band of brothers & the pacific side-blog for @mads-weasley | masters of the air: @major-mads | lewis nixon obsessed | requests are CLOSED | request guidelines: here
hi everyone! welcome to my band of brothers & the pacific side-blog! my messages and ask box are always open, so shoot me a message anytime you feel like it. also, requests are now CLOSED for the pacific and bob!! you can find the request guidelines below!
request guidelines | gifsets/icons
xoxo,
mads :)
Band of Brothers
italics - wips
Eugene “Doc” Roe
- At Last
- Break the Distance
- C'est Toi (Soulmate!AU)
Joe Liebgott
- Of Course It’s You
- Liebling
Floyd Talbert
- “The Night of the Bayonet”
- I’m Here (oc)
George Luz
- Home
- Old Friends
Dick Winters
- Winter at the Winters'
- Meine Liebe
Ron Speirs
- Keeping You Safe
- For Me
- Knight in Dirty ODs
Lewis Nixon
- Here With You
- The Vow
- Timeless
- Epiphany Series Masterlist
Johnny Martin
- Follow You Anywhere
Headcannons
- Nix When He's Sick
- Dating Eugene Roe
- Post-War Harry Welsh
The Pacific
Robert Leckie
- Crazy
Bill "Hoosier" Smith
- You Before Me
Eugene Sledge
- See the Good
Headcanons
- Hoosier Dating an Extrovert
- Chuckler Dating an Artist
- Chuckler Dating a Medic
Masters of the Air:
You can find things from gifs to fics, and posts about the flyers and ground crews in Masters of the Air on my sideblog, @major-mads!!
comment or message me if you want to be tagged in anything!!
A/N: thanks to @footprintsinthesxnd for inspiring me to finally finish this wip from back in october!! for once, this isn't a heart-wrenching fic that makes you cry your eyes out...it's super fluffy!! Hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
"What?" (Y/n) sighed, glancing towards her husband from where she sat on the floor.
A chuckle left Lewis' lips as he gestured to the various paint colors on portions of the wall. "Which one? Pink, purple, blue, or yellow?"
Rolling over to her side, (y/n) attempted to get up. With her swollen stomach, it made everything ten times harder than usual.
Lew rushed to her side, "Honey, let me help you."
"I've got it," she grunted, somewhat out of breath.
(Y/n) tried and failed a few times, then let out a huff of air, sighing as she held out her hands for Lew to come and help her up.
He smiled softly, moving to help lift her. "I thought you had it that time."
"Your child has been making things harder on me, lately."
Once they stood up, Lew pulled her close, his hand on her bump. "My child? I'm pretty sure we both made this baby."
(Y/n) pulled back with a look of disgust, fake gagging. "Please don't remind me."
With his signature grin, he pulled her back in, trying to plant a kiss on her lips. "No," she laughed, leaning away to evade his kisses. "We've got to pick out the color for the nursery, Lew!"
"So now you want to get on task, huh?"
(Y/n) giggled as she continued to swerve her husband's kisses. "Yes! We have to get this done!"
"Alright," he conceded. "Just one kiss. Please?"
With an exaggerated eye roll, (y/n) leaned in and pecked his lips quickly. "Come on, doll. One more," he pleaded.
"Nope. You'll get more once we get done picking out the color."
He led her to the wall with the colors and mock saluted her. "Alright, then. Captain Nixon is focused on his next objective."
They had decided to go with the soft yellow because it was more gender-neutral, even though both felt deep down that it was a girl. Staring at their halfway-finished nursery, (y/n) couldn't help but think back to when it all started the year before.
Indianapolis, Indiana: July 1949
The Nixons sat at the Easy Company reunion with Lip, Dick, and their respective spouses. While the guys all talked, (y/n) spoke with Ethel Winters and JoAnne Lipton about everything from baking to babies. Ethel and Dick had been married for a little over a year and were about to start trying for children. JoAnne and Carwood already had a son, so she told the two women how wonderful it was to be a mom. Hard, but wonderful.
The woman pulled out a picture of the three of them with a proud smile on her face. "Danny turns three next month. He's a spitting image of Car, that's for sure. I love him more than anything in this world."
Looking over at her husband enthralled in a conversation with his best friends, she couldn't help but imagine Lew as a father; holding their little baby in his arms or putting them up on his shoulders. (Y/n) knew he didn't have a good relationship with his father and would do everything to be there for their future children.
She was broken out of her trance by Lew's hand squeezing her thigh gently. "You alright, sweetheart? Why are you crying?"
Eyed widening, she went to wipe the tear that streaked down her cheek, but he beat her to it. "What's wrong?" He asked, eyes full of concern.
"Let's have a baby."
Lewis was taken aback by his wife's bluntness. Sure, they had talked about having kids but had decided to wait a few more years. Hearing that she changed her mind filled his with the same sweet images that appeared in hers moments before. If he was being honest, he had felt ready for a few months but didn't want to mention it to her until she approached him first.
He took her hand and excused them from the table as he led her to the lobby area of the venue. As soon as they turned the corner, Lewis' strong arms enveloped her in a tender embrace, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. Their lips met softly, mouths melding together gently. It was a tender and loving kiss that expressed their shared devotion and longing for the next chapter of their lives.
With a gentle smile, they broke apart, their hands still entwined. The room seemed to radiate with the energy of their love and the endless possibilities that lay before them.
"Is that a yes?" (Y/n) asked, short of breath.
He kissed her gently, eye glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, let's start a family."
Nixon, New Jersey: November 1949
It was a cold and rainy morning when (y/n) stirred in bed, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her once again. This was the third morning in a row, and her eyes flickered over to Lew, who was fast asleep beside her. She always joked that even a freight train wouldn’t wake him up. Clutching her stomach, she quickly sat up, her heart racing as her body was trying to give her a few seconds of warning. (Y/n) barely had time to get to the bathroom, her steps hurried and unsteady as she covered her mouth with her hand.
Reaching the bathroom just in time, (y/n) dropped to her knees, her body convulsing with dry heaves initially, followed by her dinner from the night before. The sensation was accompanied by a rush of relief, but the butter taste lingered in her mouth.
Stirred by the sounds from the bathroom, Lew realized something was wrong and came rushing into the bathroom, concern etched across his features. He kneeled beside her, gathering her hair and rubbing her back soothingly.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked worriedly, his voice raspy from sleep.
“I don’t know, Lew,” (y/n) replied weakly. “This nausea just won’t go away.”
“I think that we should get you to the doctor,” Nix suggested, worried she might have caught a nasty stomach bug.
She nodded, her mind already racing with a suspicion she dared not speak aloud just yet. “Yeah, maybe,” she answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
After Lew left for work, (y/n) decided to visit the doctor to get some answers. Anticipation and nervousness bubbled within her as the test was administered. The minutes felt like hours, but finally, the doctor confirmed what she had hoped for – she was pregnant.
Unable to contain her excitement, she hurried back home, her heart bursting with joy. The second she got home, she walked past their extra bedroom, inspiration striking her. The sun cast a soft, golden hue through the lace curtains, illuminating the extra room that held years of collected odds and ends. (Y/n) stood at the threshold, groaning at the old boxes, forgotten furniture, and random oddities that filled the room.
She had a lot of work cut out for her.
After putting on a Nat King Cole album, she took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves, beginning the task at hand. As she meticulously sorted through the belongings, memories danced in her mind – the dusty bookshelf that held Lew’s childhood favorites, the old rocking chair her mother had gifted her, and the worn-out toys that once brought her so much joy.
With every box she emptied and every piece of furniture she carefully moved, the room started to transform. The clutter began to vanish, making way for her vision of a nursery filled with love and laughter. She could almost visualize the crib nestled by the window, sunlight streaming in, casting a warm glow on the tiny cradle.
Time seemed to fly as she got lost in the whirlwind of her excitement. As the clock ticked on, (y/n) meticulously organized, cleaned, and dusted, pouring herself into every corner. By the time Nix got home from work, she had cleared out most of the clutter. Her eyes held a sparkle of pride as she surveyed her progress, already lost in the thoughts of cradling their newborn baby in this very room.
Lew opened the door, calling out to her as he did every day. “Honey, I’m home.”
As he put his briefcase onto the kitchen table, he noticed the random items and boxes that were scattered around the kitchen. With a raised eyebrow, he stepped over the clutter and followed the sound of (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons to the couple’s extra bedroom.
“(Y/n)?” Lew asked as he entered the room, his eyes flicking between the few things left inside.
A rocking chair…
Some old toys…
His old bookshelf filled with children’s books…
She stood in front of the window with a hand covering her mouth, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Hey,” she whispered.
Lew’s brows instantly furrowed and he approached her, taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong, doll?”
“I’m happy.”
“You’re happy,” he pondered aloud, “But you’re crying.”
(Y/n) pulled back to look up at his puzzled face. “Yeah.”
“Why the sudden inspiration to clean out the crap in here?”
“Well,” she grinned up at him, her bottom lip wobbling as she spoke. “Our baby can’t have a room full of random stuff, can they?”
As (y/n) looked at him expectantly, he nodded with raised brows. “Yeah, yeah.”
But then his eyes widened suddenly and Lew’s gaze flew to hers. “The what?”
Just wanted to say thank you for your background posts on the 100th boys and your hbo war posts in general! As a fellow history major, I absolutely love getting a better sense of who these guys were and what they went through, especially in their own words. So appreciate you taking the time to share what you're learning and can't wait for your reactions to/thoughts about the series :)
Hi!! Thank you so so much for this! It makes me happy that people are enjoying my posts! Before reading the book, I had no idea who the masters of the air guys were, so I just want to share what I've learned with those who don't have access to the book! Thanks again for the support!!🧡
hi everyone! welcome to my 'all things' masters of the air side-blog! my messages and ask box are always open, so shoot me a message anytime you feel like it.
xoxo,
mads :)
Major Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal
Major John 'Bucky' Egan
Major Gale 'Buck' Cleven
Captain John D. Brady
Teaser Trailer: Close Ups
Teaser Trailer: Long Shots
Teaser Trailer: Egan & Cleven
Official Trailer: Gale & Marge
Egan, Cleven, & Rosenthal Icons
Major John Egan Icons
100th Bombardment Group Icons
Tuskegee Airmen Icons
message or comment if you want to be added to any tag lists!! <3
so i did a thing...a thing meaning i made another side-blog. this one is purely masters of the air, so give it a follow if you want to see content from the books and of course the series as we get more information about it!!!
Dear Kate, I hope you are ready for your Sid the sloth moodboard, because I am definitely not. Just kidding. I was so excited to finally show you this. Just to let you know, this was very entertaining for me to create. I had a blast looking up the quotes for this, as I only knew the German versions of them. This launched me right back into my childhood. So thank you for letting me create this for you. This idea started out as a funny conversation between the two of us and to be honest with you it’s one of my favourites. I really hope we both get to share lots of these kind of conversations with each other in the near future as well. So merry Christmas my lovely friend. May every little thing from your wish list come true. I want you to have the most wonderful time with your loved ones. Sharing lots of laughs, great joy and just plenty of love 🩵🎄🎁
A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS @iceman-kazansky!! Gift two, here! I hope you like it!! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog! Enjoy!
When he gets home, the first thing he does is marry you.
It's in a courthouse because it was the quickest way, and there were only a few members of both of your families there.
That night sure was one to remember.
I feel like Harry would be so so so excited to carry you across the threshold of your house for the first time. Adorable™️
Husband Harry would be the most attentive ever, I'm convinced.
After being away from you for so long, he tends to follow you like a lost puppy. Every now and then, you have to send him on some errands to get him out of the house.
When he was in the army, he always knew what he was supposed to do, but once he was home, he was uncertain of what do to. He didn't have a job for a little bit while he got accustomed to civilian life again. In the meantime, he was dedicated to being a loving husband.
Everyone knows Harry is a little bit of a wild child ("we're in a dell" and mr. jumps into Johnny's foxhole without saying the codeword) and he has a lot of energy.
When he gets a job as a teacher, it gives him an opportunity to engage with his students and get that energy out.
The first day he comes home from teaching, he goes on and on about each one of his students and how each of his lessons went.
He gets so excited, and you just love the way his eyes light up when he tells stories as you sit on the couch with him
(i have a feeling he teaches junior high history...but you decide which, though!)
"This little shithead in my second period asked how to do the writing assignment five seconds after I got done explaining it."
You just bust out laughing and ask, "And what did you do?"
"Well," he grinned. "I explained it again, even though I just wanted to slap the kid. What else was I supposed to do?"
You lean your head on his shoulder with a chuckle. "You could always use your army training and put the fear of God in them. Then they'd listen to you for sure, hon."
"True," Harry began, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him. "But after beating a few dictators in Europe, I'd rather not be a dictator in my own classroom. I want the kids to enjoy learning."
"You already sound like the best teacher those kids will have, Mr. Welsh," you whisper, smiling up at him.
"Why thank you, Mrs. Welsh."
He shoots you his signature toothy grin before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on your lips.
"Maybe you could teach our kid someday," you wonder aloud, hoping he will catch your drift.
"Oh yeah, that would be fun."
"Well, you've got about 11 years until you have the chance to."
He's confused for a second, his brows furrowed. "Why 11?"
You place a hand on your stomach. "Because that's how long until our baby will be in junior high, Harry."
The man is even more confused. "What baby?"
"Harry," you chuckle, the biggest smile painting your lips. "I'm pregnant. We're having a baby."
THIS MAN. I'M CONVINCED HE'D ALMOST PASS OUT FROM EXCITEMENT. EYES WIDE...JAW DROPPED
"We're gonna be parents?"
Pulling his stunned figure into a hug, you rub his back gently, holding back tears. "Yeah, we're gonna be parents, honey."
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)
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.
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?”
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.
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?”
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.”
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.
Dahling of course!!! And you know what?? I think Imma do both!!! lol
You were unbelievably excited, so excited you could hardly contain yourself as you, Sledge, Burgie and Florence had set up a spot on the lawn, miles away from the launch pad at Cape Canaveral. So many people had come out to watch, people from all corners of the U.S, North and South, East and West, rich and poor alike, all waiting in anticipation for the moment when it would all happen.
"Oh my God it's like an Alabama block party," you joked as yours and Sledge's son, Tim, wriggled in your lap, trying to make a grab for the beer can in Burgie's cupholder.
"Big deal in these parts darlin," Burgie replied. "Ya'll think Memorial Day and the Fourth of July are a big deal? Nothin screams 'Murica' more than a space shuttle launch in the middle of summer."
You and Sledge laughed. The Fourth was right around the corner and with it would come Tim's first birthday along with Burgie and Florence's son, Jack's. Never before had the rest of the year gone so smoothly with Gene starting as a civilian instructor at the Marine Reserve Center and you taking a job at the historical society back home in Alabama. You had both had it made like never before, a good family, good paying job, close relatives.....what more could have been asked for?
"Ya'll doin ok?" Gene asked you.
"Yeah but I think this one is gonna need some sunscreen in a minute," you told him.
"Alright, give him to me," Gene said, lifting Tim carefully from your lap and placing him in his.
As Gene slathered the sunscreen all over Tim, you looked over at the time clock for the launch, 3 hours, 12 minutes and 15 seconds were all that were left as it ticked away.
Gene put his camo boonie hat on over Tim's head to shield his delicate skin from the harsh Florida sun. The day was getting hotter and a dip in the lake was looking pretty damn tempting. Somewhere close by, a radio was blasting "Sweet Home Alabama", a tune that you, him and all your friends had heard time and again at every block party you had ever been to.
"God it feels good now that I'm on vacation," Florence said. "Drives me feckin bonkers when patients get irate."
"And you finally have some breathing room," you added.
The three of you went back and forth for as long as you could, enjoying the sunshine and jokingly griping about work as you waited out the long hours before the launch.
"Ladies and gentlemen," an announcer said over the loudspeakers. "Space Shuttle Endurance is preparing for takeoff....."
"Oh my God I can't wait!!!" you exclaimed.
You all scooted closer to each other as you and Florence pulled your phones from your purses to take videos. Gene and Burgie weren't far behind as they held the boys with one arm and the countdown began.
10.......
9.........
8........
7..........
6........
5.......
4.......
3.......
2......
1........
The engines roared and the smoke billowed from the engines, the grey-black and white clouds of exhaust from the shuttle engines flying in the air in every direction, the sparks of fire glowing with an incredible ferocity as the shuttle began to lift into the air.
"Ladies and gentlemen we have liftoff!!!"
The crowd cheered and whistled, applauding as the shuttle lifted higher and higher into the air, disappearing into the wild blue yonder. You and Gene shared a kiss as the shuttle took off, happy to finally be together, with the people you loved most.
you, my dear, remind me of the faint spritz of mist that comes from peeling an orange. the color of a short, bright laugh. the streaks in the wings of a monarch butterfly, flittering through the air on a sun-kissed afternoon. the tang on your tongue from a creamsicle, a welcome respite from a sweltering heat. its the middle of summer and you're lying on a patch of grass, someone you care for is lying to your right. you briefly bump your knuckles to theirs, and the smile you get in return is a brilliant, blinding, sunny, orange 🍊
Happiest of (SUPER belated 😅) birthdays to @mads-weasley!! 🎉
I am SO sorry that this is so late, but I hope you enjoy it! I realized that I didn't assign you a color during the positivity ask game (which I am also so, so sorry for!!), but your vibes absolutely remind me of this color, and it was so fun to put into words 💕
You are such an incredible human and such an amazing part of this fandom, and I am so honored to be able to chat with and spend time with you!! So thank you for all that you are, and I hope you have had the best of days and that you'll have the best of years 🥰
Em!! Thank you so so much for this! You're gonna make me cry! I'm honored that you consider me an "icon" in the fandom. I definitely see you as an icon as well! I love talking to you on the server, even when we're plotting to take someone out for our friends on there (me and the gang (bottom text)). Really though, this has made my day. I LOVE YOU!!🥰🤧
Here is a little bit about Major John 'Bucky' Egan (played by Callum Turner) from the prologue of Masters of the Air by Donald L. Miller (pg. 3, 7-8)!
John Egan was commander of a squadron of B-17 Flying Fortresses, one of the most fearsome killing machines in the world at that time. He was a bomber boy; destruction was his occupation. And like most other bomber crewmen, he went about his work without a quiver of conscience, convinced he was fighting for a noble cause. He also killed in order not to be killed.
Egan had been flying combat missions for five months in the most dangerous air theater of the war, the "Big Leagues," the men called it; and this was his first extended leave from the fight although it hardly felt like a reprieve. That night, the German air force, the Luftwaffe, plastered the city, setting off fires all around his hotel. It was his first time under the bombs and he found it impossible to sleep, with the screaming sirens and the thundering concussions.
Egan was attached to the Eighth Air Force, a bomber command formed at Savannah Army Air Base in Georgia in the month after Pearl Harbor to deliver America's first blow against the Nazi homeland. From its unpromising beginnings, it was fast becoming one of the greatest striking forces in history. Egan had arrived in England in the spring of 1943, a year after the first men and machines of the Eighth had begun occupying bases handed over to them by the RAF-the Royal Air Force-whose bombers had been hammering German cities since 1940. Each numbered Bombardment Group (BG)-his was the 100th-was made up of four squadrons of eight to twelve four-engine bombers, called "heavies," and occupied its own air station, either in East Anglia or the Midlands, directly north of London, around the town of Bedford.
pg. 7-8
As commander of the Hundredth's 418th Squadron, Johnny Egan flew with his men on all the tough missions. When his boys went into danger, he wanted to face it with them. "Anyone who flies operationally is crazy," Egan confided to Sgt. Saul Levitt, a radioman in his squadron who was later injured in a base accident and transferred to the staff of Yank magazine, an army publication. "And then," says Levitt, "he proceeded to be crazy and fly operationally. And no milk runs..."
When his "boy-men," as Egan called them, went down in flaming planes, he wrote home to their wives and mothers. "These were not file letters," Levitt remembered. "It was the Major's idea they should be written in long-hand to indicate a personal touch, and there are no copies of these letters. He never said anything much about that. The letters were between him and the families involved."
Major Egan was short and skinny as a stick, barely 140 pounds, with thick black hair, combed into a pompadour, black eyes, and a pencil-thin mustache. His trademarks were a white fleece-lined flying jacket and an idiomatic manner of speaking, a street-wise style borrowed from writer Damon Runyon. At twenty-seven, he was one of the "ancients" of the outfit, but "I can out-drink any of you children,'" he would tease the fresh-faced members of his squadron.
On nights that he wasn't scheduled to fly the next day, he would jump into a jeep and head for his "local," where he'd gather at the bar with a gang of Irish laborers and sing ballads until the taps ran dry or the tired publican tossed them out."
In Master's of the Air, Major John Egan is sometimes called, "Bucky," "Honest John," and "Johnny." The men of his squadrons loved his leadership style, which was leading by example, as seen in the excerpt above.
John Archer, a long-time British friend of the 100th & its veterans, described Egan in his story, One Man and His Dog:
"The Major was a lean, dark young man with a wisp of moustache. He was 27, but looked older. He could turn on the charm and turn it off whenever he liked. It’s the kind of thing one experiences in foreman of construction gangs and traffic managers at airports, in jobs where contact and participation with the men is the prime factor."
Major Egan was involved in the case of “Meatball vs the Pullet” a few days before he went down on a raid over Germany. Now Meatball was a half-grown husky dog which the crew of the B-17 brought over from Labrador on their way to Thorpe Abbotts during the summer of 1943. It seemed that Meatball was a bad dog, and all of a sudden turned into a chicken killer. And when did he decide to become a chicken killer? At a time when the personnel were involved in the toughest flying missions the group had yet undertaken. Deep raids as far as Danzig against desperate opposition.
And in this tense atmosphere Meatball got playful one morning and mangled a chicken dead. The nearby farmer went bustling up to the orderly room to see the Major. Major Egan was sitting in with his pilots having an informal briefing with the men about new tactics in aerial combat. It was the afternoon following a raid on Emden, October 3, 1943.
The farmer from down the road described “a light brown dog” that had killed a pullet.
“Light brown. That’s Meatball, all right,” said the Major. “And you say he got a pullet?” asked the Major sympathetically. “Well, a pullet is pretty important, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said the farmer, calming down by this time.
Where did you ever hear of a Major who knew anything about pullets, and what is more, who would talk about loss sympathetically in the middle of a grim military operation? Clearly the Major was now pulling out the charm act. He could, of course, have turned the whole matter of Meatball, pullet and payment over to the Adjutant. But the affair seemed right down the Major’s alley. All the new crews who had just arrived at Thorpe Abbotts were by that time listening with amazement.
“That pullet, did she look like a layer?” asked the Major. You could see by his face that he was rather tired, after all, it was only an hour or so since the raid was over.
“She did, Sir, for a fact,” said the farmer.
“Well, what would you say she’s worth?” asked the Major.
“Twenty bob,” said the farmer.
“All right,” said the Major. “I think that’s a pretty reasonable sum for a good pullet, don’t you?” he inquired looking around at the crews who flew the big bombers. They looked at him quite dumbfounded, not quite figuring it out, and wondering who was pulling whose leg. And the Major was aware he had everyone right there in front of him. He was the actor and the rest were the audience. The farmer had departed by this time, very pleased, and the Major was rocking back and forth on his chair and looking around. And from the subject of the Germans using rockets and guns, the conversation was not on pullets.
One of the young officers piped up and remarked, “A pullet, isn’t that some kind of… a rooster… like…” The Major glared at him and the officer’s face grew red. By now the class was sitting quite quietly.
“A pullet,” said the Major patiently, “is a half-grown female chicken which lays a small egg with a very small yolk.” And he showed them just how big with his fingers. “Then,” continued the Major, “the machinery inside the pullet goes to work and all of a sudden – one fine day it lays an egg twice as big as the usual and it is no longer a pullet.” The briefing closed at that point.
A few days later, Major Egan said goodbye for the last time to Meatball before climbing into his B-17. On October 10th, during a raid on Munster, the Major became a guest of the German forces, spending the rest of the war in a prison camp.
There was a certain pub in Dickleburgh that missed Major Egan. Sometimes he drove down in a jeep and sang songs in the bar with the locals and Irish laborers. With the affair of Meatball and the pullet, and the grim task of flying missions, Major Egan rounds out into a real example of an American who once walked the lonely lanes at Thorpe Abbotts.
Egan served as Air Exec for the 100th, as Commander of the 418th Squadron, and on the Munster raid flew as Command Pilot on John Brady’s lead crew. After being shot down, all but one of Brady’s crew survived as POWs.
(you can find more about this story here)
Egan was best friends with fellow 100th Bomb Group squadron commander, Maj. Gale "Buck" Cleven, whom he went to flight school with back in the States. The pair were roommates back in training, and little did they know they'd be roommates once again when they became German POWs in October of 1943. Buck after getting shot down over Bremen, and Egan in a retaliatory raid to get back at the Germans after they shot down his friend.
Egan was leaving for his first leave to London from Thorpe-Abbotts on October 8th when Buck Cleven and the rest of the 13th Combat Wing took off for Bremen. The next morning over breakfast, Egan saw the London Times headline: Eighth Air Force Loses 30 Fortresses Over Bremen," and sprang out of his chair to a phone. Due to wartime security, he had to speak in code.
Masters of the Air, pg. 10:
"How did the game go," he asked.
Cleven had gone down swinging, he was told.
Silence.
Pulling himself together, Egan asked, "Does the team have a game scheduled for tomorrow?"
"Yes," came the reply.
"I want to pitch."
He was back at Thorpe Abbotts that afternoon in time to "sweat out" a long mission the group flew to Marienburg, a combat strike led by the Hundredth's Commander, Col. Neil B. "Chick" Harding, a former West Point football hero. As soon as the squadrons returned, Egan got Harding's permission to lead the Hundredth's formation on the next day's mission.
This mission was set for Münster, just southwest of Bremen where Buck was shot down. Egan flew with Captain John D. Brady on the M’lle Zig Zig to Münster, and the heavy, along with all other planes but Royal Flush (Rosenthal's replacement B-17) in the 100th went down over the target. The crew of the M'lle Zig Zig bailed, parachuting through the flack-filled air. Hambone Hamilton was among the 'Zig's crew, and suffered multiple wounds from shrapnel. When found by Germans, he was taken to the hospital and stayed there recovering for a good while.
Egan, unlike the rest of the 'Zig's crew, was able to evade capture a few days before finally being taken prisoner. The aviators were first sent to Dulag Luft, the Luftwaffe's POW transit center. Egan and the other officers were kept separate from their men in cold and flea-infested solitary cells. Egan and Cleven were just a few cells apart, but neither knew the other was there. After a few weeks, Cleven and the men who were brought in with him were sent to Stalag Luft III, another POW camp just outside the town of Sagan, some 300 miles from their previous location. They were transported by train cars used for livestock, and they reported that "the smell of manure was overwhelming (Miller, 2007, pg. 23)." The trip took them three days. Three days after Cleven got to Stalag Luft III, Egan and his men arrived.
Masters of the Air, pg. 23:
Cleven watched them file into a neighboring stockade. Spotting Johnny Egan, he called out to him, "What the hell took you so long?"
"Well, that's what you get for being sentimental," Egan shouted back.
Both Egan and Cleven remained POWs until the end of the war. Cleven, however, managed to escape on a march in 1945. The pair remained good friends until John's death from a sudden heart attack in 1961. Egan served as Buck's best man in his wedding when he married his sweetheart Marge in 1945 once they returned home.
John married his own sweetheart, Lt Josephine "Doty" Pitz (WASP) in late 1945. They had two beautiful daughters together.
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I was doing some research and found the AMAZING 100th Bombardment Group Foundation website which has a database where you can look up airmen, planes, crews, missions, and just about anything having to do with the 100th. It's really an awesome resource!
