My Dad In The War (Part Six)

After one of the battles with the Japanese, Dad found a .45 on the battlefield. He didn't know who lost it, or if that person was even still alive. All he knew was that it was a nice-looking gun.
     So nice, in fact, that one of his commanding officers asked him if he could borrow it. He told Dad that he didn't have his sidearm with him, and he felt out of uniform with it. He told Dad to let him borrow it, and, when he was able to retrieve his own gun, he'd give it back. Reluctantly, my father lent him the gun, and...
     He never saw that .45 again.
     There's a picture of my father standing in front of a jeep. He's holding up his carbine, shirt torn, and a cigarette dangling rakishly from his mouth. He's wearing his helmet tilted at a jaunty angle. If you look on his hip, you'll see the .45 in its holster.
     In a similar story, after one battle with the Japanese, Dad took two samurai swords from a couple of dead Japanese soldiers as souvenirs. When the war ended, Dad received his discharge. As he was packing them to bring them back to the United States, a captain saw him, and told my father that he couldn't take them with him. Dad had to hand them over.
     Grudgingly, he did.
     The captain took them, and Dad was sure they ended up decorating his office or home. While it's true that to the victor goes the spoils, it's also true that rank has its privileges.
     Over fifty years later, and Dad was still pissed off at the captain for taking the swords away from him.
 
 

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