Breathing {Peleliu}

[Eugene Sledge]

[/color] He didn't have to specify if he'd gotten drunk or not, did he? He found himself pondering it. He never had, no, but he had felt quite warm, especially in the head, more so when he moved. Either way. He turned his head to rub his chin against his shoulder, effectively scratching an itchy spot beneath. He caught sight of a flaming sky, and he shivered, turning blind from it again. He didn't want to face it until he was headng straight for it.

Burgin's words finally settled in, and he nodded slowly, like he was only just now grasping it. "Yeah. Maybe they'll mean it this time." It was false hope, but he was still allowed to possess it as much as the next man, no matter hoe dumb it be.[/ul]

[Merriell "Snafu" Shelton]

Snafu remembered when his hands used to shiver and shake. He watched silently for a while, his unlit smoke still lingering in his mouth. He used to want to run away, far away from all the fears and stench and the constant worry. He also recalled realizing that there wasn’t anywhere to run to. He bit down softly.

Burgin’s drawings still halfway lingered in the sand, despite the rogue pebble. The scrawny figures didn’t look all that realistic to him, excluding the fact that they mostly consisted of lines. There wasn’t any blood in the scene, and he figured at least one of the men in the picture ought to be wounded, for the sake of statistics. Snafu drew a finger along the front of his arm, where blood was browning and hardening. He managed to get enough between his gnarled fingernail to lean forward and leave a trace of crimson on the side of one of the stick men. He paused for a moment to admire his work.

“Jus’ need a few dead Nips, and it’ll be alright lookin’,” Snafu breathed before leaning back to his original post. The sun was clearly visible above the craters now, providing the troops with the light needed to maneuver and assault the enemy. Only trouble was, the Japs got nastier with the day, too.

“You drank before?” His thoughts diverted again. “Only durin’ the Lord’s supper on Sunday mornin’s,” he grinned. “Wit’ mother an’ father an’ a priest makin’ sure ya don’t enjoy it all too much.”

Snafu slipped forward again, the leathery texture of his uniform itching him in uncomfortable areas. Sledgehammer didn’t never drink, Snafu told himself. He grabbed the unused lighter and brought it to his smoke, finally inhaling.

[R.V. Burgin]

In a state of almost pure concentration, R.V. hadn't noticed his tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth until the little pebble streamed across his artwork, taking the head off of one of his soldiers. He decided that would a Jap, and glanced up to see Sledge's apologetic glance. He shook his head, as though waving it off. After all, he had just killed a Jap! If only it were that easy...if only...

R.V. continued to outline more stick figures, some of them with slants for eyes, some with dots. After a few moments, and Snafu's contribution of blood on the now designated Japs, there were a number of little stick men in the sand, illuminated by the rising sun. R.V. leant back, gazing at his artwork, somewhat proud of his elementary styled drawings, as Sledge's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

" Don't hold your breath." R.V. mumbled, as he reached up and scratched an itch that had been plaguing him since he had woken up. His face then cracked into a slight smile as Snafu commented on Sledge's drinking habits, something a number of the guys had already figured.