Author's Note

Hey y'all.

Finals week is this week, so chapters are gonna slow down for a bit. I'm still drafting the next update, but I've got a basic outline of what's gonna happen. I don't think we'll stay in Okinawa for too long as I think the flashbacks to battle are getting a little old. I think the remainder of the war stuff after Okinawa, such as the details and intricacies of his life on the islands, can be finished in these Journal entries. Besides, I think the aftermath of the war is going to be a little more interesting to explore now that we've adequately explored war-time James.

So yeah. Leave a comment if you liked this. I read every one I get, so it's nice to hear your opinions.

Journal Entry 4

Journal Entry 4

August 26, 1944

Word around camp is we're getting ready to assault the next target. Just rumors as far as I know, but it's only a matter of time before we're back in the fray. We've been doing more landing drills and maneuvers, so I'm certain we're assaulting something. I'm unsure of where we're headed, but word has it that McArthur's personally involved on this one. Sounds like it's gonna be big.

And here I was, starting to somewhat settle into life here in Pavuvu.

I feel I must apologize to you, journal, for not writing in some time. Unfortunately, nothing has been worth writing about, for most of our days are filled with dull, melancholic boredom. Life hasn't been great here, but we've been squeezing by and finding new ways to combat our monotonous routines.

We still have no showers, our bathing still done mostly in rain, and lack many basic necessities for a camp, but it's become somewhat of our new "normal" as sad and unfortunate as it is. We at least have been able to construct mess tents and a battalion headquarters, so the important things were taken care of.

The rats have evoked a begrudging respect from us for their nerves and great agility. Why, I saw one rat, when my buddy had lined up his pistol and took the shot, do a BACKFLIP out of the way and scurry away into the brush. It was the first and only time I've ever seen a rat do such a thing. For that, I can at least admit some modicrum of respect for their resilience.

The slimy land crabs still provoke nothing but disgust around camp. Good riddance I say...

I am thankful for the one truly joyful memory I can admit to having here. A comedian, one I'd never heard of until recently, by the name of Bob Hope flew out to our little rock in the middle of nowhere and put on for us a show. Now, you can imagine I'm sure, we've had nothing to do for the past three months aside from drills, PT, eating, crapping, and jacking off. You would think the show was going to be absolutely packed to the brim with every Marine that could fit.

And you'd be absolutely right.

We couldn't get close to enough seats for every man. Most of us just stood in the back, packed together like sardines just trying to get a glimpse of the stage. I was thankful that God made me as tall as I am, for seeing the stage was a breeze for guys like me. Poor Howard.

And boy, what a show it was! We laughed heartily, some falling out of their seats even! His delivery was superb, the jokes hilarious. I haven't had that much fun since I'd left the States. I'm sure most of the battalion was much the same.

It was a heartwarming reminder of home, to know that at least some people hadn't forgotten about us.

I won't lie. Near the beginning of the act, most of us were just trying to get a glimpse of those fine show girls that followed Mr. Hope on stage. WOOH. What fine, salacious outfits they had on! We strained and squinted our best just to get a glance at those legs, tantalizing us as they strode confidently around stage. We wooped and hollered at them, casting lewd remarks towards them, which they took with a smile.

I think that brunette gave me a wink. I've half a mind to find her and ask her out before she flies back.

(Luna rolled her eyes at the last line, but continued on.)

...

Ah, who am I kidding. She's just a show girl. I'm sure she meant nothing by it...

I distinctly remember a small fight breaking out to my right between a group of Marines over field glasses. Apparently, one of them had brought his binoculars with him and was able to get the prime, unobstructed view of the showgirl's bulging bosoms. The scuffle was allegedly over who would get to use them next.

Those lucky bastards.

I'm afraid I must go. Looks like Doc Hallsey needs help giving the Jarheads their pre-invasion shots. Best get to it.

Write again soon.

September 10, 1944

Well, we're back on ship and we've just arrived. For the past 5 days, we've been steaming towards the coast of a little island the lieutenant called "Peleliu", whatever that's supposed to mean. The fleet laid anchor a few hours ago and all of us caught the view of our next target.

I must say, Peleliu doesn't look all that threatening from way out here, but I know better. Japs are cooking us up a nice welcome party, I know it. Apparently, this is a real important strategic island that McArthur needs for his little operation out in the Philippines and he wants us poor ugly sods to go get it for him.

Yippee.

I suppose I shouldn't kid him too much. His drive to recapture the islands that brought about his striking defeat back in '42 is admirable. It seems he really does care for the civilians of the Philippines that he left to the Japs. Well, it at least looks that way to me. Then again, I'm only a lowly corpsman. What do I know of the intentions of a man I've never met? Regardless, I at least respect him a little bit for having the will to carry out his vision, even if it means throwing me and my buddies to the hounds in the process.

Whatever. Ain't no way out of it so might as well make the best of the situation.

A few destroyers pelted the big ridges with some shells as we watched. Seems the squids were trigger happy, not that I mind. But as I watched them bombard it, I couldn't help but get the most overwhelming feeling of dread as I gazed at the high ridges of Peleliu. Call it a superstition, a gut feeling, a premonition of God, whatever. But, I'm just getting this feeling that those ridges are going to be more trouble than they're worth to get.

Maybe it's the infantryman in me. After all, at least from my view here on the deck near the bridge, those ridges would be the perfect place to set a costly attritional defense. It would be, and I suppose will be, incredibly difficult to capture them if the Jap commander plays his cards right.

I only hope they choose to banzai us in the first day so we can leave as quick as we came. Intel says it should be a four day campaign; maybe the Japs can make it one? Ah, a man can dream.

The sun is starting to set now and I am growing tired.

Time for this corpsman to turn in. Hopefully will write soon.

September 15, 1944

My God, how am I alive? So many were cut down today; I haven't even a clue to how many were killed on those sandy shores. I almost found myself among them, hesitating out of the most extreme terror I've ever felt in my life on the beach. I can only thank the Lord that I snapped out of it and was able to get of the sand and into the burnt jungle.

The rest of the day is but a blur to me. So much stimuli was thrown at me in a few hours, I can't remember many details beyond a basic recollection. Much of the fighting was intense, much more so than anything we faced in Cape Gloucester. We really kicked the hornet's nest on this one. Japs have been trying to shell us non-stop throughout the day and I felt many a time my mental state slip for a second. I hope our artillery battalion finds those slant-eyed bastard's battery and rains hell on 'em.

I learned of the death of a well-liked Marine with my own eyes. Robert Cuppin, a 22-year old replacement from Ohio and an elementary school teacher, was blown to pieces by a Jap mortar, a near-direct hit. He was sitting to my left about 10-15 feet away from me, just smoking a cigarette and downing his canteen, when Japs let loose their artillery on our position. We all found cover in time, but Cuppin wasn't so lucky.

I can still see that bloody, gangly ring finger that landed in front of me. His golden wedding ring didn't have a scratch.

I didn't know him as well as some of the others, but I liked him. He was personable, an amicable, gentle man, great at expressing his thoughts in a jokeful, sarcastic way that always had us rolling. His wit was incredible and I will miss it dearly. He was one of the few men among us who was married and had a kid on the way. I can only give my condolences to his unborn child and now-widowed wife. Growing up without a dad, I can't imagine it will be an easy time.

I imagine he was wonderful with the children that he taught. I know if he was my teacher, I would've loved him.

Gates was great friends with him. He took it hard when I had to break the news to him. Hasn't said much since then, not that any of us blame him. I gave Gates Cuppin's wedding ring for safe-keeping until we can mail it back to his wife. I figured he would want to mail it himself, with them being close and all.

This heat has been incredibly intense, worse than any summer I've had in Canton. My boondockers squeak and squelch with sweat. My back is soaked, hair is wet with sweat, and I've got the most horrid sunburn on my hands and ears.

Lotta my men are already back aboard ship due to heat exhaustion. We ain't got enough water to keep cool from this 115 degree weather. Most of us have already drained our canteens and are beginning to feel the grip of dehydration. I've protected my own ration like a precious jewel, only taking little sips throughout the day. The fight with the Japs has quickly been forgotten. Now, water is our only primary goal.

Pray for me. Pray for us all. And most importantly, pray for rain.

The smoking lamp is out, so I must be going. I've got the first watch. Here's hoping no Japs come to pay us a visit tonight.