We were being briefed by the colonel for another mission. It would be our seventh since arriving in the Pacific theater six months ago. Intelligence described it as extremely risky, involving invasion of mainland Japan and reports suggested that the Japanese had advance knowledge of our plans and were preparing a massive resistance.Stunning as this information was we took in the details as though it were a routine briefing. We figured we'd gambled our last survival chips months before anyway.
« This is a volunteer mission, » barked the colonel. « any man who doesn't want to undertake this mission just needs to report to my quarters, stand at attention, look me in the eye, and say, Colonel, i'm yeller, sir ! And you'll be shipped out, back to base at Oahu on the next ship. Is that clear ? Dismissed ! »
After dozens of missions, we were exhausted. Although none of us said it out loud, each knew what the other was thinking. It was what I was thinking, too. I wished I had the guts to go in there and tell the colonel I was yellow. We were too tired to admit fear, too proud. We were seasoned soldiers, veterans of the many battles that would eventually end up as battle stars on our uniforms and hang in our closets until the moths ate holes in our lapels or until some kid took the jacket off the hanger for Halloween. And we knew enough of battle to have real fear. But i feared something more then looking into the colonel's eyes and telling him i was afraid. I feared looking into my own eyes, even though in the middle of the Pacific we didn't have mirrors, and i knew that, battle fatigued and frightened as i was, i could never bring myself to walk into the colonel's tent.
But one man, Symes, did go in to the colonel. The colonel was true to his word and transferred Symes out of the unit. His orders were to board the Jasper, a supply ship returning to Oahu to restock.
I resented Symes. I hated him. We all did. We knew that Symes had fought next to us throughout our