charlie (ky)
New member
I met Bill Monks at a reunion of WW11 marines. I was stationed on Chi Chi Jima in 1960, fifteen years after these men liberated that island.
Bill put his lives experiences on paper for his kids and grandkids. His family incourged him to make it a book and get stories from some of his buddies.The Forth and Fifth Marines were taking on Iwo Jima, and the Third was being held in reserves. This is just one page that I found so powerful,that I wanted to share with you.
& mortars were killing them, there was no cover. If you stood in one place long enough you were bound to get hit. They said the japs were firing huge mortar shells that the Marines had dubbed " flying seabags". every move was being watched from Suribachi.
We had a tremendous feeling of guilt and helplessness. To this day I still have a sense of guilt. Some wanted to go ashore, I pray;ed to God we wouldn't, I had suddenly found religion. The best Marine is 18 or 19 and a hell of an optimist. Of course there is always the thinking man, who didn't win too many marble games.
The wounded told us the garbage men were taking the worse loses. Those are the fellows who carry the flame thrower. They were priority targets for the japs because of what they carried. It did not pay to stay closes to them.Prior to the campaign I had the unlucky experience of having my lungs seared by a flame thrower from a tank. It was during a practice run at a pillbox we were out of sight of each other, in high grass. I could hear it moving but I couldn't place it. I just didn't want to be mashed. I never thought it was carrying a " zippo"( cigarette lighter, slang for flame thrower). For one brief moment the air was burning hot and my lungs were on fire, What a miserable way to go. Luckily there was no lasting damage. If you want the same sensation, put you head over the gas flame in your kitchen and take a deep breath. I might have stumpled across the cure for asthma. Ask you doctor first.
One day they call my platoon to fall in on the deck. They are asking for garbage men. No one budged. We are being asked to make an independent decision, to use our free will, not use since our lobotomy. There is no order involve, direct or indirect, if we are ordered over the side, we would go as one man. This was crazy, I was no longer part of the group. For one brief moment I'm Bill Monks again. I stand alone on the deck. It's catch 22, it going to be either physical or spiritual death. This wasn't what P.I. was about. I know if any of the guys from the tent put their hand ,,, the whole tent was going to be in big trouble.
We tool our musk-ox stance and closed ranks,no one volunteered.. Deep inn my heart I knew there wasn't a coward among us, yet we were cursed to sail on the Flying Dutchman for the rest of our lives, forever circling that damn island, questioning our courage. Talk about a guilt trip. " Yes son, I saw the flag go up on Suribachi. I watched
Bill put his lives experiences on paper for his kids and grandkids. His family incourged him to make it a book and get stories from some of his buddies.The Forth and Fifth Marines were taking on Iwo Jima, and the Third was being held in reserves. This is just one page that I found so powerful,that I wanted to share with you.
& mortars were killing them, there was no cover. If you stood in one place long enough you were bound to get hit. They said the japs were firing huge mortar shells that the Marines had dubbed " flying seabags". every move was being watched from Suribachi.
We had a tremendous feeling of guilt and helplessness. To this day I still have a sense of guilt. Some wanted to go ashore, I pray;ed to God we wouldn't, I had suddenly found religion. The best Marine is 18 or 19 and a hell of an optimist. Of course there is always the thinking man, who didn't win too many marble games.
The wounded told us the garbage men were taking the worse loses. Those are the fellows who carry the flame thrower. They were priority targets for the japs because of what they carried. It did not pay to stay closes to them.Prior to the campaign I had the unlucky experience of having my lungs seared by a flame thrower from a tank. It was during a practice run at a pillbox we were out of sight of each other, in high grass. I could hear it moving but I couldn't place it. I just didn't want to be mashed. I never thought it was carrying a " zippo"( cigarette lighter, slang for flame thrower). For one brief moment the air was burning hot and my lungs were on fire, What a miserable way to go. Luckily there was no lasting damage. If you want the same sensation, put you head over the gas flame in your kitchen and take a deep breath. I might have stumpled across the cure for asthma. Ask you doctor first.
One day they call my platoon to fall in on the deck. They are asking for garbage men. No one budged. We are being asked to make an independent decision, to use our free will, not use since our lobotomy. There is no order involve, direct or indirect, if we are ordered over the side, we would go as one man. This was crazy, I was no longer part of the group. For one brief moment I'm Bill Monks again. I stand alone on the deck. It's catch 22, it going to be either physical or spiritual death. This wasn't what P.I. was about. I know if any of the guys from the tent put their hand ,,, the whole tent was going to be in big trouble.
We tool our musk-ox stance and closed ranks,no one volunteered.. Deep inn my heart I knew there wasn't a coward among us, yet we were cursed to sail on the Flying Dutchman for the rest of our lives, forever circling that damn island, questioning our courage. Talk about a guilt trip. " Yes son, I saw the flag go up on Suribachi. I watched