#regimental stripe

[wstevenphotography]

Summer, Tried & True…

[sgtgrunt0331-3]

On June 5, 1944, two members of the ‘Filthy Thirteen’ with the 101st Airborne Division, Clarence Ware applies war paint to Charles Plauda, before jumping into Normandy.

The Filthy Thirteen was the name given to the 1st Demolition Section of the Regimental Headquarters Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. They were ordered to secure or destroy the bridges over the Douve River during the Normandy Invasion of Europe in June 1944. Half were either killed, wounded or captured, but they accomplished their mission.

This unit was best known for the famous photo which appeared in Stars and Stripes, showing two members wearing Indian-style “mohawks” and applying war paint to one another. The inspiration for this came from unit sergeant Jake McNiece, who was part Choctaw.

[scrapironflotilla]

Second Lieutenant Harold Hemming on selecting NCOs from the recruits of the 12th West Yorkshire Regiment:

“There was no use picking out a few bright-looking chaps and telling them that they were corporals, for there was no way of indicating their rank. We did not even have brassards with stripes on them that they could wear over their coat sleeves. So I counted the men who had moustaches and found that I had just enough, so I made them all lance-corporals there and then …"

The British Army in WW1, a wonder of modern organisation.

[balladofthe101st]

The other men of the company admired Winters for his jovial and modest attitude – Sobel believed Winters would use this affection to his advantage and usurp him from his commanding position, though this was not Winters’ aim. Winters did doubt Sobel’s ability to effectively lead the company in battle – a fear which other men in the company shared. Sobel attempted to have Winters court-martialed twice, but was unsuccessful on both occasions. So devoted were the men of the 506th to Winters that many complained of the unfair treatment of Winters by Sobel and delivered ultimatums that Sobel be replaced or they would surrender their stripes to the regimental commander of the unit, Colonel Robert Sink.

[eddiespornstache]

Buddietommy family beach day

Buck and Christopher scheming trying to decide whether they should try to team up with Tommy to bury Eddie in the sand or team up with Eddie to do it to Tommy

Eddie just wants to read his book (it’s one of those romance novels with a cartoon couple on the cover he’s finally comfortable taking out in public As A Man)

Tommy really wants one or both of his boyfriends to tell him he looks good in his new aviators

Clipboard Buck has a regimented sunscreen application schedule but he’s so focused on making sure the others adhere to it that it’s him with the peeling pink nose and cheeks at the end of the day

Tommy is in charge of the playlist. Christopher likes to tease him about his old man music

Buck insisted on the rainbow stripes beach umbrella. He was not able to convince Eddie and Tommy to wear rainbow trunks

They get burgers and fries from a beachfront restaurant and a seagull steals Only Eddie’s Fries

Tommy enjoys picking up shell fragments and sea glass so Buck can tell him about them. Buck enjoys hiding them all in Eddie’s pockets when he’s not paying attention

Eddie and Tommy split an ice cream. Buck thinks it’s terribly sweet but could never have been convinced to share a cone himself. Christopher got four scoops because Tommy was paying (as Christopher’s not-dad he has the hardest time saying no). Good thing Eddie and Buck have a hard time saying no to Tommy

Eddie can sit back and watch Buck (gamely) and Tommy (griping good humoredly about how he’s too old for this) chase Christopher in the waves and think about how much he loves them, and think about Shannon with peace instead of regret, and feel the most comfortable in his own head that he’s ever been

(Eddie’s the one who gets buried in the sand)

[whencyclopedia]

Erwin Rommel

Erwin Rommel (1891-1944) was a German field marshal who gained fame as a tank commander in the Fall of France in 1940 and then as the commander of the Afrika Korps in North Africa, where he gained numerous victories. Known as the 'Desert Fox' for his daring tactics, Rommel was obliged to commit suicide when suspected of involvement in the plot to kill the leader of Nazi Germany Adolf Hitler (1889-1945).

Early Life

Erwin Rommel was born into a middle-class family on 15 November 1891 in Heidenheim an der Brenz, southern Germany. His father was a mathematics teacher, a subject Erwin showed a talent for when he was not cycling and skiing. Keen to study engineering and perhaps join the Zeppelin airship company, Erwin ended up joining the army in July 1910, specifically, the 6th Württemberg/124th Infantry Regiment. In the German system, future officers joined the ranks to gain their first experience of military life. Rommel earned his sergeant stripes and an insight into the private's life, which would serve him well as a commander throughout his career. Completing his officer's training at the War Academy of Danzig (modern Gdańsk) in early 1912, Lieutenant Rommel served in the infantry regiment he had first joined in 1910.

By the time the First World War (1914-18) broke out, Rommel was a platoon leader. One biographer memorably describes the young officer as "the perfect fighting animal, cold, cunning, ruthless, untiring, quick of decision, incredibly brave" (quoted in Boatner III, 462). During the conflict, Rommel won both the 2nd and 1st class versions of the Iron Cross. He was next assigned to a special group of mountain troops where he served as a company commander. Here he learnt the value of mobility in modern warfare. For his role in capturing Monte Matajur near Caporreto in the Italian Alps in October 1917, Rommel gained another medal, this time the Pour le Mérite (Prussia's highest decoration), one of only two he would proudly wear for the rest of his life, the other being the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds (the highest German decoration). By now a captain, Rommel saw out the war as a staff officer.

Continue reading...

[look-sharp-notes]

Боевой путь легендарного полка "Нормандия-Неман" начался 5 апреля 1943 года. Правда, тогда полк еще был эскадрильей, которая называлась просто – "Нормандия". Свое имя подразделение получило неслучайно. Нормандия — наиболее пострадавшая от германской оккупации французская провинция, а название "Неман" добавилось позже, после успешной операции на реке Неман в 1944 году. Французы летали на советских истребителях "Як". Их украшали красные звезды, но между винтом и кабиной с обеих сторон каждой машины были нанесены по три цветные полосы – синяя, белая и красная (цвета французского триколора). В июне 1945 года французские летчики на 41 боевом самолете Як-3, переданном Советским Союзом в дар Франции, вылетели на родину. Во Франции пилоты "Нормандии-Неман" эксплуатировали эти истребители до 1947 года. Один из самолетов Як-3, на которых воевали асы легендарного авиаполка, сейчас хранится в Национальном музее авиации и космонавтики в Ле Бурже.

The combat path of the legendary Normandie-Niemen regiment began on April 5, 1943. True, at that time the regiment was still a squadron, which was simply called Normandie. The unit received its name for a reason. Normandy was the French province that suffered the most from the German occupation, and the name "Niemen" was added later, after a successful operation on the Neman River in 1944. The French flew Soviet Yak fighters. They were decorated with red stars, but between the propeller and the cockpit on both sides of each machine were three colored stripes - blue, white and red (the colors of the French tricolor). In June 1945, French pilots flew home on 41 Yak-3 combat aircraft, donated by the Soviet Union to France. In France, Normandie-Niemen pilots operated these fighters until 1947. One of the Yak-3 aircraft flown by the aces of the legendary air regiment is now kept in the National Museum of Aviation and Space in Le Bourget.

[hubbahubbabluelock]

Kisses <3

part one

ft. Chigiri, Raichi, and Kunigami, and a reminder that I'm a new blog looking for more requests <3

Hyoma Chigiri + shoulder/back kisses

Chigiri loves you and comes to you with everything eventually, but sometimes he can't help falling back into old habits. He'll pull away, distance himself, prepare to minimize himself and his needs... Anything to keep your own smile intact. He reminds you of a cat in a way, finding somewhere to burrow and hide instead of crying out.

The dissatisfaction and self-loathing coming off of him one day after practice shocks you. He's quick to dart past you, eyes downcast and without a word when you ask how it went today. All you hear is the slamming of the bathroom door before you're even done speaking. Well, looks like you'll have to go to the kitty yourself then.

He still doesn't say anything when you enter, but when you ask if he'd like company he nudges the glass door open right away. When you step in you can see the leftover dirt and whatnot swirling down the drain, and Hyoma just resting his forehead against the wall. You gently pull him back towards you into a hug, wrapping both your arms around him to push your face into your back. When he reaches up to squeeze your hands, you press a sweet kiss right in the middle between his shoulder blades.

"I'm here when you're ready, honey."

You press another, longer one into his skin and he shudders, melting into you. One of his hands reaches back to comb through your hair, pressing your face against him.

"Will you wash my hair? Please?" It's so quiet, so defeated, but that's okay- it's a start. You kiss his back a few more times under the warm water before reaching for his shampoo.

Jingo Raichi + overwhelming kisses

His mouth is on yours, hot and wanting and greedy, and you can still hear the others laughing and chatting in the locker room showers. When you whine and push back, he just growls at you and yanks you back by the hair. You're so pretty like this, he thinks, all flushed and needy for him against the lockers. He loves the way you look at him all needy and begging. You act so worried about his teammates, but you still have one leg wrapped around his hips to keep him close...

"Jingoooo," you whimper. "Someone is gonna he-"

He dives in, lips and teeth and tongue working across your delicate neck while he cups your ass to pull you closer to him.

"Don't care, just means they'll know you're mine." When he's finished marking his territory, he backs off again to look at you. One shaky hand clamped over your own mouth to keep your moans quiet, teary eyed from the stimulation, hips rocking against his to get whatever friction he would offer...

Fuck, you are delicious.

He leans forward, lapping a long stripe up your neck to catch the sweat there before licking open your mouth to pull some more noises out of you. He loves it when you give up and moan into his mouth, falling into him and just letting him take you. You're breathless and desperate and all you can see, taste, feel is him... It's the only thing he wants after winning a match like that.

Rensuke Kunigami + tummy kisses

If there's one thing you absolutely treasure with Kunigami, it's the days you get to wake up with him. Thanks to the constant touring and harsh exercise regiment, most mornings you woke up alone and sometimes he came back home. Mornings like this, however, where Kunigami gives in and stays in bed with you... They're a rarity you wouldn't give up for anything in the world.

You're shocked though when you manage to wake up a few minutes before him, getting to just gaze at him from atop his chest. His strong features look so soft in this light and it makes you coo softly, traces light patterns across his pecs. You think about how sweet he was last night, how sweet he always is with you, and you can't keep your hands to yourself. You gently pepper his neck and chest with quick little kisses before trailing down to his tummy. Relaxed as he is, you can still see the outline of his abs and it makes your mouth water.

You can see the little movements and twitches he's making, but you solider on. You gently kiss each muscle, running your lips whisper light across each divot and dip in his skin, loving how he clenches and unclenches in his sleep.

"Wha're doing?" It's so sleepy and cute when he finally wakes up, adoration for you shining in his gaze even this early. One hand finds your cheek, pulling you up to see your face. You resist, pressing a long open-mouthed kiss to the muscle you were on, before looking up to smile at him.

"Just a little hero worship honey, lie back and relax." He blushes and once again you find yourself cooing back to him. There was no way either of you were getting up now until you kissed every inch of him.

[stiltonbasket]

For wen!wei wuxian au, I would love to read something from lan jingyi's perspective during or after the whole arrow thing

In the days after the battle at Pingquan, Lan Jingyi hardly left his bed.

He had feared his father's anger at his deception since the very moment he decided to join the war effort: but in true child-fashion, he never once dreamed that his blunders on the battlefield would bring about his family's utter ruin.

Zhan-shushu, taken captive and tortured. The most important spy for the resistance, maimed for life by a poisoned arrow that was loosed by Jingyi's own hand.

His father had not punished him. Perhaps he understood that no punishment could be worse than watching his uncle falling to his knees, the tip of a bloody Wen spearhead at his throat, and shouting for Father to leave him and flee with Jingyi. Perhaps he holds himself responsible for the whole debacle, believing that he ought to have noticed Jingyi switching places with the young soldier in the eighth regiment. Or perhaps—and Jingyi cannot help but pray that he is mistaken—he intends to storm the Wen camp with his generals and free Zhan-shushu during the night, without a care for what might happen to him during the rescue.

"No," Father says hollowly, when Jingyi finally dares to ask if he plans to go after Zhan-shushu. "You must be taken back to safety, and we have wounded to tend—and the Wen will be thrice as vicious as usual now that Wei Wuxian has been injured. We're going home."

"But—!"

His father turns away, already calling for Nie Zonghui to help him prepare for their departure: and after they set off for Qinghe, Jingyi is left to himself until the regiment reaches the crossroad near Tangshan.

"Come on," Fuqin tells him, in the same dreadful, empty voice he spoke with the day before. "You and I are going to the Cloud Recesses."

Jingyi's blood runs cold. "W-why?"

"You must return to your Ba, where it is safe, and I must give him the news about Wangji in person. I can't leave a thing like this to A-Sang or Zonghui."

With that, Fuqin picks Jingyi up and sets him on Baxia's hovering blade as if he weighed no more than a kitten; and so, they begin the long, cold journey to Gusu.

They alight at the gate beneath the Cloud Recesses to find Jingyi's Baba already waiting for them. At a glance, he seems to understand that something has gone terribly wrong: so he turns around without another word and leads them up to the Hanshi, where Father finally breaks the news about Zhan-shushu's fate in Pingquan.

In all his seventeen years, Lan Jingyi had never seen his Ba cry. His Fuqin cries often, and the entire family knows how to comfort him when he does—but he was too shamed to shed a single tear when he told Jingyi's Baba about Zhan-shushu, and Ba was so distraught upon hearing the news that he nearly wept himself sick.

Captured. Captured. The terrible word has not left Jingyi's thoughts since he watched the Wens haul Zhan-shushu away; and that night, he lies in bed and wishes with all his might that he could wake up and find himself back in the Unclean Realm, where he was meant to be running errands for the quartermasters as they went about their daily duties.

Captured and tortured. After the Wen forces split in two, with half remaining at the battlefront and half retreating with Wei-jiangjun and Jingyi's uncle in tow, Nie Zonghui followed Wei-jiangjun's regiment on foot for three miles and returned to report that the general was near death—and that his men, enraged by their lord's cries of agony, had stripped the robes from Zhan-shushu's back and whipped half the flesh off his bones.

Zhan-shushu did not cry out, or so Nie Zonghui said. He was tied to stake planted in the earth, with his bonds fastened at waist-height so that he would be forced to kneel; and the whipping did not cease until thirty-three stripes had been laid on Zhan-shushu's back, at which point Wei-jiangjun's screams finally faltered and fell silent.

Lan Jingyi hears his father relay all this to his Ba with tears running down his cheeks; and when he is dismissed, he retreats to his bedroom and bolts the door in his wake.

But as luck would have it, his solitude does not last very long. His sister Jueying picks the lock in less than half a shichen, determined to drag him out for dinner and a bath. After he eats and bathes in the Hanshi's little hot spring, she follows him back to his room and insists on snuggling into bed with him; and the next morning, she drops the baby twins into his lap and orders him to cuddle them until he feels better.

"I don't think the twins are going to help, Yingying," he chokes, holding little Yunhua close to his chest. "Not when our shushu—when Zhan-shushu is—"

"He's not dead, so just stop," Lan Jueying snaps: but her voice is trembling, too, and Jingyi is suddenly certain that she must have cried earlier that morning, before he was awake enough to hear her. "He's an important prisoner, isn't he? Wen Ruohan's not just going to kill him."

Yet again, Jingyi thinks of his magnificent uncle—Gusu Lan's Hanguang-jun, the envy of every clan under the sun save the one to which he belonged—brought to his knees and taken captive due to Jingyi's foolhardiness, so that Jingyi might live, and stuffs his fist into his mouth to keep himself from sobbing out loud.

But then Fuqin and Baba call the four of them out for breakfast: and over their bowls of porridge and tea, Ba breaks the news that he, too, is going away to war.

"There is nothing else we can do," he says, as the poor baby twins—who have never known what it was for the six of them to live as a united family, since Father first rode to battle ten weeks after Yunhua and Yunhai were born—keep nibbling their sticks of youtiao in his lap. "Someone will have to take Wangji's place, and I may be able to keep up Wei-jiangjun's correspondence with his spies on the Jiangling front. I must go."

"What about the wards?" Jingyi says raggedly. "If you follow Father to Hejian—who's going to uphold them?"

Baba wraps a comforting arm around his shoulders; and in that instant, Lan Jingyi understands exactly what his father meant by must.

Jingyi is his parents' sole cultivated child, the only one whose physical form arose from Ba's lingli instead of his blood and body. As far as the protection seals are concerned, Lan Xichen and Lan Jingyi are one and the same, indistinguishable—and if Ba transcribes the anchoring arrays that uphold the wards on Jingyi's skin, he will be able to depart from the Cloud Recesses and leave the warding sigils untouched.

"I'll do it," he whispers at last. "I'll take care of the Cloud Recesses for you, Ba. Go."

[chaosbarelycontained]

I Am The Resurrection

North Country Boy Chapter 1

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: swearing

Words: 2.9k

Synopsis: Jules is given a choice and finds out that someone from her past whom she thought was dead is actually very much alive.

Jules sat towards the back of the room as Captain Green debriefed his squad on their latest successful deployment. She picked at the skin around her thumbnail as she tried to ignore the rising tide of nausea in her belly. She was in the shit. Ignoring a direct order, no matter the outcome, was unacceptable and she’d had to take out three hostiles in the process. Sure she’d managed to get her hands on the key locations they’d needed but now she was drowning in paperwork and had the dark cloud of a disciplinary hearing hanging over her head.

A slight creak of the door to her left grabbed her attention and her eyes were drawn to the tall male figure that slipped through and leaned against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest and seemed to be listening intently to whatever the Captain had to say. Jules resumed her picking, hissing out a quiet curse as a bead of blood welled up against her cuticle, and she stuck her thumb in her mouth. Something registered in her brain then, much slower than it usually would have, and she cast another surreptitious look over to the stranger. Beard. He had a beard. Only Pioneer Sergeants were allowed to wear a beard and she could see from his uniform that he wasn’t one of those. His stripes told her he was a Captain. Special Forces then. Had to be covert ops. Why was…oh shit.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught him looking over at her and, for Juliette, it was enough confirmation. He must be part of the disciplinary committee. If they’d brought in another Special Forces Captain for her hearing then she was well and truly fucked. Her stomach rolled and saliva welled in her mouth as Green moved into his closing remarks. She barely heard his dismissal over the thoughts that were running rampant through her brain but the movement of her squad as they began to vacate the room brought her back down to Earth. She stood from her chair and then turned to leave but Green’s voice cracked out across the room.

“Kelsall, a word?”

Jules froze for a second and tried not to let her shoulders droop as she made her way to the front of the room. A few of her squad mates gave her sympathetic looks and Boothroyd even patted her on the shoulder. Plastering a bland mask onto her face she stood at ease before her Captain, trying to project the very image of military perfection. I’m sorry Robbie, she offered in silent prayer to her brother as the unfamiliar Captain stepped up to stand next to Green.

They waited in uncomfortable silence until the room had emptied. Jules resisted the urge to squirm under the heavy scrutiny of her senior officers. She was no rookie and she’d not crumble like one.

“Sergeant Kelsall, this is Captain Price,” Green said, inclining his head toward the stranger.

“Pleasure to meet you, Sir,” she saluted with as much formality as she could muster.

“Kelsall,” Price nodded, his arms still folded.

“Look, Jules,” Green began, trying to make her feel comfortable. “We’ve been in the same squad for a long time now and I’ve never once ever questioned your judgement. Even now.”

Jules sighed and lowered her gaze. She knew which way this speech would go. She and Green had a good working relationship that had started way back even before they’d joined the Special Reconnaissance Regiment but she guessed that even he didn't have the authority to get her out of the hole this time. She wondered for a moment where she’d actually go, she was pretty short on options, but the unfamiliar voice of Captain Price drew her back to the conversation.

“You’ve been noticed, Sergeant,” he stated in a clipped tone.

“I don’t quite know how to take that remark, Sir,” Jules admitted, trying to maintain her posture.

Green sighed and ran his hand through his short salt-and-pepper hair before dragging it down over his chin.

“I’m going to put it plainly, Jules, out of respect for our friendship. You’re going to face disciplinary action for your conduct on the last mission…”

“Or?” she interrupted, sensing the direction the conversation was going.

“Or we take a walk and you listen to what I’ve got to say,” Price interjected, tilting his head slightly.

Her eyes darted between the two Captains but she managed to keep the rising tide of panic off her face. A second passed, and then a few more, all of them weighed by a heavy silence.

”Shall we, Sir?” she said finally, turning to face Price.

“After you,” he gestured towards the door.

With one last look at Captain Green’s tight-lipped face she led Captain Price out of the room and into the corridor beyond.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions,” he said quietly, mindful of their public location.

“Not as many as you’d think,” Jules replied, following alongside the Captain as he led them confidently through the maze of corridors and walkways.

He finally came to a halt in front of an unlabelled door that opened up into a cramped, nondescript office. Price made his way behind the desk and reached for the top drawer, surprising Jules by actually removing it completely. On the back of the drawer there was a small rectangular object fastened there by metallic duct tape. Price worried at the corner of the tape with his fingernail, loosening it enough for him to be able to peel it back and retrieve the object. He held it out to Jules, his eyebrow raised, and she took it from him. It was a data drive.

“Everything you need to know is on there. It can’t be copied, well, you probably could but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. You’ve got four hours from when you plug it in to read it before it wipes itself.

“OK, but what’s this all about?” Jules asked, still confused, although she curled her fingers around the drive and drew it back towards herself.

“You’ve got skills, Kelsall,” he rumbled, “but more importantly, you’ve got an attitude. You get the job done regardless and that’s that sort of thing we’re looking for.”

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head at Jules’ bemused expression.

“Just read it. If you’re in, pack your kit and I’ll see you on the airstrip at 1600 hours, if not…well, this conversation never happened.”

“Understood, Sir,” she said, but already sounded distracted as she turned the drive over and over in her fingers.

“Alright then,” he nodded, moving towards the door but then paused, tapping two fingers onto the monitor of the desktop computer in front of her. “Use this one. It’s not connected to the network.”

With those last words he left Jules in the office, closing the door quietly behind him. Jules took his place behind the desk and sat in the old wooden chair that had been left there. It gave an ominous crack as she leaned over to turn on the pc but it remained uncomfortably stable. The screen flickered to life, opening in bios, and Jules plugged the data drive into the usb slot on the pc before typing in the commands to run the drive.

It contained nothing more than a single unnamed document. She took a breath and opened it, curiosity thrumming through her veins. Task Force 141. The overview was short, revealing not much more than a veiled reference to various Special and Black Ops but it was enough to draw Jules in. She scrolled further to find a squad list, with Price’s name at the top. There were no photos, just names, ranks and former affiliations. Price and a few others were former SAS. Makes sense, she thought but when she got to the third name on the list her heart skipped a beat and her hand stilled on the keyboard.

Jules stared at the document on the screen, as if she could make a photograph appear by sheer force of will. She shook her head in disbelief. It couldn’t be the same person, surely. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind she scrolled through the rest of the short list of names. There were Americans, Russians, a couple of Australians, and the unusual mix fuelled Jules’ intrigue even more.

As the clock ticked around to 1600 hours, Jules found herself standing before the doors that led out to the airstrip. She smoothed her hands over her maroon Duke of Lancaster belt and adjusted the fit of the grey SRR beret that she’d been so proud to receive. Hoisting her kit bag onto her shoulder she marched out onto the airstrip towards the distinctive figure of Captain Price, who stood with arms folded before an A109SP helicopter that was readying for takeoff.

“Hoped you’d make an appearance,” Price said gruffly, raising his voice a little over the noise of the aircraft.

“Join a task force that doesn’t exist or face a disciplinary, not really much of a choice there, Sir,” she scoffed, turning to face him.

He looked down at her with a smirk before turning toward her and holding out his hand. She looked down at it and then back up at him before grasping his hand in hers and shaking it.

“Not many get the option.”

Jules followed Price onto the aircraft, stowed her bag under her seat, and fastened herself in. She removed her beret, rolled it up to put in her pocket, and then put on the headset and mic so she could communicate with Price and the pilot. The noise of the engine and the blades grew even louder and her stomach lurched as the helicopter rose into the air and headed off on an almost southerly trajectory.

“Should be about 45 minutes,” the pilot informed them after she had completed her obligatory checks.

“Cheers Ross,” Price said and then turned his attention back to Jules.

She shrank a little under his intense gaze and she struggled to read his expression under the beard he wore. A sick knot of regret began to build in her throat but she swallowed it down and met his stare.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” she croaked, but the mic carried her strained voice straight to the Captain’s ears.

“Stirling Lines,” he offered and Jules nodded despite her surprise.

The base in Herefordshire was the headquarters for all the Special Forces regiments including the SRR, but Jules hadn’t really expected it to be the home of a secret task force. She’d been based in Preston for the last three years and had been hopping around the globe for longer than that. She’d not actually spent that much time on Stirling Lines beyond her initial SRR recruitment and training.

“Will I get a chance to get the rest of my stuff, Sir?” she asked, having not been able to fit all of her belongings into a single kit bag.

“It’s being packed as we speak. Should be delivered tomorrow.”

“You were so sure I’d say yes?”

“90%” Price said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“And the other 10%?” Jules probed.

“That you and Green were having an affair and you wouldn’t want to leave him.”

“What?!” Jules spluttered, her jaw almost hitting her chest.

“It was the only other reason I could think of as to why he spoke so highly of you. I see from your reaction that’s not the case so you’d better live up to your reputation, Kelsall.”

“Are you serio…you’re takin’ the piss aren’t you, Sir?” Jules said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and Price let out a hearty laugh.

“You’d better get used to it. Welcome to the 141, Sergeant.”

After landing at the barracks, Price guided Jules onto a small jeep before climbing into the driver’s seat. He pulled away from the helipad and took them on a short journey down a small side road that Jules had never used before. It led them around the back of the billets to a smaller building that Jules hadn’t seen in her time stationed there. It was close enough to the other accommodation buildings to still be a part of them but far enough away to give some extra sense of privacy. Price pulled up next to a couple of other vehicles and cut the engine, exiting the cab with the same economy of movement as he did everything else. Twitching his head in the direction of the entrance he stalked off, expecting Jules to follow him.

The interior was no different to any other billet she’d stayed in, with linoleum floors and bland-coloured paint on the walls.

“Mess hall’s down the back there, rooms are on the first floor. You’re in 3B,” the Captain pointed towards a set of stairs. “You can dump your kit before we eat but first I’ll introduce you to everyone. They should be in the briefing room now, or they will be if they know what’s good for ‘em.”

Jules followed close behind as the Captain led her towards a room at the rear of the building opposite the mess hall he’d indicated earlier. As they got closer she could hear the familiar rhythm of raucous banter even though she couldn’t yet make out the words. Price opened the door and they passed through, a chorus of cheers rising up as the team took sight of their Captain.

“‘Bout bloody time,” one of them called out.

“Should be against regs to call a briefing this close to tea time!” another grumbled but they quietened down when Price turned to face them and ran a hand over his beard.

Dumping her kit bag on the floor near the door, Jules stood at ease against the wall and listened as Price addressed his team.

“The sooner you stop your whining, the quicker you’ll get to your scran, MacTavish,” Price warned but Jules could see the good-natured spark behind the Captain’s disdainful expression. “I wanted to introduce everyone to the newest member of the team.”

A few whoops and whistles sounded before a gesture from Price quieted them down again and began his introductions. Jules stayed steadfast under the scrutiny of the assembled soldiers as she plastered a pleasant half-smile on her face and hoped that the flush she felt rising on her chest would stop at the neck of her shirt and not turn her face into a beetroot. She nodded along to the cheerful welcomes from the room and her smile slowly turned from forced to genuine.

Movement from the doorway drew her attention away from the Captain’s address and she watched as a large figure entered the room, his face covered by a balaclava with a skull painted on it. She wasn’t phased. Special Forces were, by their nature, a strange lot. She should know, she’d been in the SRR for long enough.

“Finally,” Price huffed. “Where the hell have you been? You know what, never mind. I was just introducing the rest to the new recruit. Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Juliette…

“Kelsall,” the newcomer finished and Jules froze at the sound of his voice.

Something about it was so familiar and yet…

She stiffened as his chestnut eyes bored into her from beneath the cover of his mask and it was then that she was certain. Her chest filled with ice, her heart hardening as she stared back at him with cold eyes and her jaw tightly clenched.

“Yeah, that’s right. You know each other?” Price asked.

“Used to,” the soldier replied, folding his arms across his broad chest, his eyes still fixed on her.

“Though he was dead,” Jules shrugged as if she didn’t care, forcing herself to turn her attention back to Price.

“He is!” one of the other soldiers called out with a laugh as Price waved a disgruntled dismissal.

Chairs scraped as the 141 rose and left the briefing room for the mess in search of their tea. Jules managed to maintain her hold on her expressionless face, having to draw on every single ounce of her training as a cold rage began to form deep within her chest. The man before her wasn’t dead at all, and the implications of that rocked her to her core.

* * * * *

Juliette skidded into the kitchen, her feet sliding across the cheap linoleum. She came to a stop, beaming shyly at the lad who’d just let himself in.

“H-hi Simon,” she stammered, rocking on her heels a little as her face flushed red.

“Jules,” he nodded, leaning against the wall next to the back door. ‘You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm cool,” she replied, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably.

Her brother Rob entered the room, shrugging on his knock-off Sprayway jacket and rolled his eyes at her embarrassment.

“Alright mate, we off?” he said to Simon, who nodded and pushed off from the wall.

“Where’re you goin’?” Juliette asked, a not-so-subtle yearning note seeping into her voice.

“Out,” Rob grunted dismissively.

“Can I come?” she tried, but the hope that brewed in her eyes was dashed at her brother’s derisive snort.

He didn’t bother to reply and the two lads turned to go. Simon looked back and gave Juliette a tight but sympathetic smile.

“See ya, Jules,” he muttered as they went out of the house, leaving Juliette alone in the kitchen.

[princessanneftw]

The Princess Royal interview: ‘I’m not sure that rewilding at scale is necessarily a good idea’

With conservation close to her heart, HRH explains what’s needed to save animals under threat and how the monarchy plays its part

By Jessamy Calkin for The Telegraph

Inside St James’s Palace there is a bit of a flutter about the weather. Her Royal Highness the Princess Royal has several engagements today, and things are not looking good; due to wind, the helicopter might not be able to land at the designated sites, which will make travelling times to and from events longer.

The staff are waiting to be informed by the police, who are in touch with the helicopter pilot. HRH, as everyone seems to call her, has not yet been told.

She has a lot to fit in: directly after our interview, she is off to a meeting about Gordonstoun school, in London, by car, then by helicopter to give a speech at an English Rural Housing Association conference in Bedfordshire, followed by a visit to the Aircraft Research Association, where she will unveil a plaque, then back to St James’s Palace to change for evensong at The King’s Chapel of the Savoy, where she will be reading the lesson for the Royal Victorian Order.

Her day will finish at about nine, when she will be able to eat. Quite often she has a dinner engagement as well. Next week she is going to Mumbai for four days.

Not for nothing is she known as the hardest-working royal. She is involved with more than 300 charities, organisations and military regiments, and last year carried out 200-plus engagements – more than any other member of the Royal family.

Her first official engagement was at the age of 18; shortly afterwards, in 1970, she became president of Save the Children – a position that led to her being nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize – and her work with that charity continues to this day.

Early on, her father, the Duke of Edinburgh, advised her to pick the charities she was interested in – and her interests have multiplied.

But one charity that is particularly close to her heart is the Whitley Fund for Nature, which is why I’m here. Started by Edward Whitley OBE as the Whitley Awards, WFN is now celebrating its 30th anniversary, and the Princess has been a patron for 24 years.

The annual ceremony takes place at the Royal Geographical Society in London and is colloquially known as the Green Oscars; WFN distributes grants totalling around £500,000 to worthy international winners.

So far, £20 million has been awarded to 200 conservationists across 80 countries. And the Princess has never missed a single ceremony, presenting the awards and delivering heartfelt speeches.

HRH is quite probably the most respected member of the Royal family. Her lack of pomp and ceremony and the low-key dedication with which she carries out her duties is much admired. There is no whingeing. She refused titles for her children, Peter and Zara.

She is well known for her dry sense of humour. She is an exceptionally accomplished horsewoman and in 1976 became the first member of the Royal family to compete in the Olympics; she had won Sports Personality of the Year five years earlier. She famously resisted an attempted kidnap in 1974.

She has also become an inadvertent style icon, often rewearing outfits she first wore decades ago, which is both charmingly thrifty and impressive in that she can still fit into them, and she seldom buys anything that is not made in the UK.

She recently made a good-natured appearance on her son-in-law Mike Tindall’s podcast The Good, the Bad & the Rugby and she seems like an all-round good egg.

She has both gravitas and spirit – there was some very moving footage of her accompanying her mother’s coffin on the long journey from Balmoral to Westminster Abbey.

Back in St James’s Palace, Charles, her private secretary, is arranging the chairs, anticipating where she might like to sit. HRH arrives in a striking bright-green suit over a striped silky shirt and heads smartly for a different chair than the one offered.

How did she first get involved with Whitley? ‘That’s entirely Edward’s fault,’ she says in her crisp voice. ‘But the common denominator is Gerald Durrell.’

The Princess grew up reading Durrell’s books and became patron of his zoo in Jersey, part of what is now the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust, in 1972. ‘He very kindly asked me to become involved in the zoo – as it was then – in Jersey, and Edward [later became] one of Durrell’s trustees.

‘He and I had similar beliefs in what Gerald was doing. Apart from the fact that Gerald wrote very good books, during his travels he seemed to understand better than most the impact on the populations in which animals lived and the relationship between them and their animals.

‘Being told you have to save this, that and the other is all very well but have you been there? Have you ever tried living in that environment to find out what that means to them? Because the fundamental point is that unless the conservation comes from the local area, it won’t be sustained.’

No one is going to save an animal just because they’re told to. ‘You’ve got to work out how the animals are going to survive with the people who live there, who will be the ones who make sure that it works.’

What was Durrell like? ‘Every bit as entertaining as you would think. His humour but also his understanding of the relative importance of things in other people’s lives was absolutely fascinating – and he was spot on.’

Durrell said he felt ‘sympathy for the small and ugly; since I’m big and ugly I try to preserve the little ones’. He was an expert on captive breeding, with a view to releasing into the wild, and he tended to select animals that were close to extinction, or those that could best be helped, or just ones that were not very charismatic.

‘Yes, not the sexy ones,’ says the Princess. ‘Or the obvious ones. His approach was very holistic. He understood the impact of habitat – not just on one species but how all of the things that lived in that habitat related to each other and that you couldn’t replicate that instantly somewhere else – it was very specific to an area.’

Gerald Durrell died in January 1995, of septicaemia. He was an alcoholic and had successfully received a liver transplant but died of complications it gave rise to. ‘He told me that there was no point doing a transplant because his old liver had got used to being fed all the things he’d been given to eat and drink in order to make deals as he went round the world,’ the Princess says, smiling.

Durrell’s legacy is long. One of his innovations was to establish training for conservationists from around the world. The first trainee went on to become the first director of the National Parks and Conservation Service in Mauritius, and thousands of students from 151 countries have since attended the centre, whose graduates became known as Gerald Durrell’s Army.

This became the title of a book by Edward Whitley, who travelled round the world to assess the progress of some of the trainees and the animals they were conserving – such as the largest eagle in the world in the Philippines and Alaotran gentle lemurs in Madagascar.

To launch the book in 1992, Whitley was invited to give a talk at the Royal Geographical Society, and he asked the Princess to come along. It was at the book launch that he decided to set up the charity.

‘I sat down with Nigel Winser, who was the deputy director of the RGS and a long-time friend, and we designed what became the Whitley Awards on the back of a napkin,’ he tells me. In 1999, Whitley asked the Princess to become a patron. By then, ‘Attenborough was already on board, which encouraged her to think it wasn’t a fly-by-night organisation which would crash and burn’.

The awards focus on community-based conservation projects around the world. In order to qualify, each project has to be up and running – it cannot be a pipe dream. Initially there was only one award; this year there were six – of £40,000 each in project funding – plus a Gold Award of £100,000, given each year to a past winner in recognition of their outstanding contribution to conservation.

‘The reason WFN is so effective,’ says Alastair Fothergill, whose company Silverback made the acclaimed TV nature series Wild Isles, and who like Attenborough is a WFN ambassador, ‘is because its grants are awarded at the very cutting edge of conservation, where relatively modest funds can go a long way. Over the years, the fund has kickstarted the careers of many pioneers who have become leading lights in conservation.’

This year’s projects included safeguarding seabird nesting sites in Mexico; establishing ‘lion guards’ promoting coexistence in Cameroon; and protecting pangolins in Nepal, lemurs in Madagascar, freshwater fish in Lake Victoria and saiga antelope in west Kazakhstan. Each one heavily involves local communities.

In addition, WFN provides continuation funding for award-winners. To mark the 25th anniversary of Whitley, Kate Humble, also an ambassador, and Attenborough hosted an event at the Natural History Museum to help raise £1 million for continuation funding.

‘It was the first really big fundraiser we had,’ says Humble. ‘And one of the donors underwrote the entire cost of the event – so everything raised went into the continuation fund.’

The RGS ceremonies are joyous events. In addition to being presented with their award by the Princess Royal, each winner has a short film made of their work, narrated by Attenborough, screened at the event. ‘I’ve been going for 20 years,’ says Humble, ‘and every year I’m blown away by the winners – what they’ve overcome, what they’ve achieved.

‘You hear so much bad news, and you think, you know what? The world can be OK because people out there are doing this stuff – it’s demonstrable, it’s scientifically rigorous and it’s working. [It’s] an incredibly uplifting and inspiring evening.

‘And every year I watch Princess Anne speak and she never sounds like she’s reading someone else’s words. She cares deeply about what this charity does and what these people who win the awards have achieved – she is not a figurehead just trotting out nice words and providing a photo op. She could run the charity, she knows it so well and cares about it so deeply.

‘I’m not anti-royal,’ says Humble, ‘but neither am I someone who would go and wave a Union Jack. But when I see her I think, frankly you’re worth whatever it is we pay.’

HRH talks with fluency and knowledge on every subject. ‘She’s like a sponge – it’s unbelievable the information that’s stored in her brain,’ said her daughter Zara in an interview for ITV’s Anne: The Princess Royal at 70. ‘It’s quite annoying as well.’

She needs to know a lot because she works with a diverse range of charities, taking in early years, healthcare, microfinance and animal welfare. Promoting collaboration between charities is key. ‘I do a lot of that,’ she says now. ‘I have meetings bringing them together which they all seem to enjoy, though sometimes it’s a bit illogical.

‘Knitting together all the international NGOs is important, but we need to look slightly outside the box – can we do this better, are there ways of helping people to be more sustainable?’

The Princess does occasionally discuss conservation with the King, she says, but she won’t say if they always agree. And her grandchildren? How does she teach them about conservation? (She has five, four girls and a boy.)

‘I don’t see so much of them but making the point that they live in an area which they shouldn’t take for granted is important I think; both my children are aware of that.’

Gatcombe Park in Gloucestershire, where the Princess and her husband, Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence, live in an 18th-century manor with 730 acres of parkland, has some beautiful trees – ‘the ones that survive – quite a lot don’t, we live on Cotswold brash which is not popular with plants; but having said that we have beeches.

‘You’ve just got to live with what’s there and make sure it doesn’t get overwhelmed. I’m not sure that rewilding at scale is necessarily a good idea – it probably is in corners, but if you’re not careful you rewild all the wrong things because they are just the things that are more successful at growing.

‘My biggest row at home is ragwort. Lots of people think that ragwort is absolutely brilliant because butterflies love it, but it’s not good for the horses [it is toxic]. I would say don’t take all the ragwort out, just where the horses are – but it’s quite a delicate balance.’

There are, she says, ‘quite a lot of horses at home, but they’re other people’s as well’. She rides whenever she can. ‘It’s a very good place to observe nature from.’

The Princess supports several horse-related charities, and became patron of Riding for the Disabled in 1971, and president in 1985. ‘It was just becoming a national body when I was invited to become a patron – at that stage I knew nothing about disability but the concept that ponies or horses could make a difference was obviously interesting and I knew about them. No matter what the disability was, the answer was, if they’d like to ride, we’ll give it a go. The commonality of the experience was important.’

Essential things for running a charity, she says, are evaluation and thinking of the long term. She cites the influence of Eglantyne Jebb, founder of Save the Children, ‘who constantly evaluated programmes to see if they were making a difference, whether they were doing the right things and whether people were invested’.

And it’s important to keep projects focused and manageable. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that scale is the thing that defeats any good idea, because it can get to a size where people can’t cope.’

She has spoken in the past about the huge value of long-term commitment, in terms of the constitutional monarchy as well as in charity work. ‘Seeing things in the long term is a challenge,’ she says now, ‘but maybe part of our [value] – as a family – is long-term continuity, because the long-term view is quite hard to come by. And I think we can do that.’

May I ask what she might have done as a profession in another life? HRH laughs and looks vaguely impatient. ‘You can ask but I’ve no idea.’ Does she ever think about that?

‘Not really, and it’s way too late to have those concerns – in a way the fortunate part of my life has been the broad spectrum, to see so much. Not having a very specific interest has been a bonus, I suppose. We all have ways of doing things and with Whitley it is the practical aspects of what they do, and how to support them [that has been my focus].’

Edward Whitley, a member of the wealthy Greenall Whitley brewing family, set up Whitley Asset Management in 2002, alongside its finance director Louise Rettie, to serve a small number of clients. But there had always been animals in his life – his great-grandfather founded a small charity called the Whitley Animal Protection Trust; his great-great-uncle Herbert was an eccentric animal breeder who started Paignton Zoo.

In Edward’s office is a stuffed cockatoo that belonged to Herbert and a photograph of Mary, his favourite chimpanzee. Mary was famous for riding around on her tricycle and walking the dogs, or taking visitors by the hand and leading them round the zoo.

Edward studied English at Oxford then went into banking, joining NM Rothschild & Sons in 1983. He left in 1990 to write: Gerald Durrell’s Army came out in 1992 and he also co-wrote Rogue Trader, the autobiography of disgraced banker Nick Leeson, and worked with Richard Branson on his memoir.

Whitley is a tall, gentle man who doesn’t like talking about himself but is full of unbridled enthusiasm for WFN, and in particular its royal patron. ‘She transformed the charity – we never would have had the success we’ve had without her involvement. She saw what was possible and really helped us to achieve it, and she inspires the winners to do more. The winners are always pretty amazed at how she cross-examines them and cuts to the chase so quickly when she meets them.

‘She has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the world, and a phenomenal memory, and she is also very funny… And think of her father and the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award – she’s seen what a lifetime of work can achieve.’

In her speech at the Whitley Awards earlier this year, the Princess Royal cited her father, Gerald Durrell and Edward Whitley as the inspirations for her work with WFN. Among winners and their communities, she said, ‘it’s the global ambition to truly make a difference that has been astonishing’.

The awards, she continued, are for ‘the people on the ground, they’re the sharp end… It’s all very well to be here and understand what we think are the challenges, and want to make a difference, but when you meet the people who are actually out front and can turn that into a reality, it’s a real inspiration.’

Over the years, she has visited some of the winners’ projects, when her charity work takes her to those countries, ‘but not as many as I would like’, she says. In Uganda, for example, she met Dr Gladys Kalema-Zikusoka, who was working on improving hygiene in local communities after viruses had spread to gorillas she was managing in Bwindi national park. And in 1997, before she became a WFN patron, she travelled in a boat up the Amazon to see pink dolphins.

‘She was in Colombia for Save the Children and she asked the British embassy to include a visit to the Amazon in her trip – she was very interested in the dolphins,’ says Dr Fernando Trujillo, who went on to win an award in 2007.

‘The British embassy contacted me as an expert on rivers and dolphins. I was a little bit intimidated, and it was raining and I was worried we wouldn’t see any dolphins, but in the end we counted 32 – and she was so excited, every time she saw one she would jump up and down with excitement, and then rein herself in as if she suddenly remembered she was a princess. I could see her love for the environment was very genuine. From that day she was my favourite royal person.’

Another winner, Pablo Bordino, whose picture with HRH had been in the paper in Buenos Aires was flying back to Argentina. One of the flight attendants recognised him and when he arrived at the airport there was a television crew waiting to meet him. It raised the profile of his NGO - which protected marine life and habitats in Argentina - enormously and enabled him to generate further funding. ‘That’s the effect HRH has,’ says Whitley. ‘You can’t quantify it.’

Several award-winners went to the Princess’s 60th-birthday celebrations, including Claudio Padua, a successful businessman from Rio who gave it all up to pursue conservation, training at Durrell in Jersey and moving to a forest in Brazil with his wife, Suzana, and three children.

HRH had been to see them at their headquarters outside São Paulo and had taken an interest in their efforts to conserve the black lion tamarin, a monkey. They had no idea her visit would be such an ordeal, with all the security arrangements. ‘We had a call to ask what kind of security we had,’ says Claudio. ‘I said, “I have an old dog, that’s all.”’

‘She turned up with a security detail and entourage,’ Suzana adds. ‘They wanted to go into the forest to see the monkeys in our Land Rover and her security team asked, “Has this car been checked?” I said it hadn’t and they became very nervous but she ignored them and just got in anyway.’

Years later, the Paduas were invited to Buckingham Palace for her 60th. ‘It was a beautiful opportunity for us,’ says Suzana, ‘and as she came down the stairs she spotted us and said, “Oh how nice to see you. How are the monkeys?”’

The Whitley Fund for Nature is hosting a #PeopleforPlanet biodiversity summit on 6 and 7 November at London’s Royal Institution, where members of the public can hear live from Whitley Gold Award-winning conservationists from Africa, Central and South America, and Asia

[wstevenphotography]

Argyle & Sutherland

[sgtgrunt0331-3]

On June 5, 1944, two members of the ‘Filthy Thirteen’ with the 101st Airborne Division, Clarence Ware applies war paint to Charles Plauda, before jumping into Normandy.

The Filthy Thirteen was the name given to the 1st Demolition Section of the Regimental Headquarters Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. They were ordered to secure or destroy the bridges over the Douve River during the Normandy Invasion of Europe in June 1944. Half were either killed, wounded or captured, but they accomplished their mission.

This unit was best known for the famous photo which appeared in Stars and Stripes, showing two members wearing Indian-style “mohawks” and applying war paint to one another. The inspiration for this came from unit sergeant Jake McNiece, who was part Choctaw.

[outofangband]

Mammals of Maglor’s Gap and Lothlann

Now that I’ve finished world building posts on birds for each Fëanorian realm pre Amon Ereb, I’m going through mammals next! Mammals of the March of Maedhros can be found here and my environmental world building Masterlist is here!

Maglor’s Gap was the widest break in the mountains and cliffs dividing Beleriand and the lands to the north. It lay between the blue mountains to the east and the March of Maedhros to the west. Lothlann was a wide expanse of plains to the north of the Gap. The rivers greater and little Gelion ran around the western and eastern borders.

Forest steppes: wild goat, wood bison, southern white breasted hedgehog, gray marmot, ground squirrel, dormouse, woolly hares, long eared hedgehog, gray shrews, northern hog badger, sable (rare), steppe mouse, lesser noctule (bat), wildcat, red fox, red deer

Bordering mountain fences: Caucasian Tur, mouflon, chamois, alpine pika, pond bat, marbled polecat, saiga antelope, steppe polecat, mountain weasel, ibex (rare), argali

Plains: goitered gazelle, steppe wolf, wild horse, northern water vole (by the rivers), snow vole, grey dwarf hamster, common hare, common rabbit, striped field mouse, ural field mouse, harvest mouse, mountain hare, field vole (also primarily by rivers), wild horse

World building notes:

The horse based cavalry of Maglor is one of the few details we have about this region. I headcanon that the horses in question are a mixture of the descendants of the Valinor born horses brought by the Fëanorian host as well as wild horses from Estolad, Himlad, Lothlann and the other plains regions of Eastern Beleriand.

Sheep and goats provide the majority of milk and cheese products in the Gap. Some of these species are imported from other regions like sheep from Thargelion.

Domesticated bovine are rare in Eastern Beleriand outside Thargelion and parts of Estolad. There are however wild and semi domesticated bison such as the wood bison, especially on the borders of forested and forest steppe regions. Fur, skin and bones from bison are used by both Noldorin and Avarin elves for clothing and other materials.

Wild hamsters, rabbits, hares and voles were used by a select few of Maglor’s cavalry as companions and even spies.

A regiment of foot based scouts had the sigil of a hare in the form of a light silhouette upon a black background.

[parisroach]

I just realized I haven’t shown any photos of the 40k mini’s I’ve been building

These were the first ever minis I got. They turned out way better then I expected them to for my first project. I’m really happy with them. I got the Krieg minis from the Killteam Starter Set and painted them as Armageddon Steel Legion since they’re my favorite guard regiment.

Next is this Rogal Dorn mini. I was originally gonna get a Baneblade, but it was too expensive so I settled for a Rogal Dorn instead. Stuck to the Armageddon scheme with a dark grey with yellow stripes. I think I could’ve done the stripes better, but I’m happy with the mini.

[lboogie1906]

Sergeant Major Gilbert “Hashmark” Johnson (October 30, 1905 – August 5, 1972) was one of the first African Americans to enlist in the Marine Corps and one of the first African American drill instructors in the Marine Corps. He was known as “Hashmark” because he had more service stripes than rank stripes. He retired in 1959 after 32 years of service in the Armed forces, including 17 years as a Marine.

He was born to a farming family in rural Mount Hebron, Alabama. He attended Stillman College, aspiring to become a minister, but he left college the following year to join the Army.

He enlisted in the 25th Infantry Regiment in 1923, serving two three-year tours. He was discharged as a corporal. He decided to join the Navy. In 1933, he enlisted in the Naval Reserve and was accepted into the Stewards Branch, the only job available to African Americans at that time, he served in the Navy for nearly 10 years. In May 1941, he entered the regular Navy. He served aboard the USS Wyoming at the time of the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

In 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 8802, requiring the Marine Corps to accept African Americans and forbidding discrimination by military contractors. He requested a transfer from the Navy to the Marine Corps. He and other African Americans served in segregated units.

In 1943, he was among the first African American men to be trained as Marine drill instructors. In May 1943 at Montford Point, he replaced the drill instructor. As a member of the 52d Defense Battalion, on Guamin WWII, he asked that African American Marines be assigned to combat patrols, from which they had been exempt. Once approved, he led 25 combat patrols.

Edgar Huff, the only other African American Sergeant Major besides him to serve during WWII, was his brother-in-law. They were married to twin sisters. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence