rage, my darling, rage!

If you can't fight 'em drunk, don't fight 'em at all

spirograph — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 05:31:50 GMT

THE PACIFIC
Bill 'Hoosier' Smith
PICSPAM

quotes from Helmet for my Pillow by Robert Leckie
screencaps by

I met Hoosier the second day at New River. He had arrived two days before us, and Captain High-Hips had made him his runner. In that first unorganized week, his clothes were always spattered with mud from his countless trips through the mire between the captain’s office and the other huts. I disliked him at first. He seemed inclined to look down on us from his high position in Captain High-Hips’ office. He seemed surly, too, with his square strong figure, tow hair and blue eyes—his curt intelligences from on high: “Cap’n wants two men bring in the lieutenant’s box.”

But I was too inexperienced to see that the surliness was but a front for his being scared, like all of us. The immobile face was a façade; the forced downward curve of the mouth a hastily erected defense against the unknown. With time and friendship, that mouth would curve in a different direction, upward in a grin that was pure joy.

"If you can't fight 'em drunk, don't fight 'em at all"

Morning was the best time for the beer; it was cool with the cool of night and the dark sea beneath the sands...Hoosier became solemnly aware that he was not properly dressed. He had no trousers on. Such a breach of decorum, even in the company of men not customarily correct in these matters, seemed to pain the Hoosier. He lurched to his feet, groped for his missing trousers and staggered down to the water.

“Hey, Hoosier—where you going with those pants? You going to wash your pants, Hoosier?”

“Ah’m gonna put mah pants on.”

“In the water?”

He showed his big strong teeth in a silly grin: “Ah always put mah pants on in the ocean.”

His dignity was matchless. Each time the surf receded, he would place his left foot in the trouser leg. With the exaggerated care of the inebriate, he would draw that leg up, and then, while balanced precariously on the right foot, a wave would pound up behind him and smack him on his pink behind.

He arose each time in dignity. Gravely, he would go through it once more. Merrily, the wave would roll up again and let him have it. Once or twice, he would teeter for a moment on that disloyal right foot, looking quickly behind him with a half grin, as though to see if his old friend the wave were still there. It always was.

Such was the power of Japanese beer.

Chuckler and the Hoosier slept alongside each other, erecting their beds only inches apart, as did all other watch mates, such as Runner and myself. Their beds were about a dozen yards distant in the scrub between the pits and the jungle. It seemed that almost every night, while Runner and I lay whispering to each other, we would hear the thunderous progress of a land crab through the brush. We would hear, too, the snoring of the Hoosier, and we would cease to whisper and wait.

Then there would be silence, like the pause between notes of music. It would be broken, simultaneously, by an indignant shriek from Hoosier, a shout of laughter from the Chuckler and an unbelievable clatter-and-crash that was the land crab scuttling to safety.

“Dammit, Chuckler, it ain’t funny.”

“Whatsa matter, Chuckler? What happened?” That would be Runner, his voice strangled with suppressed laughter.

“It’s the crab again. Hoosier’s crab. It came through again and cut the rope and pinched Hoosier’s ass.” Hoosier’s reply shocked the night.

Finally the Hoosier got to his feet.

“Shoot me,” he pleaded. “Why’nt somebody be a good guy and shoot me?” He looked despairingly at the ocean, turned steely gray again and dimpled by the raindrops, and then glanced down at his own half-dry clothing. “Hell’s fire!” he swore, “what’s the use of waitin’”—and ran like a madman straight into the ocean.

We were gathered in the shade of the only tree on the river bank. Hoosier sat leaning against the trunk, whittling on a stick. He kept on plying the stick with his knife, slicing off long curly slivers of white wood, seeming not to care whether or not anyone heeded his words.

“They’re gonna whittle us,” he said, shaping his sentences proportionate to the slivers. “They come in last night against the Raiders, same as they come in against us. Sure, we beat them. So’d the Raiders. But ever’ time we lose a few chips. Ever’ time we lose a couple hundred men. What do they care what they lose? Life is cheap with them. They got plenty more, anyway.” He waved the stick. “They got plenty of sticks, but we just got the one, we just got us. Fellow from the Fifth came by this morning and said the Japs was unloading two more troop transports down at Kokum. They keep on whittlin’ us. Ever’ day we lose ten, twenty fellows from the bombing. Ever’ night Washing Machine Charlie gets a couple. When they hit us with them battleships, I dunno how many we lose.

“But they got it all their own way,” he continued, grunting as the knife cut into a hard spot, “‘cause we ain’t got no ships and we ain’t got no airplanes ‘cept a coupla Grummans that cain’t get off the ground half the time because we ain’t got no gasoline. They got the ships and they got the airplanes and it looks like they got the time, too. So Ah’m telling you”—the knife cut through and the stick broke—“they’re gonna whittle us.”

The Chuckler sought to make a joke of it.

“What’s eating you? You never had it so good. Here’s a guy getting lamb’s tongue in his rice and he wants to get back to civilization and stand in them long lines for his war bonds. Whaddya want—egg in your beer?”

“Don’t be a damn fool, Chuckler. Ah’m not kidding. They’re gonna wear us down.”

Hoosier arose and looked down at us with a glance of wearied exasperation. He strode away, and we sat there in silence. We felt like theology students whose instructor takes his leave after presenting the most compelling arguments against the existence of God. Our faith in victory had been unquestioning. Its opposite, defeat, had no currency among us. Victory was possible, that was all; it would be easy or difficult, quick or prolonged, but it would be victory. So here came the disturbing Hoosier, displaying the other side of the coin: showing us defeat.

Hoosier broke in sulkily, “Ah ain’t gonna parade. The hell with ‘em. Ah ain’t paradin’ for nobody. Soon as we get off the ship Ah’m gonna break ranks and lose m’self in the crowd.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” said the Runner excitedly. “Supposing we came off the ship and everybody broke ranks and melted into the crowd. They couldn’t find you in a New York crowd. We’d all be gobbled up. Everybody’d be drunk, and they couldn’t do anything to you. Everybody’d be drunk, even the officers.”

Everyone fell dreamily silent, a quiet that was finally broken by the wistful voice of Hoosier.

“Ah bet they do, Chuckler—Ah bet they give us a parade.”

♥______♥

IN CONCLUSION: I'M BACK, BOOYAH!

"Mighty and powerful gods!"

spirograph — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 03:18:09 GMT

THE ROAD TO EL DORADO
A PICSPAM

mad props to for the caps ♥

AND BECAUSE THESE VIDS ARE AMAZING:

IN CONCLUSION:

OH LOL HOW'D THAT GET THAR

The eagle is not a piece of metal.

spirograph — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 05:01:37 GMT

LET'S TALK ABOUT THE EAGLE:
A PICSPAM

warning: may take forever to load because my gifs are ENORMOUS. I regret nothing.

"I thought I'd lost you"

♥____♥

The Eagle OST

IN CONCLUSION:

Picspam: CHANGI episode 1

spirograph — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 02:40:59 GMT

CHANGI
Episode One
MINI PICSPAM

I feel like I should apologise for how shitty these caps are. There are no dvd caps online anywhere so I had to rip these myself from the .avi. Boo-hoo etc. ♥

In conclusion:

vid: the sky is falling down - Riddick/Vaako - Chronicles of Riddick

spirograph — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 04:00:48 GMT

I'm not sure how I can even explain this. One moment I was thinking about how damn attractive Karl Urban is, the next I was re-watching Chronicles of Riddick and reading Riddick/Vaako. Then suddenly, this happened.

This vid is honestly riddickulous (see what I did there? ha ha ha) and so AU it may as well be about different characters. But whatever, it was so much fun to make. Love eternal to jeanquirieplus who encouraged me to finish this ♥

the sky is falling down
song: raein by olafur arnalds
riddick/vaako. this is an au.

the sky is falling down from Span on Vimeo.

And because I'm an unforgivable whore, here is a batch of Riddick icons.

2010 fandom year in review

spirograph — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 07:47:59 GMT

Full-length stories I wrote this year:

pipe - sledge/snafu
the trick is to keep breathing - sledge/snafu
hey, that's no way to say goodbye - sledge/snafu
I say fever - sledge/snafu
sugar - runner/chuckler
triple word score - ack-ack/hillbilly (AU)
the definition of luck - ack-ack/hillbilly
slowly, comes the light - kenny/gene (the war at home/the pacific)

Cracky AU's contemplated this year:

TEAM LECKIE. MEDIEVAL KNIGHTS.
Pacific/Jurrasic Park Crossover
a Speirz/Luz I KNOW IT'S NOT A CROSSOVER SHUTUP

Picspams, Icons, Fanmixes & Vids:

Picspams:

Valkyrie picspam

Sledge/Snafu part 1
Sledge/Snafu part 2
Sledge/Snafu part 3
Burgin
Ack-Ack/Hillbilly
Ack-Ack/Sledge
Chuckler

Icons:
the pacific 1
the pacific 2

Fanmixes:
no one else can love you (like i do) - sledge/snafu – creeper!mix
and so we hum our stolen songs - ack-ack/hillbilly

Vids:
creepin' up on you – sledge/snafu
postcards from far away – sledge/snafu
first & last waltz - ack-ack/hillbilly

I was going to do the whole meme thing but realised that it doesn't really sum up my year in fandom at all. In terms of fandom, 2010 was amazing. Discovering The Pacific did not only reignite my love for writing and being fandomly creative, but it introduced me to the war fandoms and all of the wonderful people involved. I have never been part of such a friendly and passionate fandom circle before and basically ILU GUYS SO MUCH FKJhafslkjFHASLKJAHLKJHFA ♥______♥

I don't really have any fandom prediction/resolution type things this year since uni will probably kick my ass for most of it, but before March I hope to punch out a vid and finish off some of the WIPs which have been sitting in my writing folder for a million years kfjhsfjhf.

THIS IS A POST ABOUT CHUCKLER'S FACE

spirograph — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 10:32:35 GMT

THE PACIFIC
Lew 'Chuckler' Juergens
PICSPAM

quotes from Helmet for my Pillow by Robert Leckie
screencaps by

Chuckler was easier to know. We became friends the first day of gun drill, our introduction into the mysteries of the heavy, water-cooled, thirty-caliber machine gun.

Corporal Smoothface, our instructor, a soft-voiced, sad-eyed youth from Georgia, made the drill a competition between the squads to see which one could get its gun into action sooner. As gunner, Chuckler carried the tripod. As assistant gunner, I lugged the gun, a metal incubus of some twenty pounds. At a command, Chuckler raced off to a given point, spun the tripod over his head and set it up, while I panted off after him to slip the gun's spindle into the tripod socket. We beat the other squad and the Chuckler growled with satisfaction.

"Attaboy, Jersey," he chuckled, as I slid alongside him and placed the machine gun box in feeding position. "Let's show them bastards."

That was his way. He was fiercely competitive. He was profane. He had a way of chuckling, a sort of perpetual good humor, that stopped his aggressiveness short of push, and which softened the impact of his rough language. Like Hoosier and me, he was stocky, and like Hoosier, he was fair; but he had a rugged handsomeness that the Hoosier's blunt features could not match.

Chuckler made corporal. He made it in a battlefield promotion. Lieutenant Ivy-League had recommended him for a Silver Star for our work on the riverbank in the Hell's Point fight, specifying that our action in moving the gun from place to place may have discouraged an enemy flanking attack. The regimental commander reduced the citation to a promotion of one grade. Ivy-League had not mentioned me in his recommendation. I have no idea why not.

Though it was Chuckler who had first grabbed our gun, it was I who had proposed the moves - and Ivy-League knew it. I resented being ignored, although I tried to conceal it, and Chuckler, embarrassed, did his best to pass over it, trying to make a joke of it. But he deserved both promotion and citation, for he was a born leader.

MELBOURNE.

Runner fitted us like a glove. His admiration for Chuckler was akin to hero worship. But Chuckler had the strength to prevent that without offending the Runner, and I suspect he took a human delight in the adulation of the dark-haired boy from Buffalo, who spoke so knowingly of formal dances and automobiles, a world quite apart from Chuckler's Louisville rough-and-tumble.

As friendship became firmer among us four, it became clear that Chuckler's word was going to carry the most weight, simply because he could rely on Runner's support. So Chuckler became the leader, a fact which neither Hoosier nor I ever admitted and which Runner indicated only by his deference to him.

Runner paused and then resumed his tale. "Then the mortars came in again. Chuckler got a big hunk in his left thigh, close up to the crotch." Runner laughed in retrospect. "It was funny. He was so scared he'd lost the family jewels. 'Are they alright?' he asked the corpsman. 'Quick, tell me - are they alright?' 'Take it easy,' the corpsman tells him - 'it wasn't even close. You got plenty of sack time ahead of you.'

So Chuckler lies back smiling. He was so relieved you'd think he'd only cut him finger or something. I swear he'd have asked the corpsman to shoot him if it had been the other way."

♥_____♥
AND NOW THERE IS A CORRESPONDING EPIC RUNNER PICSPAM COURTESY OF uniformly

WHY IS THERE NOT A FUCKTON OF THIS IN THE WORLD?!

spirograph — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 11:43:28 GMT

THIS IS SOMETHING YOU NEVER KNEW YOU WANTED UNTIL NOW, RIGHT?
BUT NOW YOU KNOW IT EXISTS
AND YOU CAN'T DENY YOU WANT TO INDULGE IN A HEALTHY DOSE OF

~*SPEIRS/LUZ*~

MAKE IT WERQ

THIS IS A JAY DE L'EAU APPRECIATION POST...KINDA

spirograph — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 23:55:24 GMT

my eyes are closed but my hearts on fire

spirograph — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 20:48:27 GMT

The other day I went to a pet shop and saw some really cute pug dogs. That night I had a dream about Snafu. He was in my class at uni and for some reason we were at the movies. He kept having to remind me that our baby was in a chair three rows back and that I should really go and get it before the earthquake hit (??). His eyes were enormous and bulging out of his head. I was more horrified by this than the fact that I had given birth to his child. I suspect if I had actually bothered to go and get the kid I would have found a pug dog wrapped in a blanket instead.

One day I will make an entry which doesn't make me appear as if I'm batshit insane.

I haven't slept in a really long time guys, please don't judge me

spirograph — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 06:17:35 GMT

THIS IS ALL uniformly's FAULT.

TEAM LECKIE. MEDIEVAL KNIGHTS.

SIR ~~PEACHES~~ LUCKY

SIR CHUCKLER

SIR HOOSIER

SIR ~~OLD FAITHFUL~~ RUNNER

yeah...essay procrastination. I don't know either.

goodbye, travel well.

spirograph — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 09:35:45 GMT

THE PACIFIC
Andrew 'Ack Ack' Haldane / Eugene 'Sledgehammer' Sledge
PICSPAM

quotes from ~~An Ode to Andy Haldane~~ With the Old Breed by Eugene Sledge
screencaps by

SPOILERS AHOY!

Late one afternoon as we left the rifle range, a heavy rain set in. As we plodded along Pavuvu's muddy roads, slipping and sliding under the downpour, we began to feel that whoever was leading the column had taken a wrong turn and that we were lost. At dusk in the heavy rain, every road looked alike: a flooded trail cut deeply with ruts, bordered by towering palms, winding aimlessly through the gloom. As I struggled along feeling chilled and forlorn and trying to keep my balance in the mud, a big man came striding from the rear of the column. He walked with the ease of a pedestrian on a city sidewalk. As he pulled abreast of me, the man looked at me and said, “Lovely weather, isn't it, son?”

I grinned at Haldane and said, “Not exactly, sir.” He recognized me as a replacement and asked how I liked the company. I told him I thought it was afine outfit.

“You're a Southerner, aren't you?” he asked. I told him I was from Alabama. He wanted to know all about my family, home, and education. As we talked the gloom seemed to disappear, and I felt warm inside. Finally he told me it wouldn't rain forever, and we could get dry soon. He moved along the column talking to other men as he had to me. His sincere interest in each of us as a human being helped to dispel the feeling that we were just animals training to fight.

Although he insisted on strict discipline, the captain was a quiet man who gave orders without shouting. He had a rare combination of intelligence,courage, self-confidence, and compassion that commanded our respect and admiration. We were thankful that Ack Ack was our skipper, felt more securein it, and felt sorry for other companies not so fortunate. While some officers on Pavuvu thought it necessary to strut or order us around to impress us withtheir status, Haldane quietly told us what to do. We loved him for it and did the best job we knew how.

Acclaimed by superiors and subordinates alike for his leadership abilities, Captain Haldane was the finest and most popular officer I ever knew. All of the Marines in Company K shared my feelings. Called the “skipper,” he had a strong face full of character, a large, prominent jaw, and the kindest eyes I ever saw. No matter how often he shaved or how hard he tried, he always had a five o'clock shadow. He was so large that the combat pack on his back reminded me of the bulge of his wallet, while mine covered me from neck to waist.

I was ordered to carry a five-gallon can of water over to the company CP. When I got there, Ack Ack was studying a map by the light of a tiny flashlight that his runner shielded with another folded map. The company's radioman was sitting with him, quietly tuning his radio and calling an artillery battery of the 11th Marines.

Putting the water can down, I sat on it and watched my skipper with admiration. Never before had I regretted so profoundly my lack of artistic talent and inability to draw the scene before me. The tiny flashlight faintly illuminated Captain Haldane's face as he studied the map. His big jaw, covered with a charcoal stubble of beard, jutted out. His heavy brow wrinkled with concentration just below the rim of his helmet.

Never in my wildest imagination had I contemplated Captain Haldane's death. We had a steady stream of killed and wounded leaving us, but somehow I assumed Ack Ack was immortal. Our company commander represented stability and direction in a world of violence, death, and destruction. Now his life had been snuffed out. We felt forlorn and lost. It was the worst grief I endured during the entire war. The intervening years have not lessened it any.

Capt. Andy Haldane wasn't an idol. He was human. But he commanded our individual destinies under the most trying conditions with the utmost compassion. We knew he could never be replaced. He was the finest Marine officer I ever knew. The loss of many close friends grieved me deeply on Peleliu and Okinawa. But to all of us the loss of our company commander at Peleliu was like losing a parent we depended upon for security—not our physical security, because we knew that was a commodity beyond our reach in combat, but our mental security.

Always seeking good reading material, I looked at the spine of the book and read its title, Men At War by Ernest Hemingway. This is interesting history, I thought, and was puzzled as to why the lieutenant had thrown it so violently into the trash. I opened the cover. In the twilight I saw written in a bold strong hand, A. A. Haldane. A lump rose in my throat as I asked myself why I'd want to read about war when Peleliu had cost us our company commander and so many good friends. I, too, slammed the book down into the trash can in a gesture of grief and disgust over the waste of war I had already experienced firsthand.

BRB REMEMBERING HOW PAINFUL THE PACIFIC IS.

fanmix: no one else can love you (like I do) - sledge/snafu - creeper!mix

spirograph — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 08:59:21 GMT

YOU ALL KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN EVENTUALLY.

title: no one else can love you (like I do)
pairing: snafu/sledge
warning: THIS IS A MIX ABOUT CREEPIN'

1. The Orion Experience - Obsessed With You
I want to get next to you.
Yeah I love all the things you do.
I want to get close to you.
You are my dream come true.

Cause I'm obsessed with you.
Yeah I'm obsessed with you.

2. Darren Hayes - Creepin Up on You
I need to be around you, watching you
No one else can love you like I do
Feel it when I'm creeping up on you
I know that it wouldn't be right if I stayed all night
Just to peek in on you
Creeping up on you

3. The Police - Every Breath You Take
Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake

I'll be watching you

4. The Vogues - Turn Around, Look at Me
There is someone
Walking behind you
Turn around, look at me
There is someone
Watching your footsteps
Turn around, look at me

5. Weird Al - Do I Creep You Out?
I know that you
Don't know me very well
We've barely met
But I can surely tell
No one will ever
Love you like I do

6. Little Peggy March - I Will Follow Him
I must follow him,
ever since he touched my hand I knew
That near him I always must be
And nothing can keep him from me
He is my destiny

7. Def Leppard - Two Steps Behind
Walk away if you want to.
Its ok, if you need to.
Well, you can run, but you can never hide
From the shadow thats creepin up beside you.

8. Garbage- #1 Crush
I would die for you
I would die for you
I've been dying just to feel you by my side
To know that you're mine

9. Lionel Richie - Hello
I long to see the sunlight in your hair
And tell you time and time again
How much I care
Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow
Hello
I've just got to let you know

10. The Bangles - Following
You think I'm crazy or something
Always following you around
You say I'm a hopeless case
Run an obsession into the ground

So why do you call me
Why do you look for me
Why do your eyes follow me the way they do

DOWNLOAD FULL MIX

BONUS!

Mariah Carey - Obsessed (Eugene's POV)
You're delusional, you're delusional
Boy you're losing your mind
It's confusing, yo, you're confused, you know
Why you wasting your time?
Got you all fired up with your Napoleon complex
See right through you like you're bathing in Windex

Oh, boy, why you so obsessed with me?

DO WE ALL FEEL SUFFICIENTLY CREEPED OUT NOW?

I SHOULD HOPE SO.

vid: First & Last Waltz - Ack-Ack Haldane / Hillbilly Jones - The Pacific

spirograph — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 06:31:40 GMT

first and last waltz
song: first and last waltz by nickel creek
videosketch. ack-ack haldane/hillbilly jones. peleliu 1944. an AU of sorts.

First and Last Waltz from Span on Vimeo.

AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER THE END sdklfjhasfkljh

I AM DOING THIS BECAUSE MY FIC IS GOING POORLY

spirograph — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 05:31:20 GMT

Every veteran in the outfit knew that Hillbilly had enlisted in the Corps as a private in 1936...his bravery under fire at Guadalcanal, where he singlehandedly wiped out a Japanese machine gun nest, had earned him a bronze star and a set of lieutenant's bars.

Now he was in charge of the company's machine gun section, but he still had the soul of a wandering minstrel.

still had the soul of a wandering minstrel.

still had the soul of a wandering minstrel.

♥ HILLBILLY BB YOU'RE THE WANDERING MINSTREL OF MY HEART ♥

(text from Brotherhood of Heroes: The Marines at Peleliu, 1944 by Bill Sloan)

fast becoming my ultimate OTP you guys skdjfhslfkjh

spirograph — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 03:42:09 GMT

THE PACIFIC
Andrew 'Ack Ack' Haldane / Edward 'Hillbilly' Jones
PICSPAM

quotes from With the Old Breed by Eugene Sledge, via the wonderful augustbird
screencaps by

Ack Ack Haldane (left) & Hillbilly Jones (right, in white)

Acclaimed by superiors and subordinates alike for his leadership abilities, Captain Haldane was the finest and most popular officer I ever knew. All of the Marines in Company K shared my feelings. Called the “skipper,” he had a strong face full of character, a large, prominent jaw, and the kindest eyes I ever saw. No matter how often he shaved or how hard he tried, he always had a five o'clock shadow. He was so large that the combat pack on his back reminded me of the bulge of his wallet, while mine covered me from neck to waist. Although he insisted on strict discipline, the captain was a quiet man who gave orders without shouting. He had a rare combination of intelligence, courage, self-confidence, and compassion that commanded our respect and admiration. We were thankful that Ack Ack was our skipper, felt more secure in it, and felt sorry for other companies not so fortunate. While some officers on Pavuvu thought it necessary to strut or order us around to impress us with their status, Haldane quietly told us what to do. We loved him for it and did the best job we knew how.

Hillbilly was second only to Ack Ack in popularity among the enlisted men in Company K. He was a clean-cut, handsome, light-complexioned man—not large, but well built. Hillbilly told me he had been an enlisted man for several prewar years, had gone to the Pacific with the company, and had been commissioned following Guadalcanal. He didn't say why he was made an officer, but the word among the men was that he had been outstanding on Guadalcanal.

It was a widespread joke among men in the ranks during the war that an officer was made an officer and a gentleman by an act of Congress when he was commissioned.

An act of Congress may have made Hillbilly an officer, but he was born a gentleman.

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. Hillbilly had a quiet and pleasant voice even in command. His accent was soft, more that of the deep South, which was familiar to me, than that of the hill country. Between this man and all the Marines I knew there existed a deep mutual respect and warm friendliness. He had that rare ability to be friendly yet not familiar with enlisted men. He possessed a unique combination of those qualities of bravery, leadership, ability, integrity, dignity, straightforwardness, and compassion. The only other officer I ever knew who was his equal in all these qualities was Captain Haldane.

That night Hillbilly talked about his boyhood and his home in West Virginia. He asked me about mine. He also talked about his prewar years in the Marine Corps....I confided in him that many times I had been so terrified that I felt ashamed, and that some men didn't seem to be so afraid. He scoffed at my mention of being ashamed, and said that my fear had been no greater than anyone else's but that I was just honest enough to admit its magnitude. He told me that he was afraid, too, and that the first battle was the hardest because a man didn't know what to expect.

Fear dwelled in everyone, Hillbilly said. Courage meant overcoming fear and doing one's duty in the presence of danger, not being unafraid.

Captain Haldane served with the 1st Marine Division on Guadalcanal and was commanding officer of Company K at Cape Gloucester, where he won the Silver Star. During a five-day battle, he and his Marines repulsed five Japanese bayonet charges within one hour in the predawn darkness...On 12 October 1944, three days before the Marines came off the lines, he died in action.

Never in my wildest imagination had I contemplated Captain Haldane's death. We had a steady stream of killed and wounded leaving us, but somehow I assumed Ack Ack was immortal. Our company commander represented stability and direction in a world of violence, death, and destruction. Now his life had been snuffed out. We felt forlorn and lost. It was the worst grief I endured during the entire war. The intervening years have not lessened it any. Capt. Andy Haldane wasn't an idol. He was human. But he commanded our individual destinies under the most trying conditions with the utmost compassion. We knew he could never be replaced. He was the finest Marine officer I ever knew. The loss of many close friends grieved me deeply on Peleliu and Okinawa. But to all of us the loss of our company commander at Peleliu was like losing a parent we depended upon for security—not our physical security, because we knew that was a commodity beyond our reach in combat, but our mental security.

;____;

BRB CRYING INTO MY CORNFLAKES

manpain won the war.

spirograph — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 02:08:20 GMT

The Pacific
R.V Burgin (Burgie)
PICSPAM
for augustbird ♥

lol @ his ~bitch plz~ face ♥

caps by

Needs moar dvd quality caps dfkjhsfjh

Vid: Postcards from far away - Sledge.Snafu - The Pacific

spirograph — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 03:36:56 GMT

Postcards from far away
song postcards from far away by Coldplay
sledge.snafu.

I'm really not quite sure what this is. Kind of a videosketch, I suppose. Sledge and Snafu. Peleliu 1944. Meaningful gazes.

<

the army never turned his crank

spirograph — Sat, 29 May 2010 06:45:27 GMT

The Pacific: Part Seven & Eight
Sledge & Snafu
PICSPAM

I don't know where this came from....

spirograph — Sun, 23 May 2010 06:53:02 GMT

As a kid, little Tim Murphy survived the horrors of Jurassic Park, a genetic engineering experiment gone horribly wrong. Years later and all grown up, he falls in with the wrong crowd. Experimenting with time travel, his friends inadvertently send him back in time....to WWII. Even with all he's seen, Tim isn't prepared for the terror that awaits him in the Pacific. Courageously, he fights on, befriending the most unlikely of men: Merriell 'Snafu' Shelton. Crazy, but loyal, Shelton fights by his side, helps him stay alive, but soon, Tim begins to realise that his new buddy is more than he appears to be....something prehistoric lurks behind Shelton's hazel eyes, and Tim feels sure he's seen that cold, hungry look before...

I BLAME augustbird ENTIRELY FOR WHAT I HAVE DONE.