Path: bloom-picayune.mit.edu!snorkelwacker.mit.edu!americast.com!americast.com!americast-post Newsgroups: americast.twt.metro From: americast-post@AmeriCast.Com Organization: American Cybercasting Approved: americast-post@AmeriCast.com Subject: On Veterans Day comes a fessing up Date: Thu, 12 Nov 92 14:51:51 EST Message-ID: \SE B;METROPOLITAN;O'LEARY'S WASHINGTON \HD On Veterans Day comes a fessing up \BY Jeremiah O'Leary \CR THE WASHINGTON TIMES For some unknown reason, I feel the urge to tell the unvarnished truth about myself, at least in regard to a habit I share with many a man of telling war stories in which somehow I end up as the hero. There is always a germ of truth in my tales of derring-do in World War II and Korea when I was a young Marine - but I was by no means always the nonpareil, the most perfect knight. Like most other American troops, I had my brave days when I could take the wildest chances and I had nervous days when I was secretly afraid to get out of my foxhole. The most egregious of my tall tales occurred in late July 1944, on the beachhead on Guam when I was serving in the 2nd Battalion, 21st Marines. We had advanced to a high ridge at the center of the American penetration. I had a good day, showing the other guys how we 1st Division Marines did things. We took some prisoners, captured a raft of Japanese documents and killed a great many of the emperor's soldiers. The sergeant major, whose named was Russo, then told me to bundle up all the enemy paper I could and carry it back down the hill to the 3rd Marine Division Intelligence Section for translation. I looked as battle-worn as you'd expect, my face painted with green and gray camouflage paint and my uniform stained with the red mud of Guam. Then I sought out some friends of mine, because it was getting dark and we had orders not to move around at night. Anything that moved after dark was presumed to be Japanese and our tendency was to shoot first and challenge later. The guys were sitting around under a tent fly near the division field hospital and the center of all attention was a large cask of aguardiente, the homemade moonshine Guam natives concocted out of sugar cane. I remember sitting on a three-legged stool and downing a canteen cup of this firewater. Halfway through the second cup, I vaguely remember sliding slowly off the stool to the ground and being out like a light. I don't remember any of what follows, but about 1 or 2 a.m., the Japanese staged one of their banzai charges down the hill, penetrating a gap between my battalion and another, and overrunning the division command post. They got into the hospital tents and were slashing and shooting wounded Marines and were in turn being attacked by every clerk, cook, baker and medic in a fracas that went on all night until the last Japanese was killed. I heard no sound and slept like a baby in my drunken state. It was the biggest battle of the campaign. Next day, at first light, a fierce old colonel named Van Orden saw me lying there with my mouth open, flies crawling in and out of my mouth and nose, and he demanded to know why I hadn't been buried. "Hell, colonel," said a sergeant, "he ain't dead, he's just drunk." As soon as I could be aroused, I grabbed my rifle and headed back for the frontline where I belonged, because it seemed safer to me there than in the rear echelon. There were no repercussions and for the rest of the campaign I soldiered with the best of them. One day, I had a squad of seven men surrounding a cave entrance filled with Japanese. I used a Japanese phrase book to shout to them to throw down their weapons and come out. I told my troops not to kill them because the division needed prisoners and they would have lived if they had behaved. But as somewhere between eight and 10 of them emerged from the cave, one shouted and they all hit the ground, touching off concealed hand grenades as they did so often to commit suicide. I still have the Japanese leader's rifle. For that and other feats I was recommended for and received the Bronze Star. I think that being unconscious during the banzai charge saved my life, for if I had been in a normal state I probably would have stood up and been shot. I also know I probably should never had been given a decoration for bravery in light of the aguardiente incident. As to Col. Van Orden, some years later, I had the honor of writing his obituary. And this is what war is really like. * O'Leary's Washington appears Thursdays. This article is copyright 1992 The Washington Times. Redistribution to other sites is not permitted except by arrangement with American Cybercasting Corporation. For more information, send-email to usa@AmeriCast.COM