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The extraordinary experiences of three men and their fellow Marines take them from the first clash with the Japanese in the haunted jungles of Guadalcanal, through the impenetrable rain forests of Cape Gloucester, across the blasted coral strongholds of Peleliu, up the black sand terraces of Iwo Jima, through the killing fields of Okinawa, to the triumphant, yet uneasy, return home after V-J Day.… (plus d'informations)
Bushwhacked: United States Marine Corps in the Pacific Theatre during the Second World War.
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Like most early Baby Boomers, one of my parents was part of the "Greatest Generation," although in my case, it was my mother who served during World War II rather than my father. She was motivated to enlist because her nephew, First Lieutenant Irwin Wolf, died of wounds he sustained in the Battle for Guam. Naturally, because of this fact, I wanted to know a little more about the War in the Pacific. Thus, I watched _The Pacific_ with great anticipation.
I was not really prepared for my visceral reaction. It's one thing to read about the War or to watch one of the period films made about it. But to live the fight for the Pacific Ocean vicariously through the lives of the real men and woman that are portrayed here is entirely different. Watching the fight for Guadalcanal, seeing men that I'd come to know die at the hands of men they didn't know, and knowing that my cousin had been in that battle ... I finally thought I could understand the some of the reasons that caused him to fight.
I don't hold with the current lessening of the term "hero," since the definition I learned as a child made this word applicable to only the very few who went beyond what others would or could. But I was hard put not to want to apply the term to all the Marines and soldiers who fought, died, or were wounded in heart and mind by their experiences. I finally understood saw how why these courageous men (and even those who ran under fire), fashioned of a different fabric than we, went through their lives unable to talk about their experiences, with the same nightmares and agonies that my generation would later call "post-traumatic stress disorder." They had lived with much of their lives without the fear of nuclear holocaust, in a world that was smaller and quieter. They were taught that men hid their emotions (thank the god this is no longer the case!), and so they did.
Most of these men are gone now, and the few who are left are in their 80's and 90's. But now, when I see one, I can only wonder in amazement at their lives, and thank them for having given of themselves to the World. And all I can do is pray that the years have been kind to them and their brothers, and that they at last found peace of soul for what they experienced to bring us peace for a few years. ( )
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The extraordinary experiences of three men and their fellow Marines take them from the first clash with the Japanese in the haunted jungles of Guadalcanal, through the impenetrable rain forests of Cape Gloucester, across the blasted coral strongholds of Peleliu, up the black sand terraces of Iwo Jima, through the killing fields of Okinawa, to the triumphant, yet uneasy, return home after V-J Day.
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I was not really prepared for my visceral reaction. It's one thing to read about the War or to watch one of the period films made about it. But to live the fight for the Pacific Ocean vicariously through the lives of the real men and woman that are portrayed here is entirely different. Watching the fight for Guadalcanal, seeing men that I'd come to know die at the hands of men they didn't know, and knowing that my cousin had been in that battle ... I finally thought I could understand the some of the reasons that caused him to fight.
I don't hold with the current lessening of the term "hero," since the definition I learned as a child made this word applicable to only the very few who went beyond what others would or could. But I was hard put not to want to apply the term to all the Marines and soldiers who fought, died, or were wounded in heart and mind by their experiences. I finally understood saw how why these courageous men (and even those who ran under fire), fashioned of a different fabric than we, went through their lives unable to talk about their experiences, with the same nightmares and agonies that my generation would later call "post-traumatic stress disorder." They had lived with much of their lives without the fear of nuclear holocaust, in a world that was smaller and quieter. They were taught that men hid their emotions (thank the god this is no longer the case!), and so they did.
Most of these men are gone now, and the few who are left are in their 80's and 90's. But now, when I see one, I can only wonder in amazement at their lives, and thank them for having given of themselves to the World. And all I can do is pray that the years have been kind to them and their brothers, and that they at last found peace of soul for what they experienced to bring us peace for a few years. (