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“You should have shaved me bald!”
Eugene shook his head. Yes, Peleliu was hotter than Mobile in its fiercest summers, but Deacon liked to exaggerate. “How would that have looked like? A ginger and a shaved beagle?”
Deacon was panting like a dooge, her flews pulled up in despair.
“I don’t care” she moaned. “When will we find water?”
Eugene’s initially good mood (or at least better mood than usual) evaporated as water would under the burning sun. Water they didn’t have and just wouldn’t find. At least none that the Japs hadn’t poisoned beforehand.
“You don’t even need to drink” he grumbled.
“But I’d like to bathe,” Deacon responded. “And so do you.”
Eugene couldn’t argue with that. He could have written an entire list of things he’d like to do if they found water. He huffed and nudged Deacon with his shin. Deacon barked a laugh and trotted on.
“Well, I have to look at the bright side,” she mused after a while.
“At least I won’t have sunburn as bad as you do.”
Shelton was a little flushed. That was unusual. He was smoking like a chimney, which was not very unusual.
Eugene gathered his courage and walked closer.
“You alright?”
The incident on the airfield lay days behind them, but he had heard his father speak of delayed shock once.
“Alright, Sledgehammer” Shelton drawled.
Not knowing if it was meant as an answer or the beginning of an angry speech, Eugene leaned in a little and waited.
Shelton looked up from fumbling a new cigarette out of his breast pocket and raised an eyebrow. He snorted.
“Ain’t gonna die on the spot, stop ya gawking.”
Eugene cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“You just… don’t look so great” he offered after a moment of consideration.
“Big fuckin’ surprise, that.”
Shelton clamped his lips around the cigarette and searched for his lighter. After successfully lighting it and inhaling the smoke with delight, he sighed.
“Tried to scout f’ Japs. Flew too close to the sun and crashed, the goddamn idiot.”
He pointed vaguely to his back. Eugene walked a little slower, and immediately saw the problem.
Merwe, Shelton’s mockingbird dæmon, was lying motionlessly on top of his pack, wings stretched out and breath shallow.
“Jesus” Eugene choked.
“She not gonna die neither,” Shelton mumbled around his cigarette.
“We just… just need some water. So I can show ‘er every bird can swim alright.”
Merwe gave an indignant squawk and Shelton snorted again.
“Shut the hell up, back there. This is your fault.”
“I told ya to stay home,” Merwe railed. “But y’ had to go and enlist, and for what? I fuckin’ told you!”
Her voice was noticeably exhausted, but still loud and surprisingly shrill.
“And I told you to shut the hell up” Shelton snarled back. He stretched one arm backwards and plucked the delicate bird from his backpack.
Eugene had heard of people who abused their dæmons, but he had never dared to imagine it. Deacon whined and he felt shaky.
Was he going to witness it now? What was he supposed to do?
Merwe pecked at Shelton’s fingers, but Shelton unflinchingly lifted one hand over her fragile body.
Eugene closed his eyes.
Nothing happened.
He opened them again.
Shelton’s hand was still in the same position, creating a bit of shade for his dæmon to rest in.
Not knowing what to do with that development, Eugene let himself fall back once again.
Deacon looked up at him with big eyes.
“I thought he would…” she whispered faintly.
Eugene rubbed his forehead.
“Yeah, me too” he murmured back.
He shot Shelton another look. Merwe sat perched on his shoulder now, obviously recovered. The pair still bickered quietly, but every once and then Shelton lifted his hand to stroke her feathers or lightly scratch below her beak. Merwe continued ducking underneath Shelton’s helmet for shade, rubbing her left wing against Shelton’s curly head in the process.
Eugene stroked Deacon’s fur and focused on walking.
Apparently there was a lot more to Shelton than what he had thought there was.
Or to Snafu. Situation Normal, All Fucked Up.
He could see Burgie’s reason for christening him with that name, at least a little.
Maybe he would investigate in that.
They started digging the foxholes shortly after dusk.
Deacon helped as much as she could, while Merwe flitted around nervously, unable to help but unwilling to leave Shelton out of her sight. Mockingbirds were no nocturnal animals, and she could probably barely see more than Eugene could.
Around them the other soldiers and their dæmons dug with fervor, Eugene could hear Leyden scold his gazelle dæmon for jumping in and out of the shallow hole.
Leyden had just passed physical when he enrolled; his dæmon had had barely the right size.
It was a little ironic, a person as short as Leyden not passing because his dæmon was too tall.
No soldier had a dæmon that was taller than a Sheppard dog.
The reason was simple practicality: an overly big or tall dæmon was basically a running target. Slow dæmons received the same treatment.
In the height of battle it was simply distracting having to carry a turtle around additionally to their equipment.
This was the reason why most of the soldiers had dogs, wildcats or wolfs as demons. Birds were not that common, as many colorful birds, such as parrots, macaws or canaries, were rejected as well, but fast, mostly monochrome birds were allowed and instructed preferably to scout for enemies.
Eugene had heard Shelton say that alligator dæmons were not unusual in the bayou, and he had wondered if crocodiles and alligators passed physical, since they were fast, lethal and very good at camouflaging.
Shelton did not know. He didn’t personally know anyone with a ‘gator dæmon, as he called them, who had tried to enlist.
One of the good things of having a beagle dæmon, Eugene thought, is that you can use them as pillow.
Deacon, who had probably guessed his train of thought, scoffed at having to lie in the mud again, but did it anyway, presenting her soft flank for Eugene to put his head on, which he gratefully did.
Shelton (Snafu, Eugene would call him from now on, as Shelton would not stop calling him “Sledgehammer”, not that he wasn’t proud of that, admittingly) took first watch, and when it was time to take turns, he flopped down into the dirt and Merwe spread-eagled across his face, wings strategically covering his eyes.
Deacon snorted in amusement when he saw the unusual sleeping position, and Merwe promptly lifted her tiny head and began to cuss like a sailor.
Deacon whined in reply and lowered her head, while Snafu spent a few moments to search for her beak and pressing it shut. Merwe uttered a few more angry squeaks before she let her head sink on Snafu’s forehead again.
Silence prevailed.
And then chaos reigned.
Eugene could barely distinguish between the screams of his comrades, the shouts of the Japs that had somehow found their makeshift camp and the soft sound similar to scattering sand as soldiers fell and dæmons faded into small clouds of golden dust.
Merwe had somehow found room beneath Snafu’s helmet that was once again perched on his curls, and Eugene could just barely hear her terrified chirping.
From behind him, Deacon gave a warning bark as a hollering Jap jumped into their foxhole, and quickly wrangled their enemies’ snake dæmon to the ground. Before it had the chance to try strangling her, it dissipated as Snafu put a bullet into its counterpart’s head.
There was no time for gratitude. Eugene shouldered his rifle as Snafu hopped out of the hole, and then they were running into the fray.
Deacon stayed close behind him, always just one step away.
It gave Eugene a bit of a strange calm to know that none of them would have to live without the other, should the worst case arrive.
His dæmon in question whipped her head around when she heard a familiar voice scream out in fear, Eugene followed her eyes and almost fainted as he saw Burgie’s salamander dæmon being grabbed by a courageous Japanese soldier.
But that’s forbidden, Eugene thought, absolutely horrified.
The biggest taboo there was: touching a stranger’s dæmon without permission.
Burgie’s face was as white as snow, and before Eugene could do anything else than gape at that horrible sight, Deacon started to run.
He didn’t feel anything else than confusion for a moment, why would Deacon willingly leave him?
And then he felt the tugging.
Deacon pulled at their bond, and suddenly Eugene could not remember a time where he had felt worse.
It hurt, God it hurt, his very soul was ripped in two pieces, and Deacon would not come back, even though she had to feel the same.
The only thing he could do was stumble after her, visibly wrenched jerkily across the distance between them.
The Jap had Burgie’s dæmon tightly in his grip, and Burgie just kneeled there and whimpered.
Deacon lunged at the Jap’s dæmon.
She closed her teeth around the pheasant’s throat, and a few seconds later her jaw fell open to spit golden dust, as the pheasant and the Jap died soundlessly.
Burgie’s dæmon fell to the ground, and Burgie cradled it in his hands, sobbing.
Tears were rolling down Eugene’s cheeks, and he threw himself to the ground next to Burgie and pressed Deacon to his chest.
“Don’t do that again” he weeped, and Deacon weeped with him.
She didn’t need to say that she had had to do it, there hadn’t been anyone to help poor Burgie.
Eugene knew.
He sniffed once and then turned to the man in question.
“You okay?”
Burgie pressed teary kisses to his dæmons scales, who tried to wrap itself as tightly around Burgie’s fingers as it could. He nodded.
“Thanks, Sledgehammer” he sniffled.
His Texas twang sounded so very different when he pronounced his nickname that Eugene unintendedly tried to catch a glimpse of Snafu.
He was, naturally, nowhere to be seen, even though the grandest part of the battle was over, but then again it was almost pitch-black.
“He’ll be alright, can’t kill sonovabitches like him,” Burgie murmured when he saw him looking.
Eugene frowned.
Why was that even so important?
Burgie was right, Snafu was a mean sonovabitch, and not much else.
But that’s not true, his brain scolded him, you know what you saw just a few hours ago.
Burgie clapped a hand to his shoulder, his hand radiating gratitude.
“Did you know his dæmon was still undecided when I met him?”
Deacon pricked her ears. Eugene’s surprised silence said enough.
“Yeah, I’m not kidding. Scared the hell out of us when we saw it. At first, we didn’t even notice, but then there were suddenly horses in places where a horse shouldn’t be able to go, like on top of a water tower or inside the cockpit of the fighter jet that one time…”
Eugene snorted aloud.
“And then there was that alligator in the girl’s restroom and people started to get suspicious.”
Burgie honest to God started to giggle.
“Officers were not amused, as you can tell. Started a camp-wide search for any children that could have sneaked in there, but they didn’t find none, o’ course. And then Lilja caught him while they were slinkin’ to some higher-up’s office and Snaf’s dæmon promptly changed into a cow.”
Eugene guffawed.
“Did ya report him?” he asked.
“No” Burgie grinned.
“I may have given him the combination for Jay’s locker so he could surprise him with a kangaroo, if ya know what I mean. Don’t you dare tell him ‘bout that.”
Eugene threw his head back and laughed, a free, deep laugh.
“Pity I wasn’t there to see that” he wheezed.
Burgie just grinned and shook his head.
Lilja chortled and crawled on Deacon’s back. “How did it end?” Deacon asked.
The cheerful atmosphere seemed to fade and Burgie remained quiet.
Lilja spoke up for him.
“Merwe Settled when Snafu killed his first Jap on Camp Gloucester” she answered.
“Shot the guy in the head, and then they just stood there and stared at each other for a while. Then she sat on his helmet and off they were. Didn’t change ever since.”
They sat around in thoughtful silence for a little longer.
Lilja’s scales gleamed in the faint moonlight and Deacon pressed her nose to Eugene’s hand.
She seemed distressed.
“Get back to your foxholes!” they heard their gunny call finally. They bade Burgie and Lilja goodbye and then they were off, relying on Deacon’s senses to find their homely hole.
Snafu was already waiting for them, sporting a nice new cut on his forehead.
The cause was apparently only a misplaced stone, but Merwe refused to lie down on it now that they could continue their disrupted rest period.
Snafu grumbled about it for a while, and then he fell asleep in the middle of a curse, which was, if Eugene was honest, fucking hilarious.
Merwe tucked her head under her wing this time like a proper bird, and settled on Snafu’s chest, just below his collarbone.
There was no real reason to do so, but Eugene still found himself staring at Snafu for the rest of his watch. Fascination was a good word for what he was feeling, but it somehow wasn’t enough to describe his mood when he looked at Snafu.
He listened to him grinding his teeth and imagined opening his locker to see a kangaroo, and he almost laughed again.
But then he thought of the strangely oppressive scene Lilja and Burgie had witnessed when Merwe had finally Settled, and for some reason he felt like crying.
The Settling was supposed to be something sacred, something one could think of with pride.
Deacon had Settled the day when Eugene had asked a girl out for the first time when he was sixteen.
It hadn’t worked out, but on that evening, he had sat in the fields with Sid, feeling unbearably proud and grown up.
And then Deacon had suddenly looked up at him in awe, and they had the strange urge to rest their foreheads against each other’s.
They did so, in the middle of Eugene’s conversation with Sid.
Sid had been confused for a second, but when Eugene had lifted his head again he smiled at them.
“Did you Settle?” he had asked Deacon, and Deacon had laughed incredulously and had answered:
“Yes.”
He looked at Snafu’s scrunched-up face, angles sharp in the moonlight, and suddenly felt a warm sense of endearment.
Apparently, Deacon felt it too, since she stared at Merwe’s tiny shape on Snafu’s chest and gave a soft sigh. Turning her head, she looked up at him, face as thoughtful as a beagle’s face could be, and Eugene stroked her fur and tried to imagine Snafu with his future wife and children, but it didn’t work.
There was something so sad that a boy who had once possessed such innocence that his dæmon was still undecided at an age over seventeen (When had Snafu enlisted? How old was he, anyway?) had been forced to become a war-hardened, ruthless veteran without any time to explore that newfound world of maturity.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Eugene whispered without really knowing why.
“You should have had the chance to grow up properly, and I’m sorry it was taken away from you.”
Snafu was fast asleep and only responded with a “nhff” and a chirp from Merwe, but in that moment, Eugene swore to the heavens that he would watch out for them.
Many, many years later, when he was grey and almost bald and Deacon as good as blind, he carried Merriell Shelton’s casket and knew that Snafu and Merwe had returned the favor long before he had even thought to make his promise, perhaps the instant replacement Eugene Sledge had entered a tent that had been declared as “taken” moments after.