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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 18, 2020 21:17:18 GMT -5
1x1 for me and rose queen c: !!
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 21, 2020 21:37:09 GMT -5
K.B.L. September 6th, 1942 Entry #50 ~ eight hours of sleep last night. still tired.
It was the sliver of sunlight beneath the door of the bunker that woke him. Squinting, he threw off his rough wool blanket, the metal frame of the cot screeching beneath his shifting weight. Kennedy stood and stretched. He shuffled over to the basin in the corner, turning on the faucet and splashing water in his face. The cold stream made him shudder, his thoughts tainted like ink to water. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned toward the trunk on the floor.
He pulled on the standard uniform for Allied pilots. Tan pants, a white shirt, brown boots, and an olive-drab green flight jacket. The only noticeable difference between him and another soldier would be the blue paint stain on the side of his jacket, which he could hide well enough if he kept his arms down. Kennedy grabbed his crush cap from the bench along the wall before he opened the bunker door, allowing the sun to fill the room for a moment before it was once again shut out.
As was the case most days, he’d been given no intel regarding any bombers, which were much more apt to try and blitz the countryside under cover of night. Today was Wednesday, market-day in one of the towns a few miles east, closer to the coast. If he wanted something besides his K-rations, he had to go there. The plan he’d come up with was to get marshmallows. He set more fires than he could keep track of, to attract enemy eyes. It was foolish, he was well aware, but he figured he could toast a couple marshmallows each week, and maybe in the process make lasting through this war a bit easier, since he didn’t know how long he would have to stay here.
Kennedy crossed the abandoned airbase, footsteps falling abruptly on the cement. He passed stacks of empty crates that looked like they would fall apart if he breathed on them. The planes lay like decrepit birds with limp wings. They were wasted shells of their former glory, and they would probably be here long after he was gone, even after the war, which felt never-ending at this point.
The sun’s gaze beat down on him, cutting straight through quintessential white clouds. If he hadn’t flown through clouds just like these, he would have thought they’d been painted in the sky. The breeze blew the clouds behind him as he made his way to the dusty road leading away from the base.
Following the road to the coast, the land gracefully sloped down as he went until the town rose into view like a collection of grave-mounds. The earth beneath his feet grew softer as he approached. The houses here were old, built on frames that projected a few feet above the ground, but it was clear they were losing their battle to the dark, wet marshland. Every once in a while, he would pass a house with a dislocated stilt, tipping dangerously on its side with one corner sunken into the muck. He’d never seen anyone inside, or coming and going from those dying houses. But one could never be too sure here.
The morning’s high-tide had already passed by the time Kennedy arrived in town, and would not return again until dusk. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, he knew it was only about nine o’clock when the road turned into muddy cobblestone and he was in the main street of the little town. For once, he wasn’t the only one. At the other end of the street, five jeeps were parked, and among the makeshift stalls where the locals were selling trinkets, troops meandered half-heartedly. They looked distracted, like they were waiting for their next set of directions.
Kennedy paused, a cold-sweat on the back of his neck. American troops, he thought, immediately on edge. They were infantrymen. No reason to feel nervous around the likes of them. They didn’t know anything but what they were told. Foot soldiers such as these would fight on, none the wiser to the disquiet bubbling in his chest. Just keep going. Taking a deep breath in, he continued on, searching the faces for one that looked inviting.
Finally, he found someone who seemed affable enough. Kennedy walked over to the man, who was maybe four years younger than he, and gave a slight smile.
“Private?” Kennedy glanced at his uniform before he addressed the man, who turned to him with wide, inquiring eyes. Upon seeing Kennedy’s insignia on his sleeve, he saluted.
“Lieutenant. What can I do for you?” His voice was raspy and weak, as if he’d been screaming. Not much, Kennedy thought, but he needed to know if their stay here was temporary, as he thought it was.
“What’s your division doing here?” Kennedy asked, trying to keep his tone light.
The man shrugged, coughed into his elbow before answering. His clothes were stained with dried mud, even his sleeves. Kennedy wondered vaguely at how recently they must have been in battle. But where was there fighting in the area, this close to the fake air-base? The whole country-side was supposed to be full of ghosts, nothing more, and that included Kennedy himself, or might as well have. Perhaps they did travel far to get here. Unimportant.
“We’ve got a couple wounded, we’re waiting for the rear echelon of an ARC convoy. And, you know, I heard there’s one of those clubmobiles with them. With the girls? I heard they’ve got books and records-”
Another soldier had overheard their conversation, and he stepped over to stand beside his buddy, interrupting him with a playful, “who cares about that stuff? I heard they got cigarettes and coffee and doughnuts.”
“Really.” Kennedy said, his tone unimpressed, trying to hide his worry. He bit his lip, thinking. “Thanks, Privates.” He had to leave. Before more troops showed up. Before someone recognized him. Before—
The sound of a motor filled the air. The soldiers ran back over to their jeeps to unload their wounded and prepare for the Red Cross. Kennedy hung back as medics and nurses hustled to and fro at the crossroads. The locals ceased all activity to watch. Kennedy glanced around him, debating whether or not he had time to get marshmallows or not.
One of the so-called club-mobiles rambled to the end of the line. When the engine was cut and the door opened, more nurses stepped out into the gloomy street, dispersing to the space that had been cleared for stretchers.
He wasn’t sure what kept him there after that. His feet felt cemented to the ground, unable to move. He watched as one of the women, her hands shaking, knelt beside a soldier with a lot of blood seeping through his shirt. She was older than him, and looked calm, but that didn’t mean anything. Her hands kept shaking. He should have left then, but he didn’t. His better half won. Kennedy walked over to her. He knelt beside her, cursing himself all the while.
“I’ve got steady hands, let me help. What can I do?” She looked at him thankfully.
“Here, hold this for me.” She handed him the spool of medical string and tape as she snipped a strand and began to stitch up a gash in the wounded soldier’s stomach.
“Thanks,” she breathed. “I’m Delylah.”
“First Lieutenant Lemoyne,” was his response, clipped short, before he realized he should say something else, too. “Nice to meet you.”
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Post by rose on Dec 1, 2020 0:50:57 GMT -5
oh my gosh i'm so sorry that i never saw this!! give me a day or two to reply.
literally can't fathom how it's been over a month and i've just left you hanging. sorry again star <3
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Dec 2, 2020 0:12:09 GMT -5
ITSAOKAY I didnt tag u initially bc I'm big dumb xD take all the time u need it's not ur fault pls omg
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Post by rose on Jan 8, 2021 4:37:04 GMT -5
it has been 80 years but i'm here
haven't been able to sit down and write in a hot minute so i'm a little rusty i'm sorry
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Post by rose on Jan 8, 2021 4:38:13 GMT -5
First Lieutenant Lemoyne.
Damnit, she was sure she’d heard that name somewhere. It could’ve been some other Lieutenant, or it could’ve been some other Lemoyne, but there was a small inkling that led her to believe that that wasn’t the case. These days, news tended to reach her in the form of whispers - light and faint on the wind - and shared amongst the nurses that travelled together. When they weren’t discussing the potential severity of whatever they were about to encounter next (would they be met with something simple like a few sprains here and there? Or perhaps an influx of soldiers marked with bullet wounds? Only time would tell), the time spent on the clubmobiles got exhausting. So, they opted to tell eachother everything that they had heard - words that they had stolen via the wind from private conversations amongst generals and soldiers, mostly - and though Delylah supposed that in the “real world”, the conversations they had would be considered mere “gossip”, she didn’t know if that was all that their supposed “intel” - as they liked to call it amongst themselves - should have been limited to. The other nurses spoke often, and it was clear that they knew more than they led the general public to believe. As it turned out, many of the nurses had their connections, and, well, Delylah was connected to them. She didn’t know how reliable their intel was, but it was intel. That’s what mattered, she presumed.
She hadn’t been doing this long. “This” being whatever the hell her current situation could be considered. After graduating college, work hadn’t come easily. And then, one day, whilst passing a shop - it could’ve been a grocery, or perhaps it was a bakery, she couldn’t quite remember - she had seen it; a sign, with a woman in a white dress, cloaked in a red cape standing in the middle, with two war men on either side of her. Join American Red Cross, the sign had said, with the ever reputable red cross logo on the right of it. She didn’t know what had clicked in her that day, but something just did, and suddenly she was applying. Sure, perhaps part of it was due to the relentless sound of her mother in her ear telling her that she could certainly amount to more than just “writing down conversations among children” - which, for the record, couldn’t be farther from what journalism actually was - but a lot of the thought behind her application was because she wholeheartedly wanted to make a difference. Even if she wasn’t good enough to write about this war, she sure as hell was good enough to nurse soldiers back to health; Delylah had a knack for that kind of thing, it seemed. Apparently, as she came to realize only after being accepted, only one in six applicants made the cut, and as it turned out, she was that one in six. She could recall long days of physical examinations and personal interviews - each and every one conducted with practiced smiles on both parties’ (both her and the examiner’s) ends. In her mind, she had made the cut because of an advantage that she had over the other applicants - she didn’t fear the concept of death.
Or so, she liked to believe.
Finally, on a quiet Saturday morning, she had been selected and sent to D.C. to complete her training. That had all gone by painlessly enough. She had made a few friends - one was stationed with her now, in fact, and she glanced over to meet the other woman’s eye. Gretchen was already hard at work with a different soldier at her feet, bandages in one hand, and the soldier’s arm gripped in her other. She threw a quick smile in Delylah’s direction and turned her focus back to the job at hand.
And now, here Delylah was. Standing face to face with First Lieutenant Lemoyne.
And with a blood soaked man at her feet.
Sure, she was trained for this, but this was new to her. It was one thing to bandage the arm of a man who brandished merely a single wound, but this. She hadn’t realized she was shaking till the Lieutenant had offered to help her. For that, she knew no proper way to thank him. And so, she had opted merely to telling him her name, in the hopes that somehow, maybe that would be sufficient. Of course, it was not.
Delylah nodded at the Lieutenant’s verbal pleasantries, then turned her head back towards what should’ve remained her center of attention. She couldn’t help but notice the way her pinned collar itched, and for the life of her, she could never quite understand why the Red Cross had steered towards light grays and whites for their famed uniforms. Blood had already made its way onto her apron, and she couldn’t help but realize that it matched the Red Cross logo embellished across her chest at the moment.
She shook her head, properly taking in the situation. Sure, it was a lot to fathom at first, but looking at it now, this seemed doable. As long as she took it one wound at a time. She worked quickly, stitching up the multitude of wounds that, somehow, this single soldier had accumulated. He jolted slightly every time the needle met his skin, but Delylah was able to suture his wounds easily enough. She was a skilled worker, anyone could give her that - when, of course, her hands weren’t wobbling as if they were loose teeth.
Finally, the job was done and she was standing. Her head turned to the man who had helped her complete her task.
She had ought to lighten the mood, right?
“I apologize for my apparent nervousness,” she said slowly. “I do promise, Lieutenant, that I am indeed trained for this.”
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Apr 9, 2021 23:51:13 GMT -5
K.B.L. September 6th, 1942 ~ starstruck by recent circumstances
For a few moments, the street around him faded, blurring like a photograph taken too fast. The scuff of soldiers’ shoes against the pavement, the creak of the crooked buildings, the shouts from one jeep to the next, all seemed to reach his ears but dully, like they were stuffed with cotton. Kennedy was focused on helping the nurse, Delylah, and more than anything, he was thankful for something to do. This was something he could fix. It occurred to him somewhere in the back of his mind that he could have given his first name as she had. But their protocols were likely different for a reason. He was an officer in the newly-named Air Force. She was a volunteer, of course she was more personable. Still, part of him felt bad for treating her as if she were nothing more than a civilian. She was here, wasn’t she? In the middle of the war, or as close as she could get, and doing her best, which to him looked like the only thing she was capable of. He could admire that determination, despite her unsteady fingers.
Suddenly she broke into his little condensed world when she met his gaze, bringing with her the invigorating, almost-chocolate scent of coffee. There was a clarity about her, the kind one might feel when jumping into a frozen pond, before the numbness set in. Ice-cold clarity. Kennedy would admit, her eyes startled him at first. He glanced up from the wound they were stitching to watch her nod before she lifted her face to look at him. Their eyes barely met, a fleeting glance, before she was looking at the wounded soldier, and he dropped his gaze again. To her apron. Such bright smears of red against the starched white fabric. He swallowed painfully.
Her words sounded strange to him when they finished. Unexpected, as hearing German spoken on this hill would be. The way she pulled back from her patient was deliberate. Despite not looking up, he felt her observing him. ‘I do apologize’, she said. She was neither afraid nor confident about what she’d just done with his help. Something in the middle. Reserved, perhaps. Still training then? A cadet, if he thought about it in military terms.
“I believe you. No need to worry.” He didn’t think he needed to say anything beyond that at first. He was in the armed forces; he valued brevity and efficiency. She’d made a simple statement, therefore he gave a simple answer. It was a kind gesture, and not a flirtatious one at that. An honest one, factual. Kennedy looked up with surprise, then quickly looked back down to try and cover it up. “Not一 not that you were worried. I just meant一 it’s fine. I’m sure you’re a great nurse.”
He was making it worse, wasn’t he? She was looking at him like he had two heads. Did he really look that tired? There were almost always circles under his eyes these days, but his appearance couldn’t have been what she was focusing in on. He knew she wasn’t trying to intimidate him. She was being nice. He could be nice. Yet, his next statements were disjointed and awkward, like he had to force them out.
“I mean, you are. I can tell. You are great. Nervous or not.” Now he was shaking.
That was surely enough, wasn’t it? She smelled like the sweet warmth of doughnut glaze. Kennedy took a long breath in before releasing it, making a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. Small talk. He could do that, especially with a woman he would never see again.
She called me ‘lieutenant’. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, coming from her lips. It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t uncommon, either, and he should have expected it, seeing as that was how he’d introduced himself to her. Foolishly. Kennedy opened his mouth, about to tell her not to call him that, it wasn’t necessary, if for no other reason than to loosen the reins a little and let her peek through the window of his carefully constructed walls, but he missed his chance. She stood, leaving him staring at her boots for a minute before he turned to the man on the ground and squeezed his shoulder to tell him get well, good luck, they were leaving. The man gave a half-hearted thumb’s up in response, and the pilot stood, realizing he’d let the silence go on far too long. Cheeks turning pink, he stammered out what he’d been trying to say, but it came out less smooth than he’d intended, more incompetent than it sounded in his head.
“My一 it’s一 my name, I’m一 Ken. Kennedy.” He sounded like an idiot. “Sorry.” He whispered his own apology, as if afraid to disturb the air she breathed. He took a deep breath of his own, collecting himself. Upholding his image. “You don’t have to call me by that title.” He barely gave her a chance to acknowledge any of this before he continued,
"Ever been in a war before?" It was a stupid question he asked, just trying to change the subject quickly, but he didn’t want her to walk away yet. They had barely begun talking; the conversation couldn’t run dry yet, could it? It might be for the best. He was doing more harm than good. He certainly wasn’t impressing anyone with this display. He didn’t know, then, what was keeping him here longer than he needed to be. But he didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
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