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Post by Merriell "Snafu" Shelton on Apr 27, 2010 17:26:01 GMT -7
Somewhere amongst the crowded trees and endless rows of shattered wooden fortifications, the Japs were firing the ammunition that was shattering the arm of a quiet private a few men over and penetrating the skull of screeching man obscured by the dark. Snafu snapped his helmet across his forehead instinctively, and was soon firing keenly into the chaotic swirl that was night, despite his limited vision.
A metallic clang, accompanied by a hit to the knee, alerted Snafu to a neglected helmet that seemed to be asking for its owner. Snafu grimaced, tuning in for the first time to the noise of Burgin’s plea. He stuffed the helmet into the man’s hand, eager again to reach for his trigger. Again and again. His shots were joined by hundreds more in a sheet of ammunition, firing back and forth and sometimes straight up into the air and sometimes through human flesh. In all likelihood, most of his shots were probably doing nothing more than ricocheting off unfortunate trees, but he had to tell himself that each backwards explosion meant that he had ended the devastating fire of a man.
Snafu thought not of the men whose lives were being destroyed, but of the teeth that still would remain perfectly intact in their opened mouths. Probably could rack up a few hundred bucks off of tonight’s barrage, if he got to the men first.
And such were the thoughts that sustained him until the firing slowly puttered to a stop, the Japs presumably dead and floating in a puddle of their own blood or sitting up shot through the heart against some tree, because they didn’t ever give up.
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Post by Eugene Sledge on Apr 28, 2010 5:27:47 GMT -7
[/color] The word escaped on a breathless fall, blinking furiously against the spots of bright in his vision. He licked over his lips, moistening the cracks that ailed it. He'd never been much of a man for cursing before coming here. It had been a twenty-four hours-turn of habit. He turned his head toward his shoulder, scratching grime away with the starchy fabric. His quaking minimized to a tremor, the excitement of the sudden barrage gone. He hunched back against his mud-wall, turning to look over at Snafu. He didn't say anything, let his gaze explain it (slight fear, fool's bravery hiding it with murk and upset), before turning attention to Burgin. "You ok?" His voice croaked like a sick frog.[/ul]
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Post by R.V. Burgin on Apr 28, 2010 10:24:23 GMT -7
R.V. gripped the helmet as Snafu thrust it upon him, before lifting it up and slamming in onto his head in one fluid movement, still firing. But it seemed as soon as he received his helmet, the shots ceased, only leaving a few pops here and there. R.V.'s chest rose and fell in rapid time underneath his shirt, which stuck to him due to the massive amount of sweat he had been forced to produce, thanks to the unforgiving heat of the island.
His eyes still focused in the direction the bullets had flown at them from, R.V. squinted, trying to see if he could spot any casualties, hopefully from the other side. This was futile, however. All he could see was the dense outline of the hills across the way, and a few scattered fires. R.V. turned to see Sledge huddled against the wall of their shelter, and sighed, before sliding down the wall so that he was sitting on the ground, just as Sledge spoke.
"" Yeah, I'm okay. You?" he asked, though it was really directed at anyone in their midst, all of whom looked either scared, or exhilarated.
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Post by Jay De L'Eau on Apr 28, 2010 14:25:55 GMT -7
Jay sat down on the ground now that the firing at stopped for the time being. He still got nervous and scared even though he had been through alot, like most of the men had by this point.. He looked around the others that were sitting beside him. He hoped they didnt suffer alot of casualities this time around, but it was inevitable.
He felt quite sick to his stomach and worst of all he was the one who seemed to get the runs the most. "''"I feel like my fucking stomach is going to explode.." He stated not to loud, but he just couldnt help but express that.
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Post by Merriell "Snafu" Shelton on Apr 28, 2010 18:27:57 GMT -7
Snafu remained steady, smoldering rifle still extended into the dark, for a good thirty seconds after the last remnants of fire sizzled away into the distant trees. He wasn’t one to find himself facing a stray round of shots unprepared, if he could help it. After he was certain that the strange tranquility of cease fire had cast its silencing blanket over the night, his muscles began to unclench and relapse into their more natural state. His hands slipped away from his weapon, which fell against his shoulder as he turned around to face the men. His eyebrows remained painfully arched, despite the relative relaxation of the rest of his body. His pinched expression had become a rather common and unceasing sight over the past few days.
“He ain’t dead, is he?” Snafu loudly replied to Sledge’s comment. “Naw, he’s perfectly healthy. All limbs attached, nothing too broken or missin’,”
Snafu brushed a hand across his forehead, eyes narrowing in on Burgin. He chewed at his lip. The man didn’t look so bad, just a bit worn out. Not any more exhausted than the rest of them.
“Better keep that closer by your side, next time.” He commented. “If there is a next time.”
Snafu then glanced at L’Eau, too tired to find himself irritated by his complaints. Every man on the whole fucking island had the goddamn runs, but most of them knew better than to complain about anything other than being dead. And once you were dead, you didn’t complain.
“Got anything ta complain about that’s worth listenin’ to?”
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Post by Eugene Sledge on Apr 28, 2010 19:01:14 GMT -7
[/color] Whether Snauf heard the reply or not didn't matter to Sledge. He backed out of speaking, letting the exotic looking man carry it on, instead peering over his shoulder. It was dead like humanity out there, the distance between them and the enemy a little bit of ease for their minds. If they were closer, he'd be a little more jumpier (though he'd already witness today that being jumpy didn't bode well in the service) and unsure. This he could deal with. So long as he remained surrounded by men (they weren't boys since the first shot) like these, like him. He spared Jay a glance, before moving his hand to the pocket where his bible was, pressing the heel of his palm close to it. It gave him a sense of grounding, and he shut his eyes to revel in it for a moment. His head seemed to stop singing with the echoed memory of gunfire, and only a mantra of Sunday Church songs scrolled up the black canvas of his shut eyes. For a moment, he could imagine he was out in the grass of his front yard, Deacon panting contentedly by his side, chewing on some raw hide bone. He fell asleep as he sat, head tilted awkwardly. It wouldn't be a long slumber, fifteen minutes at best, but it was something sustainable considering all things.[/ul]
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Post by R.V. Burgin on Apr 28, 2010 19:36:27 GMT -7
R.V. just shook is head slightly at Snafu's words. He was used to the male's negativity, and usually just let it slide right over his shoulder. Pressing his helmet down on his head again, he leant back against the familiar stone pillar, which had wounded him, yet given him some structure when he needed it, though this time he was thankful he had his helmet.
"Don't get out of the hole. You saw what happened to what's-his-face." he warned Jay, referring to the soldier who had been shot the night before. He did have a jap closing in on his ass, but he knew better. Or maybe he didn't.... Either way, that poor son of a bitch was dead, and there was nothing they could do about it now. He just hoped all these other dumbasses were smart enough to stay in their holes. They didn't need anymore blood shed by their own sword, so to speak.
As he spoke, he could feel his eyes starting to close, and fought to keep them open, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.
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Post by Jay De L'Eau on Apr 29, 2010 8:57:02 GMT -7
Jay tried not complain about little things since he was lucky to be alive, but just couldnt help what came out of his mouth. He noticed Sledges glance, amd he returned one back. He looked over at Snafu as he heard him speak.
""Nope."" He responded to Snafu anyways even though he just wanted to to ignore his question. He then looked over at R.V when he mention about the guy that left his foxhole. He knew better at this point.
"""I wont leave the hole I can assure you that."" " He was pretty tired himself, He closed his eyes as he leaned against the hard ground. He too knew his sleep wasnt going to be long but he had to try and get some rest anyways.
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Post by Merriell "Snafu" Shelton on Apr 29, 2010 15:19:30 GMT -7
The calm of the ceasefire brought in an unexpectedly refreshing new breeze, and Snafu finally noticed the wetness of someone elses' cool blood drying on his arm hair. It was as if the island was trying to make up for the terrors of earlier evening, or something of the like. Snafu thought curiously to himself as the men around him gave into the temptation of catching a bit of shut eye, heavy chests coming down from the adrenaline rush at an almost inhumane rate. But Snafu had long since learned that you eventually got accustomed to being terrified one moment and asleep the next.
But Snafu didn’t want to sleep, not now. There was a peculiar silence that sunk into the trees and the veins of the men around him after every storm of ammunition in the night had ended. A moment when the once living began to become a new part of the dirt, the moment when the solemn island began to relapse into its old patterns of nature. It was a queer feeling, to sit and think about all of the things that surrounded him, and Snafu had found it an uneasy sensation for a long while.
But now, as he sat and watched the men around him slip into whatever troubled sleep they could muster, Snafu found himself being more appreciative of the silence. Somehow, it was the only part of the war he liked.
Besides, he wasn’t all that tired anyways.
It wouldn’t be long until they quit pretending like they could sleep and they’d come ‘round complaining about their back aching or their balls itchin'. Snafu’s eyes narrowed in on Sledge. He reckoned he’d open his eyes first. He almost always did.
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Post by Eugene Sledge on Apr 30, 2010 6:58:03 GMT -7
[/color] He muttered to break the silence. It was disturbing him, almost more than the dead men he knew the names of around him. He picked at his pants, wriggling toes inside his shoes, quickly doing a mental inventory to determine whether all his body parts were still there. He came out of the check feeling assured. Cards would be nice right now, something to mislead their minds, but it'd also be a stupid idea. Recklessly stupid. The memory of nicotine crossed his mind, and his mouth remembered the feel of smoke coating it, and suddenly, he wanted one. It had felt soothing, head-numbing, and with tongue in cheek, he looked over at Snafu again, blinking dirt furiously from his eyes. "Do you have any cigarettes? A habit he used to find disgusting he was beginning to come reliant one. Some retched war, and he had a feeling they weren't even half-way done.[/ul]
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Post by R.V. Burgin on Apr 30, 2010 7:34:25 GMT -7
Hearing that at least two of the guys were alert, or at least awake, R.V. closed his eyes tightly, trying to force himself into a state of pure slumber. But as he tried, and tried, he realized that there was no possible way he was going to achieve it. Like the saying said, " A watched pot never cooks"...or something like that. The male's eyes remained closed, however, and though his breathing had slowed, he could still feel his ribs aching from when he had them against the mouth of their cover during the last barrage.
R.V.'s mouth tightened when Sledge asked for a cigarette. Sledge had been a good kid coming into the war, R.V. could tell. But like every other young man in the whole damn marines, or army, he was becoming something different. A changed man. Corrupted, by the atrocities he was forced to witness, and take part of, unlike Snafu, who seemed to have come into all this somewhat like the way he was now.
Folding his arms across his chest, as though that would protect him against a Jap bullet, R.V. let out a sigh, before trying to drift off into something that could possibly be compared to sleep.
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Post by Merriell "Snafu" Shelton on May 2, 2010 18:32:54 GMT -7
The bags under Sledgehammer’s eyes were bigger and darker than Snafu remembered, resembling irritated purple bruises more than the normal valleys in the skin. He looked as though he might’ve taken a few bad hits during a fight of some sort, the hollows in his cheeks from not eating regularly looking more like puffy scratches than anything else. Maybe it was the limited lighting of the night, but Snafu found himself rather intrigued by the idea that Sledgehammer might be knocked out silly on the ground after losing a rousing fist fight. He cocked his head slightly, and his mind drifted. In a regular old tussle between himself and Sledgehammer, who would win?
Usually, Snafu would allot himself the advantage of physical strength and determination, but Sledgehammer had been proving himself lately to be more than some scrawny mama's boy. He wasn’t looking so much like the green and pudgy recruit that he used to be, shuffling around with his eyes opened wide and his rifle permanently glued to his chest. More like the rest of the guys; shell hardened and roughened up, like a calloused hand. Snafu was about to look down to examine his own crusted hands when Sledgehammer’s eyes fluttered open. His stare didn’t falter until Sledge asked for a cigarette.
Snafu let out a slight chuckle. Even that old Christian boy, always reading the bible and making sure he was staying clean and virtuous in his actions, was breaking.
“Sure ya know how?” Snafu grinned, digging around in one of his pockets before extracting two smokes. “Need me ta bum it for you?” He extended a hand above the boy’s head.
Snafu had seen Sledge smoke before, just a few times maybe, and it was an odd sight. The sticks just didn’t look like they belonged in the boy’s mouth.
Somewhere beside his, Burgin was stirring. Snafu glanced over at him, extending the other smoke out to the man. If he ran out of rations, he could always bum some more from a dead Jap.
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Post by Eugene Sledge on May 2, 2010 20:23:14 GMT -7
[/color] The words slurred around the filter, and he leaned forward to both get a light, and if the man wasn't going to part with it, get his lit. Little rocks clungs to the curves of his palms, and he brushed them off as best he could while still pressing down against the ground. It wasn't successful in the least, but attempted. There was a word for people like Snafu. It was on the tip of his tongue, ringing on the edge of his mind, and it came to him as he looked up to the fellow man. Unnerving. "How long do you think it'll last this time?" Talking. Noise. Noise that wasn't loud, and explosive, and bright - he needed it to occupy himself, wind him down the beaten path.[/ul]
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Post by Merriell "Snafu" Shelton on May 2, 2010 21:05:32 GMT -7
Snafu could feel the eyes of other men upon him as he held the smokes above the heads of the two men, his mouth stretched out in lopsided grin. Some of them were probably grunting at him and Sledgehammer to urge them to shut their traps, but Snafu wasn’t easily deterred. The light of early dawn was beginning to appear above the rubble, a strange contrast of grimy dirt and gray and pink. It’d be time to move out, soon enough. Wasn't worth getting all snug and cozy up in the rocks in muck. Snafu doubted they’d have the luck to stay around for longer than a few hours before an attack would be ordered. The men ought to wake up and prepare themselves for the deaths of the day. Wouldn’t be too long now…
Snafu felt the stick as it was snatched away from him, and he chuckled once again as he looked down at Sledge as he stuck it inside his mouth. He fingered the other smoke as he watched the man struggle. It just wasn’t right, wasn’t quite natural. Didn’t Sledgehammer have his bible to read, or some letter to write?
Without speaking, Snafu reached again inside his pocket, checking on his teeth and the dirt, and grabbed his rusting lighter. He tossed the light to Sledge and took the other smoke to his mouth, biting casually on the filter before waiting for the lighter to be returned.
“Not long,” Snafu commented out of the corner of his mouth, motioning towards the rings of the sun. Wouldn’t be long until the relative shade of the night gave way to a sauna of bubbling heat. A crackling shell exploded somewhere in the distance, but its light was partially dulled by the rising day. “We’ll be outta here in a coupla hours,”
Snafu extended a hand behind his head to scratch at some of the filmy dirt mixed with blood that cased his skin and chewed softly.
"Ya never drank before all this, neither?" he mumbled, half out loud and half to himself.
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Post by R.V. Burgin on May 2, 2010 21:23:57 GMT -7
R.V., who had given up on his short-lived dream of getting at least a wink of sleep, shook his head as Snafu offered him a cigarette. He wasn't exactly in the mood to ruin his lungs at that moment, though there wasn't much else for him to do. Blinking a few times, R.V. repositioned his helmet, before leaning forward with a strained groan and placing his head on his knees. "That's what they always say." he commented, his voice cracking slightly as it caught in his throat.
Reaching his arm out, R.V. took to drawing child-like pictures in the dirt, little stick figures with tiny stick-like guns in their hands. He traced out what he thought looked like mountains, and made the best fires he could manage. A portrait of the scarred wasteland they inhabited.
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