Thursday is 65 years to the day, Easter Sunday April 1, 1945, when U.S. troops landed on Okinawa. It was a bright beautiful day with the battleship's cannons roaring. While I didn't participate in the initial landing (landed the 2nd or 3rd) the noise and ferocity of the bombardment by the battleships with troops landing simultaneously was an unforgettable moment in my life.
There was no resistance to the landings and the biggest risk was getting wet. The fighting came into being when the infantry moved into the hills where the Japanese had entrenched themselves. At the same time it started pissing rain and everyone was up to their asses in mud. As a communication/radio outfit our initial chore was to establish communications with Saipan. None of the other dot dit guys could pull it off. So up jumped the devil again. Captain Gooch sent for me as a last resort the filling station operator reluctantly called on me. The walk in the thigh deep mud to the radio tent was unfucking real.
When I did raise Saipan, my big moment in the service, he was happy that we connected but annoyed that the Bronx, loud mouth Jew had pulled it off. I must comment that in some regards, while I did take a bullet in my leg, some of our WWII efforts in the field don't compare with the trials and tribulations of the kids in Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. Those guys and gals are true heroes.
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