict caused:
We buried General Ushijima and his men inside a cave. This was the worst part of the war which I did not like about Okinawa. They were hiding in caves all the time. Women, children, soldiers. We get up on a cliff and lower down barrels of gasoline and then shoot at it. It would explode and just bury them to death. I personally shot one Japanese woman because she was coming across a field at night. We kept dropping leaflets not to cross the field at night because we couldn't tell if they were soldiers. We would set up a perimeter. Anything in front, we'd shoot at it. This one night I shot, and when it came daylight there was a woman there, and a baby tied to her back. The bullet had gone through her and out the baby's back. That still bothers me. That haunts me. I still feel I committed murder. You see a figure in the dark, it's stooped over. You don't know if it's a soldier or a civilian. I was drinking about a fifth and a half of Whisky every day. Sometimes homemade, sometimes what I could buy. It was the only way I could kill. I had friends who were Japanese. And I kept thinking every time I pulled the trigger on a man or pushed a flame thrower down into a hole: What is this person's family gonna say when he does not come back? He's got a wife, he's got children, somebody. Oh, I still lose nights of sleep because of that woman I shot. I still lose a lot of sleep. I still dream about her. I dreamed about it perhaps two weeks ago.
And on the other side, you have entire families being commanded to take their own lives. Under the fear that the Americans would do terrible things to them, some blew themselves up with grenades, some took poison, or used blades or ropes. And when neither worked or was available, they would assign one family member to beat the rest to death with rocks or sticks. Often these chosen were the only survivors of these mass killings. It was all pure madness. Mind-boggling. All the while propaganda was blasted to the Japanese civilians and soldiers in fluent Japanese from boats, promising them their lives, safety, food and medicine.
Stuff like this happened every day in the Pacific, on every island. From the jungles of New Guinea to the caves of Okinawa, and islands nobody has ever heard of.
And the most insane thing is that, during all this time, the Japanese leadership knew Japan was losing the war as early as the Battle of Midway.
I think these stories give context to every decision made on that side of the war, including the fire bombings and the A-bombs. I sometimes think about how the pilots felt when they dropped Little Boy and Fat Man, but I feel like I won't ever understand their mindset as a person who has not witnessed the fanaticism, determination, and madness that occurred during the Island hoppings.
In an angry letter, the mother of a soldier on Okinawa asks:
Why haven't reinforcements reached those boys on Okinawa? Why must the same troops fight for 45 days? Why only six divisions in the first place? Why must every battle in the Pacific be bloody? It was bloody Tarawa, bloody Saipan, bloody Peleliu, bloody Leyte, bloody Iwo Jima, bloody Okinawa, bloody Mindanao, all of three divisions there, bloody Luzon, not finished, and it will be bloody Borneo. Doesn't it ever enter anyone's mind that we are paying a needles too high a price in human blood in the Pacific?
Here in Europe, I don't think this side of the war gets enough attention in the WW2 canon.
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flesh-into--gear · 6 months
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the morality debate of using nuclear weapons on imperial japan will never not be fascinating to me. because on the whole face of it, like anything done in war, of course it was wrong in hindsight, and objectively, it should be wrong.
but at the same time, we’re talking about a people (yes i understand not everyone) driven to fanaticism through absolute and complete indoctrination and propaganda, for an idealized society that never actually existed.
and it just… it fascinates me to no end that a lot of people cannot fathom that. they can’t fathom, despite decades and centuries and millennia of history where it happens over and over and over again, that an extremely loud vocal almost-minority (it sure wasn’t a minority in the 20s/30s and early 40s) can push a country over the edge, take complete control, and effectively brainwash generations.
it’s not like there are any glaring examples of that in our own US history that are extremely recent or anything. and i mean if you really need to see how far that extent goes, just look at what happened when Imperial forces lost Saipan. the first-hand accounts are horrific.
im not going to get involved on the morality itself, and im not going to go on and on about how Imperial Japan’s military and government were completely enamored with idealized bushido code and blah blah, because that’s research you can do yourself.
but i just wish that people would stop treating that as a black and white “BAD”. Imperial Japan on all fronts is a fucking tragedy, especially for every other Pacific and Asian nation, and for the japanese civilians that were simply born in the wrong time and place. but fuck me dude is there about eighty miles of nuance to the debate that just gets glossed so hard over. like you don’t know what it’s like to see news reels every day talking about casualty reports on Iwo Jima or Peleliu or any of those islands that Imperial Japan considered “home islands” and the absolute defense zone. we’re talking near-on WWI numbers of bodies, for strips of land that are tiny, being held by people with standing orders to die in their positions, and take as many lives possible. that was the whole point of the Imperial strategy in the Pacific, to make the losses so great that the American home front would call for ceasefire.
like… Imperial Japan was doing this /on purpose/.
if they’re fighting like this for islands that aren’t even technically a part of the main chain, what the fuck was a mainland invasion going to look like?
The Pacific Theater is a fucking tragedy for everyone that it involved. it doesn’t matter what side.
and for the record, of course, the nukes were wrong. but that’s also the benefit of almost 80 years of hindsight, and a life so comfortable i cannot fathom what it would be like to see entire parts of town populations just… disappear on some island i’ve never heard of and can’t find on a map.
again, it’s not that i agree. but at the same time as much as i want to poke holes in it, “oh the empire was winding down, the populace was beginning to pull support, etc etc”, knowing the history makes it a lot harder to do it
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eowyntheavenger · 1 year
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I read this today and I want everybody else to read it too because this is the best thing ever.
DIY Ice Cream in Wartime
The Vought F4U Corsair was a multi-role aircraft: fighter, ground attacker, and ice cream maker.
By late September 1944, the men of U.S. Marine fighter squadron VMF-122 were stuck on Peleliu and bored. Their F4U Corsairs were only 10 minutes’ flight time from Japanese-held islands, but the enemy, cut off from their supply lines, posed no aerial threat. As squadron commander J. Hunter Reinburg recounted in his autobiography Combat Aerial Escapades: A Pilot’s Logbook, he told a reporter, “This dive-bombing and strafing just isn’t as exciting as dogfighting, but the damn Japs won’t come up and fight.”
After lifting off on what he logged as an “oxygen system test,” Reinburg circled at 33,000 feet over Japanese-held Palau, watching anti-aircraft batteries—useless over 28,000 feet—waste irreplaceable ammunition trying to hit him. After 35 minutes of fireworks, he returned to Peleliu with a disappointing cargo. The mixture was cold but not frozen (the squadron scarfed it anyway), a failure the crew chalked up to its proximity to the hot engine.
For the next attempt (a “supercharger test flight”), they bolted ammo cans to the underside of a removable maintenance panel on each wing, well away from the engine—doubling their yield to 10 gallons, enough for 100 men. This time the mixture froze. The squadron again devoured it immediately. But the ice cream was too flaky for Reinburg’s taste, so his crew modified the ammo cans with small propellers: The wind turned the propellers, which drove a screw inside the can, churning the mixture. The result, finally, was a smooth, creamy chocolate ice cream.
Operation Freeze flights soon became routine, rotated between the squadron’s pilots and airplanes. They went off without a hitch, wrote Reinburg, until his boss, group operations officer Colonel Caleb Bailey, called to make clear that he didn’t buy the “test flight” ruse. “Listen, goddammit, you guys aren’t fooling me,” Bailey told a VMF-122 officer. “I’ve got spies. You tell [Reinburg] I’m coming over there tomorrow and get my ration.”
Reinburg’s Marines were not the only ice cream-makers of the war. B-17 crews in Europe brought ice cream mixtures along on operational bombing raids, according to a 1943 New York Times article, and at least one unit used its P-47s to create a real delicacy, vanilla ice cream mixed with canned fruit.
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sgtgrunt0331-3 · 9 months
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A U.S. Marine fires his M1 Thompson submachine gun at Japanese positions on the island of Peleliu, September 1944.
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Marines firing an M1919 Browning machine gun during fighting on the island of Peleliu. In the foreground is another Marine with a BAR. September 1944.
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theqhreator42 · 9 months
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There needs to be a game that has Red Orchestra realism (in the depiction of violence and the immediate psychological trauma of war) merged with the bullshit of modern arcade shooters like Battlefield 5. I want a Red Orchestra game where you can play as a female Japanese-American Paramarine lugging around a PTRD emblazoned with a "no bitches?" meme and a silenced purple Luger while defending Peleliu Island from an Italian invasion.
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taraross-1787 · 2 years
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Medal of Honor Monday: Heroes of Peleliu
During this week in 1925, a hero is born. John D. New was the first person in Mobile, Alabama to join the Marines after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
New is remembered for the sacrifice that he made at the Battle of Peleliu, nearly three years later. Unfortunately, the casualty rate during that World War II battle was high—too high. Americans expected to take the island of Peleliu from the Japanese in a few days. Instead, the effort lasted for two months.
Of the eight men who earned Medals during the conflict, a whopping six of these were awarded to Marines who threw themselves on grenades in order to protect others.
Think about that for a minute. Six Marines saw live grenades and reflexively ran *toward* the danger. Death was almost certain to follow, but they did it anyway to save a fellow Marine.
The story concludes here:
https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-peleliu-moh
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jaideepkhanduja · 1 year
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Explore Palau: A Tropical Paradise of Pristine Beaches and Vibrant Coral Reefs
Palau, officially known as the Republic of Palau, is an island nation located in the western Pacific Ocean. It consists of approximately 340 islands, with the largest and most populous being Babeldaob, Koror, and Peleliu. Here is an introduction to Palau: Geography:Palau is situated in the western part of Micronesia, northeast of Indonesia and east of the Philippines. The country’s islands are…
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tigermike · 2 years
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**** Medal of Honor Monday 🇺🇸🇺🇸 ****
During this week in 1925, a hero is born. John D. New was the first person in Mobile, Alabama to join the Marines after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
New is remembered for the sacrifice that he made at the Battle of Peleliu, nearly three years later. Unfortunately, the casualty rate during that World War II battle was high—too high. Americans expected to take the island of Peleliu from the Japanese in a few days. Instead, the effort lasted for two months.
Of the eight men who earned Medals during the conflict, a whopping six of these were awarded to Marines who threw themselves on gr enades in order to protect others.
Think about that for a minute. Six Marines saw live gr enades and reflexively ran *toward* the danger. They did it to save a fellow Marine.
One of the saddest parts? Their stories can be hard to tell. For one thing, most of these Marines did not live to tell us what they thought or felt during those critical moments. Moreover, from a story-telling standpoint, the move is so quick—and so final: One swift decision, then the moment is done. A life is lost, given for another.
The sacrifice and the bravery are the same. Yet other Medal recipients can get more attention simply because their heroism involved a long, thrilling action sequence that turns into a good story.
At Peleliu, only one Marine ran toward a gr enade and lived to tell the tale. His memory of the action is fuzzy. He’d just taken a b ullet right below his ribs when a Japanese soldier emerged from a dugout behind him. The enemy soldier threw a gr enade toward Carlton R. Rouh and several other Marines.
“I got to my feet,” he later recounted, “I remember that. Then after that I can remember things only in patches with blind spots in between.”
He’d placed himself between the other Marines and the gr enade, taking the full brunt of the exp losion himself. Another Marine rushed toward Rouh, covering him as more Japanese emerged from the dugout. Rouh was evacuated and miraculously lived.
Five other brave Marines at Peleliu were not so fortunate. They ran toward gr enades—and gave their lives.
Today, then, perhaps we can take a moment to remember five Marines with stories that tend to get lost in the shuffle: Charles H. Roan, John D. New, Lewis K. Bausell, Richard E. Kraus, and Wesley Phelps.
Each was a hero.
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