With the Old Breed_ At Peleliu and Okinawa - E. B. Sledge [52]
When asked who he was and what unit he was in, he replied, “Capt. Paul Douglas. I was division adjutant until that barrage hit the 5th Marines’ CP yesterday, then I was assigned as R-1 [personnel officer] in the 5th Regiment. I am very proud to be with the 5th Marines,” he said.
“Gosh, Cap'n! You don't have to be up here at all, do you?” asked one of our detail in disbelief as he passed ammo boxes to the fatherly officer.
“No,” Douglas said, “but I always want to know how you boys up here are making out and want to help if I can. What company are you fellows from?”
“From K Company, sir,” I answered.
His face lit up, and he said, “Ah, you're in Andy Haldane's company.”
We asked Douglas if he knew Ack Ack. He said, yes, that they were old friends. As we finished unloading, we all agreed that there wasn't a finer company commander than Captain Haldane.
A couple more mortar shells crashed nearby. Our luck would run out soon. Japanese gunners usually got right on target. So we yelled, “Shove off,” to the driver. He waved and clanked away in his unloaded amtrac. Captain Douglas helped us stack some of the ammo and told us we had better disperse.
I heard a buddy ask, “What's that crazy old gray-headed guy doing up here if he could be back at regiment?”
Our NCO growled, “Shut up! Knock it off, you eightball! He's trying to help knuckleheads like you, and he's a damned good man.”*
Years after the war, I had the great pleasure of meeting and visiting with Senator Paul Douglas. I told him about the remark referring to him as the “crazy old gray-headed guy.” He laughed heartily and expressed great pride in having served with the 1st Marine Division.†
Each man in our detail took up a load of supplies, bade Captain Douglas “so long,” and started back to the company lines. Other men went back to bring up the rest of the supplies before dark. We ate chow and finished preparations for the night. That was the first night on Peleliu that I was able to make up a cup of hot bouillon from the dehydrated tablets in my K rations and a canteen cup of heated, polluted, oily water. Hot as the weather was, it was the most nourishing and refreshing food I had eaten in three days. The next day we got fresh water. It was a great relief after that polluted stuff.
Dug in next to our gun pit were 1st Lt. Edward A. (“Hillbilly”) Jones, Company K's machine-gun platoon leader, and a salty sergeant, John A. Teskevich. Things were quiet in our area except for our artillery's harassing fire pouring over; so after dark obscured us from Japanese observers, the two of them slipped over and sat at the edge of our gun pit. We shared rations and talked. The conversation turned out to be one of the most memorable of my life.
Hillbilly was second only to Ack Ack in popularity among the enlisted men in Company K. He was a clean-cut, handsome, light-complexioned man—not large, but well built. Hillbilly told me he had been an enlisted man for several prewar years, had gone to the Pacific with the company, and had been commissioned following Guadalcanal. He didn't say why he was made an officer, but the word among the men was that he had been outstanding on Guadalcanal.
It was a widespread joke among men in the ranks during the war that an officer was made an officer and a gentleman by an act of Congress when he was commissioned. An act of Congress may have made Hillbilly an officer, but he was born a gentleman. No matter how filthy and dirty everyone was on the battlefield, Hillbilly's face always had a clean, fresh appearance. He was physically tough and hard and obviously morally strong. He sweated as much as any man but somehow seemed to stand above our foul and repulsive living conditions in the field. Hillbilly had a quiet and pleasant voice even in command. His accent was soft, more that of the deep South,