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yeahcurrahhe-e · 10 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐘

〚 𝐒. 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ language, injury

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ @softguarnere : I was wondering if I could put in a request, in the meantime? Maybe 11 from the prompt list for Sid from The Pacific? — prompts used (I did both 11’s): “you’re annoying, you know that?”, “this sounds like you’re flirting with me”

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 task to attempt to determine which was more tormented at patrol assignment.

Leckie gambled that it was the young Philips boy, hubris as he jabbed his smoldering cigarette towards him, the blonde in question pinched in a sulk besides their CO a few feet away. Hoosier, with a rivaling cocksure flair, scoffed and pointedly gestured at the female soldier on the CO’s opposite side, namely how her face was teetered with the heavy pull of a grimace.

Nevertheless, they could both agree that either would prefer an unforgiving Jap bullet to the head, rather than be within the same plane of existence as the other.

“Don’t be too excited there, Private,” their CO nodded at the Philips boy, who lacked any acclaim for his ability to mask his balloon of disappointment, as it swell up his sun-beaten face.

There was a divine moment — for Y/N and probably her only — where the Private’s face cramped into an unblinking expression of perplex, as if his brain couldn't comprehend the humiliation from the remark. A meager smile played on her lips, spared from any callout from their officer by the shadow cast over it by her helmet.

Yet, Sidney saw it, poking out like a thorn in his periphery, his thoughts exacting in on how she adorned the smile like a blazing sheen on her skin.

And, by the absolute cruelty of God himself, now he had to trek off into a landscape of enemy territory with her pride — as it existed as an entirely distinct entity — and she herself.

“Don’t let Private Philips and his adolescent attitude deter you out there, Sergeant,” the officer asserted towards Y/N, a dry chuckle ricocheting around the lame cigarette crooked in his lips.

“Might just have to charge you for babysitting, Lieutenant,” she effortlessly quipped back, though there was the fleeting sidelong glimpse to the joke’s patsy, as if to provoke.

Sidney’s eyes narrowed, lips curled and pursed as if mentally preparing himself to sputter out some half-thought defense; a flimsy bandage for his raw and swollen ego.

Beyond thoughts absorbed with gripes of the heat, the sunburn that bruised his fine skin, and a passing acknowledgment of Leckie and Hoosier’s obnoxious eavesdropping, he could spare a moment for the wherewithal that she was baiting him. To see if he would make a further fool of himself.

There’s a twitch of a frustrated clench in his jaw and fists, and then a tightly drawn smile towards her; not this time.

“Marines ain’t paying any of us for that,” the officer goodheartedly patted her shoulder with his departure, voice then carrying in a beckoning towards a throng of lanky replacements by the CP tent.

“Marines ain’t paying you either to just stand there and stare at me like some pretty boy,” she chided, evident of exasperation for him and the growing stickiness painting her skin.

“Aw, that sounds like you’re flirting with me,” he called shrewdly towards her, buckling the remainder of his gear against his back.

She subtly bowed her head towards the remnants of the rainforest’s tree line, a shadow gracing the vague pink on her cheeks as her temper writhed to get in a wily remark itself, “Let’s go, Philips.”

And, as the pair trudged in path to the canopy of green and earthy browns, shoulders drawn in a brood as if they were marching towards their deaths, Leckie turned to the boy from Indiana,

“Bet your ass a carton of Lucky Strikes that they either kill each other or realize their dumbass likes the other.”

His hand accordingly is propositioned towards Hoosier, the sandy-haired soldier promptly clasping it to secure their deal.

“Bet.”

—

JAPANESE AND AMERICAN ARTILLERY and shell-casings had been scattered in a cemetery for weapons within the rainforest that is nature’s cathedral.

Her seedy, military-issued boots are useless against the uneven and unpredictable terrain, the soles of her feet strident with more aches and blisters as they slip on discarded mortar shells and spent bullets.

The compact windows of the canopy yielded the graceful ease of the moon’s beams, the radiated hues scattering across their path, shadows seeming to deliberately touch all the obstacles that threatened her balance. It was all just salt in an already festering wound. It couldn’t get worse.

“No offense taken, Sergeant,” he blurted, eyes flashing to her moon-kissed silhouette alongside him, Southern drawl poignant on the acknowledgement of her rank.

Their contrast in ranks yet similarity in age, had been something of a smoldering cinder in whatever inferno churned between them from the days of basic training. It was searing brightly as he spoke.

“Yet, you always manage,” she rolled her eyes, begrudgingly investing in this conversation rather than rooting in the irritation with the war-polluted terrain.

“I am going to allow that,” he briefly pursed his lips, mended his temper with a concise nod to himself, and continued, “Thought I’d just say how I’m surprised you were so dandy with being my personal babysitter on this patrol. I figured you would have done a lil’ more kicking and screaming.”

Her eyes fashioned with the churns of ire towards the leering blonde next to her, “I decided to do some charity work, I guess.”

Sidney subtly clicked his tongue, curt taps of his fingers against his rifle’s barrel as he peered out at the silent foliage, “Always like you to go above and beyond. You’re just like every pretty girl back home in Mobile — tripping over themselves to get attention. ‘Ya know that?”

Y/N tilted her head towards him with a gleam of a sharp smirk as she mused, “Oh, does Sidney Philips think I’m pretty?”

“Pfft…you need somethin’ to make up for that ugly personality of yours,” he shrugged, lithe fingers bounding into a rhythm against the rifle, the hazy reverberations swirling around their tension. Respect for rank was as discarded as the patchwork of ammunition beneath their boots.

His mama would just about throttle him with bare hands now; she had raised her boys to be walking, animate books of discipline and manner (she would often chide over supper about how she wouldn’t have her boys running about town like a flock of heathens, pulling girls’ pigtails like the Holland brothers).

She inhaled subtly, but evident enough for an awareness to be made for her exasperation; if they weren’t in the very nucleus of a Japanese soldier nest presently, she would have readily throttled him herself.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” she whispered firmly, her own pique challenging his, not deliberately, but it was a fair competition as it sought to bleed from him through murmured curses and a firm clasp on her rifle.

When a hasty and curt rebuttal wasn’t cast back at her, she poised a brow and turned towards him.

His stare is sternly planted on the tree line to her right, baby blue eyes nearly fire in water as the hues churn with panic and thought.

A tide of anxiety swarmed into Y/N’s agitation, a fleeting glance spared to the tree line — to the silhouettes that poked ever so subtly out from the weathered boughs of the trees, to where murmurs of Japanese were swapped in haste as they planned. She’s certain they hadn’t spotted them by miracle of a dense weeds and orchids obscuring their position.

The irked stare that she had held with Sidney, glitched with currents of anticipation — as if she expected at any moment for him to run off, forsaken her to the enemy.

Yet, he didn’t.

He now studied her in return just as keenly and subtly shook his head. An implicit denial of her assumption.

“Go,” they simultaneously enticed the other in a hushed demand, only serving to be the waters for an ill-timed dispute.

Y/N peered at him through narrowed eyes as if he had three-heads, “I’m the ranking NCO here. This isn’t a time for half-thought heroics, Captain America.”

Sidney rolled his eyes, nearly too belligerently, and sobered the absolute temptation to just kill her himself with a drawn inhale, “I will cause a distraction while you book it back to camp to inform the others.”

Their toss of banter is disrupted by footfalls against the anchored roots of close trees. The steps have the sound of someone who is actively failing to remain sly as they wrongfully presumed the roots would muffle their approach — someone untrained. Someone they could overpower, if necessary, she deduced, easing away the lax strands of her hair that dangled from her ponytail and into her vision, preparing to have to do the worst with her rifle.

Abruptly, there was a pressure encompassing her forearm, and a hand plucked her beneath the atypically serious gaze of Sidney Philips, chests essentially against the flush of the others.

She twisted around furiously so she could push him away, the essence of a scowl on her face that was glorified by the moonlight.

Yet, he swiftly thwarted her mid-shove, muttering hastily, “Don’t think. Run.”

Now, she peered up at him incredulously, a flit of refusal collecting simultaneously upon her expression and tongue.

“I’m the NCO here, not you, Philips.”

“You’re gonna argue right now?”

“Yes, when you’re disobeying a superior and about to sacrifice yourself to a bunch of fucking Japs.”

“You need to be able to go back and get more help.”

In a moment, he was more or less yanking her towards the vacant path back to camp, her boots fleetingly scuffling before she amended her pace to his curt strides.

“Sidney-” Y/N blurted in a coarse whisper as he jostled her towards safety.

“Don’t think for once,” he mumbled hotly, hands trembling ever slightly as he assured that his weapon was prepared for firing, the dull sound of the safety clicking off accompanying it, “I got this. Go get backup.”

Do you? she nearly beckoned, but he’s already got one boot sloshed down in a divet of mud, furtively moving against the green sea of foliage that conceals him from the Japanese soldier lurking beyond it.

She begrudgingly hastened the remainder of the path towards the assembly of tents, nearly halting when a raucous bang! of a bullet reverberates against the velvet dark of the night.

“Fuck.”

And she’s turning around before a second thought — self-preservation — persuades her otherwise.

—

TRULY, THE LAST TEN MINUTES HAD ALL BEEN A BLUR.

In her half-concussed mind — a departing gift from the butt of a Japanese rifle — she could recall through the radiating ache that Sidney and her had managed to scramble into a sprint away from a remarkably pissed off and bloodied Japanese soldier, the sole survivor in a patrol of four. The two of them had more or less tumbled into the recess of a weedy valley mere inches outside of their camp.

Somehow, in the inundation of chaos, the pursuing enemy, in a brain fog spun by blood loss, had lost them in their frenzied trajectory of escape. Most likely would die before finding them again.

Not a moment was forgiven to silence for the sake of her pulsating head, as Sidney stood over her as she lay in the cavity of the Earth, arms entangled over her eyes as if to mitigate the discomfort.

“What were you thinking?” he commenced lowly through gritted teeth, tone vigilant of the reality that more patrols could be lurking in the twilighted rainforest.

“You told me not to think — just run!” she countered fiercely yet quietly, leaning her arms away from her face.

“Yeah, run away, not run into the middle of the shitshow!” he snapped through the soupy mugginess of Peleliu, easing himself onto the arid soil. He gestured irately towards his crimson and bruised face, “Especially since it didn’t do anything but piss them off more.”

Y/N fluidly propped herself up from her flailed recline on the ground, challenging his own stature where he sat, the graceful ease of moonlight through the canopy, grazing over the dirt and slight laceration on the bow of her hairline.

With a strangled whine in her throat from the anguished blasts of soreness in her head, she hauled herself closer to him, “Oh, I’m sorry that my life saving skills aren’t good enough for you. You can just go ahead and file your complaint right up my fucking ass, Philips.”

The one small comment had stirred the hurricane in the both of them and their blazing eyes strung in a tightrope in the biting air. Their steady breaths canopied in front of their faces as they glowered at each other, a verbal silence prevailing beneath the din of insects and the droning discord of his fingers thrumming against his weapon’s wooden exterior.

“I am so fed up with you, you know that?” she muttered, her hushed tone more of a menace that it should be as it crippled their long silence, and words nearly a copy of her earlier ones. He would hear them this time.

His aimless fingers halted in a hasty reaction, almost cramping at the abrupt cease of movement in their achy tendons as he stopped. And he laughed,

“Why? Because I don’t fall on my knees in your presence, declare that I would do absolutely anythin’ for you?”

He then leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees, pursing his lips fleetingly and in spite of the gash — one she now takes regard of in their proximity — at the corner of his bottom lip, “Believe it or not, but the world doesn’t revolve ‘round you.”

The fury that then irked amidst the injury on her face made him aware that his cruel attempt to inflict a cut into her ego had opened a Pandora’s Box.

Therefore Sidney Philips mentally prepared himself for a reprimanding of his life.

“For fuck’s sakes,” Y/N mused, teetering on a bout of rueful laughter, “I don’t know what redeemable quality the lieutenant wanted me to see by assigning my ass on patrol with you, or what makes you think you’re hot shit. If the Japs don’t kill you first, I just might do it myself out of pure annoyance and frustration.”

Sidney simpered slyly, as if she hadn’t just shamed and threatened him within a duration of seconds. A finger came to be poised towards her, “What kind of frustration we talkin’ about?”

She stilted an eye roll through the veil of the inflaming crimson on the apple of her cheeks, “The kind that will make me snap your neck.”

He scooted a daring few inches towards her, hearing how she huffed as if to humble the fluster that cascaded over her by their closer proximity.

A smell of cigarettes and gunpowder swirled around her wits as he shifted to crouch in front of her, only enabling the champagne pink on her complexion that betrayed unspoken emotions to the surface. A shit-eating grin appeared against his supple bone structure, the simper only true to the mischief that was now integral to his heart’s song. He knew exactly what he fucking was doing.

Something akin to a grunt rumbled at the back of her throat, an effort to chase away the nervous blisters in her throat, as she remained propped with her elbows on the mantle of the dirt. A slight gesture was supplied towards his battered uniform and bloodied lacerations where bubbles of crimson still crested, as if to distance the conversation, “You’re making a mess.”

“Got anywhere else I can bleed?” he deadpanned, beholding her gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and something else. Rather than have his mind amble into the bait of what if, a half-assed wave was mustered over her own tousled appearance and the injuries incurred over her exposed skin, “You look like Hell, too.”

Glancing towards her once more, he could see the bewilderment and exasperation still amidst the muck on her face from their ordeal; there was so much blood and dirt on her own olive uniform, and what skin was haloed by the moonlight. Her face was blemished with a mix of the dirt that had been flung up by their frantic, muddied dash to the outskirts of camp, and blood that may not be entirely her own. A far cry from the manicured, strait-laced girl that he met at Basic.

Then, some remissed corner of his mind took note then of how the moon’s expanding rays entangled with perfect molds in the curves of her hair, the kink of hair that brushed her forehead teasingly. His jaw lifted with a pleasant twinge at his lips after a few moments of wading in those foreign tides. Maybe that girl wasn’t too far.

“War is Hell,” she halfheartedly smiled herself, the fire and gold of frustration in her eyes dripping away as her mind relented to the exhaustion she physically felt.

“Sure is,” he exhaled with alike exhaustion, thigh incidentally nudging against own, kindling a small wildfire on her skin. The crimson that burgeoned within her cheeks, dwelled too near for the comfort of a resolve to utterly despise him — she had to, she always had — along with the smoldering cinder of something else that bided between them now.

Before any action of separation could register in her rigid muscles, he was already tilting her chin up with his finger. Her face flushed remarkably in the brilliant moonlight. Slap him, punch him, do fucking anything! an overwrought line of thoughts brimmed against her mind as the only notion of intelligent life that emitted from her was a hitched breath.

For a few obsessive seconds too long did their eyes then trail the other’s. Don’t think about how his blue eyes were fashioned from electric heavens, don’t think about his wind-tousled, blonde curls, don’t think about his how apparent his Southern roots were in his voice when he got excited, don’t think about how when he’d smile, vague dimples would crease at its edges, don’t think about how when he grazed her thigh, it felt as if stars frisked around her skin, don’t think about how he fidgets with his hands…and don’t think about how he was looking at you now — as if the entire world could crumble around them, and he wouldn’t blink.

Fuck.

“What are you doing?” an unnatural lapse of confidence rushed into her voice, a tirade of continued opposition fervent at the corners of her mind not dulled by the movement of his hand beneath her chin.

“Testing a theory,” he mused, clicking his tongue behind his teeth - a rather smug sound when paired with the subtle smirk playing on his lips.

“Care to elaborate?” there was a shard of her trademark attitude as the tinge of a wry smile cast across her expression.

“That you don’t truly hate me,” his hand loitered towards her cheek, his thumb discreetly skimming the faint line of exhaustion beneath her eye, the warmth of his finger rearing goosebumps in its dragging wake.

Y/N’s steadfast ego couldn’t acknowledge how much of a fucking hot disaster Sidney Philips was making her as she sat there, clothes fresh from a dance with the Devil, half-concussed and bloodied, with her mind frayed by her injury and by the boy in front of her. I am supposed to hate you! her gumption was stalling beneath the frazzle that anchored in her head.

“Prove it then. I don’t believe you,” the words just fell out of her mouth before she could even stop to reflect before blurting it.

Sidney drew her face completely to his own, pressing his lips fervidly against hers. Her subconscious yearned to memorize every inch of his warm lips and how his hands were situated on her. She then tread a few fingers through his disheveled hair, his breathing almost instantaneously steadying with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck.

“What about now, Sergeant?” he more or less panted after a few moments, both of their lips fairly swollen pink. His broad eyes sought around hers so acutely, as if anticipating rejection.

“More than I’d like to admit,” Y/N murmured, a tentative shiver poured over her spine at the warm breath that flittered against her skin as he laughed.

And, somewhere over the ramshackle barbed fence of the camp, watching after being jolted awake by the pair’s ruckus, Hoosier bitterly flung a fresh carton of Lucky Strikes at Leckie’s head.

#hbo war #hbo war imagine #hbowar #the pacific #the pacific imagine #the pacific hbo

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donovanlizzie · 2 months

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JUNGLE ROT - ROBERT LECKIE

Under the sweltering heat of the jungle of Guadalcanal , Robert Leckie found himself standing in line for jungle rot checks, his gaze fixed on the determined corp-woman conducting the examination. Chuckler, Runner, Hoosier, and Sydney Philips stood nearby, watching with amusement as Leckie, usually a man of wit and charm, fumbled over his words.

Leckie, always the charmer, leaned against a tree, his eyes fixed on the medic.

"Well, hello there, beautiful. You here to check if I'm still in one piece? You, uhh, checking us for jungle rot?"

The corp-woman glanced up from her clipboard, She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Save the charm for someone who cares, Marine. I'm just trying to make sure you don't lose a limb to jungle rot. My job is to make sure you're all fit for duty."

Leckie nodded, trying to regain composure. "Right, of course. Duty. Important. Very important."

Chuckler nudged Runner, smirking. "Looks like Leckie finally met his match."

Runner added with a grin, "Yeah, she's not falling for his smooth talk."

Hoosier raised an eyebrow, glancing at the two men with a bemused expression, " you call that smooth talkin'?"

Leckie, unaware of the exchange, continued his attempt at conversation. "So, uh, what's your name?"

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That's not important. Just focus on the inspection."

Leckie's cheeks flushed slightly as he stuttered, "Okay. Sorry."

As the corp-woman examined him, she instructed, "Can you lift your shirt for me?"

Leckie, finding a sudden spurt of bravery, retorted with a chuckle, "Wanna buy me dinner first?"

The boys, including Chuckler and Hoosier, chuckled at Leckie's quip. Even the corp-woman couldn't suppress a small smile. "Just lift your shirt, Marine."

Leckie obliged, feeling a rush of satisfaction at his small victory. The corp-woman continued her examination, her professionalism evident despite the banter.

Once the inspection was over, Leckie flashed her a sheepish grin. "Thanks for, um, checking me over."

She nodded, her demeanor softening slightly. "No problem. Just doing my job."

As Leckie rejoined his comrades, Chuckler, still laughing, caught the attention of the corp-woman. Despite being caked in wet sand, mud, and possibly other bodily fluids, she held herself with a sense of confidence. Chuckler couldn't help but admire her self-assuredness.

The corp-woman met Chuckler's gaze and said, "You next."

Chuckler's laughter subsided as he gave her a mock salute. "Ready when you are, ma'am."

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

The following day, under the scorching sun, Leckie found himself once again trailing the corp-woman as she moved from one Marine to another. Gathering his courage, he fell into step beside her. "Hey, uh, I was just wondering, why did you join the Corps? What's your story?"

She shot him a sidelong glance, her expression guarded. "Why does it matter?"

Leckie stumbled over his words, attempting to articulate his curiosity. "I-I just thought, you know, we're all here, facing the same hell. Figured we could share a bit about ourselves, maybe make this place a bit more bearable."

Her gaze softened for a moment, and she sighed. "Fine. My story is nothing special. I joined because I wanted to make a difference, and this seemed like the way to do it."

Leckie nodded, sensing there was more to it. "And your family? You got siblings back home?"

Her eyes flickered with a mix of sadness and reluctance. "No family. No siblings. I was left on the steps of my local church when I was a baby"

Leckie's eyes widened in surprise, and his tone softened. " oh uh - that must've been tough growing up without a family."

She shrugged, her expression hardening again. "Life's tough for everyone, Marine. I learned to fend for myself."

Leckie, wanting to connect on a personal level, continued, "I get that. I really do. My family's not perfect either, but they're mine, you know? We may not always see eye to eye, but we're family."

She shot him a warning look. "Don't try to pity me, Robert. I don't need it."

Leckie, recognizing her need for distance, held up his hands defensively. "No pity, just... trying to understand. We're all in this together."

As they walked, Leckie found himself stealing glances at her. In the harsh sunlight, he couldn't help but notice the way her hair caught the light, or the determination in her eyes. For a split second, he forgot all about Vera back home. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Her stern gaze met his, and she spoke with finality. "I joined the Corps to focus on the mission. Not to make friends or share sob stories. Let's keep it professional."

Leckie, despite his genuine attempt to connect, nodded in understanding. "Alright, professional it is. But if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

She grunted slightly, simply walked away, leaving Robert standing there, a mix of sympathy and respect in his eyes, as he watched her disappear into the crowded beach.

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

As night fell over the battleground, the distant echoes of gunfire and the quiet hum of conversations filled the air. Robert lay on his makeshift cot, ( a lump of soil he formed into the shape of a bed in his foxhole) staring into the darkness, his mind consumed by thoughts of the female medic.

"You know she was given up as a child?" he said into the still night, almost as if talking to the shadows around him.

Hoosier, who was on watch duty, sat nearby, cleaning his rifle with practiced precision. He took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing in the darkness, and replied in a nonchalant tone, "Yeah, heard somethin' about that."

Robert turned his head toward Hoosier, his expression thoughtful. "Can't imagine what that must've been like for her, growing up without a family."

Hoosier exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes gazing into the distance. "War makes strange bedfellows, Leckie. We all got our own demons to deal with."

Leckie nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze returning to the black expanse above. "Yeah, I suppose so. Still, she's somethin', ain't she? Strong and beautiful, even in the middle of all this mess."

Hoosier chuckled, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Careful, Leckie. You're starting to sound like a poet or somethin'. Ain't gonna make the war any easier."

Leckie grinned, the irony not lost on him. "Maybe not, but it makes the moments a bit more bearable. You ever find someone who makes you forget, even if just for a moment?"

Hoosier shrugged, the weight of his experiences evident in his tired eyes. "War ain't the place for forgetting, Leckie. But yeah, sometimes you come across someone who makes it a little less unbearable."

As the conversation dwindled into the sounds of the night, the two Marines shared a silent understanding. In the midst of chaos, a fleeting connection with another human soul provided a momentary respite from the harsh reality of war.

Leckie sighed, his thoughts returning to the female medic. "Maybe. Just maybe."

a/n : possible part 2?

MASTERLIST

THE PACIFIC MASTERLIST

#hbo war #the pacific #the pacific hbo #the pacific imagines #robert leckie #Robert Leckie imagine #Robert leckie x reader

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