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Another time, we were a considerable distance along the island coast from our main forces as part of a special patrol. Word had reached us that an unknown number of the enemy were entrenched in bunkers across a jungle trail. Our mission was to either capture or destroy them. I had been selected to lead a support unit consisting of a machine gun and flame thrower crew to bolster the fire power of the riflemen. As we waited orders to move forward, I spotted an enemy plane flying low, just above the tree tops. It was enroute back to the nearby islands after making a bomb run on our airfields. Our presence in the area wasn't known to the enemy, and to effect a surprise attack on them, we had to remain quiet. All I could do was to keep the "rising sun logo" in my machine gun sights. I knew, that under other circumstances, I could have fired my machine gun and downed him easily. Later, we received word that the riflemen had the situation under control and our support would not be needed. We returned to our original place on the perimeter with my thoughts of an enemy plane I could have downed.
One night, I noticed search lights criss-crossing the sky immediately above our newly activated air strip. A Japanese airplane was attempting to make a bomb run over our parked aircraft. Suddenly, an American P-38 plane appeared in hot pursuit of the enemy airplane. Both planes began to try and outmaneuver each other to get into position to shoot the other down. Meanwhile, our ground search light crews tried desperately to focus their lights on the enemy aircraft to give our own plane an advantage. The fierce maneuvering continued for some time as we watched in awe. Then, the enemy plane abruptly broke the aerial engagement and fled to his home base on one of the nearby Halmahara Islands.
My thoughts go back to an incident that occurred on 26 February 1945 when Victor E. Lind was shot while we were on combat patrol on Morotai Island. Vic and I were with several others on the patrol. We had progressed some distance when we came upon a stream of water. Since we had been walking for some time, the bank of the stream seemed an appropriate place to rest. Vic and I were sitting on rocks about three feet from each other. Suddenly, I saw Vic turn around and remark in a stern voice, "whoever threw that rock had better not do it again." He thought someone in jest had thrown a rock at him. As he turned, I noticed a small hole in his jacket, located approximately in the middle of his right shoulder blade. I walked over and took a closer look at his back. I said, "Vic, no one threw a rock at you, there's a bullet hole in your jacket." I raised his jacket and saw what appeared to be a puncture wound. A few inches from the wound, on his right shoulder blade, I could feel a bullet under the skin.
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