Nights on Iwo Jima

August 17, 2010
By Anonymous

February 18, 1945

It seems like years since I first signed on for the Marines, although its only been a few months. I haven’t spoken to anyone back in Denver, but that doesn’t surprise me, I didn’t know to many people there who thought to much of me. Its all the same here we mostly keep to ourselves now, because we all know what is waiting for us, we were told only a few hours ago of our target, the small island of Iwo Jima. Everyone on this boat has trained for the last few months to land on those beaches, but we all know most of us won’t make it. They tell us we are the best there is that’s why we get to go in first, but they also tell us we’ll be the last to leave. The only people around here who know what this will be like are the old dogs. They’re called that simply for the fact that they are still around, even though they are barely out of their twenties. It’s getting close to night fall so I’ll have to leave this where it is and hope I can be alive to get back to it tomorrow.

February 20, 1945

Yesterday was the landing. The first group of Marines were up to the the bunkers before the attack started. Even after several days of bombardment we still couldn’t get rid of any Japanese. My entire squad was brought down before my eyes, and I barely managed to hide from the incoming fire. I sat there for several hours trying to help, but there wasn’t much I could do until we had cleared out the bunkers.I was alone in a sea of dead, and yet this was where I most felt at home, on my own. I had to join with one of the other squads awhile, but that didn’t last long. I now sit in the remains of a bunker after I lost track of my squad, I’ll just have to spend the night here and hope for the bestI can hear the fighting outside but don’t dare leave, even as it gets closer I hope for nothing to happen upon the bunker, but fire keeps coming closer and I dought I’ll be here for much longer.

February 23, 1945

I was found that night, 3 days ago. It was my own people, but they didn’t know it at the time, so the fired and shot me in the leg. I can’t feel it, can’t move it, so I’m being sent back home. Home isn’t where I want to be, but there isn’t much I can be doing here. I’ll just have to go back to being what I was back home, and hopefully within time I’ll be able to move again. My grandfather once told me a story like this so I guess war never changes.

The author's comments:
I've always likes World War 2 and had to submit a fiction piece about loneliness for my summer school.

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