With the Old Breed_ At Peleliu and Okinawa - E. B. Sledge [93]
Always seeking good reading material, I looked at the spine of the book and read its title, Men At War by Ernest Hemingway. This is interesting history, I thought, and was puzzled as to why the lieutenant had thrown it so violently into the trash. I opened the cover. In the twilight I saw written in a bold strong hand, A. A. Haldane. A lump rose in my throat as I asked myself why I'd want to read about war when Peleliu had cost us our company commander and so many good friends. I, too, slammed the book down into the trash can in a gesture of grief and disgust over the waste of war I had already experienced firsthand.
After we had been back on Pavuvu about a week, I had one of the most heartwarming and rewarding experiences of my entire enlistment in the Marine Corps. It was after taps, all the flambeaus were out, and all of my tent mates were in their sacks with mosquito nets in place. We were all very tired, still trying to unwind from the tension and ordeal of Peleliu.
All was quiet except for someone who had begun snoring softly when one of the men, a Gloucester veteran who had been wounded on Peleliu, said in steady measured tones, “You know something, Sledgehammer?”
“What?” I answered.
“I kinda had my doubts about you,” he continued, “and how you'd act when we got into combat, and the stuff hit the fan. I mean, your ole man bein’ a doctor and you havin’ been to college and bein’ sort of a rich kid compared to some guys. But I kept my eye on you on Peleliu, and by God you did OK; you did OK.”
“Thanks, ole buddy,” I replied, nearly bursting with pride. Many men were decorated with medals they richly earned for their brave actions in combat, medals to wear on their blouses for everyone to see. I was never awarded an individual decoration, but the simple, sincere personal remarks of approval by my veteran comrade that night after Peleliu were like a medal to me. I have carried them in my heart with great pride and satisfaction ever since.
As Christmas approached, rumor had it we were going to have a feast of real turkey. There were several days out of the year when the Marine Corps tried to give us good chow: 10 November (the Marine Corps’ birthday), Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. The rest of the time in the Pacific war, chow was canned or dehydrated. Refrigeration facilities for large quantities of food were not available, at least not to a unit as mobile and as lacking in all luxuries as a combat division in the Fleet Marine Force. But the scuttlebutt was that there were frozen turkeys for us in the big refrigerators on Banika.
We had special Christmas Eve church services in the palm-thatched regimental chapel that had been constructed skillfully by Russell Island natives. That was followed by a special Christmas program at the regimental theater where we sat on coconut logs and sang carols. I enjoyed it a great deal but felt pretty homesick. Then we had our roast turkey, and it was excellent.
New Year's celebration was even more memorable for me. On New Year's Eve after chow, I heard some yelling and other commotion over at the battalion mess hall. The messmen had just about finished squaring away the galley for the night when a sentry shouted, “Corporal of the guard, fire at post number three!”
I saw cooks and messmen in the mess hall who were cleaning up by lamplight all rush outside to a fire burning in a grove of trees near the galley. I thought one of the gasoline heaters that boiled water in tubs where we cleaned our mess kits had caught fire. By the light of the flames I could see men running around the galley yelling, and I could hear the mess sergeant cursing and shouting orders. I also saw two figures slide through the shadows toward our company street, but paid them little heed. In a few minutes the fire was put out,just a can of gasoline some distance from the mess hall that had somehow caught fire, somebody said.
A friend of mine appeared at my tent and said in a low voice, “Hey, you guys, Howard says come on down to his tent; plenty of turkey