The Greatest Generation...Are We Worthy of Their Sacrifice?
By John Giduck

As we recently celebrated Memorial Day, most of you were likely drawn to stories and movies of military service and sacrifice. For some of you this is always a time to reflect on personal experiences in the military, and for others of us the experiences of friends or family members who have served our nation. Today, we are a nation at war, but too few seem to realize it, and even fewer to appreciate the sacrifice being made by the members of our military. But despite the incredible demands being made upon our men and women in uniform, on that one day each year I don’t think anyone can help but be drawn to the time in our history when our entire nation realized we were at war, as did the rest of the world. That was World War II.
Yet there are so few stories to come out of that war that allow us to pay homage to those who fought it for America, as the men of that generation were so humble. In describing this very social dynamic, Special Forces Sergeant Major John Anderson and I, in our recent book The Green Beret In You, wrote: “…quiet modesty is a quality that was present in the American people in years past. Consider the men of World War II – the Greatest Generation – who came home after years a war. They are famous for their modesty, in most cases never speaking of what they accomplished, of the medals they won, or the heroic actions that warranted them. Stories are legion of men working in the same factory after the war, becoming and remaining friends for a half century but never knowing they served in the same brigade during the war. They had never met in the service, and since they never talked about their service, were friends all those years without knowing the experiences they shared.”

Six men from my family served in World War II. Four on my father’s side, and two on my mother’s. They served in everything from the U.S. Infantry during D-Day and the Battle of the Bulge, to the Army Air Corps flying the Hump, to the Marines in the Pacific. All of them came home. Yet virtually none of them ever spoke of his wartime service. It was not until shortly before the deaths of my two uncles Nick and Harry Giduck that I ever heard them mention anything about the war at all. The last survivor of these men was not a blood relative, but the entire family was just as proud of him as if he had been. My uncle, Everett Burns, married my mother’s older sister, Helen, during a leave while serving with the Marines in the Pacific. After leaving the service, he continued to serve America as a Maryland State Police sergeant for the rest of his working life.

My Uncle Everett, like most men of his generation, was a tough man. He had little tolerance for whining, excuse-making, self-pity, inappropriate or unlawful behavior, lack of discipline or respect, and lack of pride in one’s country. He was, in many ways, the very essence of what was once so great about our nation and its men, and that we have lost to so great a degree. Still, I never heard him speak of his experiences in the war until the last years before his death, which was the last time I saw him at a family reunion. Still strong and tough, with his trademark flattop haircut, we sat together discussing what America was facing and, to a small degree, what he had seen while a young man. Perhaps it is the fact that as these warriors age they realize they are finally coming to the end of it, and want to share some of their experiences so that the rest of us can benefit in the battles we are facing today.

My uncle was a turret gunner on a torpedo bomber with VMTB-134. He was 18 years old. He saw a great deal of action on those remote South Pacific islands. He died several years ago, the last of my family members who had served in that global horror. Just a couple of months ago, however, my Aunt Helen forwarded to me an email that he had sent at the request of the grandson of his Marine Corps friend, Charles Macumber, who was looking for information on his grandfather’s wartime service. With my aunt’s permission to share that letter with those who would appreciate it, and who value the service of all brave Americans in uniform, the following is just one rare glimpse into the terrible yet wonderful experiences of a generation of men who picked up arms to save a world that gone crazy with murderous lust. I hope you can take a couple of minutes to read his words.

From my Uncle Everett Burns:

“ Your letter reached me and I have been looking at it ever since and pondering how and what I can express to you my remembrance and my love for your grandfather. How can I express to you the conditions, the death, the fear, and, yes, the courage that existed between us? And especially on Peleliu. Could you grasp the hunger and the fact that I speak of young men (I was 18 years old and I think Mac was 19) who were praised when they killed other men and encouraged to kill more, as their duty?

“ Mac and I first met in California. I had just graduated from boot camp at Parris Island, S.C. We first met at Camp Miramar in southern California. We were assigned to what was called a "transit" group and headed overseas. There was something about this group and their uncertain duties and future that I didn't like. One day there was a notice on the bulletin board that they wanted volunteers for Scouts and Snipers in line marines. I went in to see the Sgt. Major and he turned my request aside and told me he had just received a draft for volunteers for aerial gunnery school and asked if I would be interested. I would have volunteered to be a mule skinner to get out of that transit outfit. When the Sgt. Major gave me the application for aerial gunnery school I told him about my buddy and got an application for him also. That is how both of us got pulled out of that transit outfit and were sent to TBTU (Torpedo Bomber Training Unit) at Galena, California which was very close to Santa Barbara.

“ We both sailed through aerial gunnery school. On completion of this school we received our wings and met up with out future pilots and radioman/gunner. I was assigned to Lt. Calvin Hutchins whom I flew with all during combat. We were all matched as 3-man crews and we shipped out overseas to an island called Esperito Santos. In those days, by Marine Corps philosophy, a squadron went into combat and stayed until it was shot up or whatever. Then they came back to rear areas such as Esperito Santos where fresh crews took the squadron back to the combat area.

“ Mac and I were assigned to Squadron VMTB-134. My original radioman met a crazy pilot who promised him promotion, a quick trip home, etc. etc. He took the bait and was shot down and killed over Okinawa. We acquired a replacement radioman and after more training in glide bombing, skip bombing, aerial gunnery, etc. we were off to combat on the island of Peleliu.

“ Here you should study the Marine Corps operations of Peleliu. When MacArthur convinced Roosevelt to go back to the Philippines, the Navy decided the Peleliu invasion wasn't necessary. They said the island could have been neutralized and by-passed as we did with Rabal. But our convoy was at sea and could not be recalled.

“ Also in their stupidity, it was ordered that VMTB-134 pilots and radiomen would fly the planes to Peleliu; and turret gunners like Mac and I were to go by ship. It was also planned that we would rejoin our planes on the morning of the second day of the invasion when the air strip was supposed to be in our hands. Do I need to tell you that on the morning of the second day we held about 150 yards of beach and we were sent in with .45 caliber pistols.

“ I remember so well being with Mac in this hole on the beach and him saying, ‘We better get a rifle,’ and he crawled out of the hole and came back with two rifles from guys who had been killed in the invasion. I also remember that he was not happy with our ammo supply and he crawled out again and came back with more ammo. Sometime in the next couple of hours I got an assignment that put me as a guard on top of a large concrete bunker and Mac and I got separated.

“ Here, time and my memories blur. I don't know how many days passed; but finally the airfield was taken. The Japanese were thrown back onto this large hill known as Umbergol Mountain; and we were assigned an area. Now this area was strewn with Japanese dead, live grenades, ammo boxes, rockets, brains, guts and flies. Flies like I have never seen anywhere else. Big green ones, living on the dead. To eat you had to brush them off your face and jam the food in ahead of the flies, being extremely careful that none were on the food. "C" rations was the only thing we had to eat and that only twice a day. This assigned area was ours to live in and defend. It was about 800 yards from Umbergol Mountain, under sniper fire, and most certainly, mortar fire.

“ Each Marine carried a shelter half and it was definitely that - a half. You dug your hole with a buddy and with his half and your half buttoned together it made like a little tent. Mac was my buddy in this hole. How long? I can't remember. At first we couldn't put our shelter halves together because they stuck up and drew mortar fire. So we lived just in the hole. Here Mac and I became brothers.

“ The average person doesn't care to think about living in a hole. In combat, if you got out of that hole you drew sniper fire or, worse, mortars. If it was at night, you risked being shot by one of your buddies as an infiltrator. So we literally lived in that hole - no latrines, no nothing. That hole was all we had. Then from the flies, the intense heat, whatever, came the dysentery. I remember so well once in the middle of the night leaving our hole (by this time we had been able to pitch our shelter halves) and when I came back in I startled Mac. With one swift motion he reached up and pulled his .45 and leveled it right between my eyes, thinking I was a Jap. Man, I gave a yelp that drove the sleep out of his eyes.

“ Another thing about Peleliu was the land crabs. They were 8-10 inches across with only one claw. They came out at night to feed on the dead and were everywhere. At first they kept you scared to death as they'd scrape on the coral as they moved and you would swear it was a Jap crawling up on you. Later Mac and I went back to a Jap building that had been destroyed and got some sheet roofing tin and lined it around our hole. Then we got ourselves some tree limb clubs and when those crabs crawled on the tin we could hear them clanking and we would reach out and bust them with the clubs. We enjoyed that immensely until we figured out that we were getting a huge amount of crabs around us because for every one we smashed three more were coming. Suffice it to say that between urine, smashed crabs and me with the dysentery, our hole was not the Sheraton.

“ I mentioned the dysentery. I had it so bad I couldn't walk or stand. By that time, our planes had come in and we were ready for mission assignments. Our pilots were assigned far to the rear of us in what we referred to as ‘Officers Country.’ Nevertheless, Mac went there, found my pilot and told him how sick I was. Hutch came down and took me to the field hospital and got me taken care of.

“ I want to tell you an adventure Mac and I had. First, grasp the code of the Marine Corps at that time: Simply put it was, steal from the Navy, it was okay - it was called scrounging; steal from the Army and you almost got a medal; steal from the Marine Corps and you nearly got shot.

“ Keeping that in mind, understand that Peleliu was surrounded by a coral reef. During the day supply ships scattered at sea so they would not be a cluster of targets for the Jap planes or subs. At night these ships came in to the reef line and amphibious trucks went out and unloaded supplies and took them to a food dump in a rear area. Anyway Mac and I formulated and carried out our plan. I went out on the reef so I was about chest high in the water. Why a shark didn't get me or one of those trucks run over me I'll never know. I jumped on one of the trucks and when it got on the island at the place Mac and I had planned, I began to throw off cases of food. I can't remember exactly how many cases I threw off into the adjoining jungle where Mac was coming along gathering them up and stacking them. I think it was about 27 cases before the driver looked back and saw me and reached for his carbine. I just leaped off that truck into the brush and met Mac at our specified spot where he had a heap of those cases. Keep in mind there were Jap infiltrators around, it was pitch black and we wanted out of there in a hurry.

“ The next morning we couldn't wait to get back there to see just what kind of treasure we had. Would you believe that I had thrown off 27 cases of "C" rations - the same stuff we were starving to death on? We were crushed but we bounced to another plan. We went to our squadron mess sergeant and swapped the whole 27 cases for one case of fruit cocktail. (Comment by Helen - we NEVER had a can of fruit cocktail in our cupboards during the 57 years we were married).

“ Following our return from combat and our 30-day leave, Mac and I were assigned to Cherry Point, N.C. and shortly thereafter to Oak Grove, a small airfield just outside New Bern, N.C, Both of us had been assigned to SB2C dive bombers but in different squadrons which made little difference as we saw each other constantly. On my 30-day leave I got married and my wife joined me in New Bern. We were training to be sent back to the Pacific for the invasion of Japan. Thankfully the war was over in August and then everything revolved around being discharged and going home.

“ After the war was over and we knew we were soon going to be discharged, I wanted to be sure my now pregnant wife was back home with her parents as I would not be discharged from North Carolina. Gene Openshaw (another buddy and who had a car) and his wife, my wife and I, and Mac planned to go to Pennsylvania the first weekend in November. Although I had applied for a 71-hour pass, it was denied. 48-hour passes you could get without too much trouble but there was a restriction that you could not go more than 150 miles from base. So I was going to be AWOL. I told my sergeant what I was going to do and I still remember him saying, ‘Go ahead. I'll be waiting for you when you get back.’ Mac was anxious to go as this would be the opening of hunting season in Pennsylvania and my Dad had a pair of excellent rabbit dogs.

“ We left New Bern on a Friday afternoon, got as far as Richmond where Openshaw's car broke down. My wife, Mac and I got a train to D.C., another train to Wilmington, Del., and a taxi from there to Boothwyn and got home at just about dawn Saturday morning - just in time to change clothes and go hunting with my Dad and brother. Mac really enjoyed the hunting, and if I remember correctly, got two rabbits and a pheasant.

“ So on Tuesday, Mac and I go back to Oak Grove. Both of us two days over leave. My sergeant met me and sure enough I got 30 days mess duty in the officer's mess which was probably the best duty I ever had. Well I had to find Mac and find out what had happened with him. I'll never forget my shock as I was walking by this file of prisoners (you could not mistake them as they had a big black "P" on their coats and pants) and about number three in line was Mac. I went over to the brig to see him during visiting hours. I was telling him how bad I felt and how concerned I was that he was in the brig and he just looked at me and said, ‘I had a good time. It was worth it’."

“ Hope some of this has been interesting.”


If you’ve read this far, I think you’ve seen just how horrible the conditions of that war were, how much we asked of those young men, yet how much – no matter what they face - American soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen seem to always remain pretty much the same: tough, disciplined, resilient, loyal and funloving. Robin Moore, the author of The Green Berets so many years ago, and whom I had the privilege of knowing, was running around Afghanistan in his 70s with American Special Forces chasing the Taliban. In one of his last books before his recent death, The Hunt For Bin Laden, when answering the question of how today’s troops stack up against those of my uncle’s generation, he wrote: “American soldiers had remained American soldiers, and those of the Greatest Generation would be proud.”

Sergeant Major Anderson and I conclude The Green Beret In You with the hope that all Americans – especially on Memorial Day – will remember the sacrifices of those men and that time in history, and strive to meet the standard they set. He writes: “No greater words could be spoken for our elite soldiers. No greater words could ever be spoken about any of America’s citizens. I commend to everyone to live your life so that someday someone can write about you, that you were as good as the Greatest Generation America ever produced. For that is the legacy of all Americans.”

To those of you serving or who have served, you have my undying gratitude. For those of you who appreciate and support our troops, you have my great thanks.

Remember Memorial Day.
John Giduck is a senior consultant with the Archangel Group (www.antiterrorconsultants.org), providing training to U.S. law enforcement, government agencies and military. He has a law degree and a master’s degree in Russian studies, and has worked with several Russian special forces units. He has authored Terror at Beslan and co-authored the newly released The Green Beret In You: Living With Total Commitment To Family, Career, Sports and Life.