Author's Note

Hey y'all.

Not much to say this time. Finally finishing off Peleliu and these last few war chapters. As with before, the next few will be out of the Pacific and will be focusing in on Equestria, so hope you are ready! And for those of you who liked the introduction to our gryphon friend Marnie, well you're in luck cause she's gonna be in the next few chapters.

Obligatory leave a comment thing. But seriously, leave a comment if you liked or disliked it.

Alright, boring stuff out of the way, Ch.14: Renunion

Ch.14: Reunion

"It wasn't long until we had our own turn to throw ourselves at Bloody Nose Ridge. After securing the south part of the horseshoe island, we rested for a few days before receiving orders to relieve the 1st Marines and press the fight on," James narrated, folding his hands behind his back and generating the memory.

Peleliu's dull, sandstone colors always displeased Luna's eyes, which she supposed was good since it reflected the misery and suffering that happened on a day-to-day basis. Still, it left a bitter taste in her mouth as she was greeted by the melancholic coral once more.

Rising high above the two of them lay the ridge, or really 'ridges', in question. And clearly, it had seen better days. Jutting out, the three peaks hosted steep drop-offs, the rock in said drop-off bleached from the constant sun exposure. Between the three ridges lay a small "valley", more of a large circle of land, just below the peaks with three small, inclined ramps of land separating the ridges from each other. In a way, Luna reckoned they looked like giant fingers, like a thumb, index, and middle finger had reached out of the earth to grab at something, the land falling out between the fingers as they did.

What was left of the foliage, trees, and shrubbery was burned to charcoal, crackled, and mangled in the most gruesome of ways. A plume of steady, caustic smoke and ash rose into the sky, blocking out the sun only partially and giving the Marines some MUCH needed reprieve from the heat, if only a little bit. But alas, what heat they missed from the sun, the fires burning brightly in the valley repaid them tenfold. She could feel the fierceness of the blaze on her fur, her ears falling back on instinct to protect themselves. In the distance, her ears picked up the intensity with which the fire devoured the trees, the plentiful, dry leaves providing ample fuel for the raging inferno to spread. As for the flames themselves, the size and magnitude of the column was a sight to behold. They were easily as tall as her tower at the palace, reaching high enough to pluck any pegasus out of the sky that would dare to approach it. The blaze had forked itself into two now, spreading to opposite sides as it continued to destroy everything in its path.

In short, the fire was catastrophic and she was sure that if such a grand flame had broken out in Canterlot, no firefighter would ever be able to put it out.

While she was gazing at the sight, a US plane bounded towards Bloody Nose Ridge with incredible speed before dropping a large metal canister, its payload, off from its wing into the far side of the valley. It exploded and burst into flames with a loud KEERROOOW, starting a fire at a untouched section of trees. The plane, as quickly as it arrived, speedily made its return to its carrier, making an abrupt 180 degree bank. She watched it go, spotting the carrier group lazily floating in the water like distant giants. Compared to what lay ahead, the Navy ships looked quite peaceful, such a strict contrast to the hellish conditions they were heading into.

On a more 'nearby' level, she and James were once again standing amongst the men of the 7th Marines, trudging their way up the slim incline towards the mammoth ridges. Most walked with a exhausted, limp gait, as if lifting their feet was a Herculean task itself. They were dirty, stinking, and rotten, smelling of feces and sweat. The Devil Dogs had stubbles on their chins, dirt smeared on their cheeks, grease and oil stains on their jackets, and muddy field shoes.

Their eyes showed only dejection, despondency, and fatigue with such ferocity that she could not describe it. It was like watching a convict walk to their own execution.

That was more close to the truth than she realized at the moment.

The men walking down the slope parallel to them were in even worse dire straits. Their sanitation was just as bad, if not worse than the 7th Marines. Dirt, grime, and most gruesomely blood clung to them like a forest tick. Men had head bandages on, some were missing legs and were limping or being carried down, some had their arms immobilized in a sling. It was a rarity to find a man who wasn't injured, maimed, wounded, or suffering from some affliction as she passed by them.

Grimly, she also noticed their number was cut significantly short for what a company size should be.

The company commander for this section was approaching up ahead, rendering nods and salutes back to each of the enlisted men who saluted him.

He nodded towards Mad Dog, who was a man ahead of Luna and James, "You're up Glenn. Give 'em hell."

"Will do, Reeves," the Captain nodded respectfully back and continued stomping along towards the inferno.

One private of James' company waved towards another enlisted man in the opposite column, "Hey ya got any ammo? Food? Smokes?"

"Yeah, sure. You're gonna need it," he shirked off his bandolier of M1 ammo, handing it off to the private, and rustled through his pack for his remaining K rations.

Seeing the trade prompted the other Marines to start handing off their unneeded supplies to their replacements. Units of fire, weapons, ammunition, water, rations, smokes, anything that could be useful was handed off to the fresh meat heading into the grinder. Marines exchanged hellos, greeted buddies from different units, and talked as much as they could while the column was moving.

"Excuse me Corporal, where's your platoon's corpsman?" James stepped out of line to grab the corporal's attention.

"Doc's dead," the corporal muttered with a gloomy melancholy.

"Well, were you able to recover his supplies?" James asked, a little frustrated.

"Don't know honestly," he responded with a Midwestern accent, "Try checking with Doc Trelvey. He should be coming up the way soon." With that said, the corporal stepped back into line, getting into step while lighting up a Raleigh.

Yelling a 'thank you' down the line to the corporal, James picked up the step in his column again. But soon, an annoying detail hit him as he marched up the incline. He had no real way of identifying this 'Doc Trelvey' from the rest of the Marines, failing to ask the corporal any distinguishing features. After all, most corpsman had quickly ditched any Red Cross uniforms, insignia, or any other identifying attributes that could make them a target out on the battlefield. He cursed at himself for his blunder.

To try and make up for his mistake, he began scanning the faces passing by him for some sort of clue. Most didn't care that he was basically staring at them as the Marines passed by with an apathy that could rival a teenage girl's.

Eventually, after a few seconds of trying, he spotted a stretcher team that was carrying a casualty down, a man hovering over him like a hawk studying its prey. He had a hunch that he might be the man he was looking.

"Hey you Doc Trelvey?" he waved his hand to grab the man's attention.

"The one and only. What can I do for you?" he was old, well, old compared to the majority of the Marines he treated. He looked a crisp, mature 30 at least by Luna's guess. His voice crackled and sounded strained, likely from all the yelling he'd done.

"You got any morphine left? Had to use most 'a mine down on the last skirmishes. Oh, and splints if you can spare any," he petitioned the grizzled veteran.

"Jim?" a raspy, boyish voice called out to him from below, a voice he would know anywhere.

"Arles?"

Sure enough, lying in the stretcher was none other than his old childhood friend, who still looked as boyish and young as the day he left him for basic training. The short, skinny little man's hip was shot up something fierce, the bloody bandages around his waist and hip told him anything. It bent in a weird way, almost uncomfortably, and James couldn't tell if it was due to how he was laid in the stretcher or from a combat injury. He was as dirty as the rest of the raggedy Marines, but he had more than his fair share of scratches, bruises, and other minor injuries.

A far cry from the smiling, toothy character he had grown up flying kites and shooting marbles with.

"Arles! How ya been?" he motioned to the stretcher bearers with his hand, "Why don't you guys take five."

The bearers shrugged and laid their casualty down, "Alright, but be quick. We need to stay with our unit."

The four of them stepped aside with their rifles at the ready, lying down against some sizeable rocks, and began to take a smoke break.

Turning back to his friend, he checked for any signs of danger, which there were none immediately by them, and smiled, "It's good to see you old friend."

Arles shuffled in the stretcher, wincing painfully as he did, "Yeah, you too. How's the war treating you, 'Doc'," he laced some mirth into the title, chuckling.

"A hell of a lot better than it's treatin' you. What happened?" James demanded, looking over him like a frantic mother.

"Ah," Arles waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry about me. Sniper nipped me on the hip. Mighta' chipped some of my bone off, ah think."

"Why aren't you screamin' bloody murder?" James jabbered back.

"Well, you see Jim, Doc's got this crazy thing called morphine. Ya might've heard of it," Arles giggled like a high teenager, devolving into a small fit.

"Screw you Arles, you shrimpy oaf," he would've shoved him in a friendly manner, but one probably shouldn't shove or jostle a wounded person unless needed.

Arles composed himself well enough, and smiled up a morphine-induced grin, "You're losin' your accent."

James hadn't noticed. He'd been so caught up in the duties, he simply hadn't paid attention to such meaningless things like an accent.

"Am I?" he spoke, shifting himself more comfortably.

"Yup, you been hanging around them city boys, ain't ya? James Milligan's too good for us country bumpkins and yokels now," Arles continued to smile as he joked with his friend.

"Ah you know that ain't true, Arles. Ah'll always be a country boy at heart. And who are you callin' a yokel?" James smiled back, letting off a happy sigh for once, before his mood dampened again, "How was it up there?"

"Gosh we caught hell up there," he shuddered, "Those slant-eyed chattering Nips just wouldn't die. They shelled us, bombed us, came at us at night. Worse than Guadalcanal."

He looked James in the eye, "They're dug in like ticks on a deer up there. They threw everything they had at us without a moment's rest and they ain't stoppin' yet. So you promise you'll be careful up there, Jim?

"Course I will," he gripped his bag tightly as he gave his promise, "I ain't exactly privy to losing my mortal coil just yet."

"How are you feeling?" James asked

Arles didn't speak at first, frowning and looking off to the side at the stretcher bearers who were starting to get up from their smoke break, "I'm just tired man," He dimly smiled again, "It's my third campaign. Ah don't think they'll try to send me back to the front again, not with this. Got the million-dollar wound. So, guess I'm going home."

"Yeah, guess you are," James nodded, "Will you write me?"

"'Course 'ah will. Wouldn't miss it for the world," Arles muttered.

James heard a shuffling of the rock behind him, "Catchup time is over gentlemen. Let's move out."

Nodding to the senior corpsman, James stood himself up on his feet, the stretcher bearers grasping the thin, pole handles of the carrier, and gazed down at Arles, "It was good to see you again, old friend."

"Likewise," Arles agreed. He weakly brought his arm up and grasped at the tie of his watch, fumbling and floundering with it from his morphine-induced faintness, "Here Jim, I want you to take my watch. Bring you some good luck when you're up on the ridge," he thrust out the watch towards James.

It was cheap, not at all something a rich man would wear. The leather was dim and faded from use, the loose hinges squeaked as it flopped about, and the clock bore scratch marks on the glass from shrapnel. But James looked as though he was being handed a $10,000 lottery ticket.

He humbly accepted the gift, grasping the watch gently out of the man's hand, and strapped it to his wrist with a loud squeak, "Thank you Arles."

The men started to move on, the corpsman hanging back to James' left, "Be well Jim. Make it home safe."

"Be well Arles," he waved weakly back to his friend who disappeared behind the mass of the two men carrying him down.

"Good kid he was. Hate to see him go in some way," Doc Trelvey chuckled to James, "Always had a joke on his lip and a story to tell. It's nice to meet the famous 'Jimmy', the accomplice to the thievery of that 'Merry Oldsmobile'."

"Hey we were just taking it for a joyride and we were gonna return it. Not my fault that the only person with a car in town just happened to leave it unlocked and just sitting outside," James laughed, "Anyway, you got my morphine and splints or not?"

"Sure, got some right here," Trelvey handed off the supplies quickly, James stuffing them into his pockets, pack, and gear just as quickly. Both were eager to rejoin their units, lest they get left behind.

"Good luck," Trelvey nodded.

"God bless," James waved, turning around and running up the column to catch up with his unit, disappearing into the hell that awaited him.

With that, the scene faded from view and put the two onlookers back in the cloud of black.

None said anything for a few seconds, but Luna finally broke the pause, "Do you still have that watch?"

James flinched, as if he had been broken from staring off into space, "Hmm?"

"The watch. The watch Arles gave you. Do you still have it?" she repeated the question.

"Yes," he huffed, "Yes I do. It's one of the things I was wearing when I appeared here, days before I met you. It is one of my most treasured possessions and a great reminder of home."

She shuffled her hooves against the non-existent floor, "Do you miss him?"

He was quiet, focusing intently on a spot in the void, "Yes, of course I do. I miss a lot of folk, Howard, Jenkins, Mom, Dad," he shook his head and sighed, "Missing them won't bring them here. Crying and whining about it won't change nothing, but, well, I'm still sad about it."

"As I'd expect of someone who lost everything they knew in a manner of seconds," she gave him a warm hug on his side, nestling her cheek affectionately into his arm. He responded with his own side hug, embracing her as best he could.

Breaking the hug, he chuckled half-heartedly, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Luna smiled back and folded her arms, "So, where do we go from here?"

"Well, ah'm a little tired, so I think we'll just skip ahead a bit," he rubbed at his eyes a little and cleared his throat, "We fought for thirty days on Bloody Nose Ridge, thirty long, sleep-deprived, terrifying days and nights of constant fighting. Lost a lot of good men, most of our officers; we came down that ridge utterly decimated. 46% casualties, and I the only one to have not been wounded of the enlisted men. I think Mad Dog was the only remaining officer of the original bunch we entered Peleliu with. The going was tough, not only because we were under constant threat, but Howard was not with me for most of it. I missed him more than I was willing to admit up on that cursed piece of land. The only good day I had during that time was when his jovial raggedy-ass hopped into my foxhole like nothing had happened. Seems I've always gravitated towards the lighthearted type."

He chuckled for a few seconds before continuing, folding his hands behind his back stalwartly, "We were relieved off the line 15 October by the 5th Marines and awaited on the beach for a few days to board ship. And it was at that time I began to reflect on the things I had seen and heard."

Leaves blew in an errant, soft evening sea breeze as the ocean lapped at the sand a couple yards away from her. Dashing, vibrant colors danced in the sky as the sun cast itself closer and closer to the horizon. For once, Luna felt a coolness to the air, instead of a raging, blistering heat like she had grown accustomed to. It was such an abrupt contrast to the status quo that was not unwelcome. The air smelled of seawater, the taste of the warm saline sea flooding her nostrils instantly.

The beach was peaceful, almost like one of those pleasant beach resort ads in those magazines her sister peruses through.

A soft shuffling of cloth brought her eyes down to see James rocking quietly in a jungle hammock, the knots tied between two palm trees. He lay quietly in his rack, the mosquito netting tucked firmly into the cloth, writing in his makeshift journal, which by now had accumulated much of the wear and tear she had seen on it. Burn marks, scratches, rips, all kinds of blemishes graced the pages of the little book. But James didn't seem to care, passing over the marks with his fountain pen as if they weren't even there. His eyes were squinted in focus, diligently ordaining each stroke of his pen in just the right way. The elegant, cursive handwriting stuck out like a sore-thumb against the dirty, worn background it was being written upon.

A few feet away from him, Howard was dozing quietly in his own hammock, his eyes closed softly shut as he hummed a tune. His helmet lay squarely on his lean chest, rising and falling steadily with his breathing. His black hair was groomed, washed, and well-combed. His uniform was no longer filthy, a fresh clean one nestled comfortably on his person. HIs stubble had been shaved off and he looked well-rested.

What was most endearing to her was the small, content smile on his face as he reached his hand out and rocked his hammock back and forth.

James on the other hand looked much less peaceful than his friend. His face was scrunched up in a way that made him look angry, even though he likely wasn't. She heard tense scraping of the paper, his hand pressing the pen down more firmly into the paper.

For a moment though, he suddenly stopped his writing, dotting the period at the end of sentence, and stared off into the brush, intently deep in his own thoughts. His eyes were expressionless and his face was much more neutral than before. His thumb rested under his chin like a great Equestrian philosopher of old as he pondered some unknown thought.

Unsatisfied with his own thoughts, he turned towards his friend, "Howard?"

Howard's eyes remained closed, his tune coming to halt, "Yeah Jim?"

"Why'd we fight on Peleliu?"

He didn't answer at first, his mouth scrunching up in mild confusion, "Why do you ask?"

James closed his little makeshift journal, marking his page by leaving the pen in the spine, "Well, I was thinking. I just don't know why we spent all that time fighting on this rock. I mean, you heard it from the Captain, McArthur attacked the Phillipines a few days after we landed. We already got airfields that can strike Japan if those West Point lieutenants from supply are to be believed. So, I'm wondering why we bothered to capture Peleliu in the first place."

Howard didn't say anything, his own mind deep in thought just as James was a few moments before.

"Gosh, I-I don't really know," he finally answered, gazing over at James with a bewildered stare.

The two men were silent then. Neither needed to say anything more. James turned over in his hammock and gazed at the soft, fabric roof, while Howard watched the lapping sea with a uneasy weight in his gut.

Had their suffering truly been in vain? Did all the men who fought on this rock do so for nothing?

They knew the answer, and it stung worse than any Jap round that could hurt them.

And with those thoughts, James pulled them out, putting them back in the pleasant, peaceful evening of Equestria.

Luna's eyes crustily opened as the late, late dusk greeted her.

Late dusk?

Realizing how late she was, she scrambled off the deck down to the edge of the ridge overlook. Channeling her magic into her horn and reaching out to grasp the moon, she tugged it out from the horizon into its place. The final rays of sunlight were beaten away as the sun fell below the horizon.

Oh, Tia was going to have a field day over this. "So, was he good?", "Glad you've been practicing your horizontal tango with James!", "Does his carpet match his drapes?"

Ughh... they're not even good jokes. She thinks she's sooo funny.

James had calmly strolled off the deck and stood next to her, "You ok?"

She pressed down her skirt and straightened herself out, "I'm terribly sorry, James. I just realized I was incredibly late in my duty of raising the moon. You'll have to forgive me."

"Oh, it's alright. I shouldn't have kept you so long. If anything it was my fault," he gestured to himself.

"No worries," she rebutted, leaning up against the railing and enjoying the cool night breeze.

The two leaned against his railing and were content to enjoy the night for a few seconds, taking in the sounds of birds, insects, and the idleness of it all. But soon, Luna propped herself back up, "Well, I suppose I should be going James. The responsibilities of a leader waits for no one."

"I think they can make an exception for you. Wait here for a second," he said and walked up his porch and back into his home.

Luna smiled with intrigue. Did he buy something for her? Perhaps a gift or flowers?

He wasn't long, taking only a few seconds, and came back out, closing his door gently.

"Luna, we've been friends for awhile. You've helped me through so much these past weeks, so I want you to have this."

In his fingers was the little journal he had kept during the war, scratches and all.

She took it from his hands and gazed at the faded cover, "James you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I mean, this is your journal."

"I appreciate the sentiment. But I want you to read it. I've left so many things out. So many memories that are just, too painful to see again. Things that are best left written on paper and forgotten in the mind. But, also, I suppose this is an apology for being snappy with you today. You've only been trying to help and it was wrong of me to be rude to you. And don't lie. I know you've been at least mildly curious," he rubbed away some of the tiredness of his eyes and yawned, "Scuse me."

Caught red-handed. She had been very curious to what he had been writing in the book.

"Well," she paused, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now if you don't mind, I think I'm going to try to get some sleep, if it'll come," he started up the stairs of his deck and looked back at her, "Be well, Luna."

"Be well, Jim," she snarked, giving him a wave off.

He laughed briefly, waved back, and closed the door behind him.

With that, she channeled her magic and was back in the castle in a flash, intrigued by what she might read.