It was a morning like any other at the temporary camp set up on the island of Pavuvu.

You were sat on a desk with Merriell “Snafu” Shelton leaning against your side—peeling his bandages off and picking at a wound on his foot the corpsman specifically ordered him not to touch.

Burgin was brushing his teeth and laying out his uniform, D’LEau was complaining about Gunny Haney’s intensive training when three new privates walked in.

You barely glanced up from what you were doing, and neither did Snafu—merely grunting in greeting when introduced by Burgin.

The young man did, however, throw his helmet onto the cot that a private—introduced as Eugene Sledge—was lowering his sack onto.

“Taken.” Murmured Snafu, a lazy smile on his smug face.

Moving fast, he also tossed one of his sandals onto the other cot which one of the other privates were about to claim.

Tilting his head subtly in a gesture of feigned sympathy, the curly haired man spoke up yet again.

“Taken.”