585 Raids and Counting. Memoir of an American Soldier in the by Alex Kunevicius

By Alex Kunevicius

After receiving his draft realize on March five, 1941, 21-year outdated Alex Kunevicius harbored goals of becoming a member of George Patton's First Armored department. as a substitute, he used to be put in a noncombat military Ordnance corporation and taught to fix guns, an task within which he before everything observed little glory. After Pearl Harbor, notwithstanding, he and his fellow technicians proved integral by way of protecting American weapons firing throughout the invasion of island after island within the South Pacific. during this memoir, Kunevicius recounts his studies as an ordnance guy, from the sea voyage to the Pacific Theater to years struggling with warmth and ailment as his unit supplied serious upkeep for attacks on Guadalcanal, the Solomon Islands, and different pursuits whereas withstanding never-ending air raids and shelling. His memories supply a bright portrait of existence in the back of the traces and exhibit the large price of help positions to the warfare attempt.

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Extra info for 585 Raids and Counting. Memoir of an American Soldier in the Solomon Islands, 1942–1945

Example text

Again, I tapped a little bit harder and waited. I heard a click, the shutters opened and the girl stood there looking at me, she was smiling. She was much prettier than I thought she was. ” She put up her hands and said, “No, no, no,” in a very heavy French accent. ” She repeated my name several times dragging the letter x, it sounded like a very French name. ” The way she said it, it almost sounded like the beginning of a song. ” I didn’t know how to carry on a conversation with her, but I didn’t want to leave.

He said it was the 19th day out of Panama when we saw many small fishing and sail boats and in the distance we saw land. We could see men in the small boats waving their arms and small flags at us and we waved back. An announcement came over the loudspeaker. “We are approaching a French Polynesian island named Bora Bora to refuel and take on fresh water. ” The message was short, but the day became very interesting. The ship slowly entered a horseshoe type bay surrounded with beautiful palm trees, small native huts and sandy beaches the likes of which I had never seen in my life.

The dinner was a French banquet, the best I had since I left my mother’s table. The professor told me the story about his great-greatgreat-grandfather who said something nasty about Napoleon. He was arrested, convicted, and deported to New Caledonia as a political prisoner. The professor had a meaningful desire to someday visit France; he had never been there. When we got back to Nouméa to Jean’s home, it was late. She wanted me to come in for a while, but I thought it was late. I had to get back to camp.

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