17:00 March 2nd, 1945

Iwo Jima

Dear family,



It is chaos over here, but I am writing to let you know that I am all right, but unfortunately I cannot say the same for most of the men I have been treating. All around me I see the bodies of the dead and dying. The same men that I have grown close too over time I am seeing now, bloodied and disfigured, including two of my best friends, who passed from this earth just yesterday. I see my brothers, laying in piles of their own intestines or holding onto their dismembered limbs, screaming for their mothers at the top of their lungs. I always seem have blood on my hands, the kind that not even acid could remove. Always seen, always felt, everywhere I go it follows me. It flows through the volcanic sand like a never ending river. Never slowing, never relenting. Blood flows through the island like the island itself has veins that have been maliciously severed. At night, all I can hear are the screams of dying men from the beach, some wishing for divine salvation, some for death. And when the beauty of sleep finally has come to me, all I can see are the screaming faces of the men I treated. Gaping, pale white faces all screaming one single word. “Corpsman. Corpsman.” Then I wake up and live out those vicious nightmares. Every. Single. Day. But even though the horrors of death surround me, I am doing my job and bringing back men who this world has almost had slip through its fingers. I tie off arteries; bandaging wounds, inject morphine, save lives. This was what I signed up for, this is my duty, and I am proud to provide this service for my country.

From your son,



Jack Bradly