left to right standing, Joseph W Ball, Texas; Pfc William R Stockberger, Okmulgee, Oklahoma F 2/9 WIA Guam 25 July 1944; Pfc Edward F Starwas, Flint, Michigan, F 2/9 WIA Guam 26 July 1944; Pfc Vincent L O'Leary, Los Angeles, California, F 2/9, KIA 25 July 1944 Guam (Multiple shell fragments, chest and body); Sgt James C Sedillo, Flagstaff, Arizona F 2/9, DOW Buried at sea on the USS Sanborn (wound, fragmentation, head on Iwo Jima); Pfc Roy W Cotterman, Chicago, Illinois E 2/9 WIA 26 July 1944 Guam (wound, fragmentation, right testicle, right hip, left leg); kneeling are: Pfc William H Miller, Datto, Arkansas F 2/9, WIA 9 August 1944 Guam (fragment, right leg); W B Carter; Texas; Pfc Delio Martinez, Espanola, New Mexico F 2/9 July 1944 Combat Fatigue evacuated; Corp Gerald R Diveley, Pekin, Illinois F 2/9 WIA 26 February 1945 Iwo Jima (blast concussion and GSW, left wrist); Pfc William E. White, Mt Vernon, Illinois WIA Guam 26 July 1944 (Traumatic amputation, right leg) Photo courtesy of Gerald Diveley's niece, Nancy Wofford

Below is an excerpt from Fred's memoir recounting some of his experiences on Guadalcanal.

The division was bivouacked in the Lever Brothers (Palmolive) coconut plantation around the partially completed airfield, and we were allotted a small area between the First and the Fifth Marines. We were told to dig in and prepare for a counter attack. We were pretty tired by this time, and as I recall had eaten only C rations that day. Perhaps a description of C rations as they existed at that time would be in order. There were three choices packed in cans about the size of a can of condensed soup. There was meat and beans, meat and vegetable stew, and hash. They all tasted about the same. It is impossible to believe just how bad they tasted without having lived on them for a week or so. A few days on this diet and facing another can of this stuff will make almost anyone sick. I have seen men on the verge of starvation gag at the thought of more C rations. When we had to live on captured rice and oatmeal for several weeks it was monotonous, but one could always eat it without gagging. At any rate between the cold C rations and the strain of the day’s activity, most of us dug a slit trench barely a foot deep, wrapped up in our ponchos, and laid down beside our slit trench to try and get some sleep.

The password that night was “hallelujah” on the theory that Japanese could not pronounce the letter “l” We were never quite sure what happened, but apparently a Jap light machine gunner decided we didn’t need any sleep that night and crept close enough to send a few bursts towards the Fifth Marines, who took umbrage at this and started firing back in the general direction of where they thought the “Jap” might be. Some of their fire fell into the area of the First Marines, who naturally returned fire.

Of course, everyone thought they were firing at the enemy except us. We were caught in the middle, and the tracer bullets were flying just a few feet off the ground in sufficient numbers to make us seek the shelter of our recently dug foxholes. In an effort to quell this pseudo engagement, we began to shout the password as loudly as we could. The result was an extended chorus of “hallelujahs” that would have been a credit to any prayer meeting. A few of us could not resist the temptation to throw in a few fervent “Amens” and “Praise the Lords” to add a little flavor to the situation.

After a time (it was probably not as long as it seemed) the shooting died down, and there were no further disturbances that night. As far as I know there were no casualties for the ammunition expended although one of our men discovered a bullet hole in the poncho he had been lying on before he dove into his foxhole. This incident did point out that in a foxhole or slit trench 10 or 12 inches deep you feel pretty damn exposed. The holes all went down another two or three feet with no grumbling about the hard work. In fact it looked as though a couple of the men might hit water.