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I felt that he was not a man born of woman, but that God had issued him to the Marine Corps.
Instead of the usual old salt comment—something like, “You think that was bad, you oughta been in the old Corps”—Haney answered with an unexpected, “Boy, that was terrible! I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. I’m ready to go back to the States. I’ve had enough after that.”
“I am the harvest of man’s stupidity. I am the fruit of the holocaust. I prayed like you to survive, but look at me now. It is over for us who are dead, but you must struggle, and will carry the memories all your life. People back home will wonder why you can’t forget.”
His buddy behind him asked him, “What outfit did he say?” “K/3/5, whatever the hell that means.” The effect on us was instant and dramatic. Men who had paid little attention to what seemed a routine inquiry looked angrily up at the man. I flushed with anger. My unit and I had been insulted. The mortarman next to me threw down his ammo bag and started up the embankment. “I’ll show you what the hell it means, you rear-echelon sonofabitch! I’m gonna whip your ass.”
Later in the day of 21 June 1945, we learned the high command had declared the island secured. We each received two fresh oranges with the compliments of Admiral Nimitz.
