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In 1945, Salinan Maurice Benson was a 17-year-old Army enlistee with the 25th Infantry Division during World War II. His company was in Hawaii preparing for the invasion of the Japanese mainland when the Japanese surrendered in the wake of the atomic bomb blasts. In this video, Benson, now 83, recalls his guard duty on trains traveling back and forth through the decimated cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki while serving with the U.S. forces that landed at the port city of Yokohama. View the video.

MEGHAN SALISBURY, Salina

From Greg and Melinda Salisbury, Salina -- Just a short note on our daughter, Meghan Salisbury. Meghan is serving as a combat medic in Afghanistan. She graduated from South High in 2007 and went to Wichita State University for two years to work on a bachelor's degree in nursing. At South she was on the Peppers dance team, ran track and was involved in 4-H.

Before her junior year in high school she joined the Kansas National Guard. She successfully completed basic training and excelled in advanced individual training as a medic. I have been an active member of the Kansas Guard for more than 29 years. My wife, Melinda, and I are extremely proud of our daughter. It amazes me the sense of duty and devotion to the USA and her community that Meghan and all veterans posses. I have included a couple of pictures of her "on mission" in Afghanistan. It is dangerous, and I do worry about my only daughter and youngest child. To see her transform from a member of South's Peppers squad to a combat soldier amazes me. She is scheduled to return after Christmas and a resume her studies at WSU.

Meghan's rank is specialist, and she belongs to the 226 Engineer Company, Augusta. Her company is building a variety of buildings to support the upcoming surge in Afghanistan.

JAMES C. TREPOY, Salina

-- James C. Trepoy -- His 261/2-year career in the Army included:

-- Served in Australia, New Guinea, Biak Dutch Indies, Philippines and Japan from 1943-1946.

-- Volunteered to be an observer for an Atomic Bomb blast in April 1953.

-- Assigned as adviser to the 3rd Korean Republic Army Corps from May 1953 to 1955.

-- Assigned to the 3rd Infantry in Washington, D.C., to be on security detail and responsible for ceremonies for visiting dignitaries, guarding the tomb of the unknown solider, and being present for honorable rites for those being buried at Arlington National Cemetery from 1961-1963.

-- Participated in the second inauguration of President Eisenhower and the inauguration of President Kennedy.

-- Chief of enlisted adviser to the USAR Army Reserve Units in Kansas, Colorado and Nebraska 1964-1968.

-- Volunteered for duty in Vietnam, as command sergeant major of the 196 Infantry Brigade. Was shot down in a helicopter while visiting the troops.

-- Finished his tour of duty in 1968-1969

-- Assigned to the 1st Infantry at Fort Riley, as command sergeant major. Suffering from trouble with his legs, he put in for retirement and was released from the Army Aug. 1, 1970.

DELBERT DECKER, Salina

Delbert Deckert -- I entered the Army in December 1950 for a two-year period during the Korean war. I was assigned to the Chemical Corps. The Chemical Corps has to do with chemical-biological and radiological warfare. Even though this warfare hasn't been used since the A-bomb drops on Japan in World War II, you have to be prepared for it.

Our 216th Chemical Service Company was stationed at Rocky Mountain Arsenal in Denver. Later on, this site was recognized as one of the most polluted places in the country due to the poison gases manufactured and stored there.

During these years, the U.S. was still doing atomic testing. Our unit was assigned the job of monitoring all of the radiation of the tests at the Nevada Test site in the spring of 1952. This was the first time an Army unit was assigned this type of duty. We went through an extensive training and background checks in order to qualify for a "Q (top-secret)" clearance.

We lived with civilians, wore our civilian clothing, had no reveille, retreats or any of the normal Army duties. There was a schedule posted for the week and you could go anywhere -- do anything -- if you weren't scheduled. No passes -- sign out or sign in -- or anything until the day before a test shot (when we were restricted). These shot dates were secret, so we never knew when they were coming up.

DONALD ROSS, Salina

Submitted by M.J. Cassell -- A memorial fund has been set up for donations to purchase signs designating a portion of Kansas Highway 18 through Lincoln County to honor Navy Captain Donald Ross. The small town of Beverly has raised about $1,200 to date toward the purchase of the signs for $5,500.

Ross, born in 1910 in Beverly, was a Pearl Harbor survivor and the first Medal of Honor recipient of World War II for his actions in that crisis.

Ross enlisted in the U.S. Navy in Denver on June 3, 1929, and graduated from basic training in San Diego.

During the raid on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese on Dec. 7, 1941, the USS Nevada was badly damaged by bombs and torpedos. Ross distinguished himself by assuming responsibility to furnish power to get the ship under way -- the only battleship to do so during the attack.

When his station in the forward dynamo room became almost untenable due to smoke, steam and heat," reads Ross' citation, "he forced his men to leave that station and performed all the duties himself until blinded and unconscious. Upon being rescued and resuscitated, he returned and secured the forward dynamo room and proceeded to the after dynamo room, where he was later again rendered unconscious by exhaustion. Upon recovering consciousness he returned to this station, where he remained until directed to abandon it.

Ross was presented the Medal of Honor by Admiral Chester Nimitz on April 18, 1942.

Any donations can be sent to this address: Donald Ross Memorial Highway Fund, Midwest Community Bank, Beverly, KS. 67423.

JIM ATTLESON, Lindsborg

My name is Jim Attleson. I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1949 upon graduation from high school in Northeastern Iowa. I received 34 weeks of training for the operation and maintenance of integrated sonar equipment. I graduated from Fleet Sonar School in San Diego in June of 1950. The next day, North Korea invaded South Korea. I was flown to Pearl Harbor and assigned to the USS Carpenter, DD-825. The ship was one of only two anti-submarine hunter/killer destroyers in the Navy, and it was laden with the latest in weapons and integrated sonar equipment. The ship was assigned to the Pacific Fleet to serve as part of the defensive shield that protects aircraft carriers and battleships from attack from the air or beneath the waves.

We were deployed on two three month cruises off the Korean Coast and the Formosa Straits as part of Task Force 77.

In October 1952, the ship was deployed to Anowetoc Atoll nuclear testing grounds for Operation Ivy. In November 1952, we witnessed an atomic bomb dropped from a B-36 from a vantage point at sea seven miles from ground zero. It was awesome. This was dwarfed by the detonation one week later of the first hydrogen bomb detonated from a tower on an island that no longer exists. We were stationed 40 miles away from ground zero and it was like comparing a BB gun and a 16-inch naval gun battery. One of those things you feel privileged to have witnessed but hope and pray no one else need ever to do the same.

The Carpenter remained in active service until 1981 when it was assigned to the Turkish Navy. In 1997, it was scrapped.

I was discharged from the Navy in May, 1953 and have maintained contact with the Carpenter Shipmates Association through the years. I attended a reunion of the association in San Diego in 2008 and visited with a half dozen shipmates from the 1950-1953 era.

On April 29 of this year I was privileged to be selected as a member of the Central Prairie Honor Flight Program to tour the WWII, Korean, Vietnam, Iwo Jima, and the U.S. Navy Memorials in Washington, DC. It was a very moving and memorable experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. I would encourage all veterans of any war to apply for the same.

IRVIN NONDORF

Our dad had passed away 15 years ago, but in 1978 he wrote a loose-page book "War Years Remembered" for his 4 kids or anyone else that would be interested. At that time, I was in junior high school, and it means more to me now than it did back then. We wanted to share part of his memories but I had a hard time deciding which one of the many. I choose a letter he wrote to our mother who had passed away 32 years ago. Our dad was in WWII and the Korean War. I have enclosed a copy of the letter, but I minimized it.

"Dear Bessie,

How are you this Wednesday afternoon? I hope fine cause I'm not feeling so good. I know you're not going to like to hear this and I don't either. But Corp. Stoneman got orders from Washington that points don't county and we are all restricted to the area so we probably will be going on this ship or the next one. I hate to think of it but I guess by the Chinese Reds getting in the Korea war is the cause of it. They sure wasted no time after election. I'll probably know tonight or tomorrow if I'm not in that boat. In the Army, orders can change 100 times in one day. So until tonight, Irvin.

Well, here I am again. It is now about 7 and just got back from supper. Well, they had the formation and called out about 50 men for shipment, and they missed me again but I suppose they'll be more orders as I don't see no way out of it. I've got your pictures in front of me now and it sure makes me homesick but I'm sure glad I took them with me.

The advance party loads on the ship tomorrow morning as they turned in their bedding and drawed rifles today. Main body goes Friday. I may not be on that one but I suppose the next one. Their A.P.O. number is 613, that means Japan. So if any of my letters have APO 613, you know I'm in Japan.

Junior will have to celebrate your birthday as I can't be there to help, but darling, I'll sure be thinking of you.

The fellows here are all writing letters. I'm sure disgusted about our points not counting after they had frozen us from going overseas and we had our hopes built so high! In 10 minutes our hopes were all broken down. This evening when the named were called, we were all so nervous. We couldn't stand still. Most of us had been overseas and I mean we do dread to go back especially in fight and that's probably what'll happen.

Well, I am going to close for tonight so until tomorrow, closing with all my love and kisses, Irvin.

Irvin Nondorf, World War II, Sept 1943-March 1946, the Pacific; Korean Conflict, Sept. 1950-Sept. 1951; Japan and Etta Jima. Irvin Nondorf's children: Mike (Jan) Nondorf, of Belleville; Paula (Howard) Herrman, of Norway; Lois (Rex) Walkenhorst, Kansas City, Mo.; Dawn (Brian) Phillips, of Belleville.

CLAUDE J. HARWOOD, Glasco

I had returned from the hospital to my platoon in January 1945, when I first met Elbie. He and I were assigned to the Automatic Rifle (BAR) team of our squad. Elbie was from Louisiana, and had that delightful Cajun brogue we often hear the late Hank Williams croon on the radio. After crossing the Rhine at Remagen, we were chasing the Germans across Central Europe. On a sunny, peaceful morning in late March, our platoon was enjoying breakfast and receiving mail in a quiet sector several hundred yards behind the rapidly changing front. Elbie and I were sitting on the edge of a foxhole when he opened a letter from his wife and it contained a color photo of his wife and two toddler children. (color film was uncommon in 1945). He smiled proudly and handed me the photograph to admire. Just as I was handing it back, a mortar shell exploded a few yards away. Elbie was killed instantly and I limped to the aid station with a sharp pain in the calf of my right leg. Today, Elbie lies beneath a white cross in the Henri-Chapelle American Cemetery in Belgium, his name listed on The World War II Honor Roll. Thankfully, his last thoughts on Earth were of his beautiful little family and his Louisiana home.

Six weeks later, we celebrated VE Day in Eger, Czechoslovakia. I believe Elbie was the last man in our squad who was killed in World War II. This incident is eerily reminiscent of the novel "All Quiet on the Western Front," when a German soldier raises from his trench to touch a butterfly, and was shot by a sniper at 11 a.m., November 11, 1918. I pray for the day when the world will be released from the ultimate insanity of war.

Claude J. Harwood, MD, Pfc 1st class, U.S. Infantry Division World War II, Glasco

LOREN R. LAIRD, Salina

Feb 8, 1968: The wheels of the airplane set down at Da Nang Airbase, Republic of Vietnam. I am a replacement assigned to A Co, 1st Recon Bn, 1st Marine Division, at Camp Reasoner, Da Nang. It was too late for transport to my unit, so the remainder of the day was spent at a transient area. As night fell we could hear firefights, incoming rockets and outgoing artillery near our position and the adjacent villages. "Welcome to Tet '68 and the Nam."

Feb 9, 1968: I was transported to my unit, met my 1st sergeant, drew gear and was assigned to 2nd Platoon, Alpha Duce. The recon team I was assigned to was coming back from patrol that afternoon. When the team returned one of the first Marines I met was L/Cpl Joseph (Joe) Romero.

Joe and I hit it off from the start. We are both West Coast boys, born the same year and newbie's. He has arrived in country only eight days before me. Joe is married, very excited that his wife is pregnant and he is hoping they will have a son.

Mar 23, 1968 - Our team was about three days into a patrol in the hills west of Da Nang in an area appropriately called Charlie Ridge. Joe was walking point and I was rear security for the team. I heard a single rifle shot and minutes later the word filtered back to me that Joe was killed by a sniper. The last time I saw Joe he was unceremoniously being lifted through the jungle canopy on a hoist from a CH-46 helicopter.

Years Later: Through a 1st Marine Division Association publication I saw that the son of L/Cpl Joseph Romero was trying to contact anyone who had served with his father. Joe's son eventually contacted me by phone. Even though I had only known Joe for 43 days I was able to provide his son some insight to a father he never knew. Insight known only by Joe's Marine Corps brothers.

Post Script: If you are in Washington, D.C., visit the Vietnam Memorial. L/Cpl Joseph Michael Romero's name appears on Panel 46E, Line 1.

Semper Fi

BRIAN WEISEL, Salina

The words "I am an American fighting man" mean something to me. I spent 26 years in the active duty component of the Army and Air Force. I have 4,706 hours as a B-52 and B-1B aviator and flight instructor. I have dragged my family all over the country and have been blessed to land in Salina, Kansas. Amazingly, I still have the same (very special) spouse I married 40 years ago. My best experience as a veteran happened recently. Twenty-five years ago I was selected from all of Strategic Air Command's flight instructors to be one of only eight Initial Cadre flyers for the new B-1B aircraft. This year I attended the Silver Anniversary of this amazing aircraft. I was astounded to see that a new generation of aviators had completely changed the mission of this aircraft from nuclear to conventional and saved it from the boneyard. The new B-1B crew members, with multiple tours in Afghanistan, had developed new techniques that improved the B-1's effectiveness and lethality to support our ground troops. They have the spirit, energy, and attitude of the Vietnam era fliers that I knew in "the day." America needs to be thankful that we have young men and women aviators who are willing and able to take on these big challenges, learn new techniques for engaging America's enemies, and prevail. I am so proud of them and being a part of the B-1B legacy. Best wishes to all our active duty members and veterans, and thank you for your sacrifices and service to our great country.

ROY LIVENGOOD, Salina

I served throughout World War II with Company E, 363rd Infantry, 91st Division, or the Powder River Division as it was known as in the Army, though it's now called the Wild West Division by its members. Our shoulder patch was a green fir tree, a rather tame symbol for an infantry outfit. We shipped out for Oran, Algeria, early in April, 1944, to participate in Operation Vendetta, an Allied scheme to keep the Germans in the south of France and away from the beaches of Normandy. We were then sent to Italy and fought in that campaign until the end of the war. Except for three weeks I spent in a field hospital recovering from wounds I received at the Amo River, I went the route with my company -- 10 long months of combat.

It is impossible to define the term "in combat." When an infantryman first enters "combat" he is likely to be hit with an artillery or mortar barrage, or he was in WWII. There is no defense against shelling except a very deep foxhole and one has to hope whoever pulled the lanyard, miles away, miscalculated and the shell will fall on some other unlucky soul's foxhole. One simply has to suffer through it, and suffering it is! There is always the shriek, wham and crash of artillery.

It's another story being under mortar fire. A mortar round whispers. Unlike an artillery shell, it doesn't seem to be in any hurry to kill you. Mortar rounds are fired in a high arc over the battlefield and take their time coming down to Earth. To the day I went into action (combat) I had a picture in my mind that I would take off in a wild dash across no-man's land at the shrill sound of a sergeant's whistle and meet the enemy head on. That never happened. It was a day or two before I saw a German. The second day of combat we were walking slowly down a heavily wooded path when an enemy machine gunner jumped directly out in the middle of the path and thrust up his arms and surrendered. The shock of that incident stayed with me for days. The German infantryman was a sinister-looking soldier with his coal bucket helmet, gray uniform and high boots, and when he suddenly appeared, even at a distance, lugging his rifle and running with that strange lope most of them had, he could instill fear in the heart of a newly arrived replacement.

All during the summer and autumn of 1944 we pushed the Germans through the mountainous terrain of central and northern Italy. Desperately short of men and material, we wearily pursued the enemy's 14th Army through the mud, rain, fog and cold. By the end of October the offensive had failed and we lost the struggle to break out into the flat, fertile fields of the valley of the Po River.

On April 16 we jumped off for the Po Valley, which we called The Promised Land. After four days of extremely hard fighting we broke out of the mountains and the Germans began their rout. The Po Valley campaign ended very quickly and the cessation of hostilities found us near the Yugoslav border in a tiny village whose name I don't remember. There were no celebrations of any kind, and I do not recall anyone even muttering, "Thank God, it's over." We simply tossed our equipment on the floor of the house we were in, put our heads on our packs and slept the clock around.

The war in Italy had finally ended.

BERNARD ECK, Beloit

I was born and raised at Tipton. Inducted into the U.S. Army on 21 March of 1951 during the Korean War during the United Nations Campaign. I took infantry training at Camp Funston at Fort Riley. I was sent overseas to Japan and had light mechanical training at Eta Jima, a former Japanese Naval training base. After completion, I was sent to Korea and assigned to "E" Co., 21 st Regt. 24th Inf. Division as a B.A.R. man. (Browning Automatic Rifle).

In the fall of 1951 we were involved in a major battle called Operation Nomad. Other times we were in reconnaissance and skirmishes with the Chinese to keep aware of their position. E Co. was assigned to an outpost position, i.e., completely out ahead of the our contiguous line and a hill that could be traversed completely by the Chinese. In early January of 1952, a Red Cross vehicle was ambushed while transporting injured and all were killed and robbed of personal items. The Chinese did not adhere to the terms of the Geneva Convention and allow a Red Cross vehicles safe passage. Subsequently, on Jan. 23, my squad was assigned a second watch of a 10 p.m.-till-daybreak watch at a position outside the established perimeter of our hill's defense. As we approached the assigned position at 2 a.m. to begin our watch, we were ambushed. They threw a grenade over and beyond us to highlight us and fired on us with automatic rifles (AK-47s). I sustained two gunshots and after being frisked by the enemy, I passed out for 11/2 to 2 hours before I came to. With much effort, I was finally able to walk about 1/4 mile to a rendezvous area to await transport. At 5:30 a.m. an improvised half track took us back to a Battalion Aid station and from there by helicopter flown to a M.A.S.H. hospital. My surgeon was Lt. Col. Maurice Connolly M.D., who was the commander of this unit. After active duty Dr. Connolly practiced in Salina and was in a feature story on 28 Feb 1983 Journal story on the M.A.S.H. TV series. I consulted Dr. Connolly several times after my service. At his funeral a family member asked how I knew him, I replied: "He saved my life in Korea." I have a 60 percent disability rating as a result of my injuries.

RALPH VIOLA, Abilene

In 1948 I was in an Army band stationed at Fitzsimmons Army Hospital near Denver. On one occasion the band was dispatched to the Denver Train Station to welcome Jack Benny and his entourage who were in town to entertain patients and personnel stationed at the hospital. When Mr. Benny stepped off the train we were playing his theme song "Love in Bloom."

He took the baton from our band leader and proceeded to direct the music. So I can honestly say that I played in a band directed by Jack Benny. Mr. Benny used our band for his show, and keeping up with Phil Harris in the song, "That's what 1 like about the South," was no easy task. I was recalled in 1950 to play in another Army band. When I was summoned for the third time in 1968, I had been commissioned through ROTC and served as a transportation officer. I retired as a Major in the Air Force Reserves.

BLASE "BILL" SIBILLA, Salina

My military career began toward the end of World War II. I joined the United States Coast Guard. I was deactivated approximately one year later. Three months later I joined the Army and was assigned to the 7th Infantry division in Korea. After I left the Army, I joined the United States Air Force. Being in the medical corps I took care of wounded from the Korean and the Vietnam wars. I was activated during the Vietnam war and spent approximately one year overseas. We also gave medical treatment to orphans as they needed our care. I was in the military more than 20 years. I retired in 1971.

EUGENE F. REUBER, Atwood

Eugene F. Reuber enlisted in the U.S. Air Force on April 19, 1951. He flew to Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas, for basic training. This included machine drills and handling different weapons. He qualified as sharpshooter and after eight weeks graduated as private first class. Based on his test scores, he was assigned to the Air Force Honor Guard based at Bolling Air Force Base in Washington, D.C. This was the Air Force precision rifle drill team, which also included color guards and firing squads for all Air Force funerals at Arlington National Cemetery.

A top secret clearance was required for classified duties. As a unit, they met all dignitaries visiting the U.S., which included Queen Elizabeth from England and Queen Juliana from the Netherlands; this always included them laying wreaths at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. He had some duties at the White House and the Pentagon.

He was personal guard for the secretary of the Air Force after terrorists started shooting at the congressman in the congressional chambers.

He worked with the Secret Service at President Eisenhower's inaugural parade. He was promoted to S/Sgt. approximately 21/2 years after joining the Honor Guard. The drill team performed in the Sugar Bowl and the Orange Bowl football games. His Air Force enlistment was during the time called the Korean Conflict.

He was discharged from the Air Force in April 1955. He then became a member of the Civil Air Patrol for three years as a pilot with rank of warrant officer. A Pipercub aircraft was provided for flying time and also for any search and rescue that might be needed.

He was awarded the Good Conduct Medal and Sharpshooter Ribbon. He is a lifetime member of Atwood American Legion Post #46 (46 years).

AUBREY W. BOSTWICK, Salina

In World War II, I trained and worked as a cryptographer, a duty not needed in peace times but quite necessary during all wars. A cryptographer encodes and decodes messages that need to be kept from the enemy.

I enlisted in the Army Signal Corps in August 1942, studied Radio Repair in K.C., Kan., then had basic and secondary training in California. There I learned more men were trained in repair than were needed. I qualified for the cryptography work received my training and shipped to England. The 8th Army Air Force repaired B-17s, B-24s mostly at the base near Manchester. We encoded and sent the messages telling of repair parts needed for these planes and a few smaller ones like B-25s, P-38s and a few other smaller fighters. We worked around the clock. It was tiresome work but necessary to keep Germany from knowing the extent of damage our planes had received.

After a year there, a friend and I transferred to a company attached to the 9th Air Force and were flown to Marseilles, France, then north to a base north of Paris that were supply depots where I spent the last of my overseas duty.

I was fortunate enough to have a furlough in Scotland and visited Paris several times on Sunday leaves. I was discharged in November, 1945 at Jefferson Barracks, Mo.

RUSS JONES, 24^th Regiment of the United States Marine Corps

On Iwo Jima, I was part of a seven-man machine gun crew. At one point we started taking Japanese mortar and by the time it was over, two of my crew were killed, three critically wounded, and – well, all of us got wounded in some form.

In the Marine Corps at that time, the Navy corpsman treated you, the Navy provided all the medical service for the Marine Corps. And if you got hit in a fire-fight and you got hurt, you called for a corpsman. They were unarmed and they came up and they treated you. They tried to stabilize you and get you out of there alive. And as I said earlier, all of our crew of seven were killed or wounded.

When the Navy corpsman treated you, they gave you a shot of morphine and a 2 ounce bottle of hundred-proof brandy. In their right hand side they had morphine and bandages and that kind of thing and on the other side they had a bag of hundred-proof medical brandy. I think it goes back to the old grog in the old Navy but if you got wounded you got a shot of brandy. It wasn’t a bad deal.

I got wounded and they sent ambulance jeeps up. They set up four litters per jeep. The corpsman is supposed to give you a shot and your brandy then mark an “X” on your forehead to show that you’d had the shot.

They put me up on an ambulance jeep and one of the two corpsman on the jeep said, “Hey this guy hasn’t gotten his shot!” You know I got hit in the back and could hardly talk and I was trying to tell him I’d already had my shot but I just couldn’t talk. So he lifted my head up and said, “That’s OK Marine, we’ll take care of you!”And I kept trying to say I’d already had my shot but finally I just thought “Oh what the hell.” So I had another shot of morphine and another two ounces of brandy, so I’d had two of each. They loaded me on the jeep and headed down to the beach and by the time I got to the beach I didn’t care about the war – it crossed my mind, “If this is dyin’ it’s not too bad."

SFC ANTHONY HARTMAN

The first four years of my military career was filled with countless over-nighters, the occasional training events, and a few hardships, but that all changed in September of 2002 when I got married.  Five months later I was enduring the toughest hardship I had ever known while being thrust into the Iraqi War.  My return was uncertain, but what was crystal clear was I missed my wife and would miss our first anniversary.  People would probably scoff about this because they have their loved ones in front of them, but when I was alone at night it was all I could think about.  In September of 2003, my anniversary, I was given one of the most amazing gifts from some of my Soldiers while on mission in Baghdad.  First it was an anniversary card, which made me sob uncontrollably in the PX.  Those Soldiers proceeded to help me find a phone so I could call home, which would come to no avail.  I had searched the entire camp and thought my prayers to hear my wife’s voice would go unanswered so I just gave up and went back to camp.  Quickly after my return I was met by a Soldier who had to show me something, which turned out to be a lifesaver.  He had talked to a tank unit and somehow we finagled our way into their camp.  The sergeant of the guard took us to one of the tracked vehicles, pointed to the door and said “the phone is on the left come find me when you’re done.”  So without thinking I picked up phone and dialed straight through to my wife, and talked for an hour uninterrupted.   This was the best gift I had ever been given, and will be forever in my Soldier’s debt. 

GLENN SHOCKEY, Marine 5th Amphibious Corps

In 1943, the special communication battalion of the Marine Fifth Amphibious Corps consisting of about 60 Marines was sent to Canada to help direct naval gunfire for the Canadian army to recapture the island of Kiska (in the Aleutian Islands). Assigned to a Canadian regiment, we were sweeping across the island unopposed. We came across a shot-down American Army Air Force fighter plane located at the top of a mountain.
The Canadian Army ordinance officer ask me to go check on the wreckage and see if the pilot was still in the plane, dead or alive. Next to the plane lay a pile of rocks, indicating the rocks were probably covering a grave. Next to the grave was a wooden cross with a sign that read “Here Lies The Body of an American War Eagle Who Gave His Life For His Country.”

Attached to the sign was the pilot’s dog tags. Not knowing if our outfit would make it back to the USA or not, as we were sure the Japanese Army was dug in and waiting our arrival, I left the dog tags hanging on the sign and tried to remember the pilot’s name and military service number. I did not have a pencil or paper to record the information on.

Three years later, after the war, I was totally unable to remember the dead pilot’s name or service number. I still vividly recall that experience and always hoped the pilot’s body was recovered, returned home and his family notified.

The Jap soldiers who buried the pilot were certainly no kin to the murderous Jap soldiers who slaughtered the Americans on the Bataan Death March.