THE BLOOD OF OUR BROTHERS
There was nothing but darkness in my field of vision. While my eyesight was gone, I could hear the muffled gunshots, screams of the wounded, artillery, and the immensely terrifying sound of Japanese War Cries. Through the chaos, I could hear the calm palm trees wave in the wind as if the dead tried to fly away from the pain and suffering of war.
I heard fellow Marines charging past, their boots rumbling the ground like a volcanic eruption. Funny, we were on a volcano right now. It was terrifying-not knowing. Not knowing what was going on. Am I dead? Is this it? 4 years of fighting for my country-4 years of taking lives for it-4 years of losing the best men I’d ever served with… gone? And for what? Oil? Power? Patriotism? We weren’t fighting for America… we weren’t fighting for the Allies, or world peace. We were fighting for our brothers: Marines. When it all narrows down… nothing matters but them. They ARE your family, your lifeline… your hope...
I felt a tug from my backpack straps, then a pull, which ripped me off the ground and onto my back. It was now just a blurred out face. “MIKE!”
My eyes cleared up some, and I gazed up at a man. His face was covered in sand, dust, and blood, and by looking at him… I could tell it wasn’t his blood. His green eyes hardly pierced me through the fear that irradiated from him. His helmet, decorated with tallies and a camo cover, dangled lazily atop his head, the straps undone and waving in the wind. It was Joey: My best friend.
“Christ, Michael! GET UP!” he yelled. Then it hit me. I jumped up, scrambling in the sand for a second before throwing myself against a sand dune for cover. It must be low tide.
There were Marines on either side of me, dodging bullets that would then lodge themselves in the sand. The sand dune stretched for miles down the island, and in the distance, a giant mountain: Mount Suribachi-our target…
There were artillery shells smashing into the beach behind us at a constant rate, sending fellow Marines- our brothers- into the air, then crashing back down into the sand like ragdolls. They then lay there, only a twisted bloody corpse.
The sand… it was moist… but not from the sea. It was soaked with the blood of the fallen. It was then, the sheer velocity of the war hit me.
We were… just kids. More than half us us were fresh outta High School. Those poor mothers… sending their dear sons away to war, and then watching a man in uniform approached their door with a yellow letter. “Your son is a hero” it said. “His duties and sacrifices will be commemorated forever” it said. Fancy way of saying you’re son was killed. The only type of closure they had was the fact that their sons were coming home a hero. Hero or not, they were still coming home in a box.
But ARE we heroes? Heroes are supposed to save people, protect people. All WE have done is kill. Kill fathers, neighbors, friends… what does that make us? I dont know… I really don’t…
“Can I get you something, sir?” I heard
Suddenly, it was all gone. The horrors of war were replaced by a nice, cozy corner restaurant. A waiter leaned on the counter, looking at me concerned. “Sir, are you alright?” he asked. Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Just freakin’ dandy” I said sarcastically.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, a coffee please. Extra sugar”
“Sure thing, pal” the waiter said, then leaving to fetch my coffee. I again zoned out, forcing away the memories that had consumed years of my life.
“Mike! What’s the matter with you!? Open fire!” I heard, and realized it was Joey. I snapped back into the zone-the one you enter when you could die any second. I raised my rifle, an M1 Carbine, over the crest of the sand dune and took a deep breath… then fired.
It was never easy, killing someone. Knowing that you stole the life from someone else, but you still lived to tell the tale. It wasn’t as satisfying as the officers first said it is. “They aren’t people, they’re Japs!” they said. “Do it for America” they said.
Next to me, a Marine-not even 18, leaned against the sand dune with a giant radio pack. He had the phone up to his ear as he spoke in such a terrified tone.
“6th Platoon to USS New York! Jesus! 6th Platoon to USS New York!”. The boy looked at me. “I can’t get establish a comm with the ship!”
“Was it hit!?” I asked, terrified.
“Negative!”
“Then why can’t you contact them!?”
“I’m not su-” his head snapped to the side and he crashed down into the sand, rolling down the dune and came to a halt at the bottom. Blood began to spread around through the sand.
“My God…” Joe said as he looked down at the corpse of the young boy. I waved my hand to gain his attention.
“Joe! Suck it up! We gotta get off this damn beach!” I yelled. “Say here and give em’ hell!”.
I dove forward and slid down the dune to the dead Marine pulled the radio off of his back. I set it down in the sand and picked up the phone.
“USS New York, this is Sergeant Wolfe! Do you copy?” I yelled. “Repeat. USS New York! Do you copy!?!?”. I felt a sense of failure as I heard nothing in response. I slammed the phone into the sand and cursed God. I picked up the M1 Carbine and proceeded back to the top of the sand dune, where Joseph was firing down range at the Japanese.
“Alright, Joe! We have to get off this beach! On my mark, you cover me, okay!?”
“What!? Are you insane!?”
“Guess so! I’m gonna take out the Japs in the first row of bunkers and clear a path for an advance!”
Joe shook his head and wiped the sweat away, smearing the dirt and grime across his face. “Good luck”.
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“Sir?”
Instantly, the terrors of war were gone. The corpses, the blood, the craters and the awful smell of rotting flesh. It was… cozy. Smelled of peacefulness and happiness. It was a small corner restaurant in Queens.
“Sir… are you feeling alright?” said the waiter in a white overall and a white chef’s hat. Reluctantly, I nodded. “Um... “ I cleared my throat, still thinking it was filled with dirt and ash from bombs and smoke and sand.
I looked down at my Coffee. “Thanks a lot”
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I ran. Faster than I knew I could, dodging waves of bullets and nearly falling into the sand that was moistened by the blood of our Brothers. The corpses showed the eternal pain that their families would soon feel.
I was close-close to the first bunker. I’m gonna make it. C’mon! By the time I was within 20 yards, my movements were seemingly mechanic. I couldn’t feel my legs. The stamina was depleting, but it was refilled by the hope that I will once again see those I love.
Suddenly, and immense and sharp pain erupt from my upper thigh, and I crashed onto the ground, right on my face, then grinded through the sand to a halt. The sand stung. As I lay there, face in the bloody sand and my face now bruised and bleeding, I drifted away, and the pain subsided.
I was the, once again, in the restaurant, at the counter, staring down at my coffee that had only gone down a little bit. I looked up, and saw a man and a woman directly across the counter. The woman was beautiful, with a long, elegant red dress and pretty blue eyes. The man next to her was much older, with a sad expression and grey eyes. Wrinkles stretched across his face.
He caught me looking at him, and fixed his fedora. “America is at war again…” he mumbled, sipping his coffee. “Terrible, terrible things are going to happen, you know…”
I looked back to my coffee, trying not to think of it. The stillness of the coffee melted away. It was sand.
Despite the pain that thrashed through my veins, I pushed myself up off the ground, arms wobbling as I did. I crashed onto my back and laid there, feeling the bullets whiz by my head. It was scary-any moment a bullet could hit me, and I’d be just like the others: a Marine coming home in a box.
My body was weak. I knew I was losing a lot of blood, but I HAD to go, there was no backing down now. My brothers needed me, and I’d rather die than give up on them. I let loose my pack and tossed it into the sand, then ripped of my jacket, revealing only a tank top. I pulled out my combat knife from my right thigh, the opposite of where I was shot, and began to cut off the sleeve.
When it was off, I rolled it up and bit down on it. Through the cloth, I muttered a prayer in the midst of the chaos.
“Dear Lord, give me the strength to do what needs to be done to return home to my family”
With that, I jabbed the knife into the wound and screamed at the pain. I bit down so hard I thought I’d shatter my teeth. My vision blurred as the bullet came out atop the knife, then rolled off into the sand. I crashed back, tired, but knew that sleep would be a death sentence.
To stop the bleeding, pulled the sleeve out of my mouth and wrapped it around my leg. I tied it to my leg, wincing at the pain. I then grabbed my M1 Carbine.
I had to leave the backpack; it was weighing me down, and I needed all my energy to get out of the open and into the trenches. I made the Cross Sign across my chest and took a deep breath. “The Lord is my Shepherd”.
There was no turning back now. My feet pounded in the sand as I limped as fast as possible towards the Japanese lines, bullets whizzing past me and striking terror deep into my soul. Any second I could be dead, and that wasn’t easy to know. Most soldiers tried to block that out, but it was really difficult. The threat was always there, and there was no running from it, it wasn’t something you could escape without being court martialed and possibly shot.
Then I fell. It felt like an eternity that I was suspended in the air, the ground rushing at me like a train. The thoughts and memories that priests said we would feel blasted into my mind like a trench gun. Ma, Pa… Millie… all those I hold so dear, at home, safe and sound, while every second I am closer to death.
Then I crashed onto the ground, the air getting ripped from my lungs. I lay there in the dirty, muddy sand, coughing painfully and trying to suck up air desperately, but I couldn’t. Every breath hurt more and more- I felt so helpless.
I would die, laying in some Japanese Entrenchment in the middle of some stupid island in the middle of the Pacific. The guys in Europe, they were liberating people in France, Belgium, the Netherlands-they were heroes. People cheered them on as they stood over a now destroyed Nazi Germany. Who were we liberating? Maybe a village that has no idea WHAT is going on? We’ll never invade Japan, and even if we did, it’s not like they’ll LIKE us. Those Army boys in Europe are heroes, and we’re just Marines; dying painfully for nothing. An island, that is what we’re dying for. A damn patch of sand and dust.
“Shūi no teki!” I heard, and looked up to see a Japanese soldier. His Type 69 LMG was leveled at my chest. He wore a greenish uniform with a net over his helmet. I sat up, coughing, as he shook , the gun rattling. He was just a kid, maybe 19.
“Kūki-chū ni te o irete, anata no amerika sukamu” said the Japanese soldier.
I looked at the kid with understanding-knowing the pain he was suffering at this very moment.
“Hey… it doesn’t have to happen like this. Just put the gun down, and walk away…” I said calmly, though I was filled with fear.
“Watashi wa te o ire tari, watashi wa utsu zo kami ni chikau!”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying”
“Ima!”
Then I charged. He fired, but I lunged sideways and missed the spray of bullets, then crashed into him, forcing him to drop the gun and smashing him into the trench’s wall. Only after I had him by the throat did I realize I had to weapon. I hesitated, but snapped back into action. I let loose his throat and shoved him back, planting a kick in his gut. He clenched his stomach and fell over.
Then, I pulled of my helmet. I took his off, snapping the straps against his neck, then tossed it high in the air to show the other Marines that I’d reached the trench. I then turned back to the Japanese soldier and sighed. “I’m… I’m sorry”.
I wound up and crashed the heavy helmet into his skull. He fell over on his side, eyes wide open- dead… I put the helmet back on-my hands shaking. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and die. It’d be a helluva lot better than living through this hell. I turned around and walked back to where my M1 Carbine lay, and picked it up.
As I passed by the dead soldier, I stopped. Looking down at his LMG, I realized that I needed it. I dropped the M1 Carbine into the sand and knelt, grabbing the LMG and adjusting it to make myself comfortable.
Then, I began to limp towards a small wooden bunker, where I could see the barrel of MGs sticking out and firing. I made the cross symbol across my chest before raising the MG. I pulled the trigger…
“Hey, kid” I heard. Again, the war was gone, and the restaurant was back. The man looked at me concerned.
“Yeah?”
“It’s gonna be okay…”
“How do you know?”
“War never changes, kid… I was you once”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. World War One, back in France, in the trenches”
I nodded and then sighed. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen… maybe it’ll all be okay. They’ll put me in some rear-D unit or something. Never was the leader type”
“You’ll do okay, kid. You got that look in your eyes: faith”
I shrugged. “When you’re charging a fully defended beach run thick with Japs, what does faith matter?”
“It means everything”
“How?”
“Lemme tell you something, kid. When I was in those trenches, not knowing whether or not the next minute will see you alive, faith is all you have. Faith in God, faith in your family, faith in your brothers that are fighting right beside you. They are your faith, your hope, your reason”
I found myself surged with patriotism as I mowed down the Japanese soldiers, leaving a pool of blood and a pile of corpses. I moved towards the flagpole, which held up the Japanese flag, and began to lower it. When it down, I searched around my pockets.
“Where is it…?”
I felt a rectangular piece of metal in my pocket and pulled it out. A silver lighter. I put it up against the corner of the flag, and it soon caught fire. Quickly, I raised the flag up into the sky, watching the fire spread. There was a cheer from other Marines on the beach at the sight of the burning Japanese Flag. I climbed up out of the trench.
I motioned my arm towards the Mountain, and the Marines all understood. The roar of battle emerged as they charged towards the Mountain……
I looked at the man, smiling. “Thanks a lot, friend… thanks so much…”. I stood, tossing on my fedora and putting on my overcoat.
“Hey!” yelled the waiter. “You didn’t pay for that!”
I turned and smiled. “I’ll pay you when I get back”
And then, as the sun beat down on me at the top of Mount Suribachi, beating and soaking into my soul as if God himself had soaked into us. My weight and strength transferred to the metal post of the flag. Marines also assisted. The wind was powerful atop of the Mountain.
When it was placed firmly in the dirt, we stepped back to survey it. It ripped brutally in the wind, but it was strong, and held it’s place. Joey patted by back. “It’s a beautiful thing, Mike... “. I smiled and saluted the flag. “I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America. And to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”....
2 Months Later….
A smile was planted firmly on my face as I walked casually into the restaurant in Manhattan, then sitting down in the same seat as I did 4 years ago. The waiter was the same man as before, waiting on the now crowded store.
I waved and he came over. “Yes sir, may I help you?” he asked.
“Yes, you may. How much is a coffee?”
“25 cents”
I nodded and reached into my pocket, pulling out a twenty dollar bill and handing it to the waiter. “Sorry it’s late, but I promised”. He scanned me, his eyes then widening.
“You… you look so different…”
I laughed. “Yeah well you’re not looking so good yourself old man”. He laughed in response.
“Good to see you”
“And you.”. I tipped my hat and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a life to fulfill. Get out and enjoy yourself, the war IS over”
I walked out of the restaurant, a smile planted on my face. “God Bless you, Joseph. Rest in Peace”
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