With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa

by Eugene B. Sledge

felt that he was not a man born of woman, but that God had issued him to the Marine Corps.

He had a rare combination of intelligence, courage, self-confidence, and compassion that commanded our respect and admiration.

Between this man and all the Marines I knew there existed a deep mutual respect and warm friendliness. He had that rare ability to be friendly yet not familiar with enlisted men. He possessed a unique combination of those qualities of bravery, leadership, ability, integrity, dignity, straightforwardness, and compassion. The only other officer I ever knew who was his equal in all these qualities was Captain Haldane.

He also talked about his prewar years in the Marine Corps. Later I remembered little of what he said, but the quiet way he talked calmed me. He was optimistic about the battle in progress and seemed to understand and appreciate all my fears and apprehensions.

Fear dwelled in everyone, Hillbilly said. Courage meant overcoming fear and doing one’s duty in the presence of danger, not being unafraid.

Suddenly, I heard a loud voice say clearly and distinctly, “You will survive the war!”

I had always been skeptical about people seeing visions and hearing voices. So I didn’t mention my experience to anyone. But I believed God spoke to me that night on that Peleliu battlefield, and I resolved to make my life amount to something after the war.

Time had no meaning; life had no meaning. The fierce struggle for survival in the abyss of Peleliu eroded the veneer of civilization and made savages of us all.

Even in death his eyes stared widely along the gun sights. Despite the vacant look of his dilated pupils, I couldn’t believe he was dead. Cold chills ran along my spine. Gooseflesh tickled my back. It seemed as though he was looking through me into all eternity,

I lost faith that politicians in high places who do not have to endure war’s savagery will ever stop blundering and sending others to endure it.

the critical factor in combat stress is duration of the combat rather than the severity.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you’ll never know The hell where youth and laughter go.*

Or maybe he was mocking the folly of the war itself: “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.”

We dragged the battered enemy officer to the edge of the gun emplacement and rolled him down the hill. Replete with violence, shock, blood, gore, and suffering, this was the type of incident that should be witnessed by anyone who has any delusions about the glory of war. It was as savage and as brutal as though the enemy and we were primitive barbarians rather than civilized men.

Neuropsychiatric, “non-battle,” casualties amounted to 26,221—probably higher than in any other previous Pacific Theater battle. This latter high figure is attributed to two causes: The Japanese poured onto U.S. troops the heaviest concentrations of artillery and mortar fire experienced in the Pacific, and the prolonged, close-in fighting with a fanatical enemy.

War is brutish, inglorious, and a terrible waste. Combat leaves an indelible mark on those who are forced to endure it.