Author's Note

Jungle Rot was certainly hard to read about. I didn't see too many sources of how Corpsman treated it, but this was the best I could find. Hopefully this doesn't sound anachronistic!

Sorry for the later upload, but I think for now, I'll try to update this every week. School has been getting a little tougher as it nears the end of the semester and I'm gonna have take some more time to write a paper, time I'd usually use to write this story.

Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter and any criticism you have. It certainly helps me to create a better experience for all of us.

With that, Ch.5: This Miserable Jungle

Ch 5: This Miserable Jungle

"The worst part of being on Cape Gloucester was not the Japanese nor was it my friends dying, although that was incredibly painful. No, the worst part was the RAIN."

The scene generated, a torrential downpour quickly overtaking the inky blackness. They were back in the jungle, however, the foliage was demonstrably less thick. The trees were more spread out from one another and the thick-leaved bushes were much the same. There was more walking space throughout the area and the ground was no longer completely covered in dead leaves or branches. It resembled more of a forest now than a thickly vegetated jungle like it had before.

The atmosphere of the environment, now, that was definitely different. A steady falling of rain had drastically altered the once serene, sunny jungle landscape. Channels of water washed dirt and mud down the slopes created by its flow, each drop falling onto the ground coalescing into it like a river. Some rain lazily ran down the leaves, some smacking into a Marine's helmet and others pooling in the foxholes and craters dotting the surface of the jungle. A steady, loud THOOM, accompanied by a brilliant flash out in the distance, boomed out at sea, illuminating the area around them for a few seconds.

She looked at the sorry state of the men standing, sitting, and grumbling in front of her. Their position was more established than the others she'd seen. There were a few lean-to's standing out to her left, containing ammunition and firearms, food, and other supplies as well as another one she could see farther back holding the company headquarters, a few runners and aides going in and out periodically. Some Marines were still in their foxholes while others were standing inside of the wooden, tarped over structures, attempting to keep themselves somewhat dry. Her eyes popped out in shock as she walked by a hole with a man dozing inside of it covered up to his chest in muddy, cloudy water. His helmet was over his face and he was using his pack as a makeshift pillow, somehow finding a way to sleep through the misery going on around him. In a strange way, it looked like he was using the rain water as a blanket of some sorts, though Luna couldn't imagine it was as comfortable.

Those that were awake weren't much better. Some were simply leaning on the wooden beams holding up the lean-to's, staring out at the rain furiously pelting their position. A few had lit up smokes to occupy themselves, their drenched fingers staining the paper as they struggled to keep their freezing hands steady to light the cigarette. They said nothing to each other, the pervasive boredom and misery locking their faces in a small frown as their eyes drooped. She saw one man sitting on a wooden ammo box who, with his boondockers off dripping on the wooden platform they were standing on, was picking pus-filled, white blisters off from between the crevices of his toes, each one spraying a small bit of gooey pus onto his foot as he popped and wiped them up with a bit of poncho. He cursed each time he picked at them, a small bit of pain spreading across his face as he picked the sores off himself.

Truly, in Luna's eyes, the Marines looked like they wanted to throw themselves off of a Manehattan skyscraper and they were climbing up to the edge at the moment.

An NCO passed by, his boots making a loud SCHLOP as his foot sank into the ground with each of his steps. "Oh God," the man prayed out loud, his deep voice piercing into the tent they were standing by, "Please let someone shoot at me today."

"Amen," one of the Marines muttered in agreement.

Luna cocked an eyebrow and turned her head a tad in confusion. Why would anyone wish for the Japanese to attack their position?

"I think the Corps forgot where Cape Gloucester is and left us here," one man jabbered to another.

"I think God has forgotten Cape Gloucester, this miserable piece of shit island," his companion griped back.

"Damn stuff isn't coming out. Can one of you call the doc?" the jungle rotten Marine asked.

"DOC!" one of them yelled, waving his hand to grab James' attention.

The young James came trudging over, his boots sinking down equally as much into the mud as the NCO's did and landing with a thunderous SCHLOP!.

Luna was graced with a SOAKING wet James looking incredibly grumpy, his face in a small scowl. His gear and boondockers were drenched with water, the packs and pockets having a small bit of poncho over them trying and failing to keep them dry. Dirt and mud no longer clung to his face as before, rather, it was replaced with drops of water and condensation dripping down his cheek onto his dungaree shirt or into his mouth. His boondockers made a squelch every time he took a step, pools of water being rung out of the dirt like a sponge coalescing in his footprints. He only wore his closed dungaree jacket, pants, and boondockers, the rest of his backpack left in his dwelling. Loud PLOPS arose from his helmet as the fat, lazy drops of rain fell onto him.

In short, he looked incredibly soaked and even that was the understatement of the century.

He stepped under the tent canopy and shook some of the looser drops off himself. He placed his hands into his armpits as he crossed his forearms over each other, shivering a little as he did.

"Jungle rot?" James asked.

The Marine with the ailment was about to say something before he was cut off by the question.

"Yeah, you got anything for this Doc?" he laid back, propping his hands up on the wooden box as he held out his rotting foot.

"Yes, hol' on a second," he drawled, reaching into his pocket, emitting a large squelch as he did and pulled out a violet ointment. Its color was similar to that of a royal purple that Luna and Tia had worn for formal occasions, only this purple was a little less bold and more drab.

She watched as the corpsman squirted some of it into his hand, his flesh quickly staining with the purplish liquid, and began spreading it all over the man's foot and ankle, covering every spot with the regal ointment. He massaged it into the sores and wounds, a few men wearing disgusted expressions as they watched the gross sight. James didn't seem to mind the dirty nature of his job and appeared to take it on the chin. If he was uncomfortable with what he had to do, he certainly didn't show it to the rest of the men.

"Alright, try to keep your foot dry while this does its work," he began wrapping up.

The Marine chuckled and shook his head, "Sure Doc. I suppose I'll just kick up next to the fire and dry myself?"

"Very funny Marine. Just try your best unless you want me amputating your foot at battalion," he brandished his KABAR jokingly at the man as he turned to walk out of the tent.

James' arms shook in a violent shiver, standing on the edge of the platform. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder loosely.

"Doc, you look like you're about to freeze your dick off. Here, at least take this if you're gonna leave," he thrust a moderately dry poncho into James' hands.

The poncho was slightly damp, the water resistant fabric holding onto a few drops coagulating on its surface. A few holes could be seen in it as well, the fabric obviously seeing its fair share of use during the campaign. Vacant, idle strands of woven fabric poked out at the men, pulled out and ripped apart from the weaving.

James genuinely smiled happily, something she hadn't seen him do at all for awhile. "Thank you!"

He unraveled the poncho, shook it a little to dislodge any water, and donned it over himself, the fabric covering his body in camouflaged fabric like a cloak. His rain gear properly adorned, he jumped down from the mildly damp wooden platform of the tent and began walking around camp.

The rain had not let up during the small pause in the tent, in fact, it seemed even more ferocious, the rain hitting the earth deafeningly. A violent wind blew through the trees, tossing the tree leaves and bushes in all directions. James quickly poked a hand out of the poncho and held onto his helmet, placing his palm at the apex of the steel.

He passed by the man still dozing in his foxhole, surprisingly still not awake. The water was now up to his neck, near his Adam's apple and was becoming higher by the second. James walked up to him and tapped him on the helmet.

"Treman, you better wake up before the Navy recruiters come to get you," he sarcastically remarked to the man.

Treman opened his eyes groggily and quickly shot out of his hole, cursing as he looked down at his dungarees and uniform.

"God damnit! Dahh, gross," he shook his hands, throwing some of the water clinging to him off.

"You were sleeping in that filth for awhile Treman. Why didn't you wake up?" James inquired of the impromptu scuba diver.

"Dunno... guess I'm just a heavy sleeper," he wiped his face, trying to wipe the water off of it, but only succeeding in putting more on it from his hand.

"Alllright, well, let's get you back to battalion for some new dungarees. Make sure to get checked out by Doc Hallsey for the rot or trench foot, that's an order," he giggled.

Treman laughed, finding a little humor in his horrid living conditions. "Sure thing, Doc," he chortled, walking off towards the battalion aid station.

Satisfied, younger James resumed his patrol around camp, visiting various men, checking on them, and treating their injuries.

Luna heard him shuffle next to her. "Now that the Japanese weren't really a massive threat anymore, my enemies were no longer bullets, shrapnel, and a banzai charging Jap, but disease. The rain and muggy atmosphere nurtured all kinds of horrid, disgusting diseases, as I'm sure you've seen," he gestured back to the tent holding the jungle rot Marine.

"Dysentery, pneumonia, jungle rot, and dengue fever battled me for the lives of my Marines and many times it was too much for me to handle," he reminisced.

"But, the worst disease wasn't one that I could treat with an ointment or medicine. I could hardly treat it at all and it came for all of us on the island eventually," he pointed over to his younger self, walking up next to a Marine in a foxhole.

The man occupying the foxhole was staring intently at something in his hand. What it was, Luna couldn't see as it was blocked behind the man's back. Younger James was strolling alongside the foxhole to the man's right and peered in. She got closer to them to see what was going on.

The Marine didn't notice the corpsman stop beside him, still staring at what he was holding. His face was glazed over, hosting that ever-present stare, and looked as if he was contemplating something. James seemed to notice what was in his hand and calmly walked over to him. Luna followed, stood on the rim of the foxhole, and looked down.

The man was cradling a .45 cal. M1911 in his hands, his left hand holding the barrel while his right was clasping the handgun's grip. The silvery sheen looked dull, the rain splashing off the weapon and dripping idly down into the hole. Her eyes widened at the realization of what the man was thinking of doing.

James frowned, looking a slight bit sad. "What are you gonna do with that?"

The Marine jumped a little, whipping his head to his right, and saw Doc looking down on him. His eyes widened as he nervously looked off to the side, likely trying to think up some excuse that would explain his behavior. After a few anxious seconds, it appeared he found one.

"I was just checking for rust, Doc. You know, the rain can really mess up the metal," he forced a happy tone onto his speech, but James could see through it.

The corpsman didn't say anything to him, just staring down at the Marine as he thought of what to do.

"I've got a detail for you," he finally spoke, holding out his hand to pull him up.

"Sure Doc," he took the man's hand and stood up.

"I," he paused for half a second, squinting his eyes as he thought of something, "Need some help grabbing more medical supplies and seeing how you're just lazing about in your foxhole, I think some work would do you good," he chuckled to the man.

"Sure, lead the way," the two began sloshing through the thick mud back towards battalion.

"And maybe once we're done, you can go grab some hot chow and hang around for awhile. Get out of the rain for a bit," James offered.

The Marine looked slightly to his left. "I don't know if I should go off the li..."

"HUP! Doc's orders, Marine," he cut the man off before he finished his sentence, holding up his hand in front of the Marine, "You look like you can use some time off the line."

The Marine looked a little bewildered, but soon softly smiled, the two of them walking off into the thick brush of the Cape Gloucester jungle and disappearing.

The memory faded away, leaving the two of them standing in the void.

"Goddess, it's a good thing you were there in time," Luna remarked, looking up at the tall, young gentleman.

"Yes, indeed. Every man contemplated doing what he was about to do. After 3 long months of being on that God-forsaken island, we thought we'd never go home. Every day, we prayed for relief and rest from the seemingly eternal rain, but it never came until we left Cape Gloucester. Getting killed or receiving the million dollar wound appeared to be the only way out to freedom. And unfortunately, some men acted on that principle, paraticularly a few weeks later."

The scene began to play again, the rain quickly overtaking the still silence of the void. Cape Gloucester had not changed a bit in the weeks after. The torrential downpour was as powerful as it was oppressive. However, what had changed was the structure of the encampment the Marines were living in. More fortified and erected structures had replaced the foxholes, more tents and tarped buildings dotting the surface rather than hollow holes dug into the earth. Small, netted hamocks with tarps over them swung quietly in the rainy breeze, a few men dozing inside them.

The men camping here looked just as gloomy, dejected, and miserable as they did a few weeks before, if not worse. Frowns adorned their faces as rain whipped and struck the structures they sought reprieve in. Their eyes, glazed, gloomy, and hopeless scanned the sky for some sort of pause in the rain, but it never came. A few men in another tent had started a game of pinochle, the NCOs turning a blind eye to it and some even joining in. Another was playing with a lighter inside of his hammock, idly swinging in the rain as he bundled up as best he could in the cold weather.

She spied James sitting in his own hammock, silently writing in a small booklet she couldn't make out in the distance. She motioned James to accompany her and they walked towards the corpsman.

Inside, she could make out the small, printed letters of a book of some sort. The man's left hand was placed between the pages of the book, resting on the spine, and was shielding the text with his palm and fingers from the stray droplets that threatened to peek through the cracks of his hammock. However, he wasn't reading the text, but was rather writing over it with a fountain pen.

From the looks of it, it closely resembled that "Bible" James was so protective of a few days back.

"James, is that the little booklet that fell out of your briefcase?" she inquired of him.

"Yes, very perceptive of you," he replied. She grinned at the compliment.

"We were not allowed to keep journals or diaries on the front lines. The brass up top believed if we got killed, the enemy might loot us and get valuable information out our journals," he mocked, "I thought it was a load of crap. But, to get around it, I used my little Bible Mad Dog had given me on the first day as my journal. I'm sure the big Man will probably have a few gripes with me over it, but I think He understands," James chuckled.

"I'll let you read it sometime, when I'm ready," he said.

She nodded, smiling up at the man before peering back into the hammock again, much like a peeping Tom she reckoned.

James noticed something off to his left, swiftly beginning to put away his Bible and unzip his hammock. A man, naked except for his underwear, had sprint past him and was currently heading straight towards the line which held small pockets of Japanese resistance. He was carrying a .45 pistol in his hand and was his pale, white skin was dirtied with mud, like he had faceplanted into the sopping wet earth.

The corpsman whipped his legs out of the jungle hammock and began to run after the man, looking exceedingly worried. He had adorned his poncho and dungaree jacket, but had left his supplies and gear back in his hammock.

The almost naked man stopped at a small incline, his right hand firmly gripping the pistol. His eyes were wet, teary as his mouth hung open in a desperate frown.

"LETS GO - SHOOT ME!" he yelled in succession, "SHOOT ME! SHOOT ME! SHOOT ME! - END IT!" he continued screaming into the thick jungle foliage.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" one man asked.

"Dammit, he's cracked. Get him down from there, quickly boys!" an NCO ordered.

Two Marines hastily began to carry out the order, both of them sprinting towards the man, and swiftly ripped the gun out of his hand. The man began to break down, weeping into his hands as the two Marines flanked him on both sides, escorting him away from potential danger.

"Take him back to the battalion aid station," the sergeant ordered them.

"I'll go too," James piped up, adjusting his helmet and wiping his face.

"Alright Doc, hurry back when you're finished," he replied, walking away towards the ammunition depot.

The memory began to fade with the four of them walking off towards the aid station. Soon, the two of them were left in the void again.

"Oh that poor man," she sighed.

"Poor man indeed. I dunno what happened to him, but I hoped he got better after some time off the island. The hopelessness we all felt had gotten to him, and many of us had almost heeded the call of the void as he did. I thank God that I didn't end up like him," he crowed.

The two stood for awhile, contemplating the sad sight for which they had been witness to.

The void began to shift away to reveal a quiet, sunny Pacific day. The two of them were now standing on the stern of a metal ship, likely one of the troop transports James had been talking about previously. The wind blew passively over them, the warm air kissing the skin of their arms. A pleasant smell flooded into her nostrils, tasting the cool sea air as they began to sail away from an island.

"We were relieved on April 23, 1944 and finally left the island," he took in a deep breath and smiled, "It was so good to leave, to smell the sea breeze, and for once, not get rained on."

He turned to her, looking down to meet her eyes, "So, what did you think of the whole experience?"

She paused for a moment, looking back at the island, and leaned on the rail, "I think I need a cuddle."

"Well umm..., I'm available," the man's face began to blush heavily, his inexperience with women furiously being shown through his embarrassed expression.

Luna too began to blush, soon starting to giggle softly. She found the sudden decomposition of his stoic nature positively adorable.

"If you'll have me," she replied, taking his hands into hers and warping them out of the memory, back into the real world.