English Creative Writing Story

Here is a story I wrote for English.  My teacher had us use a story to fulfil the researce benchmark for our state.  Hopefully you'll enjoy:

From Potato Field to Battle Field

The story of the human race is war (Churchill, 102). And now the story of my life had become war, war, and more war. Every single day since January 6th 1942 had been hell, pure hell on earth. Today was no exception.

Driving through the jungles of Okinawa in my Sherman tank was like driving a tin can through an oven. Battles were even worse because of the heat coming from my tank’s 75 mm gun as it fired off rounds at Japanese bunkers (Hickman). Today we were trying to destroy a ring of bunkers, but to get into firing range we had to cross an open area that had been clear-cut by artillery. I could hardly hear my commander over the noise of battle, so I relied heavily on his feet taping my shoulders for direction. Tap left, two taps—stop, three taps—go, tap right and the tank continued on at 24 miles per hour with machine guns blaring all the way (Hickman). Bang, one shell into the hillside…a minute later another. All were sounds I had heard before. Screams of horror and pain rang out all over the place, but no one cared. Along with the ping of bullets ringing in my head, I had become numb when it came to that horrible sound of human screaming.

My commander tapped my shoulder to stop, so I obeyed. My fellow tank crew members began to unload shells and machine gun bullets at one of the Jap bunkers. When we typically stopped all I did was wait until I felt the tap of the commander’s foot and then I would drive on. Waiting there with nothing to do was torture. Deaf as I was from the canons, I could still hear screams of men dying all around my tank.

Oftentimes I would think back on my life before I was sent to this hell they call war. Now, as I sat in the driver’s seat of my Sherman I recalled the life I had before this one. I could remember the summer days in Idaho picking potatoes and sugar beets. At the time I had hated those days, but now I looked back on them with fondness. There was no shooting, dying, or screaming. There were only those potatoes and beets. Potatoes and beets, boy, did that sound good. Of course while in high school I wouldn’t have wanted to ever see another potato again, but here in the jungle canned food was the only thing to be had. A nice hot potato, it was almost too much to bear, sitting here in this hellish place.

Three taps. I awoke from my dream and faced reality, as I pushed the Sherman closer to the enemy entrenchments. Now it would really get ugly. Our tanks and men were now within one thousand yards of the bunkers.

We had been firing at one particular bunker for the past half hour and it appeared invincible. The fire coming out of that Japanese stronghold was mind blowing. I swiveled my periscope over just as the tank on our left flank was covered with dirt and smoke from a near miss. The explosion caused a tower of debris to shoot up above the tank, perhaps seventy-five feet in the air (Dick, 149). I didn’t receive the order, but I immediately backed up as I saw the closeness of the shells.

Not three minutes had passed before I saw a Japanese shell land right in the place where I had just parked the tank. We could have been dead men. I was not going to be in trouble with the commander for driving without his orders, rather he would most likely thank me for moving. I had just saved the lives of myself and my fellow crew-members. It was time to head back to a safer area for some rest.



In my tent back at camp, after I had eaten a can of beans from my K-rations, I wrote one of my usual daily letters to my younger brother:

Dear Robert,


Today, was hot. Real hot. Regarding your question as to whether you should join the army when you graduate, I will now answer.


First I want you know that this is no bed of Roses. The signs you see may sound and read good but they are nothing like the army. The minute you sign your name to that piece of paper you are no longer your own boss. Anytime someone of a higher rank tells you to do something you have got to do it no matter how it hurts you. So gets on your nerve and sometimes you get so mad that you could knock them all down and give up and quit but you know it won’t do you any good because they can court martial you and if they want then can send you to prison for the rest of your life (A. Sorenson). If at all possible don’t join the military. It controls your life and if you saw half the stuff I see here you would understand.


Anyway, I hope life at home is going well. I wish I could be there just for one meal to taste mothers baked chicken, but I’m here on this mass grave they call an island instead. Write soon.


Your Brother,


Raymond

After finishing my letter I went into my usual restless sleep just waiting to hear the sound of a Japanese night attack. Luckily the night it never came and I made it through to fight another day.

Today our mission was different. Convoy duty. My tank was to be the lead tank of a convoy of fifteen supply trucks. This was stressful driving. As the lead escort, orders were to never stop until reaching the destination. Twenty miles through a mountain pass just to take some Marines a few letters and some smokes? It didn’t make sense to me, but then again I wasn’t the smartest man. Heck, I joined this army voluntarily. How smart was that?

As I drove along the mountain rode I looked for any sign of a Japanese ambush. Then I saw it. There was a large wooden spool blocking the road. I had two options run it over and go on or stop and have some men move it. Since orders were to stop for nothing I figured I’d run it over and continue leading the convoy.

As I drove the tank closer to the spool I began to feel a little nervous. Was this a Japanese trap? I guess I would find out.

About three feet away from the spool I heard an explosion right underneath the tracks of my tank. It was an ambush! The Sherman immediately halted as its tracks were disabled. Then came the unnerving scream of Japanese soldiers, most likely drunk with false courage. This would end up being a fight for survival.

As we couldn’t go on because the tank wouldn’t move, the commander ordered us out to fight before a Japanese soldier had the opportunity to open the hatch and toss down a grenade. I grabbed my .45 ACP M3 submachine gun and took of out the hatch (Military Factory). This type of fighting was the most unnerving. The first thing I saw when I jumped out of the tank was about fifteen Japanese soldiers attacking my tank crew. The commander was in hand to hand combat with one of the soldiers and he ended up winning by stabbing him in the chest with his knife. I lifted the submachine gun and began firing at a rate of 350 rounds per minute at the remaining Japanese soldiers (Military Factory). One went down, shot through the heart, another wounded in the leg.

The gunner caught a Japanese bayonet to the right of me and without hesitation I shot his attacker. Killing was no big deal when it meant survival. I no longer thought of the Japanese as humans, but mere animals. It made killing them a little easier to do. Deaths were happening so often now that it was impossible to muster much emotion (Hughes, 3).

I continued fighting. The Japanese wouldn’t surrender. Death was all over the place. I turned and shot another Japanese soldier as he ran at me with a knife. Did they ever stop coming? I spun around and noticed a Jap climbing the tank. He began opening the hatch and in his hand I noticed a grenade. If he got into the tank to its 400 hp Continental R 975-C1 engine and blew it up, that would be the end of the Sherman and there would be no way out of the mountains but to walk fifteen miles through enemy held jungle (Hickman). I needed that tank. Tracks could be put back on, but repair a blown up engine? It wouldn’t happen. I needed to stop that Jap. I fired a shot hitting him in the shoulder. He winced in pain, but continued to raise the hatch. I jumped up onto the turret and went after him pulling out my knife. He was inside already and as I jumped down into the Sherman I felt the scream of a bullet fly past my ear. This was battle.

The Jap swung at me with a fist, but I quickly dodged the blow. Then it was my turn. I punched him right in the stomach. He bent over in pain. It was just enough time to kill him with my knife.

As he died he pulled the pin of the grenade in his hand. I quickly grabbed it and through it out the hatch, but it was almost too late. It blew up five feet in the air knocking me unconscious.



I awoke in a medical tent with a strange feeling in my head. I was alive with only a large chunk of flesh missing from my arm. I could feel the wound under its bandages. I looked around the tent and noticed a few other people were there. My commander lay in the cot next to me and I noticed he had lost an arm. He was headed home. We had survived.

Today, I was lucky to get away with what I did, only a large hole in my arm. Others were not so lucky. I had made it and I hoped I could just hold on in this hellish war until I was shipped home to Idaho for a nice home cooked meal.

Works Cited

Churchill, Winston, and James C. Humes. The Wit & Wisdom of Winston Churchill: a Treasury of More than 1,000 Quotations and Anecdotes. New York: HarperCollins, 1994. Print.

Dick, Robert C. Cutthroats: the Adventures of a Sherman Tank Driver in the Pacific. New York: Presidio / Ballentine, 2006. Print.

Hickman, Kennedy. "M4 Sherman - World War II M4 Sherman Tank." Military History - Warfare through the Ages - Battles and Conflicts - Weapons of War - Military Leaders in History. Web. 10 Nov. 2010. <http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/vehiclesarmor/p/M4Sherman.htm>.

Hughes, Dean. Since You Went Away. Salt Lake City, UT: Deseret Book, 2005. Print.

Sorenson, Alfred. Personal Letter. 28 November 1942

Writer, Staff. "M3A1 (Grease Gun) - Submachine Gun - History, Specs and Pictures - Military, Security, Civilian, Law Enforcement and Sporting Small Arms, Weapons and Equipment." Military Factory - Military Weapons: Cataloging Aircraft, Tanks, Vehicles, Artillery, Ships and Guns through History. Web. 10 Nov. 2010. <http://militaryfactory.com/smallarms/detail.asp?smallarms_id=65> .