eau
Title: eau
Author: silenceguardian
Pairing: ack-ack/hillbilly
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own The Pacific and I mean no disrespect.
Summary: water is the second most important thing to lt. eddie jones.
Notes or Warnings: this is my first time writing pacific fic, i wrote it upon request from my friend jessica, so i hope you enjoy!
i. Oil floats to the top of water because it’s less dense than water. Blood is thicker than water, but water does not rest on a film above the blood. High school science is disproved halfway around the world.
It rains on the canal, where he is only a sergeant, and where massive, tropical leaves capture the water that dumps without warning. Andrew Haldane, a good lieutenant, was fortunate enough to only sustain a laugh when rainwater pours over his head and gets caught in his eyelashes. He’s glad Ack-Ack doesn’t mention the standing pools of red the morning after every contact with the Japanese. Back on Pavuvu, he plays his guitar exactly once in front of Andy, if only to congratulate the both of them on their promotions. Company King welcomes them as captain and respective first mate.
ii. The human body has limits applied to everything, even to water. Experiences now helpfully support that this over-supply is not limited to just ingesting the liquid, but to any proximity to it at all.
He thinks ink is not the only thing that sloughs off in the excess rain, skin and hair and souls sink into the dirt with it, layering the ground down to the core with mud. A two-bar’s full-fledge Captain Haldane loses a boot to the suctioning ground on Cape Gloucester and never finds it again, smiling at the company he leads with a upturn of his muddled lips and one sock exposed. Even within the first week, the relative safety from the wet that the officer’s tent advertises does not appeal to him or Andy; instead they bunk with the men, a tree away from each other. He would take the bastard leaves over the endless torrent.
iii. Salt water has to be boiled thoroughly in order to be drinkable. This requires an excess of time and patience, especially abundant during a round of “hurry up and wait”.
The fresh water on Pavuvu is a sad excuse of what he used to pump from the ground in Virginia. He and Andy sit around cups of it every evening, shooting the shit and taking deliberately small sips as to deny the taste. Andy tells him about his college experience one night, regaling in a story about how he took his car out the rocky Maine beaches all by himself and stared at the stars instead of studying. Andy kept looking at him while describing how beautiful the sky was.
iv. Humans are approximately sixty percent water. With dehydration, this number can dip to forty-five percent, and anything lower is considered lethal. Cigarette smoke only serves to dry the throat and mouth more.
The first drop onto the sandy beachhead is the worst, blood is matted into the grains of it, seawater soaks into his boots, and when he crawls the red gets caught underneath his fingernails. Bullets snap near his head and he still lifts it up to look for Andy. He grabs shirt collars and pleads the marines to get clear of the sand, this land that blood has turned into a grisly paste. Andy is into the trees with him, all of the soldiers’ gangly limbs as twisted as the branches. He shoves canteens away from mouths and pushes bones out of mortar craters. Sweat drips on his forehead and Andy briefly swipes a thumb across his brow. He registers his first breath then. Outside the airfield, a chorus of dusty coughs continues into the night.
v. We are capable of amazing things.
He and Andy and the rest of the company all hold on until the water reaches the line. He knows they want to drown in it, but they calmly take gulps and smoke continuously. Andy and him set up their old way like on Pavuvu and relax underneath a sky littered with stars. Andy’s hair underneath his helmet is not stiff, but smooth, blond, and sandy like an untainted beach. He smiles at his good captain from around a cigarette and knows he’d follow this man anywhere.
Author: silenceguardian
Pairing: ack-ack/hillbilly
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own The Pacific and I mean no disrespect.
Summary: water is the second most important thing to lt. eddie jones.
Notes or Warnings: this is my first time writing pacific fic, i wrote it upon request from my friend jessica, so i hope you enjoy!
i. Oil floats to the top of water because it’s less dense than water. Blood is thicker than water, but water does not rest on a film above the blood. High school science is disproved halfway around the world.
It rains on the canal, where he is only a sergeant, and where massive, tropical leaves capture the water that dumps without warning. Andrew Haldane, a good lieutenant, was fortunate enough to only sustain a laugh when rainwater pours over his head and gets caught in his eyelashes. He’s glad Ack-Ack doesn’t mention the standing pools of red the morning after every contact with the Japanese. Back on Pavuvu, he plays his guitar exactly once in front of Andy, if only to congratulate the both of them on their promotions. Company King welcomes them as captain and respective first mate.
ii. The human body has limits applied to everything, even to water. Experiences now helpfully support that this over-supply is not limited to just ingesting the liquid, but to any proximity to it at all.
He thinks ink is not the only thing that sloughs off in the excess rain, skin and hair and souls sink into the dirt with it, layering the ground down to the core with mud. A two-bar’s full-fledge Captain Haldane loses a boot to the suctioning ground on Cape Gloucester and never finds it again, smiling at the company he leads with a upturn of his muddled lips and one sock exposed. Even within the first week, the relative safety from the wet that the officer’s tent advertises does not appeal to him or Andy; instead they bunk with the men, a tree away from each other. He would take the bastard leaves over the endless torrent.
iii. Salt water has to be boiled thoroughly in order to be drinkable. This requires an excess of time and patience, especially abundant during a round of “hurry up and wait”.
The fresh water on Pavuvu is a sad excuse of what he used to pump from the ground in Virginia. He and Andy sit around cups of it every evening, shooting the shit and taking deliberately small sips as to deny the taste. Andy tells him about his college experience one night, regaling in a story about how he took his car out the rocky Maine beaches all by himself and stared at the stars instead of studying. Andy kept looking at him while describing how beautiful the sky was.
iv. Humans are approximately sixty percent water. With dehydration, this number can dip to forty-five percent, and anything lower is considered lethal. Cigarette smoke only serves to dry the throat and mouth more.
The first drop onto the sandy beachhead is the worst, blood is matted into the grains of it, seawater soaks into his boots, and when he crawls the red gets caught underneath his fingernails. Bullets snap near his head and he still lifts it up to look for Andy. He grabs shirt collars and pleads the marines to get clear of the sand, this land that blood has turned into a grisly paste. Andy is into the trees with him, all of the soldiers’ gangly limbs as twisted as the branches. He shoves canteens away from mouths and pushes bones out of mortar craters. Sweat drips on his forehead and Andy briefly swipes a thumb across his brow. He registers his first breath then. Outside the airfield, a chorus of dusty coughs continues into the night.
v. We are capable of amazing things.
He and Andy and the rest of the company all hold on until the water reaches the line. He knows they want to drown in it, but they calmly take gulps and smoke continuously. Andy and him set up their old way like on Pavuvu and relax underneath a sky littered with stars. Andy’s hair underneath his helmet is not stiff, but smooth, blond, and sandy like an untainted beach. He smiles at his good captain from around a cigarette and knows he’d follow this man anywhere.