Part 4
On the morning of 21 Jun 1944, we really weren’t sure what to think. We had been itching to get into this latest episode of the war, and our moment had finally arrived. Would I be ready for the bedlam that I was about to experience? Having heard that we had already lost a few thousand men within the first few days of the battle, I must admit that there was surely some second-guessing and unsettled nerves on my part.
I read through my pocketsized Bible as the ship rocked from side to side, and I did my best to assure myself that I wasn't scared to fight. After all, I had spent months training for this moment, and I was prepared to finish the job that many of my friends and fellow countrymen had started. I knew that Felix would’ve been proud of me, and I also knew that my kin back home were rooting for me. I made sure that a few of my favorite family pictures were safely secured within the pocket of my shirt. Would I be ready for the brutal, hand-to-hand combat that awaited me? I remembered what Pa had told Felix and me: “Kill or be killed.” I was most assuredly going to do my best so that I wouldn’t end up being the latter of the two options. We were told to expect lush vegetation, thick foliage, and tremendous amounts of undergrowth beneath the trees that were spread throughout the island. Our mission was to eliminate the enemy by clearing out the countless caves, nearinvisible bunkers, machine-gun nests, and any other Japanese strongholds that we’d find along the way.
I found myself hunched over, with my head resting on my knees. The breakfast we had all enjoyed that morning wasn’t settling well with some of the men aboard my LVT. I was doing my best to avoid getting seasick, and I prayed while we made our way toward the southwestern coast of Saipan. Before I’d left Bend, Pa had marked several passages in my pocket Bible. John 15:13 seemed entirely relevant: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
When I raised my head, I could see the uncertainty written on the faces of the men all around me within the confines of the boat. I gripped my M1 Garand rifle tightly, inspecting it to ensure it was ready to fire. As a recruit in San Diego, we had been required to memorize the Rifleman's Creed, and now—just as I was about to step into some serious combat—I felt compelled to recite the sections most relevant to my current situation from memory. The passage burned in my mind as never before: “This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me.
I will. My rifle is human, even as I am human, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will… Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.
So be it, until victory is America’s and there is no enemy, but peace!” I double-checked that the eight-round en bloc clip was properly seated just as the heavy steel ramp slammed down into the surf, mere steps from the beachhead that the 4th Marine Division had already secured.