Three members of the WWII Airborne Demonstration Team display the typical loadout of gear worn by US Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions on D-Day.
The WWII ADT was one of several groups of airborne re-enactors that jumped in period-correct uniforms and gear, with authentic military canopy parachutes, from a fleet of C-47 ‘Dakotas’ onto original D-Day drop zones during the 75th anniversary of D-Day on June 6, 2019.
Stained glass window dedicated to the 101st Airborne paratroopers in the church at Angoville-au-Plain, Manche, Normandy, France.
This church, which served as an aid station during the Battle of Normandy in World War II, was tended by US Army Medics Robert Wright and Ken Moore of the 101st Airborne, treating 80 wounded soldiers, both American and German, as well as a child, with blood stains still visible on the pews.
Today, two stained glass windows commemorate the bravery of the 101st Airborne Division and the American parachutists, specifically honoring the two medics from the 2nd Battalion of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment (101st Airborne Division).
Battleship Texas crew take on wounded 2nd Rangers on June 7, 1944.
June 7, 1944, the USS TEXAS, receives information from the USS HARDING that the Ranger forces at Pointe Du Hoe were requesting small arms ammunition, food, and that a number of the wounded were badly in need of medical attention. TEXAS obtained two LCVPs, provided food, water, and ammunition, and dispatched the landing craft to the beach below Pointe Du Hoe.
In the afternoon, the LCVPs returned with thirty-five wounded from the 2nd Ranger Battalion, twenty-seven prisoners of war, and one deceased member of the United States Coast Guard. Those who were able would climb aboard while others were hoisted using the ship's cranes. The entire medical staff of TEXAS tended to the wounded, working steadily throughout the night. One Ranger, Staff Sergeant Leon H. Otto, F Co., 2nd Ranger Battalion, died on the ship's operating table from wounds he sustained while fighting at Pointe Du Hoe.
Post on the Battleship Texas Foundation Facebook page: link
lewis ford x fem! reader (overlord)
⁓2.5k words
friends to lovers, angst, smut, mentions of syringes, nightmares, weightloss, death, injuries and war; size kink, unprotected p in v, multiple rounds, consensual somnophilia
lewis had taken the serum. fuck, it felt wrong, he felt wrong, too strong, too much, too many thoughts about not making it out, too many thoughts about you. the second your image slips into his mind, everything other than the pain in his chest and the burning in his veins fades into the background.
he'll make it back to you, whatever the hell it takes.
you've been his closest friend since childhood, your early teenage years, even through the awkward outfits and hormones and growth spurts. even through the years he's realised he had fallen for you without noticing it, but never confessed. he didn't want to admit his feelings when he got the draft letter before his deployment, because he knew fully well it would only hurt you that much more if he didn't survive.
so the moment the hook sunk into his chest, he dragged himself off, plunged the syringe into his arm and felt the tar run through his body, all he could think about was his mother telling you the news, could practically see you break down the second you saw her with sad, teary eyes, standing in front of your apartment.
that, mixed with knowing boyce was about to die if he didn't do something, is what helps him fight, continue even through the searing pain.
his death would devastate you, break you. completely.
and it's you, the thought of you, that keeps him kicking, keeps him alive through it all.
for the rest of the war, lewis hides his injuries, his body's changes, so nobody would realise how quickly he's healing if he does get hurt; only allowing himself a breath in front of his squad since they know the lengths he went to to keep them safe, and they protect his secret so he doesn't get found out and killed. even worse, experimented on.
throughout all of it, you're always on the forefront of his mind - you got him out, he's gonna make it home.
and he's gonna make you his.
every casualty report has you shake with anxiety, every call from his mother has your eyes tearing up in hopes it's not about what you think it is. you had almost given up hope over the years of not hearing a single thing from lewis, even if he did write to his mother from time to time whenever there was a chance. he just didn't want to risk giving you hope before ultimately dying, but his mother does write back - and the letters that reach him tell him all he needs to know about your fears of him not making it back, of you losing weight, always looking tired but still putting up a smile whenever you visit her or help her with groceries.
when lewis finally makes it back stateside, he has to force himself to visit his mother first, as the serum in his body screams for him to be with you after pretty much imprinting on the thought of you. after a long hug, careful of his new strength since he didn't want anyone to know or realise what was so fundamentally wrong with his body, and a bit of talking, she realises that he's antsy and smiles.
"go find her, lewis, that girl has run herself ragged over you. i know you're home and safe now, that's all i needed."
he thanks her, tries to be cautious while hugging her once more, tells her that he'll come over for dinner within the week. but she simply smiles knowingly, because she had realised your and his feelings before either of you ever did.
your apartment door is the only thing separating you now. he has the key, somewhere in his belongings that he left with his mother when he terminated his lease before the war, but he didn't want to just barge in. he knew his appearance would already have you stagger.
once he had rung the doorbell, your muffled "one second!" makes his heart all but slam against his ribcage. and when you open the door, see your best friend as he sees his, both of you freeze. he's alive. you're right in front of him. he's alive.
before his mind can tell him to stop, his body reacts, and he pulls you into a searing kiss, one that has you gasp only for him to use the chance and push his tongue into your mouth so it can tangle with yours. it only takes you a breath before you're pulling him inside, kicking the door shut with a slam that surely alerts your neighbours - but you can do the talking later. right now, you just need to feel each other, desperation coursing through both of your veins.
a moan of his name leaves you when he picks you up effortlessly, has his dick ache while he carries you to where he knows your bedroom is. once you're set down gently on the bed, like you're made of glass, lewis takes a breathless moment to admire you beneath him. chest heaving, the comfortable shirt he subconsciously recognises to be one of his that he left at your place ridden up to expose your soft stomach.
"lewis-" he doesn't give you time to continue when he moves down and over you, kissing you once more with fervour and barely restrained hunger. his name falling from your mouth this pretty makes him let out a low growl.
you hesitate for a second when you tug his shirt over his head with urgent fingers and see the ugly, raised scar that remained from the hook, and mutter a quiet, careful "you okay?". but he just pulls you back into him, mumbles against your lips that he is, now at least. you accept it, know that he'll explain at some later point, and every thought flies from your mind when he rolls his hips into yours. even through the layers of clothes still separating your bodies it's entirely overwhelming, because feeling him, like this, alive and finally yours, feels like a dream neither of you ever want to wake up from.
it's as if lewis' body lets out a breath of relief when he finally tastes your skin, his lips and teeth and tongue at your pulse, feels your bare body under his calloused hands. you feel like heaven after all that hell he endured in italy, then france, and while he promises you that he'll take his time with you properly later on he needs to feel you right this moment.
"take what you need to feel like you're home," you whisper into his kiss, and he swears that he could melt, keep you in his embrace for all eternity or however long the serum will want to give him.
he had already noticed that the tar made him fill his muscles out a little more, but he never thought about his dick gaining some girth as well until he wraps his fist around the base, lines up with your already glistening core, groans when he struggles to press even the tip fully into you.
you whine underneath him, trying to spread your legs a little further to ease the stretch as he has to work himself into you with shallow grinds of his hips. he watches on in awe when you slowly take him, gasp and whimper and moan at the feeling.
when at last he manages to sink into you completely, bottom out with a final thrust, his hips stutter and he rasps out a low "fuck, sweetheart, you're heaven" because he finally doesn't feel the ache of his body anymore, only you wrapped around his cock so beautifully tight.
you can barely breathe, you're so full, but you manage to grab for him and pull him down into a kiss, inadvertedly have him reach even deeper into you. fuck, he has to adjust as well, you're almost too tight for him to properly move, but when you give a choked up "please move, lew-" he starts up a frantic pace, rough and deep, just the thing the both of you need. you're mewling and whining and pawing at his shoulders because your head is absolutely empty besides the thoughts of how full you are. how he's home. alive.
lewis' dark eyes stay on your face, observing every little detail flicker across. the pleasure he sees, the way you keep trying to hold his gaze but struggle, the little tremors your body gives under his large frame. with a glance, he angles his head to look down to where you're so intimately connected, groans raspily when he sees how wide your legs have to spread to accomodate him. how perfectly you take his every wild thrust. how perfectly you take him.
everything is too much and not enough at the same time - he knows he's different now, he knows he could hurt you, but you feel so good and he's waited so long for you, knows you waited so long for him as well. every little scrunch of your nose and tremble of your body has him realise just how thick he is, but before he can even check in if you're alright you're already shaking your head, choking out that he better not stop.
you still know him too well.
it's not long before you come undone, overwhelmed by the fact that he survived, reciprocates your feelings, feels so good covering your body with his own so fully as his hips snap into yours hard enough to leave the skin sore. neither of you can manage proper words by this point, instead letting out sighs of pleasure, weak sounds muffled through bitten lips and rough groans buried wherever his lips land.
lewis follows suit not long after you, hips faltering in their ruthless pace when he fills you with his spend, fucks it deeper when he doesn't stop even then. one round isn't going to be enough for the serum, he realises, he needs more, and you're more than happy and willing to give him everything he needs.
he excuses it by being pent up, having thought only about you for the past few years, that he needs to get this out of his system and take you apart properly and thoroughly, over and over again in all the ways he imagined having you.
you're weak, exhausted, sore, dripping with his cum by the time lewis is finally done, by the time he finally fucked himself out fully. with trembling legs, he just barely pulls out to collapse next to you, tucks you against his chest and refuses to let you go far. you can clean up tomorrow - he almost didn't make it out, only did because of you, so he's going to make sure you're his. filled with him, surrounded by him. he needs you close.
softly, still a little shaky from exertion and the orgasms he pulled from you, you let your fingers graze the scar on his chest.
"later, i promise sweetheart."
he seals his words with a soft kiss, and you believe him.
once he does explain it to you - he trusts you with his life and more, he knows you'll believe him - you're shocked. terrified. not of him, never of him, but of the horrors he had seen and lived through in his deployment. when you promise that you'll love him no matter what runs through his veins, that you'll always be by his side and do whatever you can to keep this secret, lewis can't help but groan.
next thing you know, he has you pressed against the wall, your legs around his waist because he needs you again right that moment - he was so scared that you'd be disgusted, scared of him, but you're so willing to love his entire being with your own that he can't help the hunger, this deep rooted desire.
he hid the changes, hid the injuries, so nobody would realise how fast he was healing, stuck close to his squad so they could cover when he did get hurt. and all the while, you were his only thought, and now he has you, all of you, and you want all of him even if you know what that means. even if you know that your life will never be completely normal again.
so you always make sure to stay as low profile as possible, always care for any side effects that might be there, even if they're only that hunger.
especially then.
another nightmare of not making it out, not making it back to you. lewis knew he'd have them, hell, he had them even before ciel blanc, but that didn't mean they didn't shake him. he needs you, needs to feel you to push those thoughts and memories out of his mind, needs to know that you're there. that he's home.
you wake up to lewis already pressing into you carefully but oh so desperately, splitting you open even as he's gentle and slow. rather, at least as slow as he can manage.
"lew?" you mutter blearily, and when he knows you're awake, he grunts a quiet "needed you" into your skin as he sinks in further and you whine drowsily, hand landing on his wrist as he cautiously bullies his length into you. he still struggles a little, that girth will always be a bit much, but your body is so pliant when still half asleep that it's easier than usual.
both of you let out sharp gasps once he's finally fully inside of you, buried to the hilt, hip meeting hip. your head is thrown back, and he presses soothing kisses to your bared throat as you adjust, whispers praise into the skin.
it doesn't matter how badly he needs you, he'll always give you that pause, that out if it's too much. he'd never forgive himself if he hurt you, if he didn't stop - he loves you too much, you're much more important than any physical need. just as much desire is in his body, it's evenly matched by restraint, so he can hold himself back. you're not getting hurt in any way if he can prevent it, and that includes by him.
lewis adores how you always let him in no matter what, cling to him half conscious, mumble how big he is and how good he feels when he starts to move with languid strokes that have his waist slap softly against the back of your thighs. he won't last long, neither will you, the haze of sleep multiplying every sensation tenfold and making your walls flutter around his dick in the matter of minutes, your subsequent release making his thrusts just that much wetter and smoother.
you're all but whimpering for him, breathing his name like a prayer, and when he follows suit and tips over the edge it's deep, hot, long ropes of his cum as he fills you up with a groan of your name.
his mind is quiet again, body tired and spent, and he lets himself stay buried inside of you, wraps his arms around your middle to lay on top of you. kind hands almost immediately travel to his shoulders, into his hair, as you catch your breaths and work to get your heartbeats even again.
"better?" you murmur, low and almost gone again, and his nod brings you the rest of the way back to sleep.
"much better."
author's note: lewis please come home... the kids miss you....
Two Canadian soldiers overlooking a model of the defenses on Juno Beach, after capturing a German command center at Courseulles-sur-Mer, Normandy, France. 6 June 1944
