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greenpolicelight · 4 months ago

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"Currahee"

: ̗̀´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒OC's ̗̀´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒

Prt 1 - Prt 2

WORD COUNT: 6K

June 1942 – Camp Toccoa, Georgia

The humid Georgia air is thick as Easy Company stands in formation with all of their gear. Rene is standing in the back attempting to discreetly move his left leg to scratch his right calf without making it obvious. He brings his foot down, standing straight, at attention, as Captain Sobel walks up, moving in front of the company, "you people are at the position of attention!" Sobel walks between the men, stopping in front of Perconte who moves his gun, getting it ready for inspection. Sobel looks down at Perconte, "Private Perconte, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?"

"No, sir."

"Then explain the creases at the bottom."

Rene's eyebrows crease slightly, wondering how Sobel could have been able to see creases, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel looks up, looking around at the other men, "volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Perconte," Sobel looks back at Perconte, "but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here. Your weekend pass is revoked." Sobel turns, walking off, looking for someone else to stop in front of. He stops in front of Luz, "name?"

"Luz, George."

Luz moves, getting his gun ready for inspection before Sobel grabs it, barely looking at it before tossing it back to Luz, "dirt in the rear side aperture. Pass revoked." Sobel moves on, looking over the other men again, before turning around, only to stop next to Lipton. Sobel moves closer, grabbing onto a piece of string from Lipton's sleeve, holding it up to him, "when did you sew on these chevrons, Sergeant Lipton?"

"Yesterday, sir."

"Long enough to notice this." Sobel brings his hand up next to Lipton's face, "revoked."

"Sir."

Sobel moves on, standing in front of Malarkey, "name?"

Malarkey moves, getting his gun ready for inspection, "Malarkey, Donald G."

Sobel grabs the gun, raising an eyebrow slightly, "Malarkey? Malarkey's slang for bullshit, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Rust on the butt plate hinge spring, Private Bullshit." Sobel toss's the gun back at Malarkey, "revoked." He moves on, "name?"

"Liebgott, Joseph D., sir."

Sobel looks down, reaching to grab Liebgott's bayonet. He holds it up, looking at it for a moment before speaking, "rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?"

"Yes, sir."

Sobel smacks the bayonet against Liebgott's helmet, causing him to flinch lightly, "not with this." Sobel walks away, moving to stand in front of the company, yelling now to speak to the whole company, "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I will not take you to war in your condition." Sobel throws Liebgott's bayonet down to the ground, pointing towards the company, "now, thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the Company who had a weekend pass, has lost it." Sobel pauses for a moment, "change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."

Sobel turns, walking away and leaving the men to their platoon leaders. Winters turns towards Second Platoon, "Second Platoon fall out. You have two minutes."

"Fall out!" Rene grabs his gun up, turning to jog to his barracks with the rest of the company moving towards their own barracks.

Rene takes his O.D's off, already having his PT gear on underneath it, having learned from previous experience it's the most efficient way to live in Toccoa with Sobel. Rene folds his O.D's, setting them on his cot as he sits down, leaning down to tie his boots back up. He pauses as he hears Perconte speak, "I ain't going up that hill."

Rene rolls his eyes as the door slams open, Martin walking in, a small glare on his face, "hey, Perconte, what are you thinking of, blousin' your pants?"

Rene looks up at Martin as he walks by, Perconte responding, "shut up, Martin, alright? He gigged everybody."

Rene looks back down at his shoes, as Martin scoffs, "yeah, well, you should know better. Don't give him no excuses."

"Excuses? Why don't you come here, look at these trousers, get down and tell me there's a crease in 'em." Rene looks up again as Perconte stands up before he notices White still in his O.D's.

Rene stands up, looking between Martin and Perconte, "guys, c'mon, this is bullshit, and you know it. But, that ain't any reason to argue with each other about it."

The two look at Rene, and Perconte is about to say something back to Rene when Lipton's voice comes through the barracks, "alright, let's go, on the road in PT formation. Let's move, move, move." Rene and Perconte hold eye contact, having a small staring contest, neither giving in as the men around them quickly make their way out the door. Lipton sighs as he looks between the two, "Perconte, let's go, Perconte." Rene stays where he is as he watches Perconte aggressively undo his jacket and takes it off. "Flores, c'mon, that means you too." Rene glances at White before looking back at Lipton and walking out the door, jogging to catch up to the others.

Sobel's voice is loud and grating, as he yells at the men, causing Rene to wince lightly, "where do we run?"

The men yell back as they run, "Currahee!"

"What does Currahee mean?"

"We stand alone!"

"How far up, how far down?"

"Three miles up, three miles down!"

"And what company is this?"

"Easy Company!"

"And what do we do?"

Rene rolls his eyes, "stand alone!"

Rene hears someone yell out, before hearing Sobel yell, "do not help that man! Do not help that man. We do not stop. You've got thirteen minutes to get to the top of this mountain if you wanna serve in the paratroopers. Hi-ho, Silver!"

Luz, who's running next to Rene glances over at him before glancing at the others around him he can see. Luz looks back at Rene, wondering how Rene doesn't seem affected by Currahee the same way everyone else is. The men around them are struggling to breathe, struggling to even run anymore, and Rene, it looks like he makes Currahee seem like the easiest thing in the world.

Rene runs behind Bull, following Perconte, and Luz as they run up to the stone at the top of the mountain. Rene rolls his eyes as he hears Sobel's voice yell out, "we are coming on twenty-three minutes. That may be good enough for the rest of the Five-O-Six, but that is not good enough for Easy Company."

Rene pushes his food around with his fork, not actually eating anything as he looks around, observing the men around him as they eat their food. Rene watches as the men become quickly acquainted, acting as if they hadn't just recently met each other. He internally grimaces, beginning to hate his lack of social skills even more than he had growing up.

Rene looks up, being brought out of his thoughts as someone sits in front of him. Joe Toye. Rene never talked to the man, only saw him around camp and heard others talk about him. The two sit in silence, both discreetly glancing at the other until Joe speaks up, "I'm Joe Toye."

Rene looks over at him, slightly surprised he broke the silence. Rene stares at him for a moment, blinking, before responding, "Rene Flores."

"Where are you from?"

Rene gives him a confused look, "uh, San Diego. You?"

"Houghestown. It's in Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania?"

"Yeah, you've been there?"

Rene chuckles, shaking his head, with a soft smile on his face, "no. Never met anyone from there either."

"Yeah? Well, now you can't say that."

Rene shrugs, "I guess." The two sit in silence again, only this time it isn't awkward. It's relatively comfortable for the two, until Rene breaks the silence, "what did you do before this? I mean like for work."

"I was a coal miner. Then I enlisted before deciding to join the paratroopers."

"So you were already in the army?"

"Yeah, went through training and everything, but I wanted some more money so," Joe shrugs, "I figured why not."

Rene smiles at him, "yeah, a double volunteer?" Joe nods slowly, as Rene tilts his head, shrugging a shoulder, "why not, right?"

Joe gives him a smirk, before he nods towards Rene, "what did you do?"

"I worked for anyone who would give me the time of day. Newspaper boy, construction, delivery."

"You go to school?"

Rene shakes his head, "no, I went when I was younger, but I stopped after my mom died."

"My dad made me drop out in Junior high, so I could work in the coal mines."

Rene purses his lips, "damn."

Joe looks Rene over, "you got any hobbies?"

Rene squints his eyes at Joe, "I like drawing."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you can show me someday, Re?"

Rene makes a confused face, breathing out, "Re?" He looks up, grinning at Joe, "yeah. Maybe, Joey." Joe smirks at Rene as silence comes over the two again, neither minding it. The two know a bond formed between the two, one that didn't need words spoken to be true. The two quickly understood each other, both knowing this was the start of something neither of them had felt before, the start of a friendship that would make them closer to each other, than the brothers they were surrounded by.

Rene is laying on his cot, messing around with his lighter, listening to the men as they play poker. Luz continues glancing over at Rene, before leaning into the men and speaking quietly, "we should ask him to join."

Rene glances over, noticing they had become quiet. Perconte looks over at Luz, giving him a look, "why would we do that?"

Luz shrugs, "I don't know, we can't hate the kid forever."

"We don't hate the kid. We just don't like 'im."

Hoobler shakes his head, as he looks over at Perconte, "why? It's not like he's all that bad. He really helps when we run Currahee."

Luz nods, "he's pretty good at giving us motivation."

Randleman looks over at Rene, catching his eye. Rene smiles softly at him, which Randleman returns before gesturing with his head to the open seat next to him. Rene scrunches his face before shaking his head and returning to messing around with his lighter. He takes a deep breath before looking back over at the group, I can't just expect them to accept me. I've got to put my own energy into it too. He nods to himself as a way of reassuring himself, before standing up, moving towards the group. Randleman grins at Rene as he walks up, "can I join?"

The men look up at Rene, not expecting him to come over. Randleman chuckles, gesturing to the spot between him and Martin, "there's an open seat for you right here."

Rene sits down fidgeting with his hands as he looks over the cards. Luz looks over at him, "you know how to play?"

Rene shakes his head, "my dad tried to teach me. I got so confused, so I became the only one in the family that doesn't know how to play."

Randleman chuckles, "we'll teach you." Rene thanks him, as he begins to tell Rene the rules, explaining what was happening as the men around them played.

"Flores?" Rene's head snaps up, looking at Luz, "where you from?"

"San Diego."

"You got any siblings?"

Rene tightens his lips before pursuing them and shaking his head, "I have a brother and a sister, both of 'em enlisted in the Marines."

"You got any hobbies?"

Rene furrows his eyebrows, "what's all the questions for? This some kind of interrogation?"

Martin shakes his head, turning to Rene, "we just want to get to know you, Flores."

Rene shakes his head with a confused face, tilting his head slightly, "why? I ain't anythin' special." Rene doesn't know it, but his words are what tells the men around him exactly what they need to know.

The game is over, and the men decided to call it quits on cards for the night. Rene is still sitting with Luz, Martin, Randleman, and Perconte all of them sitting in silence for a bit, none knowing what to say. Rene clears his throat, as he shuffles the deck of cards for something to do, "my whole life, my family called me Bean."

The four men exchange looks, not expecting Rene to say that. Luz shakes his head, "why?"

Rene shrugs before Martin shakes his head, "why are you tellin us that?"

"I don't know. You were the ones who wanted to know more about me. I figured it was somethin' interesting. We can forget I said it though if it ain't helpful."

Perconte smirks, "nah, Bean, it was plenty helpful." Rene looks up, surprised as he stares at Perconte for a moment before grinning at him. Perconte returns the grin, something the others around them never expected as they knew whatever Perconte had against Rene, is gone.

The company is on their usual Friday night march in their full gear. Rene's marching next to Bull who speaks up, "I'm gonna say somethin'."

Luz looks over, "to who?"

Rene shakes his head and looks back forward after glancing at Bull, "besides, what do you think is gonna happen?"

Bull ignores the two, calling out, "Lieutenant Winters."

"What is it?"

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"Sir, we got nine companies, sir."

"That we do."

"Well, how come we're the only company marching every Friday night, twelve miles, full pack, in the pitch dark?"

"Why do you think, Private Randleman?"

"Lieutenant Sobel hates us, sir." Rene snickers, his eyes widening slightly, not expecting someone to say that, especially Bull.

"Lieutenant Sobel does not hate Easy Company, Private Randleman." There's a pause, "he just hates you."

There's scattered laughter from the company, as Bull nods, "thank you, sir." Rene snickers, smiling slightly, grateful to have Winters in their company who knows exactly what to say to the men.

After finishing the march, the men are standing in formation in front of Sobel. Rene stands next to Bull, beginning to get a chill from the cool air and rain hitting his sweaty skin. Sobel's voice is shrill as he speaks from where he stands next to Winters, "Lieutenant Winters, I want canteens out of belts with the caps unscrewed."

"Easy Company, canteens out and open." Rene reaches to his hip, grabbing his canteen, opening it.

"On my command, they will pour the contents onto the ground."

"On the CO's order, you will upend your canteen."

"Now, Lieutenant."

"Pour 'em." Rene flips his canteen over, the water flowing out. Rene moves his eyes, watching the water come out of the canteen, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as his thirst hits him with full force. Rene takes a deep breath before bringing his eyes back to the front.

Rene cringes lightly as Sobel quickly moves between the men, yelling, "who is this?" There is a slight pause before Sobel begins yelling again, " Christensen! Why is there no water in your canteen? You drank from your canteen, didn't you?"

"Sir, I—"

Sobel cuts Christensen off, "Lieutenant Winters."

Winters speaks from where he's standing in front of the company, "yes, sir."

"Was this man ordered to not drink from his canteen during the Friday night march?"

"He was, sir."

"Private Christensen, you have disobeyed a direct order. You will fill your canteen and repeat all twelve miles of the march immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Fall out!" Rene winces as Sobel screams before watching Sobel move back to the front and bring Winters aside, talking quietly with him, before walking away.

Rene stands in front of Sobel in his full gear, as Sobel glares down at him, "why are you here, Private Flores."

Rene's voice is louder than normal, not wanting Sobel to think he's intimidated by him, "I'm gonna be in the airborne, sir."

Sobel nods, "then prove it. You have forty-five minutes to the top and back. I will be watching you."

Rene nods once, "yes, sir." He steps around Sobel and begins running towards Currahee.

After running up and back down Currahhe, Rene stops, standing face to face with Sobel, his breathing slightly uneven from the run. Rene's surprised to see Sobel standing there, actually timing him, but soon his surprise turns to annoyance as Sobel stares at the stopwatch in his hand. He looks at Rene, his eyebrows scrunched together, "forty-six minutes and fifty-one seconds, Private Flores. Again."

Rene takes a deep breath before he gives Sobel a nod, "yes, sir." He turns around, rolling his eyes as soon as he knows Sobel can't see him and begins to run up Currahee again.

When Rene makes it back down in front of Sobel, his breathing is heavier than it ever had been after running Currahee. Sobel's voice shows his annoyance as he speaks again, "forty-six minutes and three seconds. Private Flores, this is not good. I thought you could run fast, however, this is a disgrace. Again. How can you think you can become a paratrooper if you can't even run in the right amount of time."

Rene nods again, sniffling lightly as his nose runs from the drizzle falling, "sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir."

"It better not, I can't stay out here all night, Private Flores. Again."

"Yes, sir." Rene turns around again, his eyes widening in annoyance as he forces his body to move. The exhaustion begins to flow through his body as he tries to run again, but he pushes himself, not wanting to prove Sobel right.

The third time Rene finishes running Currahee, he believes he may never catch his breath. As he comes to a stop in front of Sobel, he struggles to calm himself down as he pants loudly while Sobel gives him a nod, "forty-three minutes and seventeen seconds. Private Flores, why didn't you do that the first time, instead of wasting my time like this?"

Rene takes a deep breath before he coughs and gulps, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel nods, looking Rene over, "you will run Currahee once more for wasting my time, then you are dismissed, Private Flores."

"Thank you, sir." Rene watches as Sobel walks away before turning and staring up at Currahee, breathing out as his body seems to deflate from disappointment. He takes a deep breath, before slowly starting up the hill, at least this one isn't timed.

Rene takes a deep breath before he coughs and gulps, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel nods, looking Rene over, "you will run Currahee once more for wasting my time, then you are dismissed, Private Flores."

Luz looks at Rene's cot, not seeing anything on it like he usually would. He turns to look at the other men, pointing at the cot, "where's Bean?" After the night of poker, the men started calling Rene, Bean, which seemed to have caught on with the men from other platoons as well. Even for the men who haven't really interacted with him, Bean became the way people referred to him.

Martin looks at the cot before looking at Luz, shrugging, "I didn't see him in the mess hall."

Perconte turns, "someone said they saw him talking with Sobel."

"Shit, really?"

Suddenly, the door opens and Rene walks in, his gear muddy from tripping on his run and the rain with his helmet in his hand. The men take him in, seeing how he looks dead on his feet, with his face pale, his eyes squinting, and drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain. "Jesus Christ," Luz breathes out. Rene takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze on the floor as he makes his way to his cot, tossing his gun and helmet onto his cot before falling face first onto it.

Luz gulps, his worry for his friends skyrocketing as Perconte speaks, "the fuck happened to you?"

Rene turns his head, to face Martin who's in the cot next to him, "I hope jumping out of an airplane is fun."

Martin gives him a look mixed between amusement and concern, "what happened?"

Rene sighs before he turns his head to face his cot again, letting out a loud groan before he turns and begins to slowly stand up. His movements are slow as he begins taking his gear off, showing the men around him just how exhausted he is.

"Bean, what did you just do?"

Rene takes his jacket off, turning to Luz, "George, I just ran Currahee four fucking times."

"Why?"

Rene puts his helmet on the shelf, hanging his jacket up, before moving his gun. As he begins to get undressed, he turns to the men, "I don't know, apparently I had to prove that I could run and that I wanted to be in the airborne. Pretty much the same thing he did to Gordon. Apparently, we don't work hard enough to show that we want to be here." Rene moves, sliding into his cot and immediately falling asleep. The others look at each other, extremely concerned for Rene. He's proven he deserved to be there on many occasions, he hasn't been the best at PT, but he does extra work to ensure he can show Sobel up by not giving him a reason to call Rene out. There were many instances where some of the men would wake up in the middle of the night and spot Rene doing push ups on the ground in front of his cot, just to be able to keep up with everyone during PT.

Rene sits between Joe and Malarkey in the mess hall, playing with his food as he struggles to stay awake. Luz, Perconte, and Guarnere sit across from the three when Luz looks up from his tray, giving Rene a confused look, "hey, Re, how—"

Joe cuts Luz off, his voice low with annoyance, "what did you just call him?" Joe stares at Luz, as the men sitting around them, turn to watch them.

Rene's eyes widen as he looks down awkwardly at his tray, clearly not expecting Joe to respond like that. Luz looks between the two, his face crinkling in confusion, "I, uh, I called him 'Re'."

Joe shakes his head, "you don't get to call him Re, only I do."

Rene's head comes up, looking at Joe with a small smile, as his voice is teasing, "aw, Joey, you make me feel so special."

Joe's hand comes up, pushing Rene's head away, "no I don't, you're loosin' your mind, Re."

Rene's head hits Malarkey's shoulder, causing Rene to look up at him, shaking his head, "sorry." Malarkey shrugs, looking over at Guarnere who's looking between Joe and Rene. No one really knew when they got close enough to have their own nicknames, but, apparently, no one was gonna use them but each other. Rene looks up to Luz, "what were you gonna ask me?"

Luz shrugs, "I was gonna ask how you managed to get so good at running?"

Rene nods, taking a bite of food, "my brother was on the track team in school. I didn't have too many friends and since I stopped going to school, I would get super bored, so I would always run with him. My dad and my sister would make bets about whether I could keep up with him." Rene smiles lightly as he takes a bite of the peaches, before scrunching his face as he swallows hard, "fuck, those are gross." Joe chuckles, reaching over to grab the rest of the peaches from Rene's tray.

Rene is sitting on his cot, still in his muddy O. D's, not having a chance to shower yet. He grabs a cigarette, lighting it before grabbing his notebook and a pencil. Rene opens his notebook, beginning to draw parts of the barracks, as Martin walks in, sitting on his cot next to Rene's. He sits there for a moment, watching Rene, before finally speaking up, "what are you doin'?"

Rene looks up at Martin, talking slowly, "I'm drawing?"

Martin raises an eyebrow, "are you asking me?"

Rene's eyebrows crinkle, still talking slowly, "no?"

Martin purses his lips, his voice going monotoned, "really?"

Rene gulps, looking back down at his notebook, "sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Flores? You ain't done nothing wrong. What are you drawing?" Martin pauses as he looks around the barracks, "there ain't really anything to draw in here."

Rene shrugs, "just things. A mix of things." Rene flips the page of his notebook, turning it to face Martin who looks surprised Rene is showing a drawing to him.

Martin looks at the drawing, seeing different parts of the barracks put together, almost like a collage. Martin looks the drawing over, seeing how Rene manages to get the barracks to look so different yet so real. Martin's eyes widened, "shit. Bean, this is amazing."

Rene smiles sheepishly, looking down again, "thanks, Mar."

"Mar?" Rene looks up, shrugging, as the two share a smile. Martin clears his throat, glancing around the barracks, "when, uh, when did you and Toye get so close?"

Rene makes a face, "what d'you mean?"

"I mean, I heard about what happened the other day in the mess hall. When Toye pretty much told the whole company that he was the only one to call you Re."

Rene shrugs, "honestly, that surprised me. I don't really know when we got close. I mean, I guess if I had called one of you my best friend, it would be Joe." Rene looks over at George, who's listening in on their conversation while laying on his cot, "no offense."

Luz shrugs, "eh, I understand, we all see it. It was like you guys just instantly understood each other."

Rene stands in line to get his food, only for his face to scrunch up as he looks down the line, seeing what's getting put onto the plates of the other men. Rene moves up, watching as the noodles are put on his plate, the sauce following after. He looks up meeting the eyes of Winters in the kitchen, causing Rene to raise an eyebrow, to which Winters shrugs back. Rene grimaces before turning and walking away towards the table. He sits down next to Dittrich, grabbing his fork, taking a bite, before making a face and putting the fork down, speaking in Spanish, "fuck, I don't like spaghetti, then you add ketchup to the mix."

George turns to look at Rene from his spot next to Perconte, "Bean, we have no idea what you just said."

Rene looks at George before he shrugs, clearly not caring. Dittrich speaks up, his voice annoyed, "this stuff is orange. Spaghetti ain't supposed to be orange."

Rene scrunches his face, "this ain't spaghetti."

Perconte nods, "yeah, this is Army noodles with ketchup."

Guarnere walks over, sliding into the seat across from Rene, "you ain't gotta eat it."

Rene nods, taking a bite of his bread, "I know, I ain't gonna."

Perconte and Guarnere look at Rene before Perconte looks at Guarnere, "oh, c'mon, Gonorrhea, as a fellow Italian, you should know that calling this crap spaghetti is a mortal sin."

Hoobler turns around from the table behind them, reaching for Perconte's plate, "you don't want it, I'll have it."

He makes a move to grab Perconte's plate, but Perconte grabs it up and takes it out of Hoobler's reach, "no, no, no, I'm eating here."

Guarnere nudges Hoobler, "hey, get outta here." Hoobler turns and sits back down causing Rene to snicker as he takes another bite of his bread.

The sound of a whistle blowing causes all movement and sound in the mess hall to cease. Rene looks up to see Sobel walking in, "orders changed, get up!" Rene and the rest of the company stand up at attention, Rene continuing to chew the bread in his mouth, "lectures are canceled." Sobel begins to walk between the tables, "Easy Company is running up Currahee." Rene and Guarnere give each other a look of annoyance before Guarnere brings his head down to his chest, "move, move!" The company begins to rush out, "three miles up, three miles down. Hi-ho, Silver! Let's go, let's go."

After running for a little bit, the men of Easy are feeling the effects of running after eating spaghetti. Hoobler pukes next to Rene, who scrunches his face up from the sight of the orange puke. Rene glances over at Hoobler, "you're okay, Hoob. You got this. We gotta prove to him nothing can stop us."

Rene makes a face as Sobel runs up behind them, not at all hiding his feeling as Sobel yells, "you're a washout, Private Hoobler! You should pack up both your ears and go home." Rene takes a deep breath, catching Sobel's attention causing him to move and yell in Rene's ear, "Private Flores, can you run Currahee now? You want to quit, don't you? You can quit anytime you want, Flores." Rene closes his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them back up. Sobel moves towards the back, "looks like Gordon's done. Aren't you, Gordon? You finished? You do not deserve to get your wings." Sobel moves forward again, this time running in front, yelling at Bull, "Private Randleman, you look tired. There's an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill. It can all be over right now. No more pain, no more Currahee. No more Captain Sobel."

Rene takes a deep breath before opening his mouth, beginning to call out, hearing George do the same, "we pull upon the risers," the rest of the company joins in, "we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet, we always hit out ass." Sobel runs in front of George for a moment, surprised he would get the men to start chanting, before moving to run along the side of the company, slowing down as he watches them all running through their pain. "Hidee hidee, Christ almighty, who the hell are we? Zim-Zam, godddamn we're Airborne Infantry." Rene glances over, seeing how Sobel stopped, watching them run by before continuing, "we pull upon the risers, we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass. Hidee tidee, Christ almighty, who the hell are we?" Rene yells out louder, hoping to motivate some of the men, "zim-Zam, god damn, we're Airborne Infantry. Hey!"

"So, do we feel like we're ready to be army paratroopers?" Rene sits in between Bill and Popeye, the parachute on his back pulling him down, closer to the ground as he squints up at the instructor standing in front of the group.

The men speak in sync, "yes, Sergeant."

"I hope so. This'll be the first of five exits from a C-47 aircraft scheduled for today. Upon the successful completion of your fifth and final jump, you'll be certified Army Paratroopers. There'll be a lot of men dropping from the sky today. Hopefully, under deployed canopies." Rene snickers slightly, yeah, hopefully. The Sergent gestures to the chalkboard behind him, "jumping from one-thousand feet AGL, in sticks of twelve jumpers per aircraft. All you have to do is remember what you were taught," he pauses for a moment, "and I will guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest. And, gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals in the aircraft or at the door and I guarantee you, you will be out of the Airborne."

Rene takes a deep breath, picking at his fingers as he sits on the plane. He looks over towards the door, seeing the light turn red and his heart stops for a moment as the jump sergeant stands up, calling out, "get ready!" Rene grabs his clip in his shaky hand, sitting forward in his seat as he gulps. "Stand up." Rene stands up with everyone else, turning to face the front of the plane. "Hook up." Rene brings the hook up to the wire running through the middle of the plane, hooking onto it, struggling lightly as he tries to get his hand to stop shaking. "Check equipment!" Rene moves, checking the equipment for Martin, who's in front of him, his mind racing at the possibility of Martin's equipment not being good and being the reason something goes wrong. "Sound-off for equipment check!"

"Nine okay!"

"Eight okay!"

"Seven okay!"

Rene feels the tap from Hoobler on his shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly before patting Martin on the shoulder, "Six okay!"

"Five okay!"

"Four okay!"

"Three okay!"

"Two okay!"

"One okay!"

"Stand in the door!" Rene moves up with the line, as the first person, Lipton, stands at the door. The light turns green, and the jumpmaster calls out, "go, go, go!" Rene moves up with the line as more of the men jump out of the plane for their first time, "go, go, go, go, go!" Rene breathes out, standing at the door, bringing his hands to hold onto the outside of the door, just as he was taught, his heart beating loudly in his ears, his stomach rolling as he looks out below him, the jumpmaster's voice echoing in his head as he waits to hear his signal. "Go," Rene jumps, not thinking twice about it, knowing if he did, he wouldn't get out the door and he would prove Sobel right. Rene looks around as much as he can as he descends from the plane, how the hell was I so scared of this? Once he lands, he immediately reaches up and grabs the parachute, wrapping it up as quickly as possible, not wanting to get hit by other falling men.

Rene jogs to catch up to Ramirez as they make their way to the bar to celebrate, "oye, Ramirez."

Rene puts his hand onto Ramirez's shoulder, causing Ramirez to stop walking and turn to look at Rene, "what's up Bean?"

Rene smiles at the use of his nickname, slightly surprised it spread so quickly, before speaking in Spanish, "I heard what happened."

Ramirez gives him a confused look, "what happened?"

Rene nods, "in the airplane."

Ramirez nods, making a face, showing he understands what Rene is talking about now, "ah, sí. Going to tell me that I failed?"

Rene smiles at him as he glances at the group behind Ramirez, watching the two, before looking back at Ramirez. He shakes his head, "I just wanted to tell you, I think you have a lot more courage than the rest of us and you should be proud of yourself."

Ramirez's eyes widen, "seriously?"

Rene nods, "jumping the first time is one thing, but jumping after refusing is completely different."

Ramirez squints his eyes at Rene, trying to decide if he can trust him, before he grins at Rene, "gracias, Bean. I was nervous you guys would think I shouldn't be here or something."

Rene crinkles his eyebrows as he begins moving towards the group waiting for them, speaking with a scoff, "please, what kind of brothers would we be if we felt that way. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."

Ramirez laughs following Rene to the group, as he shakes his head, "not too good I guess. And I will." Rene laughs as they make it to the group, all of them making their way to the bar.

Rene is standing next to Joe at the bar, leaning with his back against it, watching the men around them celebrate with a small smile on his face. Rene turns his head, looking at Joe who has his head down as he faces the bar, causing Rene to chuckle, "too much to drink, Joey?"

Joe looks up at him, "fuck off, Re."

Rene smiles before he turns, facing the bar at the sound of their names, "Corporal Toye, Corporal Flores." The two look up at George who's impersonating Sobel as Joe stands straighter, "there will be no leaning in my company." George leans against the bar on the other side, getting a closer look at Joe's jump wings, "are those dusty jump wings?" Rene snickers as Joe brings his hand up, rubbing them, "how do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

Joe leans forward, grabbing onto the front of Luz's uniform, bringing him closer, before he shakes his head, "Luz, just get me a drink."

George grins at him, "hell of an idea, Joe." He looks over at Rene who shakes his head, picking up the beer he's still drinking. George nods as he reaches down, grabbing Joe a beer, setting it down on the bar, "here you go." Rene smiles as George grabs his own beer, holding it up, causing Rene and Joe to grab theirs, bringing it to meet Luz's, "three miles up, three miles down."

The three take a drink after the cheers, Rene almost choking as Sobel yells out, "ten-hut." Rene sets his glass down, quickly swallowing, turning to stand at attention.

Colonel Sink walks up to the small stage, looking over the men, "well, at ease, paratroopers." Rene moves, spreading his legs out, bringing his hands behind his back. "Good evening, Easy Company."

The men call out in sync, "evening, sir."

"Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand new concept in American military history. But by God, the Five-O-Six is gonna forge that brand new concept into victory."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to know that I'm damned proud of each and every one of you." Rene grabs a beer, moving to hand it to Grant, "now, you deserve this party." Grant hands Sink the beer, "thank you, Sergeant Grant."

Grant gives him a nod, "sir."

"So, I want you to have fun, and remember our motto. Currahee!"

The men hold their drinks up, calling out, "Currahee!" Rene laughs before finishing his beer off, setting the now empty glass on the bar.

Joe turns, wrapping an arm around Rene's shoulder, "we did it, Re. We're fucking paratroopers."

"What is it, Re?"

Rene glances at George who leans back against the bar, listening in as Rene lowers his voice lightly, "I, uh, when I joined, I was scared of heights."

Joe looks surprised, glancing at George, who's also surprised before looking back at Rene, raising an eyebrow, "really?" Rene nods, causing Joe to shake his head, "why the hell did you join?"

Rene shrugs, "I ain't too sure, I just know that when I looked out the door, I had no idea what I was so scared of."

The three laugh as Joe shakes his head, "only you would join the airborne even though you're scared of heights."

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she-wolf09231982 · 10 months ago

Text

Sorry not sorry for posting the same gifs two seconds ago but as a close up of Joseph Liebgott.

*Still clutching my pearls*

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake, I pray Joe Liebgott my soul to take.

Amen

#band of brothers #bob #hbo war #ww2 #joe liebgott #ross mccall #floyd talbert #chuck grant #clutching my pearls #still

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fayestardust · 11 months ago

Note

for bob tours: was there a moment (or more than one) at a place where you felt ~connected to a scene from bob/the real events?

All the tours I’ve been on have special moments, though some more than others. Thank you for asking me about this, as I love recounting these memories. Some of this is actually what you asked for; the rest is just me being sappy.

Okay, ready? Behind the read more because it's SUPER long.

Eindhoven tour, April 2022

This was the first WW2 tour I’ve ever been on and the first of We Happy Few 506’s Band of Brothers tours. Special for that reason alone. It was a one-day tour with a Q&A the day before, and only four out of six actors who were supposed to join actually made it over to Eindhoven. First up: Matthew Leitch (Floyd ‘Tab’ Talbert), our fierce leader on all of the tours so I won’t mention him every time. He co-founded WHF506. He’s kind of a very annoying older brother to me now. Also there were Tim Matthews (Alex Penkala), Doug Allen (Alton More) and Mark Lawrence (William H. Dukeman).

I enjoyed the Q&A, though at that point was far too insecure to ask anything about Band because the room was filled with much bigger WW2 nerds (at the time, I’ve now caught up) who all seemed to ask very profound questions. I also shied away from taking any photos with the actors because people pretty much swarmed them, and I’m slightly claustrophobic.

I was making art already at that point, and for this trip had managed to draw Matt and Mark. See here a moment of joy for me.

The next day was the day of the tour, and I was pretty nervous about it because I’d never done a bus tour before, but in my experience, buses aren’t particularly wheelchair-friendly. Such was the case here, too, but the moment I approached the daunting steps of the Megabus, guests (special and not) flocked over to help me up them. All doubt evaporated. I got appointed the spacious back-of-the-bus seat, with my cousin on one side and Mark Lawrence on the other.

I’ll single Mark out for this tour because our conversations on the bus were very real and important to me. But also because one of the most moving moments on the tour happened when we visited the Crossroads. This is where Mark’s character and the real Dukeman died. If you ever get to visit... the Crossroads in the show looks exactly like the real location. Easily one of the most true-to-life set locations. And Mark had never been to the Netherlands. It tore him up. We all sniffled, watching him cry. The thing you have to realise is that he feels like he owes his entire life to the show. He met his lovely wife because she saw him on tv, and they fell in love. He has Dukeman’s service number tattooed on his body. And he’s the kindest, sweetest soul.

Later, months after the tour, he called me up to sing me happy birthday at six in the morning.

Both Doug and Tim remain my friends to this day. I’m perhaps most grateful for the connections made on these tours. Some of the other guests are now also like family.

Bastogne tour - part 1, November 2022

Bastogne is a magical place for me. I took one of my geekiest friends on this second tour. Special guests were Freddie Joe Farnsworth (military advisor on both BoB and the Pacific) and Phil McKee (Strayer). Not the most well-known people in this fandom I think. But interesting. And funny.

This tour was led by Reg Jans, and he’s THE guide who knows everything you could ever want to know about the Battle of the Bulge. So, during this tour, I feel like I learned a lot more about that, beyond what we see in Band.

Of course, we also visited Easy Company’s foxholes in the Bois Jacques. There was no snow (stay tuned for that on a later tour), so it’s not like it is in the show. But the woods are eerily quiet. I don’t know if I believe in anything supernatural beyond things like intuition, but if I were to start anywhere, it’d be there. Freddie Joe explained the consequences of sleep deprivation for your brain to us, to help us understand the soldiers better. Sometimes, they were their own worst enemies. They were freezing, underfed, underdressed and barraged by artillery, and most of the time, could not even see the Germans.

We also visited where John Julian was pinned down by Germans for hours. It’s still unclear what exactly happened to him, or when or how he died. We only see seconds of it in the show. It's like that with many things in the show actually. All the battles took a long, long time.

This tour isn’t my favourite - there’s a better one right after this, but this did solidify the idea that I would go on these tours just to see the people I’ve met while there.

Bastogne tour - part 2, January 2023

Here it is, my favourite tour. Barely two months after the last one. Bastogne in the very dead of winter. Let me tell you: it was COLD. But it would have been, for the soldiers of Easy.

The special guests on the second day of the tour were Shane Taylor (Eugene ‘Doc’ Roe), and Lucie Jeanne (Renee Lemaire). Doug (Alton More) was also there, and it was lovely to see him again. But as you can guess, having Doc Roe and Renee on the tour in Bastogne is pretty amazing. Eugene and Renee never actually met each other, one of the few dramatisations of the show. It serves a purpose, though, so it’s mostly seen as acceptable. Renee’s story is quite tragic, and she died very close to where she had lived with her parents and her body was wrapped in the fine silk of parachutes and brought back to them.

There were also some good hugs at the 'Nuts' bar! But the absolutely most amazing part of the tour happened without them. Our second day started really, really early. We got up at 5 am, got on the bus, and drove to the Bois Jacques. It was still pitch black when we got out, freezing cold and fresh snow crunched underneath our sleepy feet.

Reg Jans was on this tour again, and he had something truly haunting in store for us. We all stood in a circle around him with our (mostly just purchased for this trip) head torches on as he recited a prayer by Lt. Col. Robert L. Wolverton, commanding officer of 3rd battalion, 506th PIR.

Here it is.

Men, I am not a religious man and I don't know your feelings in this matter, but I am going to ask you to pray with me for the success of the mission before us. And while we pray, let us get on our knees and not look down but up with faces raised to the sky so that we can see God and ask His blessing in what we are about to do: God almighty, in a few short hours we will be in battle with the enemy. We do not join battle afraid. We do not ask favors or indulgence but ask that, if You will, use us as Your instrument for the right and an aid in returning peace to the world. We do not know or seek what our fate will be. We ask only this, that if die we must, that we die as men would die, without complaining, without pleading and safe in the feeling that we have done our best for what we believed was right. O Lord, protect our loved ones and be near us in the fire ahead and with us now as we pray to you.

And into the woods, we went. You have to remember, there are no cars at this hour. It’s dark. It’s quiet. We were told to be quiet. We were told to sit in the foxholes in the snow. We switched off our lights. No one was shooting at us, but we felt, in part, what the men of Easy Company would have felt. And then we watched the sun come up. It’s the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever felt.

I met one of my favourite people in the world on this tour, too. He took these wonderful photos of me and inspired me to take up photography again, myself.

Normandy tour, June 2023

This tour was a bit of an odd one out. It felt chaotic because it was scheduled around D-Day, which made Normandy really poorly accessible. It’s so busy, so our tour was mostly improvised around areas with the least amount of traffic jams.

It did have its moments, though. Normandy is a cool place. And we had the amazing Pete McCabe (Donald Hoobler) with us.

The day before the tour, I actually got to meet three Normandy veterans. Humbling, to say the least. I also met several more Band actors (Peter Youngblood Hills, Alex Sagba-Brady, Christian Black, Nolan Hemmings) and Scott Gibson, who played Captain Haldane in the Pacific. We still keep in touch. Christian Black is now a Still Photographer, and mostly shoots Tom Cruise’s movie stills. He also took this photo of Nolan Hemmings, this painting of him and little old me.

I was really glad to see many friends again. And I brought my own camera and took amazing pictures (teehee). We saw most of Easy’s known landing spots in Sainte Mère Eglise, like Winters’ and Lipton’s, to name a few.

Our guide here was Paul ‘Woody’ Woodadge, an English guy married to a French woman. He’s nice, but critical of Easy’s fame, not so much on account of Easy, but mostly because Easy was just one of the many companies that did incredible things. We visited the area around Brécourt Manor, where we learned that other company Paratroopers cleared the way for Easy’s famous mission. It doesn’t make it less impressive, but it adds loads of context.

Another thing that I found incredibly moving was the reading of Lt. Meehan’s last letter home. It’s easy to forget how young these men were. And how wise. Meehan’s plane crashed in a field, and nearly 80 years later, you can still see where it landed because while the field is fully planted, there’s a part near a hedgerow that remains barren to this day. Haunting.

We also visited Marmion Farm, where many famous Easy Company photos were taken (it’s where they more or less come back together after the jump).

One of my favourite stories, though, is that of medics Robert Wright and Ken Moore of the 101st Airborne. They treated 80 injured American and German soldiers and a child in a church in Angoville-au-Plain. There are still bloodstains on the pews.

So, as you can tell, not everything had to do with Easy, because we also went to Omaha Beach, where I got out of my chair and walked. Just to walk where these brave men had walked and really feel the history.

Eindhoven/Arnhem Market Garden Tour, October 2023

My second favourite tour after Bastogne in winter. Our guest here was Mark Huberman (Lester Hashey) who was meant to come on the original Eindhoven tour but couldn’t. He’s delightfully Irish, and had the best anecdotes from the set. Also absolutely hilarious.

Many of my friends weren’t on this tour, so going on to it, I couldn’t have guessed it would rank among my favourites.

It was split between two things. Some Easy Company sites and stories (some repeats from the first tour, but often with a slightly different angle or experience), and the British side of Operation Market Garden!

By the way, did you know that Hoobler picks up the Luger that ends up killing him in Bastogne, at the Crossroads? I think they changed it in the show to let the story flow better.

Anyway. I loved this tour. We visited Schoonderlogt and the Crossroads again. This time I sat in the grassy field while everyone else did the famous run across. It’s such a long way!

But the stories of the British troops were perhaps even cooler to me. Because that all happened right on my doorstep. I knew the bigger picture, but we had Reg Jans on this tour again, which is synonymous with really personal stories. So for our British troops day, we followed in the footsteps of leaders and soldiers alike, until we met them again in their final resting place in the military cemetery. A really rewarding journey. Mark also read a letter by Ivar Rowberry, which I posted about here. There’s an audio recording of it too, which is well worth a listen.

If you want to read more about any of these tours (I’m a bit tired of writing so much, check out my actual - non tumblr - blog over here. There is an entry for each one, there.

#band of brothers #ww2 tours #ask me things in my askbox please thanks

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years ago

Text

From the One Who Loves You

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Robert "Bob" Floyd, f!reader

Word Count: 3118

TW: Fluff, Angst, Separated During Wartime, Character Death, Longing Notes: Thank you to @loverhymeswith for reading this over for me 🥰

This is a WWII AU containing a selection of letters sent back and forth between Lieutenant Robert Floyd and his fiance.

Written/inspired by @writer-wednesday

July 1942:

My dearest Bobby,

I was walking to work this morning and a small plane passed by overhead. I pretended it was you breaking orders and flying across the ocean to catch a glimpse of me even for just a moment. What I wouldn’t give to see you even for a few fleeting seconds. It has only been a few months since you shipped off to war, and yet it seems like a lifetime. Every day I miss you more than the previous day, to the point that I can’t imagine being capable of feeling a greater ache of longing in my chest. However, I wake up the next day to find that I was wrong. Please come home soon so this emptiness does not swallow me whole.

The only time I seem to feel any form of happiness anymore is when I receive your letters and photographs. It is wonderful to see the whole squad together and I am so relieved you all are able to make time for some form of fun amongst all of the horrors you must be facing. I placed the photo of you, Miles, Jake, and Bradley at the beach in the frame in the hall so I see it every time I walk by. It always brings a smile to my lips and I am glad you are surrounded by such good friends.

The places you are visiting look so beautiful! Maybe someday once all of this is over and there is peace again, you can take me to all of the places in your photos. Of course, I would be terrified seeing as I have never even left the state before. But as long as I was with you, I think I could be brave enough, though never as brave as you are. I know I have told you this countless times, but you truly are my hero, Robert Floyd. Stay safe and write when you can.

Signed, The woman who loves you

My love,

I would steal a plane this moment and fly to you if I thought there was even the slightest chance of getting a glimpse of your gentle face. I miss you more than words can ever say. Some days, it all seems too much for me and the thought of seeing you again is the only thing that keeps me going. The pictures you include with your letters are a Godsend and I stare at them every night before I go to sleep so my dreams are filled with only thoughts of you. Yet, they make me long for you even more. Seeing your face in black and white on a piece of paper is not enough. I need the smell of your skin, the brush of your fingers across my cheek, the taste of your lips….. Just the thought of it is nearly unbearable.

For our honeymoon, I can show you the world. Anywhere you want to go, just say the word and I’ll get us first-class tickets. Or we can lock ourselves in our apartment and not leave the bedroom for a week. As long as I can hold you in my arms, I won’t care where we are. Once the war is over and I come home to you, I will never leave your side again.

And my dear, please never doubt how brave you are. You have a strength and a courage unlike anyone else I have ever met. It is only because of your faith in me and your resilience during this difficult time that I have the courage to be over here fighting. Your constant support and love is what gives me the drive to face whatever happens and I can never repay you for that. But I swear to you that I will spend the rest of our lives trying to anyway.

Signed, The man who loves you

October 1942:

Sweetheart,

Today…. Today was not a good day. In fact, it was the worst I have experienced since leaving your side. We lost Miles. I tried covering him the best that I could but in the end, it wasn’t enough. I’ve never lost a wingman before and Miles was so much more than that. He has been like a brother to me since I joined the Academy. Watching him get shot down in front of me, unable to help him…. It is something I do not know if I will ever get over.

They have already assigned me a new wingman, a female pilot named Natasha Trace. I haven’t met her yet, but Ruben and Mickey know her from a previous assignment. They have nothing but fantastic things to say about her. While no one could ever replace Miles, I do hope the two of us can form at least some sort of level of trust or hopefully even a friendship. Though, the thought of going back into the sky without Miles at my side makes me sick to my stomach.

I need you so badly right now. I feel like I’m falling apart inside and I need you to help hold me together. Everyone else here understands – even Jake didn’t say anything when he walked in on me crying – but it’s not the same. I need you to wrap me in your arms, run your fingers through my hair, and whisper that it’s all going to be okay just like you always do when I’m upset. I need you, all of you. Words and pictures are not enough anymore. But it is still months before I will have the possibility of visiting home. I don’t know how I will survive without you until then.

Signed, The man who loves you

My dear, sweet Bobby,

I was so heartbroken to hear about Miles. He was such a kind, generous soul and I cannot fathom what you are feeling right now. That photo in the hall that once brought me such joy now brings me nearly to tears every time I see it, yet I can’t bear to take it down. How you deal with seeing reminders of him all around you all the time I do not know.

I wish with all of my heart that I could be with you for this, to help you deal with it, and it pains me to know how much you are hurting when I cannot be there for you. But I have included more photos and one of my scarves sprayed with my perfume. I don’t know if the fragrance will still linger on it when it reaches you but I pray that it does. Whenever you are missing me, hold it close and know that I am with you.

Hopefully, this Natasha is as skilled as you say. I need to know that your partner in the sky will be able to watch out for you until you can once again reach the ground. Knowing the danger you face has me constantly worried for you, but it wasn’t until I heard about Miles that I think it really hit home the reality of the situation. Understanding it is possible is one thing. Witnessing it happening to someone you care for is another. Please, Bobby, I beg of you, be careful and come home to me. Come home and make me your bride as you promised.

Signed, The woman who loves you

My love,

I have slept with your scarf wrapped around my hand every night since it arrived. It shouldn’t be possible, but I swear I can still smell your perfume deep within the fibers. Maybe it is just wishful thinking, but regardless, it has brought me much comfort in these miserable times.

Every day when we take off, fewer of us come back and I thank God when my feet touch the ground once more. My squad has been very lucky so far and we haven’t lost anyone since Miles, though there have been many close calls. Only yesterday, Javy nearly crashed nose-first into the ground but he was able to right his plane at the last second and narrowly escaped a fiery death. Last week, Bradley and Captain Mitchell were cornered by an enemy plane but Jake managed to swoop in and save them just in time.

While Miles will never stop being my wingman in my heart, Natasha has proven time and time again that she has my back and she is everything they said she was and more. We became close friends almost instantly. You would love her. She is just as snarky and sarcastic as Jake while also being as level-headed and strategic as Bradley. She fit right in with the rest of the squad and despite everything that is going on over here, I feel safe knowing she has my back. Just as I know you have my back…. and my front… and my heart…. and all of me.

Signed, The man who loves you

December 1942:

Merry Christmas Bobby!

I hope this makes it to you before Christmas Day. I made sure to send it early just to make sure. It has been snowing here the past few days so it seemed like a sign I should go ahead and send it now. I have also included a tin of my famous chocolate chip cookies and I tried to make enough for the whole squad (but only if you feel like sharing). Everything is beginning to be rationed again and I almost didn’t have enough eggs, but I was able to borrow two from Mrs. Benjamin down the hall. I just hope they are still edible by the time they reach you.

Christmas was always my favorite time of year, but I am almost dreading it this year. How can I be cheerful and merry without you here with me? Your family invited me to spend the day with them, but I think that would only make me miss you more. There would be a Bobby-sized hole present at all times and I cannot face that. Better for me to sit only at the apartment where I can miss you without having to put on a brave face for anyone else. Maybe we can have a belated Christmas when you return, just the two of us. I’ll make sure and save some mistletoe for the occasion.

Signed, The woman who loves you

My Christmas Angel,

Merry Christmas! You cannot believe my surprise and delight in receiving not only your letter but also your cookies. Even a little stale, they still taste like Heaven on Earth. Truthfully, I considered hoarding them all for myself, but in the end, I couldn’t deny the squad the pleasure of your baking. That was a mistake. They devoured them in moments. Luckily, I had already stored a few away fearing this possibility. Ruben and Mickey almost came to blows over the last one, and I think it is the first time I have ever seen those two so much as disagree. But that is the power of your cookies.

I gently nibbled on mine for a few days trying to make them last as long as possible. Tasting them, I almost felt like I was back in the kitchen and if I just turned around, you would be standing at the oven with a fresh batch in your hands. I don’t think I have felt that close to you since I left. Please send more of your baking when time and rations allow. I want to feel that closeness once more.

We have only had the lightest of snows the other day, but it was just enough for Bradley to nail Jake in the head with a snowball. It took Javi, Nat, and myself to hold Jake back from lunging at him, but he calmed down once the ice in his jacket melted. Of course, that didn’t stop him from dumping a container of ice water on Bradley when he was getting out of the shower. The chase and tackle that followed was something to behold (though a scene not suited for your eyes).

I am trying to find these moments of joy and laughter to cling to, but I am dreading Christmas just as much as you. This will be the first time we are not together on that day since I first asked you to dinner all of those years ago. But the thought of a belated Christmas together is just the thing I need to help me make it through into the new year…. The year I get to be with you once more. But until then, know that my heart and my head will be with you on Christmas day, just as they are every other day. Please celebrate for the both of us, my sweet.

Signed, The man who loves you

April 1942:

Bobby,

I ran into your mother and sister in town today (they miss you almost as much as I do). They were asking me once again if I had made any more decisions about the wedding. I know I need to – your leave will be here before we know it – but I can’t force myself to make plans. We were supposed to do this together. What if I pick out the wrong thing? What if you don’t like the location or the color of the flowers or the dresses? What if I ruin our day because I make it all about what I want? I so want this to be a day both of us will remember fondly for the rest of our lives, but how do I do that without you here with me to help?

Sometimes I think we should wait until after the war to get married. After you come home for good and we can plan all of this out together. But that thought never lingers in my mind for long. I cannot wait to become your wife and another few months already feels like an eternity as it is. While I pray that this war will be over soon, it realistically may last for many more years and I refuse to wait that long to be married to you. So, one way or another, I will become Mrs. Robert Floyd the next time we meet. Even if that means the ceremony isn’t one either one of us will be happy with. I have to keep telling myself it’s just a day after all, then we have the rest of our lives to be happy together. And I know we will be happy together.

Signed, The woman who loves you

Sweetheart,

We could get married in the middle of the undecorated apartment wearing nothing at all and it would still be the greatest day of my life (and it would also save me the trouble of undressing you later). I love that you want to wait for me and if I had my way, I would hold your hand as we made each and every decision together. But that’s not possible at the moment.

So, how about this… I would like to wear my dress blues if possible, and maybe the flowers could match? I don’t care what kind. For the location, I just want it to be somewhere that will hold all of our family and friends. Beyond that, it doesn’t matter to me. And if you don’t let my sister talk you into allowing her to wear something inappropriate for the occasion as she did for our engagement party, I don’t mind what everyone wears. And even if I was there, I wouldn’t want to see your dress until the day of. It’s bad luck for the groom to see it beforehand, or so my mother says.

But as you mentioned, it is just a day in the end. Whether everything is perfect or a complete disaster, as long as it ends with you as my wife nothing else matters. So, do what you have to do and I will support your decisions completely. My only non-negotiable request is that we set the date as close to my return as possible. I plan on spending the entire time I am home celebrating with you. You won’t leave my sight for a single moment.

Signed, The man who loves you

November 1943:

My dearest husband,

I can’t believe it is only two weeks since you left me again. It already feels like an eternity. But at least this time, I have a ring on my finger and your last name to keep me company. I still can’t believe it’s real. We are actually married and it was all more perfect than I could have dreamed. Now our lives together can really start.

Someone at work mentioned that house over on Maple that you love so much might be going on the market soon. Is it crazy I want to inquire about the price? It would be such a lovely place to raise children and grow our family. There is even a backyard for that dog we have always talked about. But it would also feel so empty just living there by myself, so you need to hurry home to keep me company.

For a few days shortly after you left, I thought we might have started our family earlier than expected, but it turned out not to be the case. Though I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true considering what we did those nights after the wedding. It was more of a disappointment than I realized it would be when I found out I was wrong. But I had let my mind run away from me and I began to dream of our future before I should have. However, just the thought of you as a father makes my heart soar. I guess we will have to try again as soon as you get home. Please let that be soon. But until that time, remember that you carry my heart with you always.

Signed, The woman who loves you

Mrs. Floyd,

With the deepest condolences, we regret to inform you that your husband, Lt. Robert Floyd, was killed in action on November 11, 1942, in the performance of his duties and in service to his country. His body was recovered soon afterward and further instructions on its return to you will be forthcoming.

He was shot down protecting the other members of his squad from enemy fire and he died a hero. His effects will be shipped back to you including those found on his person: his glasses, a wedding ring, a scarf, and a stack of photos.

Please accept my heartfelt apologies. Bob was a good man.

Captain Pete Mitchell

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @mayhem24-7forever, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs, @green-socks, @sunshineflowerchild789, @shanimallina87, @topguncortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @hederasgarden, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @joalsglasses, @curlyolly, @nobody7102, @footprintsinthesxnd, @thesewordsxlibrary, @double-j, @phoenix1389, @some-lovely-day

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years ago

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From the One Who Loves You

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Robert "Bob" Floyd, f!reader

Word Count: 3118

TW: Fluff, Angst, Separated During Wartime, Character Death, Longing, Hurt/ Comfort

Notes: Thank you to @loverhymeswith for reading this over for me 🥰

This is a WWII AU containing a selection of letters sent back and forth between Lieutenant Robert Floyd and his fiance.

Written/inspired by @writer-wednesday

July 1942:

My dearest Bobby,

Signed, The woman who loves you

My love,

Signed, The man who loves you

October 1942:

Sweetheart,

Signed, The man who loves you

My dear, sweet Bobby,

Signed, The woman who loves you

My love,

Signed, The man who loves you

December 1942:

Merry Christmas Bobby!

Signed, The woman who loves you

My Christmas Angel,

Signed, The man who loves you

April 1942:

Bobby,

Signed, The woman who loves you

Sweetheart,

Signed, The man who loves you

November 1943:

My dearest husband,

Signed, The woman who loves you

Mrs. Floyd,

Please accept my heartfelt apologies. Bob was a good man.

Captain Pete Mitchell

Taglist:@nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @luckyladycreator2, @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @jamesbuckyburns, @a-sweet-little-fangirl, @happyblogstuff, @randomlifeunit, @boringusername3, @lclove2012-blog, @3tabbiesandalab

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sendmyresignation · 4 years ago

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alright. writing this “little” piece to exorcise the demon inside of me that wants to expand my teenagers meta further than it needs to go (if you weren't aware I'm writing a post, well an essay, wellll a short paper, about why teenagers fits on the black parade- stay tuned) BUT i cannot stop thinking about the multiple little "rockstar to kill" moments within the song/music video/live performances so... I'm self-indulgently going to write about it :)

anyway, at its most simplified, teenagers is a song about the violence within adolescents and being an adult whose afraid of that capability. that is the basic, surface-level understanding of the song. inherently, with mcr specifically, that sets up a conflict between the narrator of the song and the song’s audience. that means conflict is generational- it duplicates itself over and and over which allows for several different understandings of the narrator’s perspective. the cyclical nature means they could be speaking to a representation of what they view as the fundamental corruption of the youth, both by outside focuses and their very human nature, as the narrator become more cynical in their old age. it could be representative of them talking to their past self, reminiscing on the revenge fantasies they had in high school or the ways they were made to feel like an outcast when they were young. and they also could be speaking directly to the very literal future about their concerns as a mentoring figure (teenagers, to me, functions in layers, its interpretation can shift and change depending on the context) right now we’re preoccupied with that last perspective both within the song and the video’s contextualization, and into this wider idea of what the band’s purpose was (or how they saw their purpose).

putting the rest under a read more out of respect <333

moving into the actual text with that in mind, what becomes significant is the tonal contrast between being the seemly scathing, sarcastic indictment of Dangerous Teenagers on the surface to the actual understanding (if we’re talking about the single on its own) which is moreso criticizing the Authority figures who create and mold this violence either purposely (cog in the murder machine) or with indifference (you’ll never fit in much/they’ll leave you alone/as well as the implication of having to take matters into your own hands because the adults are absent). As a result, the song, on its own, isn’t actually blaming teenagers for the violence they perpetuate, but the narrator attempts to extend their understanding and offer advice. here is a figure looking to bring catharsis without patronizing. like this is most clearly expressed in the use of “maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me” at the end of the chorus, which in this reading means the other adults may leave you alone, the but I am stepping in to tell you that both self-directed and outward expressions of violence are bullshit and useless and that’s what everyone else is expecting of you so fucking stop it! (this can obviously be re-figured within the context of the album- because, interestingly, the pronouns are purposely confusing with the multiple uses of they in this section) the violence is never explicitly vilified by the speaker,- its exaggerated- what you have under your shirt won’t solve anything isn’t that obvious how ridiculous it sounds, how ridiculous I sound saying it out loud? but also, the violence is implicit. the conflict is still there. the teenagers still scare the shit out of the narrator. so what gives?

well. the song is still about the gulf between generations. the speaker is still afraid and out of touch, regardless of the leadership role they’ve assumed or the perspective of the past they can offer. there is ultimately a limit to how much they can give.

which leads us right into the music video.

So first things first, Black Parade as a whole is heavily inspired by Pink Floyd’s The Wall musically, but the actual aesthetics of the wall are kind of divorced from the ww1 cabaret weimar thing that parade is drenched in (bc britian circa the 1950s is boring and the wall is purposely very ugly and grey and removed from emotion which isn’t dramatic enough for what mcr had in mind). However, teenagers exists as a sort of connecting point between the two- the music video of Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 (which you can watch here if you’ve never seen it) is clearly an influence on the subject matter and the setting and the “plot” of teenagers video- it serves as a sort of a parallel to it. more specifically, there are the “running shots” of kids making their way through unlit hallways into the auditorium that evoke the children in the pink floyd video marching through the school. there’s also the line “cog in the murder machine”, which seem particularly inspired from the depiction of children as going through machines and coming out the other side stiff, wooden, and obedient. then the backdrop of the large bomb centered in my chem’s stage show mimics the shot of the headmaster standing behind the large, lit up clock- especially since that where the teenagers in the crowd of mcr’s video all begin acting in unison, similar to the children in the wall all falling into line (but, like, just the use of ww2 era bomb imagery and gas masks in general is very reminiscent of the early wartime parts of the wall anyway). so in a vague sense, there is a huge connection between teenagers and that emulation and replication of the wall.

however, the most striking similarity is that, in the same way the students destroy their school in a moment of violent inspiration after sequences of disconcerting compliance, the group of high schoolers in teenagers do the same against the band. the difference is that in the case of the teenagers, the explosion is directed at the source of their outburst (they switch from the on-beat fist-punching to wild moshing as the song devolves and ray’s solo starts) instead of in opposition to a more institutional suppressive force. they are not motivated to action because of something done to them, instead it is the actual music itself that serves as both the impetus of conformity and the fuse that destroys that same unison action and then the band. and what’s significant is the particularity of the actions the crowd takes: they steal the band’s instruments from them and they bodily remove gerard from the microphone. like contrast this violence against the band vs the desolation row video where the whole band is physically incapacitated- there, its about knocking them around and getting them to stop (ray is beat down by police, bobs drums are destroyed, etc etc). but here, its about taking their places- the act of destruction is calculated but not purposely cruel. so, in teenagers being a parallel to Another Brick, that moment of turning on the band is the moment of violence but is also the moment of freedom. the difference in the two becomes the ways in which the band is responsible for reawakening the fire within the audience and giving them a purpose. which here is “killing the rockstar” by taking over, taking their places. and that is the nature of music and the nature of the conflict implicit to becoming the “rockstars”

it brings us right back around to that generational conflict: except when your talking about mcr’s realationship with their audience, that becomes the fostering of a group of outcasts and weirdos and freaks and giving them the tools to save themselves, yes. but also giving them the opportunity to do exactly what they did. to pick instruments and take their places. its the cyclical nature of creation and destruction “because when we get old and lazy some of you guys are gonna have to eat us alive by starting your own fucking band (x), that idea of needing a “rockstar to kill” has been refigured to mean something newer, positive. we are the ones killing them, but not in the way of typical martyring where a crowd of detractors and nonbelievers burns you at the stake- but instead by continuing the natural cycle of art, true genuine art. just as mcr is built off of so many influences- creating an entirely new project out of that existing landscape of sound that reaches people and gives them an outlet, we are doing the same things. by besmirching metal and punk by mixing them together, by “selling out” so they could put together a rock opera, by adding theater into a hyper masculine culture of nu-metal and post-hardcore, by making deeply emotional music that was still violent or angry, by writing the way they did they killed the bands they loved and made something better. its the the way in which the creative cycle is a rebirth, of scavenging the good things from the people who came before you and moving forward and taking the world by storm. here, in the video, the audience redirects their violence at the band, yes. but that is the point. teenagers still scare the shit out of the narrator, but that’s not going to stop them from reaching out, from speaking to them directly, from performing until their very last moments

until they take over. until they kill the rockstar. until we eat them alive.

in the end, that is the mission of my chemical romance, isn’t it- to inspire that level of passion, to turn the music into a life-raft and then gasoline and fire in your gut and then a sense of purpose and then into freedom and endless joy? and isn’t it the greatest act of love, the truest expression of admiration to tear them apart, build ourselves creations out of the wreckage to fill the space they leave behind, and then lay them to rest when the time has come?

#my brain. is crazy :) enjoy :)#mcr assigned reading #my posts

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latefrequencies · 4 years ago

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okay so watching Doug Walker’s take on Pink Floyd: The Wall was such a thing bc in no real order:

while I agree with him that the film is unsubtle at times (although I think it’s not as heavy-handed as he thinks it is), we COMPLETELY disagree on what parts ARE too heavy-handed. I don’t think the bit with the train is as overtly and directly about WW2 as Doug Walker thinks it is, and it’s fucking remarkable how he thought Dictator Pink was a stand-in for Anyone You Dislike when Dictator is CLEARLY the embodiment of fascism. (these aren’t the only examples, these are just two)

speaking of which, Walker COMPLETELY misses the role of WW2 in The Wall (it’s the first “brick in the wall” for the protagonist, one of the film’s big themes is its anti-war sentiment, and to an extent it informs the systemic issues that The Wall tackles). like, I know I’m being generous in assuming he’s capable of having good takes on things, but if he had grasped that part, his take on the film at least would have been more informed? It would’ve been different, that’s for sure

I don’t know what the fuck Satellite City is so I don’t know what the deal with the 3D animated creatures was (are they characters from Satellite City? I’m led to believe they are?) but their presence in the review at all, especially during The Trial, was absurd because, like I said, I don’t know who the fuck they are or what their relevance to either The Wall or the review itself is. I’m under the impression they have none. By contrast, I very much knew who the fuck the animated characters were supposed to be in the equivalent section of The Wall, because the film has by that point spent a good deal of time actually showing those characters and their relationship to Pink. For all I know, the Satellite City characters might have similarities to the characters from The Wall - I doubt it but it’s technically possible - but if so, their presence in the review still expects the viewer to be familiar with Satellite City. I don’t know if there’s a big overlap in Satellite City fans and Nostalgia Critic viewers so idk if Doug Walker could’ve actually expected his viewers to recognize the characters but that’s a big if and it’s still baffling.

imagine if “Hey You” had been in the film of The Wall and Doug Walker had parodied it. he probably would have made it a condescending thing at the viewer, asking them if they really thought the film was deep or enjoyable.

I do not understand why he thinks anybody is going to interpret his album as “a love letter to Pink Floyd”. I know that the Critic character sometimes displays harshness towards things the guy who plays him actually likes, but this. really did not read like one of those times?

The phrase “I have become comfortably dumb” was fucking incredible to hear come out of the Nostalgia Critic’s mouth because yeah. yeah dude you have. that’s an incredibly good summary of your career.

Riding off of that, it was almost surreal to watch Doug Walker assume the role of Dictator Pink when the guy at the start of the video (he’s from Slipknot? I think? Is that correct?) represented regular Pink. It’s weird because my interpretation is that Pink does not identify with or as the Dictator (the Dictator is a dissociative state who textually identifies himself as not being Pink), so it’s like the Dictator is a character who exists to express views in an extreme way that his creator does not believe in....much like the Critic is a character of Doug Walker’s creation, except the Nostalgia Critic DOES express views that Doug Walker agrees with, just in a more obnoxious and over-the-top way than is generally considered acceptable.

I’m not finished with this part, where the Critic portrays the Dictator. It’s like Walker almost made a point with that. ALMOST. It drives me up the wall (pun intended) that he did this because, in not portraying himself as Pink, Walker is identifying the Critic with the Dictator and only the Dictator, so it’s like. it’s like Walker is saying. that his relationship to the Critic is like Pink’s relationship to the Dictator. It’s someone he doesn’t agree with who exists primarily to act on feelings that his creator knows on some level are wrong. Except Walker’s relationship to the Critic is the opposite of Pink’s to the Dictator?? The Critic is someone Walker intentionally created to express views he does agree with in an extreme way (in the form of overreactions, not physical violence or anything) that he couldn’t get away with exhibiting in everyday life. Meanwhile the Dictator is someone Pink’s psyche created without Pink intending to, and while the Dictator doesn’t have a clear purpose for existing the way the Critic does (simply bc the Critic is an intentionally-created character), the Dictator ALSO primarily expresses views in an extreme way that the person behind him DOESN’T agree with. If Doug Walker had the capacity for subtlety, I would actually think that this is maybe his way of saying that he doesn’t agree with the Critic anymore and he’s becoming increasingly distanced from the character, but again that would require Doug Walker to be able to communicate things in a subtle way and also it would require him to be able to read the relationship between Pink and the Dictator correctly.

Also maybe it’s bc I’m used to seeing the Critic wearing his hat so I don’t conceptualize him as bald, but Doug Walker not wearing the hat during the Dictator Pink segments even reminded me of the shaving of the eyebrows in the movie (and how Bob Geldof was supposed to shave his head too but he refused). like. does Doug Walker know that. does he know that detail of the production of the film. is he aware that the character was supposed to be bald. like. okay I get that maybe this isn’t common knowledge to average The Wall enjoyers watching the video but it’s knowledge that at least some fans have so it’s uhh something that people with great familiarity with the thing he’s criticizing can apply to his criticism. which is so weird.

What the fuck was that, during The Trial, when the shitty animation during the Goodbye Blue Sky bit was juxtaposed with the actual quality animation done by the Satellite City guy???? that was hysterical actually

I don’t think I have anything more to say about this now. I’ve only watched Doug Walker’s video once and I might watch it again for the sole reason that sometimes I watch videos repeatedly bc I forget what was in them. if I have anything new to say then I might. I know I had new things to say about it every time I watched Pink Floyd: The Wall and I feel like my love for that movie is going to cause me to develop incredibly niche and specific criticisms of Doug Walker’s The Wall. but that’s all I have for now.

#this has been a self related post #wallposting

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abbieshores · 6 years ago

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Getting to know Rudy Umans

www.rudyumans.com https://rudy-umans.pixels.com

I believe in the oneness of mankind. I believe that we are all connected, and that art is one very good way of making us aware of that connection. – Rudy Umans

What’s your background?

My Background is in the aerospace industry. I was a purchasing agent/contract administrator for high end test and measurement equipment for mechanical, electronic, and chemical laboratories. Later I became a small business specialist for Palm Beach County, Florida where I specialized in women and minority owned businesses. In 2001, my wife and I started our own consulting company for start-up and emerging businesses that my wife runs now for the most part with her accounting and tax service.

You were a specialist in women, or female owned businesses?

LOL. Both really! No, seriously, female owned businesses. For decades the US government had a program called Minority and Women Owned Business Enterprises or M/WBE for short. These groups were considered economically disadvantaged, so they had this program that gave them preferential treatment on quoting and bidding on government jobs. A colleague of mine and I rewrote the local county ordinance on the subject actually. Over the years, many States expanded the program to include the LGBT community. The last number of years however, the government got a little bit away from all that and it is now mainly a gender and race neutral program to give all small businesses a boost.

Does your artwork come from that background?

No, not really. I was interested in photography ever since my parents gave me my first camera when I was six years old. A Kodak Instamatic. I still have it. My creative skills (I suppose) are inherited. Pretty much everybody on my father’s side was always very creative. For instance, one of his sisters was a blind sculpturist. She was very good. My father was always making something, and I might have been fortunate enough to inherit some of those creative genes.

Would you tell us more about your aunt?

Yes. During the war and after the war, she designed female fashion. Dresses and things. She never did that professionally, but I saw some of those designs she made and they were outrageous. If it wasn’t for WW2, she might have been famous. Over the years however, she became little by little blind until she was completely blind and nobody was able to figure out why. So, she was blind for decades and during that time she made those beautiful sculptures. I don’t have any so I can’t show one, but they were beautiful. A number of years ago, a doctor from “Doctors without Borders” ran into her and knew immediately what it was.He diagnosed it to be a tropical virus he encountered while on duty in the rainforest. He gave her something and within a matter of weeks, see could see again like nothing happened.

Even though I am a photographer and visual artist, what I love, I think that music is one of the highest art forms. I don’t think there is an artform that can stir the soul more than music can. Unfortunately, I can’t sing or play an instrument if my life depended on it. – Rudy Umans

Talking of your quote, above, what is the music you like to have in the background?

Music Choice by Rudy

Depending on my mood, but mainly old school blues like Muddy Waters, Lightnin’ Hopkins , John Lee Hooker and the like. (that was where the inspiration of my one and only selfie I sent you came from). I also like Smooth Jazz like Norman Brown, Four Play, Grover Washington, Joe Pass etc.. In addition, I like David Gilmour/Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Rolling Stones,and a bunch of other styles and musicians, but for the most part, blues and smooth jazz. The Stones btw and to a lesser extend, the Beatles, were heavily influenced by those old blues singers like Muddy Water, Howling Wolf and others.

What are you trying to say with your work?

Not all my art has a message. Most of my work is just to hang on the wall and enjoy it. Having said that, I do try to show people that you really don’t need fancy equipment or anything. All you need is a set of eyes and the courage to look. I mean actually look and not just superficially glance at it. Look beyond the obvious and absorb what is in front of you, which could be a beautiful landscape or a small detail on a concrete building. Take my Everglades landscape pictures for instance, most of the tourists I encounter in the Everglades (I live close by) kind of race trough it and see the whole thing in a couple of hours while complaining how boring it is. Now if they would stop every now and then, they would find it is not boring at all, but fascinating. I guess that is what I am trying to say with my work. Look beyond the obvious and really appreciate what is in front of you. Most of my Everglades landscapes are done right there from the main road and accessible to everybody. The same with some of my other work. I have an image of an ordinary downspout that people find fascinating, or a wooden gate, or a spigot.

What made you choose the medium you work with?

Well, I did get that camera when I was six. Later, I encountered people who had their own darkroom, which was a whole new world. The whole process fascinated me. Still does. It gets me out of the house. I learned and learn how to see. It is challenging to translate a three dimensional scene, person, or object into a two dimensional flat piece. You work with light, colors, objects that become alive if you try to record their beauty, what part will be sharp in an image and what not (Dept of Field), the size and relations of objects or elements, etc. and all these things form eventually a composition for people to enjoy.

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Landscapes and architecture for instance can be particularly challenging because you have to work with what is in front of you. You cannot change anything. The elements are given to you and it is the photographer’s job to translate that the best way she or he can. Nowadays, you also get to work with software, which is almost a discipline in itself and can be just as fascinating and challenging. I love working with image editing software. Some people call it “The digital darkroom”, but I don’t see it that way. It is so much more and powerful. These challenges are pretty much a lifetime endeavor. At least for me it is. Even though I do this for over fifty years now, I never stop learning. There is one universal law and that is the law of change and that definitely applies to the world of photography, which is a big part of the attraction.

Do you work in a studio?

I wish. No room for a permanent studio at home and an outside studio is cost prohibitive. So, right now, either my living room or my garage is my studio. But my studio work is all small and manageable. It takes me a little bit to set things up and break them down when I am done, but that’s Okay. My wife keeps telling me just to leave it (she is very supportive and understanding) but I don’t want to do that.

What is the one thing in your studio you just could not be without?

I live in South Florida, so air conditioning. From a technical point of view though, I cannot point out one thing, I need all of it. Other than that, I like to have relaxing music in the background

Who are your biggest influences?

Another great question. Where shall I start? Besides my father’s family I mentioned, I need to break it down a little. So, for color, I really like Frans Lanting, Galen Rowell, and Elliot Porter. For Black and White, Clyde Butcher (who I met and is in my neck of the woods) and John Sexton. For digital and mixed art, I really like Matt Mahurin. There are so many.

What is your favourite piece of work by yourself?

This is a hard question. I don’t really have one that stands out for me. Generally, I am happy with about 80% of what I do. The problem is though that it fluctuates. Today I really like this one, tomorrow, I like that one. It depends on so many things. Overall, I do like my little race cars, most of my Elephant Planet work, some of my landscapes and some of my artsy “beyond the obvious” things I was telling you about. For me, it is not just about the finished product, but about the whole experience. Maybe not for the viewer, but for me, memories and associations are a big part of it. Looking at artwork, even your own, is supposed to open up certain emotions, if it doesn’t, well, then it’s just another picture I guess, but like I said, emotions fluctuate.

As a teenager, I had pet lizards and snakes to great dismay of my mother. I had maggots that I fed vitamins and all that so, once they turned into flies, my lizards would get the vitamins they needed. (smart huh). One day, we had about 4,398 big fat flies flying around in my parent’s house. Apparently, the jar had fallen over, and the top came off. Fortunately, those flies were so fat and full of vitamins and goodies that they didn’t go that fast and were easy to catch. Thank goodness, my mother was a great sport. She could laugh about things like that. – Rudy Umans

How much time (on average) does it take to complete a work?

Not counting the time it takes to go to a location and taking the images, so limiting to post processing, anywhere from a couple of minutes for straight shots to a number of days for complicated work. I have half finished work that I started months ago and will remain half finished until I figure out what to do with them. It also depends on my mood and general state of mind. Sometimes it is a breeze, even for complicated things, and sometimes even the simplest images seem to take forever.

How do you know something is ‘finished’? Is it easy to walk away?

I never really know if something is “finished”. It wouldn’t be the first time that right when I think I am finished, I think this is no good and start all over again. Especially with Black and White. With the more complicated pieces, I let it sit for a couple of days and look at it again, and again. So, no, it is not easy to walk away and say this is done, but at some point, I just take a leap of faith

What project are you working on now?

Bunch of things. Some big, some small. As far as the bigger projects go, currently I am working on two books. One book is called “A slough in Black and White”, which is a sort of environmental educational book about the Everglades and some adjacent areas. It is full of Black and White images and I explain with each image what it is about and the environmental significance.

A “slough” btw, which is pronounced the same as “slew”, means a slow moving body of water, what the Everglades essentially is for the most part.

The other book is a Children’s picture book with short bed time stories about human virtues. These virtues are a little bit in disguise and hopefully open up conversations between the reader and the listener.

I am looking for a Brick and Mortar publisher for both

What was the best advice given to you as an artist?

Be honest with yourself and always work toward being the best you can be. There is always room for improvement

What was the first piece of art you sold?

I remember that one clearly. It was a silhouette of a bird in the Everglades against a very large and red morning sun. It was on 35mm film. The image was 16 x 20, matted and in a wooden frame. A daughter bought it for her mother as a gift during a solo show I had at the time. Her mother was crazy about birds and turned her backyard into an aviary. I even remember her name.

Music choice by Rudy

Do you find it hard to navigate the artworld?

The artworld has different aspects, but for creators, we can split it up in on line and off line. The on line artworld like POD sites is not all that confusing. Those sites make it fairly easy for the artist. The main tasks for an artist pertaining to POD sites are creating, uploading, pricing and marketing. Now as a photographer, all my work is already in digital format. Painters and people who draw on paper have the complication to digitize their art, which is an extra and crucial step they have to take and learn

Off line, like shows in brick and mortar galleries or arts and crafts shows, is a lot more complicated. It is hard to find out what is out there, what shows or galleries are suitable for you, what you need, what they cost and all that. That can be pretty hairy. I also found where I live it is hard to find information about upcoming art and craft shows and how to apply for them. Brick and Mortar galleries and musea can even be harder. I found that they are more about selling yourself than anything else, which is the hardest thing to do for many artists

The one thing both have in common are they are both hard work. Neither method comes free and both require a lot of sweat equity. Being an artist, and especially when you do it for a living, is very hard work and not at all that glamorous as it sounds. Regardless of what your discipline is, it is 90% business and 10% creating. Once an artist understands that, life becomes easier. Less fun, but easier.

Music choice by Rudy

What are you personally doing to advance your work career?

The main thing I do is marketing, marketing, and marketing. and proving materials for another marketing campaign. My preferred method is email, but the way things are going and with the new European data storage and handling laws, that might change at some point. I also network on line on social media, but that only goes so far and is not enough, I also go out and network. I am involved in local community affairs and sponsor charity events either as a main sponsor or with silent auctions or both. Those are business decisions and I want people to know my name, so I make sure the whole world knows about it, which is btw another very hard thing to do for passionate people like artists. Many like to stay behind the scene with charity events and all that and don’t like to make a fuss about it, but you have no choice if you want your name to be out there. All my solo and group shows happened by talking to people face to face. It is the best way and maybe even the only way.

As far as your last question goes, yes I follow art/photography trends. I subscribe to some newsletters and I am on some forums. It is amazing what you can learn on those forums. That is how I found out about those new European laws, which are important to know for an artist. The local news surely won’t tell me.

I make plans and set goals (I used to write business plans for other people). This year for instance, the goals are the publications (or at least, get a contract) for my books and I want to show in a few local musea. No results yet, but it looks promising.

Technically I also like to stay informed as well. I read articles and magazines about what is going on in my field. I like to know what manufactures are doing, what other artists are doing, new books that came out (and who published them) etc. It is not that I necessarily need to have all the latest equipment, I don’t, but I still like to know.

How do you price your work and why do you price it that way?

My pricing is based on a number of factors and based on methods I learned and developed over the years. I constantly do research and read expert articles about pricing and if I need to adjust, I adjust. More importantly though than how high or how low my pricing is, is consistency. I make sure that my prices are more or less the same throughout all my outlets whenever possible. I believe there is nothing more important than consistency, you cannot sell a piece for $1000 at one place and for $500 at another.

Do you use social networking in your day to day life?

As far as on line goes, I have a business page on Facebook under Rudy Umans Imaging. I just started that and want to see how it goes. For my face to face social networking, I carry a stack of business cards and I try to talk to as many people as I can about what I do. Face to face is for me still the most important form of networking.

Is there anything that really annoys you about the artworld?

Yes, and what annoys me in the artworld is the same as what generally annoys me in every day life. You know, people stuff and politics. I don’t do politics in any way, shape, or form

What advice would you give new artists?

Don’t listen to your friends and family for critique. They love you and they know nothing.

Try to be the best you can be in your art or craft. Hone your skills all the time. Never stop.

For photographers, don’t go crazy about the latest and the greatest. Cameras don’t make art. Art is made a couple of inches behind the camera. If you invest, invest in lenses and not cameras. Cameras are disposable. Also remember the old saying, buy it cheap, buy it twice. Don’t be penny wise, Pound foolish.

Study your subjects. If you paint, photograph, or write a story about something, really study that something from top to bottom. The more you know about your subject, the better the end result will be.

Eat, sleep, and breathe your art. Be obsessed with it, but not to a point that you might end up all by yourself.

Oohs and aahs don’t pay the bills. Learn business skills. Especially if it is your living (in whole or in part) learn marketing and bookkeeping. Find your weak (business) area and improve on that.

Your name is more important than your art. Not sure about paintings, people seem to look more at the name of the painter I think, but in photography, people remember the photograph, but rarely the photographer. So, slap your name on everything, but don’t work for credit. Have some pride. Credit is overrated. If a (potential) client ask you to work or submit something for credit instead of money, say no.

Find a mentor. Everybody needs at least one mentor. Just ask somebody you like and trust. You will be amazed.

Have you got hobbies?

Hmm. Well between my photography, writing books, articles and white papers, household stuff like groceries, cleaning, and cooking, two dogs and three indoor cats and everything else life throws at me, I like cycling. I am originally Dutch and was practically born on a bicycle. I also like listening to music.

Where are you based?

Right now, my wife and I are in Miami, Florida

Rudy Umans Imaging www.rudyumans.com https://rudy-umans.pixels.com

CONTACT RUDY

[formidable id=29]

Getting To Know Photographer & Artist Rudy Umans www.rudyumans.com I believe in the oneness of mankind. I believe that we are all connected, and that art is one very good way of making us aware of that connection.

#getting to know rudy umans #interview with rudy #miami photographer #rudy umans

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footprintsinthesxnd · 2 years ago

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Love and War

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Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+.

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Operation Market Garden, Netherlands, September 1944

Bob never realised what true pain actually was until he had been shot. As a child he’d often played Cowboys and Indians with his brothers, pretending to shoot at each other and fake dying, but that had been so far from the truth. Hot, steering pain shot through his abdomen as the bullet flew straight through him. The pain hadn’t come at first but as soon as his knees hit the floor he’d screamed out in agony. He’d seen soldiers sustaining worse wounds than simply being shot, Jackson had been caught in an explosion in Carentan just three months before and still bore the scars on his face and neck to prove it, yet he’d never once complained or grumbled. Even when they were back in Aldbourne and the local women seemed to avoid him due to his scar he didn’t complain.

Aldbourne seemed so far away now, like some distant memory and all too soon they had been jumping back into enemy territory, jumping low into Holland. Bob vividly remembered cutting a replacement out of his parachute after the boy became tangled in the strings. He jumped with his reserve chute even though it had been low and the boy had been crushed under the weight of all the baggage he was carrying.

Bob didn’t know how it happened, one moment he’d been running to shield the injured replacement, he was inexperienced and missed the sniper who was nestled on the roof. The poor boy could have only been 18 years old, fresh from Fort Benning, with little to no battle experience. Bob recalled helping the boy prepare for the jump just days before.

“You jump ready to fight,” he informed him, tightening the boy's webbing and securing the musette bag. “You won’t need your reserve chute, we’re jumping low and if your first one fails you won’t have time to open the second.” He’d continued nonchalantly not noticing the faces of the fearful replacements. “Now we are jumping into enemy territory, you must be quick and precise. Remember your training. Once you land, cut the ties on your parachute, make sure your gun is loaded and ready and follow your platoon leader.” The boys' faces only looked more and more nervous as the time to jump came but Bob reassured them. “You boys will be fine, like I said remember your training, that’s what it’s there for.”

The sniper had hit him in his neck, just missing the jugular but causing the boy to cry out in agony, withering on the tarmac road while his comrades dived off their seats on the Sherman tanks for the banks on either side. He screamed, rolling around while the sniper fired at him again. Now Bob knew this was a trap, snipers often shot one man, leaving him just about alive to draw out the other soldiers but he couldn’t just watch the bit suffer. Against Bob’s better judgment and Private Jackson’s protest, he lunged forward, scrambling up the bank and scurrying over to the wounded paratrooper. He’d managed to drag the boy to the bank, Jackson reached out and helped him pull the boy to cover when the bullet struck him, causing him to fall forward into the ditch.

Bob’s mind was hazy but he simply remembered the pain. He saw Jackson's face above him, slightly blurry and his shouts would have been deafening if not for Bob’s ears ringing from the explosion around them. The grass earth beneath Bob’s fingers shook as he grabbed ahold of it as Jackson began applying pressure to the wound. He watched as the dark, scarlet began oozing from his abdomen and across his pale flesh. He watched as Jackson began shaking out the white powder sulfa to the wound. He watched as Jackson stabbed a surrette of morphine into his thigh. The earth exploded around him, mud flying through the air like fireworks on the 4th of July. Bob just watched, as if everything was in slow motion if he lay quietly everything would be ok.

“Stay with me, Floyd,�� Jackson repeated like a mantra in Bob’s mind.

“Where’s Miller?” Bob mumbled out, not realising he was actually talking until Jackson replied.

“He’s coming, buddy, he’s coming. Just hold on for me, Floyd. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t look fine,” Bob mumbled, watching as he bled into the earth around him. “Am I gonna die?”

“No, you’re not gonna die… I promise,” Jackson’s voice broke as he spoke and Bob knew that he couldn’t keep that kind of promise, no matter how much he wanted to. Bob nodded reluctantly, resting his head against the grassy bank behind him. Pale, white clouds danced above his head on the clear blue background, like an artist's paintbrush was dancing across the canvas of the world. Bob was a mere speck of dirt on this artist's canvas, maybe the artist was trying to remove him with the red paint that flowed from his abdomen.

Doc Miller’s voice echoed near Bob’s ear but he didn’t see him, his eyes glazed over as they started to the heavens above.

“Floyd! Floyd, can you hear me?” Miller’s tone was calm and collected as if he were simply chatting to Bob back in the pub in Aldbourne and not saving his life. Bob remembered groaning as the medic began slapping his face, he remembered Lieutenant Nelson’s voice and he remembered being carried. Images flashed before his eyes as the stretcher he was on bumped around in the back of the truck, flashes of light misted his vision as the pain grew through his body. He could feel everything, and at the same time, nothing at all. Bob thought there and then that he was dying, he was going to die and he’d never see (y/n) again, her beautiful smile, hear her laugh, touch her.

Bob could hear your voice breaking through the darkness, he pushed himself towards it, desperately trying to open his eyes but no light came and your voice faded away. “NO! NO COME BACK!” Bob screamed into the abyss of his mind but no one replied, no one came for him.

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The next thing Bob could recall was a heavyweight against his hand, it squeezed him gently, a soft, familiar voice filing his subconsciousness. It was barely above a whisper and Bob wondered for a moment whether he was imagining it until he felt a warm pair of lips against his forehead. Stirring slowly he forced his eyes to open, squinting at the bright spotlight that seemed to shine on him, groaning under his breath.

“(Y/n)…?” He asked groggily, his eyes trying desperately to focus on the figure beside him.

“Hey Bobby,” she answered, leaning forward and running her fingertips across his forehead, brushing away the stray blond hairs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore but all the better for seeing you,” Bob mumbled back, his throat crying out for a drink as he spoke roughly. (Y/n) must have realised because she was soon supporting him to sit up, propping several more pillows behind him before raising a glass of water to his lips. Bob drank gratefully, never taking his eyes off (Y/n) for a second in case she disappeared and this all turned out to be a figment of his imagination. (Y/n) helped him lean back against the pillows, pulling the blankets higher up his body when he began shivering.

“You had me worried, you know, Bob. When I heard what had happened I came as quickly as I could,” she leaned down, pressing a light and gentle kiss to his lips. He felt her start to relax, watching the tension leave her knowing that he was now safe.

“Where are we?” Bob asked, his bright, blue eyes wandering around the room. He knew he was in a hospital, both walls were lined with beds wrapped in crisp white sheets, some filled with soldiers and some lay dormant. Nurses flitted in and out of the room, checking in each patient before hurrying off again.

“You’re in a hospital, my love…” She smiled sweetly at him before adding, “In Holland.”

Bob’s eyes grew wide as he studied her face, trying to tell if she was being serious.

“Why are we in Holland? Why are you in Holland, you’re meant to be in Paris, away from all of this?” He began rambling, trying to push himself further off the bed but cried out as the pain began to spread through his abdomen again.

“Stop Bob, please,” she begged, helping to rest him back against his cot and holding a firm hand to his chest, knowing that if she let go he’d try to launch himself off the bed again.

“I’m stationed here, at the military hospital in Holland. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d worry. I thought you might have realised when my letters started to arrive with different postage stamps,” she laughed lightly and Bob couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted, squeezing her hand gently. “I missed you but I just wished you’d told me. I didn’t want you in harm's way.”

“Bob, you don’t get to decide whether I’m in harm's way or not,” you looked at him sadly, “I’m a nurse, I need to go where I’m needed.” Bob nodded glumly, reaching out his hands to you. “Come here.”

(Y/n) obeyed, scooting onto the edge of his bed as Bob wrapped his arms tightly around her middle, nestling his head into the crook of her neck. “I missed you so much,” he mumbled into her warm skin. (Y/n) hummed in reply, carding her fingers through his blond locks in response.

Bob’s recovery was slow, he’d pushed himself too soon, reopening his stitches and setting his recovery back. (Y/n) had been fuming, reprimanding him as if he were a child.

“Do you have no care for your health?” She shouted at him, after pulling him into one of the storage rooms away from the other patients.

“I need to get back to my men (y/n), they are my friends and they need me.”

“But I need you, Bob. I need you to get better. I need you to be ok.” Bob could see the tears welling in her eyes and instantly reached out to embrace her, cradling her into his chest as they both sat in silence, afraid that if either of them spoke it would drive the other away.

Bob stayed in the hospital for two weeks recuperating from his wounds. He saw (y/n) every day, watching as she tended to the other soldiers and she would try and spend every evening cradled in Bob’s arms.

“You got yourself a purple heart then,” (y/n) murmured, running her index finger over the small purple medal.

“I guess I did,” Bob hummed, smirking in reply. She poked his chest with her index finger, “my brave, handsome soldier.” A blush warmed his cheeks but he couldn’t drop his gaze, mesmerized by her eyes.

“How did I get so lucky.” He asked, carding his fingers gently through her hair whilst trying not to distrust the bin pinned neatly to the back of her head.

“I think the question is ‘how did I get so lucky?” She smirked in reply. “Although after the stress you’ve put me through, I don’t know if it’s worth it.” She jested and Bob shoved her shoulders lightly, cashing her to fall into a fit of giggles. She’d made him promise that if all the medals he could get, a purple heart was not one of them.

His wound had healed quickly and although he was still a little sore he knew it was time for him to head back to Easy Company.

“Bob, please don’t do this. You need to take more time to heal,” (y/n) had pleaded, tears staining her soft cheeks as Bob watched her as she desperately tried to stop him from packing his bag.

“You know I need to get back to them, Doll. They need me and I have to go.” His large hand came up to rest against her cheek, brushing away the stray tears. “I promise I’ll come back to you, I’ll always come back to you.” He sealed his promise with a kiss, not a deep, sensual kiss but it was soft and loving and took her breath away. “I promise,” Bob whispered once more, before picking up his kit bag and heading for the door. Bob knew that going AWOL was frowned upon but he always knew that any other man in his company would do the same, they were a brotherhood. Before Bob reached the door he stopped, his heart heavy in his chest.

“(Y/n)?” He asked, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

“Yes,” she replied, her eyes shining bright and hopeful and Bob knew that she thought he was going to change his mind and stay.

“I love you,” this time Bob’s voice didn’t shake, he spoke with a certainty that demonstrated how much he truly meant it. “And I promise one day I’m gonna ask you to marry me.” (Y/n) stood frozen for a moment, she knew what her answer would be but the words lodged in her throat.

“I love you too and my answer is yes,” she whispered but Bob heard her, a wide smile growing on his lips as he looked at her with so much love and adoration that she felt as if she would melt beneath his gaze. With one last look, Bob turned and disappeared from view, heading towards the vehicle bay in the hope of a lift back to Easy Company. She ran her fingers over her lips, memorising every detail, how his hands held her face, his lips brushed against hers, how his chest felt when they were pressed together. (Y/n) bit back the tears as she turned back to Bob’s now empty bed, pulling the sheets off the lumpy mattress and bundling them into her arms. She pressed the sheets to her nose, inhaling his scent one last time before walking down the aisles of beds and leaving the ward.

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“FLOYD? IS THAT YOU?” Jackson hollered, throwing his arms in the air in greeting. Bob grinned at the young radioman, waving frantically from his seat on the M4 tank as it trundled along the mud track, its large caterpillar tread churning the ground. As the tank slowed Bob jumped down, waving goodbye to the gunner and hurrying towards Jackson, a shy smile gracing his lips at the sudden attention.

“Yep, it’s me.”

“Well as I live and breathe. I was sure you were a goner, all that blood and screaming I never thought I’d see you again,” Jackson admitted, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke and his brown eyes glistening.

“Ya can’t get rid of me that easily,” Bob replied, pulling his fellow paratrooper into a tight hug which Jackson quickly returned, hanging onto Bob for as long as he could.

“Would ya look what the cat dragged in,” a smooth southern accent came from behind them and Bob turned to see Albert Miller, a wide grin on his face as he rubbed his hands in a grey cloth, trying to scrub the blood from his fingers.

“Miller, it’s good to see you too,” Bob flung his arm around his friend's shoulder. “You’ll never guess who I’ve spent the past two weeks with.” Both men looked at him quizzically, Miller scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully.

“No, who was it?”

“(Y/n), she’s stationed at the field hospital. She’s been nursing me back to health.”

Jackson let out a great whoop of celebration while Miller affectionately patted Bob on the back.

“I’m really happy for ya, Bob. (Y/n) is a good woman, one of the best, just like my Mary.” Bob knew that Albert missed his wife, Mary, a great deal, he rarely spoke of his life back in Mobile, Alabama but whenever he did this strange glazed expression appeared on his face, as if he wasn’t truly there with you anymore and he’d gone home.

“(Y/n) sends her love to you both,” Bob gestured to the two men in front of him. Miller gave him a crust nod in return, while Jackson blew Bob a kiss. “Give this to her when you next see her,” he snorted as Bob smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

The two men were so caught up in their friendly punching that they didn’t notice Captain Nelson approaching.

“Floyd,” he spoke, his tone harsh and authoritative, causing all three men to stand to attention.

“Yes Sir,” Bob saluted the Captain, trying to keep his eyes trained over Nelson’s shoulder. Since when had Captain Nelson become so stoic and harsh? The next thing Bob knew Nelson had broken out into a fit of laughter. “My God, you should see the look on your faces, Boys,” he patted Bob on the back. “It’s good to have you back, Floyd, 2nd platoon has missed you.”

“We sure have,” Jackson chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“Thank you, Sir, it’s good to be back.”

“I’m sure it is. Although I have a feeling you’ll be missing your dear nurse though, won’t you?” Bob froze. How did Captain Nelson know about you? It’s not like he’d been that public with you.

“Don’t look so alarmed 1st Sergeant Floyd, your secret's safe with me. Come and collect your new insignia from Battalion CP.” All three men watched as Nelson retreated before Jackson looked up at Bob.

“Hang on a second, 1st Sergeant?”

Bob shook his head, squinting at the radioman in confusion. “What the hell are you on about?”

“Captain Nelson just called you first Sergeant Floyd.” Jackson retorted.

“Congratulations Bob,” Miller shook Bob’s hand vigorously, while Bob just stared blankly at them in utter shock.

“I think this calls for a celebration. I found a bottle of Vat 69 that I’ve been saving for a special occasion and I think this is classified as one,” Jackson threw an arm around each man’s shoulder and directed them toward the temporary barracks, laughing jovially all the way.

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footprintsinthesxnd · 2 years ago

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Love and War

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Upottery Airfield, England June 1944

The downpour of rain pounded on the wooden roof, echoing through the barracks and causing a deafening echoing. It seeped through the cracks and dropped down onto the men seated below, tricking down the backs of their necks and eliciting shivers. The jump had been called off again due to poor flying conditions and Bob and the other members of the Airborne Division were huddled in one of the wooden huts, still equipped with nearly everything they needed for the jump, faces smeared with black paint and a deep sense of defeat hanging in the air.

Most of the men had dumped their stuff back in their sleeping quarters, including the British issued leg bags that while none of the men had jumped with before in training, had been rammed full of extra ammunition and supplies. Overall each man was carrying about 100 extra pounds, some being 150 extra pounds, this was the point when Bob was truly glad he was a rifleman and not part of the mortar or machine gun squads. Everyone had been so prepared, veins pumping with adrenaline at the thought of their impending jump, only to be shot down in flames by the English weather yet again. Considering their almost disastrous practice run of D-Day at Slapton Sands, an air of uneasiness hung over the men. Bob picked carelessly at the seam of his cuff, pulling at the loose thread absentmindedly. It’s not like anyone would care if he had a thread loose now, Lewis wouldn’t be there to make him run Currahee again. Captain Lewis' words ran through Bob’s mind.

“You think you’re paratroopers, you’re not. You are children. You are a disgrace to this regiment.”

Bob thought it was the happiest day of his life when the regiment was shipped to England. Captain Lewis was staying in the States to train new paratroopers so Captain Moore had taken his place. Moore was a kind faced man who was far more knowledgeable than Lewis and had his men’s upmost respect. No more Captain Lewis, no more Currahea, but no more (y/n). After Toccoa, they had been split up for a while when Bob went to Fort Benning for his Airborne training but they met up again at several other bases, including Camp Mackall, much to Albert Miller’s dismay as he turned a blind eye to Bob sneaking into the aid station to steal her away. Bob had thought of (y/n) often during the crossing to England. Curled up on his tiny bunk bed, he’d lovingly traced his finger over the picture she’d given him, her bright smiling face staring back at him as he solemnly looked on. He’d tucked that picture into the breast pocket of his uniform, wanting to keep her close to his heart in the long days ahead.

(Y/n) and the other nurses from the Army Nurse Corps had been stationed at a military hospital in another part of England and while Bob was glad you weren’t going to Normandy with him, his heart already ached for you to be back in his arms. He’d been fortunate enough to have a seven day pass to London with some of the other men, which just so happened to coincide with your leave, meaning you’d spent seven blissful days together exploring the capital. Deep down he wished he’d told you how he truly felt but he knew nothing good could have come from it, not with war right around the corner. He loved you and while you had both loved each other, you’d said it in every way but those three words. He thought back to your last night together, curled up in the crumpled sheets back in London. (Y/n) had snuck Bob into her hotel room and they did their best to keep the noise down despite their antics. Bob smiled at the thought of her soft skin beneath his hands, plump lips against his, legs tangled together beneath the sheets.

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Bob’s hand roamed up her thighs, unclasping her stockings and rolling them down simultaneously, taking as long as possible so he could savour each moment. She watched him intently, her heart beating quicker at the sight of him, his normally blue eyes were dark and filled with lust. He slid her skirt up, placing gentle kisses on her inner thighs as his hands pulled down her panties. He pushed her legs further apart before burying his face between her legs, placing a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin. She gasped, letting her head roll back against the bed, her cheeks blushing furiously as she groaned as Bob began to suck at her clit, his tongue toying with her folds. She squeezed her eyes shut, gasping loudly as she grabbed a fistful of Bob’s hair, pulling it harshly. Bob moaned as he began fumbling her clit between his teeth, the action only causing (y/n) to moan louder. The pleasure she felt was intense and she breathlessly mumbled, her whole body feeling hot all over as the pleasure pulsed through her.

“I’m so close,” she cried but Bob didn’t answer, his tongue working tirelessly to bring her to ecstasy. Bob slipped one finger, and then two into her, causing her to arch her back, crying out his name. Bob pumped his fingers slowly as she rode out her orgasm, clenching around his fingers, as the grip on his hair grew ever tighter until she relaxed. (Y/n) didn’t realise she’d had her eyes closed until she opened up and saw Bob looking down at her, a shy smile on his lips glistening with her wetness. Y/N could feel her whole body buzzing from the afterglow of her orgasm but she released Bob’s hair, running her hand down to cup his cheek and pull him in for a tender kiss. She could taste herself on his lips and she moaned into the kiss. (Y/n) pulled away, running her fingers over Bob’s swollen lips and hummed in appreciation. His once neatly gelled hair was dishevelled, his neck sporting a few bruises from her kisses earlier and his blue eyes watching her like a love-sick puppy. It amazed her how Bob could go from this love-making machine to the sweet boy that now sat in front of her. Taking her bottom lip between her teeth she gave him a devilish grin.

“I want you…” she trailed her fingers down Bob’s chest, unbuttoning it as she went. “I want you…” she repeated and (y/n) could see Bob’s eyes growing darker as he watched her actions.

“As you wish, Doll.”

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“Hey, stop doing that,” Jackson hissed, swatting Bob’s hand away. “Stop picking your sleeve.”

“Why?” Bob hissed back a little sharper than he had meant to. “It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to be.” Jackson sighed, knocking his friend playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t be in such a hurry to get yourself killed, Floyd.”

Jackson was right, the radioman was always right. He had a strange sense of humour and a boyish grin that caused women to fall at his feet. Bob thought he was only about 18 but he was 21, a full-grown adult, Jackson often reminded him. Bob was 23, and although he wasn’t much older than Jackson, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d been promoted to Staff Sergeant of 2nd platoon during their parachute training and Bob felt like he’d taken on the responsibility of the whole of Easy Company, not just a few Privates and Corporals. Jackson continued to talk in a hushed whisper but Bob had tuned out, his mind wandering to home, as the black and white images of the movie played before his eyes. Back in the States, it was about 5 pm, Bob thought to himself, imagining his mother cooking dinner in the kitchen whilst trying to control his two rowdy younger brothers. One of his brothers had asked Bob to bring back a Luger and much to his mother's dismay he’d promised he’d try. But honestly, Bob didn’t want to bring anything back from the war, he didn’t want his family to have any connection to the horrors he knew he’d be facing. No, the only thing Bob wanted to bring home from the war was you. He could imagine it now, painting the scene vividly in his mind of you helping his mother in the kitchen, playing in the yard with his brothers, and chatting with his father around the breakfast table. That was the image Bob wanted to stay with him forever.

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Bob had never felt travel sick before, even as a young boy he’d loved long car journeys but sat in what felt like a rickety tin of an aircraft waiting to jump out into the darkness above Normandy, Bob couldn’t stop his stomach from churning. It came in waves, rolling over him like a tide as he swallowed down the vomit that threatened to erupt from his mouth at any second. Doc Miller had issued the men with travel sickness tablets for the journey and although no one had a problem with this in training, many were grateful for them now. Captain Nelson, who had been promoted to Easy Company’s CO before D-Day, waved his hands at the men, indicating it was time to clip themselves onto the line and prepare to jump. Bob stood, his legs shaking like they were made of jelly and about to give way at any given moment. After 22 months of training the day had finally come, this was the big jump. The men on either side of him jostled about, knocking into each other like dominos. The green light appeared in the doorway and Bob watched as Lieutenant Nelson jumped out of the plane, disappearing into the night. One after another the paratroopers jumped, each jumping into enemy fire. When Bob’s turn came his palms were sweating and his knees nearly buckled.

“Go, go, go,” the paratrooper behind Bob shouted and Bob jumped. Flung into the night sky he hurriedly scrambled to hold onto the strings of his parachute in a desperate attempt to steer himself the best he could. Around him shells erupted in the sky, hitting the C47 planes. Bob watched in utter horror as one of the planes exploded before the soldiers even had time to jump, erupting in flames and hurtling towards Normandy.

The landing was rough, Bob couldn’t judge the distance from the ground and as his ankle connected with the floor he felt a surge of pain shoot up his leg. Scrambling to his feet, he gathered up the silk parachute, cutting the ties and hurriedly picking up his M1 Garand, his hands shaking as he hurriedly assembled it. Around him, gunfire echoed through the night as he hurried towards a group of trees. Ducking down Bob watched as several other paratroopers landed, most of them had been spread far and wide across Normandy due to the poor conditions and inexperience of the pilots but a lucky few landed together. Bob stood, shuffling out from his hiding place, his rifle raised.

The other paratroopers turned to him, “Flash?” One of them shouted out.

“Thunder,” Bob replied and he saw the three men visibly relaxed.

“Welcome,” they called back and Bob emerged from his hiding place waving to the other men who approached quickly, all squatting down, wide eyes darting around them in panic. Bob recognised two of the men from Dog Company but he couldn’t say he knew them, just from the odd encounters during training. The other man was unfamiliar to Bob, and the others it would seem, he stayed on the edge of the group, staying silent.

“Who are you?” Bob asked, his voice coming out in a harsh whisper and the young man looked behind him as if he wasn’t sure Bob was addressing him.

“I’m Private Garcia, from the 82nd Airborne Division, Sir,” he addressed Bob quietly, his cheeks blushing as he sat under the scrutiny of the three soldiers.

“82nd!” One of the men from Dog Company exclaimed. “Where the fuck are we?”

“I don’t know but we need to keep moving,” Bob stood motioning for the others to follow him. “Stay with us until we find your Division.” He told Garcia who nodded, following along at the back of the group. Along the way the group caught up with a small groups of other paratroopers from Able and Baker Company, all heading to the rendezvous point.

By the time they caught up with the others and regrouped, Easy Company had won its first of many battles.

“Floyd, you should have seen it. Everyone was firing and Lieutenant Nelson was instructing us to clear out the German’s trenches and we destroyed their 105mm,” Jackson reeled off, sounding far too excited about his first battle, his first victory. “And when the Tiger Tank came over the hill I was sure we were done for, we were out of TNT but then the M4s came out of the tree line and we sent them running for the hills.”

Bob smiled at the radioman who was still enthusiastically reeling off the day's events. He wished he had been there, fighting alongside his friends but he knew there would be many chances for that in the coming days. He left Jackson telling the story to the two men from Dog Company and Garcia from the 82nd and he made his way across the camp in search of Doc Miller. He found the medic in one of the abandoned buildings patching up a young, fresh-faced soldier, he didn’t look any worse for wear considering he’d been shot in the arm and smiled at Bob when he entered. Bob nodded his head in acknowledgement, waiting for the soldier to leave before approaching his friend. Miller looked up at him, his face still smeared in the remnants of black paint from the drop.

“Boy am I glad to see you, Doc. I’d recognise those dulcet tones anywhere,” Bob perched himself on one of the wooden chairs in the corner of the room, leaning his head against the wall with a dramatic sigh. The rumble of the M4s and trucks passed by outside, causing the wrecked beholding to shake, dust leaking through the holes in the roof, and the shouts of other platoon leaders sounded far away as Bob huddled further into his jacket, his eyes closed in the hope of a moment's peace. Miller let out a laugh, his heavy boots causing the floorboards to creak as he approached.

“Have you seen Jackson yet?” His smooth southern accent sounded like music to Bob’s ears after the night of endless complaints he’d endured from the Dog Company lads.

“Who hasn’t? He’s been telling half of the 101st what happened and anyone from the 82nd who would listen.” Bob was unable to wipe the coquettish smirk from his face as both men laughed, the young radioman’s enthusiasm was endearing really, his boyish charm radiating onto everyone who met him.

“How are you holding up?” Doc asked, eyeing Bob’s ankle that he had balanced on the table in front of him.

Bob snorted, “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Doc. I’ll just walk it off.” Bob jumped as he felt Miller’s cold fingers resting against the exposed skin of his ankle and hissed as the medic began to manoeuvre his boot off his foot. Deep purple bruises penetrated the skin and the whole foot was swollen, the skin stretched thinly over the inflamed area. Miller sighed, fishing in his bag and pulling out some fresh, white bandages. He strapped Bob’s foot tightly, winding the scratchy material around it before replacing his sock.

“I want you to keep off of it as much as possible and keep it raised when you can.” Miller’s eyes were stern as he looked at Bob but the playfulness behind his dark eyes made Bob smile.

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Bob grinned, pulling his boot back on and lacing it as best he could before hobbling back outside. Bob knew that this was just the beginning of what was yet to come.

“Oh Floyd,” Miller called after him, causing Bob to stop in his tracks, his heavy boots coming to a loud halt. “Did you hear about Captain Moore?”

Bob frowned, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “No, what happened?”

“His plane was hit, no one even got the chance to jump. Poor bastards didn’t stand a chance.” Miller looked solemn. “Nelson’s now Easy’s CO and it looks like he’ll be promoted to Captain after today.”

Bob nodded, no words needed to be exchange from the news. Captain Moore would have been a good combat leader had he been given the chance to prove himself but Bob and the rest of East Company knew that Lieutenant Nelson was more than capable of leading them to greatness.

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Dear Doll,

By now you’ve probably heard that we’ve landed in Normandy. The drop was hard and we lost a lot of good men but so far our advances have been successful. The Germans aren’t making this easy for us but we knew that no part of this god-forsaken war was going to be easy. We’re being sent back to Aldbourne for some R and R, for how long I do not know. There is very little they tell us, even Leuitenant Nelson seems to be kept in the dark. I can’t wait to see you once I’m back in England. I can’t tell you much more than that my love but just know I miss you so much. I think of you every night before I sleep and every morning when I wake and all the time in between. I’ll try to write to you as much as I can. I hold your letters close to my heart, my darling, and your picture. They keep me going when I feel that I can’t go on. I love you and I’ll see you soon. Love your Bobby

Dear Bobby,

I was so glad to receive your letter before we shipped out. I am being moved to an aid station somewhere in France to help the wounded soldiers. I don’t yet know where I will be stationed but I will try to write to you as soon as I can. I’m sorry to be missing you in Aldbourne. I’ve missed you so much Bob, not a day goes by when I don’t think about you. I can’t believe it’s been over a month since you left. This place just doesn’t feel the same without you. I feel as if you took part of me with you the day you left, just promise me you’ll bring it back. How is Albert getting on? Please send him my love. I’ve missed having all of you boys around. I love you my darling. Your (y/n) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @callsign-phoenix @shadowsintheknight @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @alexxavicry @a-reader-and-a-writer @topguncortez @maggiescarborough @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @sunlightmurdock @airedale17 @callmemana @shadowolf993 @t-nd-rfoot @topguncultleader @flyboyjake @emorychase @wkndwlff @shanimallina87 @jstarr86 @starkleila @callsignmeiga

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd ww2 #101stairbornedivision #ww2 au #robert bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader

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footprintsinthesxnd · 2 years ago

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You Look Beautiful

Pairings: Bob Floyd x f!reader Summary: this is a request from the very lovely @teacupsandtopgun for my 1K celebration with a moodboard from the prompt ‘You look… you look very nice. Beautiful, I mean. Damn, why can’t i speak?’ With the time period being set in WW2.

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#bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #ww2 au #bob floyd ww2 #1940s #1940s aesthetic #robert floyd #1k celebration #lewis pullman

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footprintsinthesxnd · 1 year ago

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Love and War

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Hagenau and Germany February and April 1945

Hagenau. The place was nearly as bleak as Bastogne. The crumbling buildings were to be home to Easy Company for however long they needed to hold it for. The decaying town was dark, gloomy and vacant, any sign of life having moved on long ago. A river ran through the town, one side occupied by the Airborne and the other by the Germans. Overall, there had been little retaliation from either side, both had roofs over their heads, beds to sleep in and warm food in their bellies, why would they want to jeopardise that. Or that’s what the men thought.

“Tonight you will be going on a patrol to cross the river to retrieve German prisoners. Now the Colonel wants as many as we can and we need them to talk so don’t shoot the first thing that moves.” Captain Nelson sighed, “now I don’t want any of you taking unnecessary risks, not now, not when we’ve come this far. It’s that clear?”

An echoing chorus of ‘yes Sir’ filled the dimly lit basement.

“Good. Floyd, you're leading the patrol, picking 14 men to go with you.” Bob nodded as Captain Nelson retreated. The men looked at Bob expectantly, waiting for his decision on who would go. He hated this part, having to choose who he may be sending to their deaths, what right did he have to hold such power?

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The patrol hadn't gone to plan. Several of the replacements had been hit by mortar fire, the rounds exploding in all their excellence. Earth flying through the air as they exhibited the sheer strength of their firepower. The group managed to capture three German POWs. Coming back to the boats had been a challenge, mortars exploding around them and gunfire ringing in their ears. Bob remembered shouting, his voice drowned out by the echoing screams. He stood, watching as the others ran towards the safety of the boats. He caught Jackson’s eye, waving for him to hurry. The boys legs pounded as he ran, ducking to avoid the falling debris when the bullet ripped through him. It caught him off gaurd causing him to stop in his tracks.

“JACKSON!” Bob screamed, stepping forward towards his wounded friend. Jackson's eyes were glassy, tears trickling down his face as the crimson blood bloomed from his chest.

“Bob,” he whispered as the mortar round hit the ground by his feet. The explosion erupting beneath him. Bob blinked watching as the Earth settled where his friend had just been standing, scraps of Jackson uniform fluttering down from the dark sky.

“NOOOOO!” Bob lurched forward, cries of agony whipping from his throat. “JACKSON!” Two arms either side of Bob pulled him backwards, towards the boat, towards the shore but away from his friend.

Albert met Bob on the bank of the river as he returned.

“Are you alright? Are ya hit?” Albert asked, grabbing onto Bob and inspecting him for any signs of injuries, worried eyes darting over his friend. Bob stayed silent, his face emotionless but his eyes revealing all the pain and terror he felt.

“Bob, where's Jackson?” Albert asked, his eyes scanning the men returning behind him.

“He didn’t make it,” Bob replied blankly, pushing past the medic and up the bank towards the houses. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to go back, to stop Jackson from volunteering to go, hell if he could he’d stop him from joining the paratroopers all together.

That night remained silent, no gunfire, no explosions. It was as if both sides stopped firing in respect for their fallen comrades.

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Bob leant back against the stone pillar, the sun beating down from the clear blue sky and warming his cold bones. His eyes were closed as he daydreamed absentmindedly. He wondered what (y/n) would be doing right now. Was she sitting underneath the same sun rays? Was she hidden away somewhere in a poorly lit underground hospital? Bob was drawn from his thoughts by a shadow standing over him, blocking the sun's heat. He squinted, opening his eyes cautiously and shielding them from the bright light.

“Albert, what the hell man? Move out of the way.”

Albert just snorted at Bob’s protest, throwing himself down beside him and pulling out two cigarettes. He lit them both, offering one to Bob in silence. Bob took the cigarette, inhaling deeply as the warm, familiar feeling filled his lungs.

“They surrendered.” Albert mumbled, the cigarette in the side of his mouth wobbling as he spoke.

“Who did?”

“Three hundred thousand Krauts surrender.” Albert said, tilting his head towards Bob with a wide grin on his face. “We’re moving out in an hour.”

“Where are we heading?” Bob sat up a little, suddenly interested in what the medic had to say. “Hey, don’t leave me hanging now, Doc.”

“We’re going to the Alps?”

Bob sat bolt upright, “THE ALPS?” He exclaimed, “what the hell happened to jumping into Berlin?”

Albert snorted, taking another long drag from his cigarette, “It’s not happening. Apparently Hitler ordered the Waffen SS to hold up in the mountains and repel any invaders.”

This time Bob snorted, letting a hearty laugh rumble through his chest, it was the first genuine laugh he’d had in a while. “Invaders, huh? I like the sound of that.”

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“He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,

He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,

The silk from his reserves spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,

And he ain't gonna jump no more

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more.”

The voices of hundreds of paratroopers sang out across the German countryside as the DUKW, 2 ½ ton trucks and jeeps trundled along the dirt roads. Bob smiled as he watched the others singing but he couldn’t find it in him to sing along. Albert sat next to him, fingers drumming on his thigh to the tune.

“You know I had a letter from Mary the other day,” Albert spoke up, glancing over in Bob’s direction.

“Oh yeah, how is she?”

“She’s good. Bonnie’s gonna be three this week. My baby girls gonna be three and I’ve only seen her a handful of times.” Albert passed Bob across a small black and white photo. The picture was crumpled at the edges, bent from where Albert had nestled it above his heart in his pocket. A young smiling woman looked back at him with a young giggling child in her arms.

“She’s a beauty, Albert, they both are. I promise I’ll get you home to them.” Bob gripped Albert’s hand, squeezing it gently in a silent promise.

“I know you will,” Albert replied, watching Bob in earnest, his dark eyes flickering to Bob’s blue ones. The singing around them ceased and the two men pulled apart, suddenly aware of their closer proximity.

“I promise,” Bob repeated and Albert looked at him again.

“I know.”

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Ever since the liberation of the concentration camp in Ohrdruf, Bob’s sleep had been plagued with nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes his mind filled with the images of horror, the stench of the bodies, the sorrowful cries, the agony plastered on all the survivors faces. Their gaunt faces, sunken eyes and quivering lips played behind Bob’s eyes. He tossed and turned beneath the rough, cotton bed sheets, staring into the darkness that surrounded the sleeping soldiers. When sleep truly evaded him he would wander outside, the cool night air setting deep into his bones and causing him to shiver but nothing could compare to the frigid, biting winds of Bastogne. He would light a cigarette, taking a long drag of smoke and letting it out in an exasperated puff. Albert would often join him, lighting a cigarette of his own and the two men would stand side by side in an understanding silence. Sometimes they swore they could hear Jackson talking to them, the sound of his laughter bringing smiles to their sullen faces. But sometimes the men didn’t talk, they didn’t laugh, instead sharing a harrowing silence. Bob didn’t feel like the same man he used to be, this war had changed everyone in many ways but Bob felt old. He felt far wiser than his years and far more tired than a man of his age should ever dream of feeling. As he looked to the faces of his comrades, Bob saw himself in them too, their faces looking far older than their years. He remembered back in Toccoa, young men, barely old enough to buy a beer, all fresh faced and youthful, ready for whatever life had to throw at them but not anymore.

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To my dearest (y/n),

You would not believe the horrors we have witnessed over the last week. We came across a work camp in Ohrdruf that was holding Jews. They had separated the men from the women and children who were at another camp. I can still hear their agonising cries for help everytime I try to go to sleep. You should have seen the harrowing looks on their faces. In all of this war and the horrors I have witnessed this truly is the one that haunts me. These men were starving, left to die and all because of their religion.

I had begun to question what this war was all for, began to question why I was writing so many letters home lying to the parents of my young comrades, telling them their sons died with honour. In truth their sons died in a place they didn’t need to be in a battle over something that none of us understand. I now know the reason we fight, we fight for a better world for everyone. To rid this world of evil.

I’m fighting for you, my love, for our future and for our future children’s future.

Your face is the last thing I think about before I go to sleep every night. You are the one that keeps me going through all of this my darling and for that I am forever grateful.

I love you always

Your Bobby

(Y/n) received the letter a week after Bob had written it. She was based at a field hospital in Belgium, awaiting orders to be moved on. She sat down on the wooden steps, the sun shining brightly over the dismal landscape in some kind of mocking joy. How could the sun dare to show its face over the torment and misery that covered this land? She opened the letter quickly, her eyes scanning the crumpled, stained letter, occasionally studying a word for a little longer whilst trying to decipher the smudge letters. Her hand came to her mouth, stifling a sob as she read Bob’s words. Horrors. Death. Harrowing. Starving. Jews. The reason I fight. Bob’s words echoed through her mind, painting the images he had witnessed just a week before. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she fumbled with the ring that hung in the chain around her neck. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they had married in Paris four months previous. In that time both of them had witnessed more horrors than they could have ever imagined, and yet she still felt the hope rising in her chest every time she saw Bob’s spidery scrawl across the front of the stained envelope. He was still alive, they both were and that’s all that mattered.

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Taglist: @bradshawseresinbabe @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @flyboyjake @topguncultleader @callmemana @t-nd-rfoot @desert-fern @cherrycola27 @green-socks @jstarr86 @starkleila @alexxavicry @roostette @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mayhemmanaged @shanimallina87 @shadowsintheknight @bcon24 @cassiemitchell

#love and war #bobfloyd #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x you #robert 'bob' floyd #robert floyd fic #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd ww2 #ww2 fic #ww2au #101stairbornedivision #101st airborne

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footprintsinthesxnd · 1 year ago

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Love and War

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Austria May to August 1945

Hitler was dead. The Germans had surrendered. The war was over in Europe.

Bob’s blue eyes gazed lazily over the tranquil landscape, the birds were singing, a light breeze brushing gently through the trees, the aquamarine lake was still. Bob couldn’t believe that in all the destruction they had witnessed a beautiful scene like this lay between all of it. After all this bloodshed somehow Easy Company had ended up in this paradise. The ruckus behind Bob pulled him reluctantly from his thoughts as Albert and several of the other paratroopers came running down the path, dressed in their PT kits and barefoot.

“Come on, Bob,” Albert called, racing down to the stone jetty. The paratroopers all pulled their white T-shirts over their heads before diving into the calm water below. A chorus of hollers and whoops followed as they began to slash around in the shallows, throwing water at each other.

A joyful smile spread across Bob’s lips, his eyes shining slightly with unshed tears. This is how their lives should be, young and joyful, living full and happy lives. They all deserved this after the years of their youth that had been stolen by this god forsaken war.

“Bob, come on!” George, one of the other paratroopers hollered, his boyish grin infectious. He reminded Bob a lot of Jackson, his youthful enthusiasm making them all feel younger than their years.

“Alright, i'm coming down,” Bob called, beginning to undo his uniform jacket as he made his way down the slope and towards the jetty. He pulled his clothes off quickly, leaving himself in just his underwear before diving into the cool water below. It was colder than he expected, taking a sharp intake of air as he resurfaced, coming face to face with the smiling men around him. Bob laughed loudly, throwing water at Albert, shouting gleefully. They spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and splashing around in the waters edge. By the time Bob and Albert were sitting back on the jetty their skin was pale and wrinkled from their time in the water.

“What will you do after this?” Albert asked, eyeing Bob curiously, squinting in the late afternoon sun.

“Probably get some food, I guess,” Bob sighed, toying with the wedding band hanging from his dog tags.

Albert groaned, letting out a light laugh, “no I mean after the war, when you go home.”

“I don’t know. We don’t even know if we are going home yet. Captain Nelson said that it’s highly likely we’ll be redeployed to the Pacific.” Bob sighed, he’d love more than anything to go home, back to the States with his wife. It had been five months since he’d last seen (y/n), since he’d last held her in his arms, kissed her. Bob dreamed of the day they would be reunited, finally able to be together as man and wife should be.

“But after that, well I’m gonna go home, back to Louisiana with (y/n). We’re gonna have a big house with lots of room for all our little Floyd’s.” Bob smiled at the image, thinking of (y/n) sitting on the swinging bench on the porch, a baby in her arms while she watched their other children playing in the garden, Bob by her side.

“Me too,” Albert replied, his eyes overcast and tearful. “You know I haven’t even seen my baby girl grow up. She’s gonna be four years old before I get home to her, I missed so much.” He let out a strangled sob, burying his head in his hands. Bob was a little stunned, in all that they had been through Albert had rarely cried, never showing his true emotions. Gripping hold of the man beside him, Bob pulled him into a desperate hug, ignoring the feeling of their damp skin against each other. He pressed a small kiss to the medic hair, cradling him, rocking him slowly. Before the war Bob could never imagine having this kind of connection with another man, he’d had male friends and they’d hugged each other before but with Albert it was different. He loved him. Not in the way he loved (y/n) but he loved him and he would die for him. Albert’s tears eventually slowed, his sobs becoming quiet mumbles into Bob’s chest. “It’s ok Albert, I’m gonna get you home to them. I promised you back at Toccoa I would. I’m not about to break that promise.”

Albert looked up at him, tear stained cheeks, his bottom lip wobbling slightly.

“Thank you, Bob. Thank you for everything.”

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Bob’s knuckles wrapped on the large oak door, waiting for a reply to enter. The voice from the other side was gruff but Bob knew that was just the way Nelson spoke to everyone.

“You wanted to see me, Sir,” Bob stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He removed his cap, tucking it into the belt of his uniform before saluting the Captain.

“Floyd, take a seat.” He motioned for Bob to take a seat on the otherside of the desk, perching on the edge of the chair in anticipation. Nelson took a log sip of his coffee, savouring the taste and almost killing Bob with the suspense. “Do you know why I called you here?”

“No Sir,” Bob replied hurriedly.

“I called you here because the army has a proposition for you, a battlefield commission to make you a Lieutenant if you’d like to pursue a career in the army after the war.” Nelson spoke firmly but his eyes shone with the unspoken adoration that he had for all his men. “You have proven yourself to be an exceptional soldier and an even more exceptional man. It has been an honour to serve beside you.”

“Sir, the honour has been mine…” Bob began but Captain Nelson raised his hand, cutting off his speech.

“Now don’t be so modest now, Sergeant. Now I understand that you have a wife, correct.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And I’m sure you are desperate to return to her.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But this is a great opportunity and one that I would not wish for you to pass over lightly but I do understand your situation. I haven’t seen my wife and daughters for God knows how long. I have missed much of their childhood and I would not wish that on any man.”

Bob nodded in agreement, he already knew his answer. “Truthfully Sir, I am honoured but I have fought long and hard for my country, I have bled and lost friends for my country and I would really like to go home to my wife.”

Captain Nelson nodded, “I suspected as much and honestly I cannot blame you. I wish you and your wife a long and happy life full of peace. Happy VJ Day Sergeant Floyd, you're going home.”

“Sir, is it… really?” Bob stared back in disbelief.

“Yes Bob, the war is over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @bradshawseresinbabe @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @flyboyjake @topguncultleader @callmemana @t-nd-rfoot @desert-fern @cherrycola27 @green-socks @jstarr86 @starkleila @alexxavicry @roostette @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mayhemmanaged @shanimallina87 @shadowsintheknight @bcon24 @cassiemitchell @genius2050

#love and war #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #ww2 fic #ww2 au #101st airborne #101stairbornedivision

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footprintsinthesxnd · 2 years ago

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Love and War

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Ardennes Offensive - Bastogne December 1944

On the silver screen, John Wayne dressed in his Naval whites and Marlene Dietrich conversed, their figures dancing across the cracked wall as the projector shone the bright light onto it. Bob’s eyes followed the moving pictures thoughtlessly, his mind too busy with the prospect of a weekend with his wife. (Y/n) was currently stationed at a hospital near Paris, to Bob’s great relief. It meant that she was safe, she was reasonably out of harm's way. Miller and Jackson sat on either side of him, both their eyes trained on the makeshift movie screen.

“This film sucks, I’ve seen it before,” Jackson grumbled, earning a harsh shhh from the paratroopers in front of him. Jackson snapped his mouth shut, sinking into his chair with a pout on his young face. The lights above their head flickered on, the movie coming to a stop as two Lieutenants marched down between the aisles of chairs, ignoring the protests gc from the men. Lieutenant Nelson, who had been sat to the left of Bob, had his lips set in a hard, thin line, eyebrows furrowed as if he knew the impending doom that was going to be thrust upon them.

“Elements of the 1st and the 6th Panzer division have broken through in the Ardennes forest. Now they have broken through the 28th infantry and elements of the 4th. All officers report to respective HQs, all passes are cancelled.” A loud eruption of complaints filled the hall, all cursing, swearing, and praying to god. Bob felt his heart sink into his stomach, feeling the letter he'd written to y/n nestled in his breast pocket, waiting to be sent. He’d been relieved to see her again in Paris, while the other men were excited to blow some cash all he wanted to do was hold her close and know that for just that moment she was safe.

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The trucks tumbled along the dark roads, rocking back and forth over potholes and shaking the paratroopers that occupied them. The men huddled together in a desperate attempt to share their warmth, the frigid conditions caused a domino effect of shivers. Bob’s breath fanned across his face, icy droplets freezing nearly in mid-air and casting a mist over his face with each exhale. One man was passing a cigarette around, each man taking a long drag before passing it on to the next, the warm smoke filling their lungs, creating a small sense of comfort. The convoy shuddered to a halt and the soldiers hopped out, Bob suppressed a cry as his frozen feet hit the already-frozen ground. Thick snow poured over the edge of his boots, dampening his socks and causing him to shudder. Around them small fires appeared as fellow soldiers poured petrol into holes, lighting them to add some warmth to the glacial landscape, small furnaces of hope amongst the dismay atmosphere.

“I’m freezing my ass off already,” Jackson grumped, digging his hands deeper into his ODs pockets.

“You and me both,” Albert replied, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Bob just hummed in response, too cold to even find a reply.

“Let’s get moving. We’re in for a cold one, Boys.” Captain Nelson called out, ushering the paratroopers forward.

“But Sir, we’re gonna be surrounded.” A replacement private called out, his uniform new and shiny and he looked youthful, fresh-faced which is something many of the young men had lost.

“We’re paratroopers son, we’re meant to be surrounded.”

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Bright crimson seeped through the once-white crisp sheets, spreading the red stain deep into the fabric. The sheets that just moments before had held a soldier fighting for his life, as (y/n) worked tirelessly to stop the fountain of blood surging from his artery as the medic placed clamps in an attempt to stem the bleeding. It had been so pointless really to try and save him, he was long gone before he reached the medics' tent, his blood strewn across the crisp, white snow outside, but if you don’t try then you don’t know. Each of these men had fought in honour of their country and this man deserved to die safe and somewhat warm rather than in a foxhole in the dark somewhere. Or that’s what she told herself, gathering up the bloody sheets that had dried brown and crispy.

Screams of pain filled the aid station and (y/n) tried her best to block out the agonising wails of the men she passed, as if she could not hear them, as if it were a silent theatre production. When she first arrived in the field she had been left shaken and terrified, but as (y/n) worked and gained confidence as a nurse she grew used to the screams, the agony, the thick iron scent that filled her nostrils and the blood that dried sticky to her hands, the never-ending death that surrounded everyone.

The rain had started about half an hour ago and it echoed above her head on the canvas sheet, much softer than the gunfire just hours before. The sound of shelling in the distance and the occasional flash of gunfire reminded (y/n) of just how close to the battlefield she was, and as she stepped outside the scene of bloodshed continued. The battlefield lay quiet, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. Their corpses lay among the debris of the battle, deep craters littered the area and the ground was slick with rain and blood. A bitter wind swept across the clearing, causing her to shiver, gritting her teeth as she walked along the risen, wooden platforms to the wash tent. (Y/n) abandoned the bloody sheets with one of her fellow nurses, (y/n) didn’t think she’d be able to remove the stains, but knew she would try. They were running low on supplies, so stained sheets were better than nothing.

(Y/n’s) dress blew around her ankles as she walked back to the aid station, the night would be long and with the continued shelling she knew more casualties would be arriving soon. Taking a moment to stop outside the tent, she leaned against the large wooden pole that supported the air station and sighed. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to breathe in the cold night air, placing a hand on her chest so she could feel the frantic beat of her heart beneath her fingers. Her ragged breaths let out steamy puffs of air into the darkness, rising above her like the smoke from the various fires dotted around the battlefield. (Y/n) moved to the left as another group of soldiers approached the aid station, carrying a wounded comrade between them. She could tell from the way he hung limp in their arms, face pale that he was dead but they hurried past her, fear evident on their faces, but the hint of hope in their eyes driving them forward.

She looked out across the scene of devastation, eyes drifting over the fallen soldiers, discarded weapons and rubble. Her eyes drifted to a figure that was hovering in the tree line, he took a seat beside one of the trees, his back hitting the tree with a thud as he slid down the bark to plant himself by the roots. His shoulders sagged and he was bent over, cradling his head in the palms of his hands. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d last seen Bob since he’d last held her in his arms since he’d last kissed her. It had been just two months since their wedding and yet it felt like years had passed. When she was first stationed in Bastogne (y/n) knew he was close by and dug in a foxhole somewhere in the Ardennes but to actually see him in front of her made her heart sore and she felt lightheaded.

When they had first met, his blond hair had been neatly parted and gelled down, silver framed glasses balanced on his nose, but now his face was weathered, covered in grime and blood, his blond hair in disarray and his glasses long since broken or lost. His once clean uniform was now scruffy and worn and the ‘screaming eagle’ insignia was barely visible under the layers of dirt. His helmet rested on the log beside him, the white spade emblem glowing against its dark background. (Y/n) pushed herself away from the tent and followed the wooden pathway towards the woods. The path didn’t follow the whole way to the trees and soon she was trudging through the copper-coloured mud, her boots slipping and sliding as she tried to keep her balance.

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Bob sat on the fallen tree, silently cursing the cold, cursing East Company’s new commander, having had Nelson promoted they were stuck with an inexperienced Lieutenant, cursing the Germans, cursing the whole damn war. He swore under his breath as his frozen fingers caught against the rough tree bark. All of his cursing was silent or mere whispers, as first Sergeant it was his job to keep up the morale amongst the men, a job that was becoming increasingly difficult as they were bombarded with shelling every night. It was during those nights when Bob was huddled deep in his foxhole with Jackson that he thought of you. He longed to see (y/n) again, your wedding feeling like an eternity ago when neither of them had any care in the world, for those three glorious days it was just the two of them. It hit him hard and suddenly - with a deep ache in his chest. He seemed to long for her more now than he ever had before. She had been his rock since Toccoa and now when times were at their toughest he craved her embrace.

Bob placed his hand on his chest, feeling (y/n’s) picture in his breast pocket, it was crumpled and worn, the corners curling over from the hours Bob had spent lovingly looking at her, running his thumb over her face. He needed a new picture, the one from his wedding day. He remembered the photographer telling them both to look at the camera and smile, as if they both weren’t beaming at each other, unable to drag his eyes away from his new wife. He would never forget how beautiful she looked, her makeshift wedding dress hugging her curves perfectly, her hair neatly pinned and her lips blessed with a splash of red lipstick. Bob let out a sigh, a small smile gracing his lips as his mind began to wander, too distracted to notice the approaching figure.

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Bob’s head whipped around as she approached, his shoulders tensed, his eyes scanning the darkness.

“Flash?” He called out, waiting for her reply to know if she was an ally or the enemy.

“Thunder,” (y/n) called out in reply, watching as Bob visibly relaxed as she replied with the correct countersign.

“Welcome,” he stood as she approached him, a wide smile gracing his lips, as she grinned back at him.

“Doll,” he cradled her face lovingly between his hands, running his thumb across her cheek so delicately as if she would crumble and disappear. (Y/n) knew he was trying to memorize her features like he did every time he saw her, it was as if he feared that each time would always be the last.

“Hey love,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she sunk into his embrace. His eyes raked over her frame, not in the hungry way that most of the men did but with a small smile. Her hand cradled the back of his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck before pulling him down, her lips connected with his chapped ones. The kiss was tender yet passionate, full of the loving embrace that (y/n) had been longing for so long and that her letters just couldn’t convey. He pulled away briefly, his hot breath ghosting her skin bringing (y/n) back to the present as his lips began to press along her ear and neck.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispered, his blue eyes shining in the dim light with unshed tears.

“I missed you too, Bobby,” she swooped your thumb across his cheek, brushing away his tears. He pulled her down onto the log beside him, his arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders as he held her as if his life depended on it. Bob’s hand brushed over the stack of papers beside him, not daring to look down at them.

“What are you doing out here, Bobby?” (Y/n) asked, watching as his eyes drifted to the paper and pen in front of him, thumbing them between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m writing letters home.”

“Oh, are you writing to your family? How are they keeping? ” She grinned at him, she wanted a distraction, so to hear the odd story from home was always welcome. (Y/n) couldn’t wait to meet his family when all this was over and when they could escape this hell together.

“I’m writing letters to my fallen comrades’ families, I feel I owe them that much. The army sends them the same bullshit condolences letters, but they didn’t know them, not like I did. I knew each and every man, where they came from, their hobbies, they were my brothers,” his voice was thick with emotion and tears brimmed in his eyes, threatening to fall. “You know it’s Christmas soon, hell they’ll probably get these letters right before Christmas.”

“I know you did, Love, I know,” (y/n) let her fingers trace the grimy marks along his neck, trailing loosely along the metal chain of his dog tags.

She looked on slowly as Bob tried to compose himself.

“I understand your pain, I watch the soldiers come back from the front blown to pieces and littered with bullet holes. It is heart-wrenching, to hear their screams of agony. Time and time again they cry for their mothers, and I can’t help them.”

Bob placed his hand under her chin, lifting it so he could look into her eyes. His eyes held all the woes of the world, the pain, the devastation, the love.

He wrapped his large outer coat around her shoulders, trying to shelter her from the cold. (Y/n) let out a strangled sob, her hand fisting into his jacket.

Bob pressed his lips to her hair, murmuring softly. “Don’t you dare think you don’t make a difference? All the men that have been returned to my company after being cared for by you and your fellow nurses speak so highly of you. You bring them comfort in their time of need and you love them in their final moments. The calm you bring is a gift from God. Don’t ever think you don’t make a difference. I may be their brother but you are their angel in the darkest times. You're my angel.”

Bob poured his heart out to her, confessing his feelings as she watched him carefully for any sign of lie as he spoke, but his face never changed, his eyebrows knitted in a firm line, lips moving softly as he spoke.

“It is not a gift. God would not give so much pain,” (y/n) sniffed. “You know you’re kind of my angel too,” she rubbed her hand over her cheeks. “I’ve been blaming myself for so long, every man we lost, each death has stayed with me and I can’t keep it bottled up anymore.”

“You don’t have to, you don’t have to, Doll. I’m here just like you’re here for me. Please don’t ever blame yourself.” Bob cupped her cheek in his large hand, his rough, calloused thumb brushing against her soft skin.

“Then don’t blame yourself either, Bob. I’ve seen how you are with your men, you’d do anything for them.”

Bob nodded, a small smile gracing his chapped lips.

“Would you like some help writing those letters? I know I didn’t know your men that well, but I may have been with them at the end. I know what they said.” (Y/n) took Bob’s hand in hers, running her fingers delicately over his cracked knuckles and squeezing his hand comfortingly.

“I’d like that very much.” She huddled closer on the log, Bob pulled the bag of dog tags from his pocket, fishing out one at a time to go through the names.

With each name, (y/n’s) heart wrenched at the thought of their poor mothers, girlfriends and wives receiving the heartbreaking news. It made her think of her brother, he was in the Marines fighting in the Pacific Theatre. She wrote to him, telling him all about Bob and he couldn’t wait to meet him when all this was over, but the thought of receiving a letter like this for him or Bob only brought further tears.

She dreaded receiving a letter like that from Albert telling her that Bob was gone. (Y/n) couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to receive that doomed letter. Bob must have seen her worried expression because he took her face between his hands.

“I’m here, Doll and I’m not going anywhere. I love you,” he admitted, his eyes watching hers for any flicker of rejection but there was none. You smiled brightly at him, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his lips. “I love you too.”

Bob pressed his lips to hers, his fingers stroking through her bloody, matted hair, as she held onto the collar of his uniform, gripping it in desperation. His tongue ran along her lips and she gave in, letting his tongue dance with her own. She only pulled away when they had both run out of air, an embarrassed smile on Bob’s lips, his cheeks tinted pink. “I’m so glad I married you.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. “I’m so glad I made you mine.”

She sighed at his words, eyes closed, imagining their future together, a house of their own, living normal lives, maybe they would have a dog, maybe they would have a baby.

“I can’t wait to start our lives together, Bobby.” She admitted and felt his lips press against her neck once more. She wanted to stay like this forever but her hand brushed against the papers on Bob’s lap and she realised that they had a lot of work ahead of them.

“Well we better get back to writing those letters hadn't we, 1st Sergeant,” she smiled at him, taking the pen and paper from his grip. He smiled back at her, as she used his ‘new’ rank. The last time she had seen Bob he’d completely forgotten to mention his promotion, too caught up in his newlywed bliss. It wasn’t until she received a letter from him several weeks later that she found out. (Y/n) was so proud of him, Bob had proved himself time and time again.

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Between them, there were 18 letters written and sealed, ready to send to the awaiting families. (Y/n) looked up at Bob to see a relieved smile on his lips. “I may not have been able to help them in life, but at least I can bring their families some comfort in grief.” She squeezed Bob’s hand gently before standing and straightening her dress.

“Well, I better be going back. My patients need me,” she smiled apologetically at Bob, but he just smiled back.

“Please don’t go,” Bob pleaded, his watery eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“I’ll come back, my love, I promise but I have to go now.” She rubbed her hand over his cheek once more before stepping away, following the muddy path back towards the aid station, where she was met with the sounds of agonised screams. Taking a deep breath before entering the tent, Bob’s words rang in her mind as she hurried down between the isles of beds towards the medics.

“HOLD HIM DOWN!” Albert Miller shouted as she wrapped her arms over the wounded soldier. “Give him morphine,” Albert instructed and (y/n) grabbed the shot, injecting the medication into the soldier's leg. He groaned in agony, but slowly his movements slowed and he looked up at her, teary-eyed and with a toothy grin, “Are you an angel?” He asked, his voice weak as he feebly attempted to reach out to her.

“I am, Sweetheart, and I’m going to look after you.” He gazed up at her in awe, his eyes slowly closing as the morphine took effect. The medics began to work on his wound as (y/n) cradled his hand for a moment longer. She was going to look after him and Bob was right, to these men she was an angel.

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footprintsinthesxnd · 2 years ago

Text

Love and War

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Mourmelon- le- grand and Paris, December 1944

Bob couldn’t believe his luck when Easy Company had been given passes to Paris for some down time. They had been fighting hard and morale was low. The boys missed home, they missed their families and the death that surrounded them on a daily basis was taking its toll on everyone. Captain Nelson had approached the men at the bar on the outskirts of Mourmelon-le-grand, France where they were spending their evening relaxing after a hard day's training. It had been a relief being pulled from the front line for a while, but the training was nearly as bad as Toccoa.

A round of laughter from a table nearby drew Bob’s attention momentarily. A small smile tugged on the corners of his lips in response. It had been far too long since the men of Easy Company were surrounded by laughter, having lost their carefree attitudes. A screen of smoke filled the bar, creating a fumy and filmy haze like looking through a dirty window. Bob sat in a corner with Albert discussing the day's events whilst the cries from Private Jackson could be heard as he lost yet another game of darts to a Sergeant from Dog Company.

“The kid never learns,” Albert mumbled, taking a long swig from his beer glass, leaning back further in his chair until it was rocking on just two legs. Bob nodded in agreement, taking a drink from his own glass and allowing the weak, amber liquid to slide down his throat, bringing some ease to his nerves.

“ATTENTION!” All the men stood to attention, backs straight, hands flat to their sides.

“At ease gentlemen,” Captain Nelson spoke, his voice smooth and level. “I bring good news, you've all been granted a 4 day pass to Paris for some R and R. You've been working hard and the Colonel has decided to be generous. Now, I know that the fine men of Easy Company are always on their best behavouir,” a small smirk appeared on the Captain’s face as the room erupted with laughter. “But try to stay out of trouble, I don't want any extra paperwork. Your passes are from tomorrow so tonight enjoy yourselves boys, you've earned it.”

The room soon filled with cheers and the sound of glasses clinking together, laughter and utter joy. Bob stood quickly, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, without a second glance.

“Hey, where are you going? Dont leave me with this drunken rabble,” Miller whined, watching as Bob retreated through the sea of bustling bodies, all swaying drunkenly.

“I have to write to (y/n). I'll see you later,” Bob shouted back, not bothering to turn around as he headed for the exit to the bar.

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To my darling (y/n),

How I’ve missed you, my love. Things here have been tough. We’ve lost a lot of good men and morale has been low. Albert is suffering, I think it’s finally taking its toll on him. I’ve tried to reach out to him but he’s become closed off and distant. In truth, I am worried for him. Anytime we lose someone I can’t help but think at least it wasn’t me. I fear I have become too used to the atrocities I have witnessed, I fear I am not the same man that you agreed to marry.

Nelson has managed to get Easy Company a 3-day pass to Paris, I believe he’s hoping to raise our spirits seeing the city but honestly, I think we will all be spending a lot of time in bed catching up on some much-needed rest. We are due to arrive in Paris next Wednesday and I would dearly love it if you could join me. I miss you so much my darling.

Please let me know your answer. I look forward to seeing you in the city of love, Doll.

Yours always

Bobby

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In truth, East Company had received a 4-day pass to Paris but Bob didn’t want (y/n) to arrive before he’d dragged a reluctant Albert around nearly every damn jeweller's store in the city looking for the perfect ring.

“What do you need my help for?” Albert had asked, bleary-eyed, his southern accent thick and raspy from sleep, as he propped himself up in his cot, watching Bob curiously.

“Because you’re already married and you’re good friends with (y/n),” Bob continued, not raising his eyes as he spoke and continued to pack his kit bag. Albert groaned, rolling back onto his side and bringing his pillow up to cover his head. “Go to bed, Bob,” he warned. Bob knew he was being a little forward considering he hadn’t officially asked her yet but he couldn’t help himself, his mind already racing with the thought of their future together.

Easy Company were catching the train to Paris, its carriages rocking precariously along the track as they neared the city. Bob’s leg bounced the whole way and Albert’s exasperated groans could be heard from time to time as Bob reeled off verbal diarrhoea about the scenery in an attempt to calm himself.

As the train pulled into the station there was a rush of shouting, as the wave of brown uniform-clad soldiers departed the train, pushing and shoving in the most unorthodox fashion. The streets of Paris were packed, bustling street stalls, soldiers crowded coffee shops, women dressed in flowing summer dresses, hair pinned to perfection and their lips dashed with red lipstick grinned at the men as they funnelled out of the station. Bob could hear a radio in the distance playing softly, the melodic tones of Vera Lynn filling his ears as the scene unfolded in front of him. Jackson disappeared into the crowd with some of the other paratroopers, heading to the nearest bar. Next to him, he could hear Albert talking to him, sounding far more bubbly than he had during the train journey.

“Floyd? Floyd, you with me?” Albert shook his shoulder a little, bringing Bob’s attention back to the brown-haired medic.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

Albert grinned, “Good, because we’ve got to find your girl a ring.”

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“Well I think it’s safe to say we’ve been to every jewellery shop in Paris,” Albert sighed, sinking onto the mattress with a sigh.

Bob didn’t reply, too busy staring down at the small diamond ring in front of him, the stone glistening in the candlelight.

“Yeah I think you’re right,” Bob replied plainly, he was barely paying attention as Albert continued to talk. The thought of (y/n) walking down the aisle wanting to spend the rest of her life with him was something Bob couldn’t even have imagined in his wildest dreams. A smile stayed firmly on his lips as he slept that night.

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(Y/n)‘s train arrived early the following morning, she’d been nervous the entire time, leg bouncing nervously. She wrung her hands together, picking worriedly at her broken nails trying to remove any remnant of the blood that seemed to stain deeper than just skin thick. There was a feeling in her gut that said, "no," but another in her heart that said, "yes." She loved Bob deeply but she feared for him, having seen so many men suffer and lose themselves to this war.

She stepped onto the platform with the rest of the passengers, her small bag held tightly in her hand as she ducked and weaved between the people and the smoke. The sun was shining brightly despite it being December, but there was a fierce chill in the air blowing her dress around the bottom of her knees as her shoes clicked on the pavements, following the crowds from the station. Once outside her face split into a grin, spotting two paratroopers staring in their dress uniform and leaning against the brick wall. Albert Miller looked the same as ever, his brown hair neatly gelled, his chin slightly stubbly and a cigarette wobbling from the edge of his mouth as he spoke. Bob on the other hand stood taller than before, his shoulders squared, not a hair out of place. He looked so very different to the Sargent you had held in your arms while he sobbed all those nights ago in the hospital. He had grown and matured much since Aldbourne and (y/n) couldn‘t help but run towards the men. Bob turned, hearing her footsteps approaching, he hurried towards her, scooping her with ease into her arms and spun her around, grinning uncontrollably. (Y/n) squealed as Bob turned around, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured as he set her down, not daring to let her go.

“I missed you too, Bobby,” (y/n) could feel tears leaking down her face as she pulled back to look at her fiancé, seeing his cheeks damp with tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bob caressed her cheek lovingly, wiping away her tears as he placed his chapped lips ever so gently against her own.

A small cough from behind them brought the lovers‘ attention to Albert, who awkwardly stood behind them, a dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks.

“I don’t mean to interrupt this touching reunion but I’m starving,” he admitted sheepishly. You broke out into a fit of laughter, pulling away from Bob and hurrying to greet Albert also.

“Well that will never do, come Albert let us find some food.”

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(Y/n) gazed down at the small diamond ring on her finger. It didn’t yet feel real that this was finally happening, she was marrying the love of her life, in the city of love, in the middle of the war. Although she’d already told Bob yes, he’d proposed again anyway.

“I want to do this properly,” he’d told her, having already sent a letter to her parents who had given their blessing and only asked for a picture of their daughter in a wedding dress in return. Bob had promised her the world and even though all she wanted was him, he’d made sure that everything was accounted for.

“I could only afford one ring but I promise as soon as we’re back in the States I’ll buy us both wedding bands to make it official,” he promised, his hand cupping her cheek as he kissed her more passionately in the privacy of their hotel room.

(Y/n’s) head suddenly shot up, the realisation of a vital piece of equipment for their wedding was missing.

“Bob, I have nothing to wear,” (y/n) exclaimed, the nervous feeling building in the pit of her stomach, churning mercilessly as she looked at Bob, desperate for him to find an answer.

“Fear not my Sweets,” Bob appeared from the other room revealing a simple but beautifully elegant white silk dress. (Y/n) grasped hold of the fabric, running her fingers of the delicate, hand sewed seam, the occasional stitch as a little longer or slightly more space than others, but you’d never be able to tell.

“How did you afford this, Bob? It’s real silk!” (Y/n) exclaimed, her eyes wide at the thought of Bob spending a fortune on a dress she would only wear once.

“Do not worry, my Love,” he placed his hands on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. “It merely cost me two packets of smokes and a huge favour owed to Albert.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, her brow furrowed and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“One of the Privates still had his reserve parachute from the jump into Holland, I traded him two packets of cigarettes for it and Albert did the rest.” Bob smiled proudly at his achievement as your face morphed into one of complete shock.

“Albert Miller sowed my wedding dress for me?”

“He sure did, Darlin’ and he’s gonna be there tomorrow to give you away should you wish him to.”

“Well how can I say no to that offer,” (y/n) beamed up at her fiancé, she didn’t think she could smile anymore, her cheeks hurting from the effort but her heart swelled.

“I love you, Sergeant Floyd.”

“I love you too, soon to be Mrs Floyd.” Bob leant down to kiss his fiancée but she pulled away, placing her hands onto his chest and pushing him towards the door.

“Now go, it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“But…” Bob went to protest, but Albert was already behind him.

“Come on lover boy, you're bunking with me tonight. I'll see you in the morning, (y/n).”

“Goodnight Albert, take good care of my boy.”

“Always,” Albert smirked, dragging a reluctant Bob down the gloomy corridor to their own room, the candlelight dancing, casting shadows of the two men as they retreated.

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Hot lips pressed a searing kiss to her neck, hands grabbing at the delicate silk fabric that adorned her body, her once neatly pinned hair was disheveled and hung loose around her shoulders.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you my love, but don’t stop,” she gasped as Bob sunk his teeth into the sensitive skin at the base of her throat.

“You’ve gotten into me, Darlin’,” he sounded amused, which irritated her slightly. She felt so needy, desperate for him to stop his incessant teasing. His ego and self-confidence was driving her mad but she couldn’t do anything about it because she wanted him just as badly. The shy and quiet private she had met in Toccoa was long gone, the Sergeant that stood in front of her was out for blood.

“Bobby, please,” she whined, pressing her hips against his crotch and eliciting a loud moan from him.

“Darlin’, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to hold back,” he warned her. She could tell he was at the end of his tether, all she had to do was push him a little further. His lips brushed over her skin below her jaw and she had to clenched her hands in fists so she wouldn’t let out a moan. Bob’s hands traveled down her body, squeezed her backside. It took everything in her not to shake under his touch. It wasn‘t like they hadn’t been in this situation before, they had plenty of times, but this time it was different, this time they were man and wife.

Bob lifted her up and set her on the desk. He positioned himself between her legs leaning closer with each second. Their breaths mingled in a haze of lust as they looked at each other. Bob let out an animalistic groan, his pupils blown, lips moist and plump from the passionate make out session they’d had in the hallway. (Y/n) swallowed audibly. She licked her lips slowly while looking directly into his deep blue eyes. Y/N slided his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Her fingers painted different shapes on his chest and abdomen, her fingers stopping once she got to the zip of his trousers.

“You aren’t gonna make me beg, are you my love?” Bob smirked, shuffling the dress up her legs and running his bare hands over her thighs. His right hand immediately went down and he gently stroked the silky fabric that was separating him from her entrance. (Y/n) squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her nails digging into the table beneath her.

“I want to hear you, darlin’. Moan for me Sweetheart.” Bob whispered against her ear, his lips moving to her neck. He placed little kisses everywhere until he stopped at one place where he sucked on her soft skin.

“God-” she breathed out and ran her hand in his hair, messing up his blond locks. Y/N felt Bob move her underwear to the side and he stroked her clit for the first time, causing her to jolt off the table.

“Stop teasing me,” she whined between her quiet moans as she leaned closer to him, head pressed into his shoulder. Bob ran his hand down her back soothingly and smiled against her skin, satisfied with himself. He began to caress her clit more frequently but not enough for her to come.

“Bob please.”

“Alright Doll, alright. I’ve got you.” Bob scooped her up into his arms, cradling her lovingly against his chest. Carrying her through to the bedroom he lay her down on the soft sheets, stroking the loose strands of hair from her face.

“I love you,” he smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, deep blue eyes so full of love.

“I love you too,” (y/n) reached out for him, pulling him in for another gentle kiss, lips brushing barley against each other. Bob pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in hot breaths.

“This was the best day of my life,” he admitted, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “My beautiful wife.”

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