#schoonover

Flaunt Film by Jonathan Schoonover

When Y/N was on her second tour in Syria, she realised how easy it was to loose track of time. While she was there, she never heard what day it was, only times. See, when you don’t hear the date for a few weeks or more, you’ll lose track of what day it is, what the date is; simple things. There was one time, when the post from their family got delayed, that Y/N’s old squad had thought it was July, until she got a selection of birthday cards. Her birthday was in August. Y/N found that it was all well and good to know the day and the date, and the anniversaries of everyone’s marriages and births, but it wasn’t instrumental to anyone’s life. She forgot her own birthday, but what did it matter if she still knew her age? A birthday is really just another day; the 1st of January just marked another 365 days, 52 weeks or twelve months; time is a concept. - “I forgot to call my mum for Christmas and New Year’s.” “What?” Billy glanced at his friend - he didn’t really understand the whole drama about being with family at the festive time of the year (this was understandable, of course.) “She told me to call her. I forgot - which is annoying because this time I can’t say I was busy because I wasn’t doing anything.” “You were unconscious at Christmas and and still recovering at New Year’s. You couldn’t’ve called her,” Billy reasoned, making Y/N laugh. “I can’t believe that I, sniper and fighter pilot, got shot in the stomach on Christmas Eve. I mean, I blame you,” she said, ending on a joking note. “I told you to stop shooting and get down, but did you? No, of course not,” Billy said, making her laugh. “I was on a roll! Did you see how many people I hit! Even you can’t deny it was pretty epic,” she said, rousingly her eyebrows mockingly at him. “Nah, that was pretty cool. You could even say it was as cool as when I was on my first tour and I-“ “Bill, as much as that’s a great story, I’ve only heard it five thousand times,” Frank cut him off, entering the dormitory where Billy and Y/N were seated, “Y/N, Rawlins wants ya.” At that, Y/N hopped up from where she was sitting, cross-legged, on Billy’s bed. She pulled her boots on, messed his hair up and left, turning round only to say to Bill, “tell me later, k?” As she jogged across the sand dunes towards the mess tent, golds, scarlets and magentas staining the sky above her as she did so, she thought about what Rawlins had said when he spoke to her last, just before the Christmas Eve Mission. When she got to the tent, Schoonover was vacant, probably with some of the soldiers. she knew why he wasn’t there, but she pushed the thought away. No one could know. “Sir?” she asked. “Ah yes, Sergeant Y/L/N, I need to you talk to you, it’s about Operation Hecate - there’s been a problem,” he said, and she ran forwards to where the maps were laid out on the table. “What kind of problem?” she asks, urgency laced through her voice, “Is it-“ “It will still go ahead. But next mission, you’re going to have to do it. As soon as possible, we can’t hold this off any longer. You know the plan.” “What will the mission be?” “A staged one. And a dangerous one too. It will be… difficult. You don’t have to worry; just make sure you remember to turn your lights off.” “Of course, Sir. May I go?” she points in the general direction of the cafeteria tent. “Yes, eat, build your strength for tomorrow.” - “What was that about?” Frank asked as Y/N sat down on the bench with her food - canned army rations - and began to stuff her mouth. “Upcoming mission - just checking the F35’s in good condition for tomorrow,” she looked up from the food, and saw them all staring at her. “What?” she asked, looking at the three men, and they continued to stare as she shovelled another mouthful of food down her throat, “What?” “Uh, nothing,” Curtis said, eyeing her plate as another overly filled fork full was stuffed down her throat, “nothing.” “What, never seen a girl eat?” She said, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of their faces. “Not like that, I haven’t,” Frank chuckled, and she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, you guys are sexist. Just a lil’ bit, but sexist none the less. It’s food. I’m hungry. Stop making faces.” The men then pretended as if nothing had happened, Billy swiftly changing their conversation towards the elephant in the room - “So, mission tomorrow? “Yeah, it’s… I don’t know. Seemed like a big deal,” Y/N said, shrugging and dropping her cutlery unceremoniously onto her now-empty plate. It is a big deal. She know it is because it impacts her more than it impacts anyone else she knows - and doesn’t know, for that matter. - “Hey, Bill!” He turns to face the pilot behind him. “Yes, love?” He flirts, making her laugh; a look of terror passes her faces, he only just sees it, “are you okay?” “I need to talk to you -” She sounds urgent as she grabs his hand and pulls him away from the stacks of equipment and fellow Marines - “in private.” “What’s going on?” He asks, suddenly suspicious - and scared - of her behaviour. “Look, I need you to know something. Separately from that, tell Frank and Curtis that I loved knowing them-“ “What the hell is going on?” “It’s nothing to worry about. Bill, listen to me, and you can’t tell anyone else about any of this, okay?” “Y/N, I…” “Okay?” “Yes, fine.” “Something big is going to go down tonight. And I need you to know that I would never hurt you intentionally. This past year has been the best of my life. Especially since I got to spend it with you. Now, I really need to go - my charriot awaits. I… I lo - bye Bill!” She runs off, living him in a state of curious stupor - what the hell was going on? - There are two trucks; both khaki, both with a USMC symbol next to a ‘Stark Industries’ symbol on the right side; one had six soldiers (Frank, his three Marines and two medics) and the other had five soldiers (Billy, his three Marines  and Curtis.) No one dared to talk. The dirt trucks that they rode down were uneven, but no one noticed - they were checking equipment and hoping that the mission they’re on goes better that their last one. Overhead, the distant hum of a plane’s engine reminded that their friend will provide more than enough support. Even that did little to calm their nerves. Billy found himself praying - odd, since he’s an atheist - that Y/N would be there when they get back to camp; after her behaviour earlier, he felt as though she’s on a suicide mission. The squad pulled into a ditch, and the soldiers climbed out. They could feel it in the air - this was a battle they wouldn’t forget. - Black. Red. Orange, yellow, blue, pink, green. There was a rainbow of colours on the battlefield. Fiery colours of explosions; the blue hues of the twilight; the greens of the uniform. There are flashes of the brightest whites, and moments of suffocating black; there were moments when it feels as though the very earth itself is on fire. Occasionally, shrapnel fell from the sky like a monsoon - fatal to those in it’s path - when their British friend was successful; that didn’t stop the look of pure horror the Marines made when there was an aerial explosion - waiting for the confirmation that their plane was still flying. It felt as though it had been hours. They needed to turn around. They needed to retreat. There weren’t enough medics and there was so much dust in the air that it was impossible for the soldiers to see more then ten feet infront of their fingertips. It seemed as though enemy soldiers jumped out of thin air. There was an explosion in the distance. They could tell because their world lit up momentarily. Billy pulled his radio to his ear, waiting to hear the confirmation from Y/N that the last of the enemy planes was down and they can go home. - There was a crowd. There’s always a crowd. Frank was off doing who knows what (probably having a go at Rawlins) and Curtis was with patients. Billy was frantic, he checked the face of every soldier. “There’s no point in searching.” He turned to face the voice - Schoonover - in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked, panic filling his body like mercury. “She went down at the end - so did the enemy plane. Lost one of the wings and didn’t have time to eject. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. Billy screamed. He’d never lost his cool before - not like this - but he surged forwards, and suddenly there were three people stopping him from killing Schoonover. - “Hi, Flight Sergeant Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Director Nick Fury, and this is Maria Hill.”

These photos, which were all taken between 1912 and 1913, are from our collection of Frank E. Schoonover negatives (Accession 2017.239), in Hagley’s Audiovisual Collections. You can click the individual photos to learn more about them.

Photographed by Chris Schoonover and Jonathan Schoonover for Elle Mexico

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