February 27, 1945 Fifth Marine Outpost, Iwo JIma
My Dearest Mummy,
I cannot write much to you, not knowing if this letter will ever reach you. I was shot today, Mummy, and it hurts so much. But please do not worry, as I am relatively fine and the medic says he will patch my ribs up good and proper. I’m coming home mother, I hope you and Ms. Potter will be there to pick me up.
Are you attending the church seminars everyday? Reverend Charlie says you must save your eternal soul. I think that the Japs are soulless demons, the way they march around their bunkers. Do you remember Jack, the Reverends son? The machine gun rounds tore his body to shreds on the rocks of the beach. I hope his immortal soul goes to heaven. The medic tent is on muddy ground, and the pristine white flag has now faded to grey. The Japs were waving that flag today atop Mount Sirubachi and it looked like Ms. Potter’s curtains. I killed them Mummy, ran my knife through their black hearts. His blood was hot and sticky on my face, like the ice-cones we used to share in summer. It tasted like cherry. The remaining one pulled the string out of grenade and ate it. He died about three seconds later…The doctor has just injected me with a clear liquid. He says it will make me feel better, but the only thing that will is seeing you and Winston, Alabama again. Maybe it was wrong to lie about my age. I wanted to fight so badly. The battleship guns were deafening, and then the airplanes came in dropping giant craters in the earth. I wore a flamethrower, spewing fire like little Timmy’s dragon toy. I ate the heroes with fire, and left a path of destruction
I am getting sleepy. Very sleepy. I want to put in the picture they took of me. We had to take the camera from the photographer’s dead body as he lay huddled on the volcanic sand. His dog tag named him Joe Rosenthall. There was a picture of men raising a flag on it. I am getting numb all over, and the medic is back, he wants to take my pencil. There is so much to write about here, the green grass, the blue sky, the death and destru…
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Dear Ms. Di Angelo
Your son, Mike Di Angelo died at 10:01 PM CST from three bullet wounds sustained in the chest and third degree burns. I am extremely sorry for his death. He died with an honorable discharge. The photo he requested is attached.
Regrettably Yours
John Grisham of 3rd Medical Corps
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