The air crackled with tension. We had only been on the Admiralty Islands for about two weeks since the assault landing, but we had worked hard to get our area comfortable while we waited for the next orders. We had graduated from foxholes to six-men tents and wondered aloud each day how long we would able to live in this lap of luxury.
Each morning after reveille there was “sick call”. Even after six weeks there was a tent-full of men who needed medical attention. I was there, this one time because my stomach was upset and I needed help. It seemed so trivial a matter to worry about when there was still battles going on not too many miles away from our camp, but I really needed something.
I was almost ashamed to tell the medical of my problem for there were men in the tent getting bandages changed from wounds or injuries that happened while we were setting up our camp. However, I was a Corporal then, the same as the medic, and I poured out my infinitesimal problem. He didn’t blink an eye or laugh at me; he just gave me two small brown pills to take. I asked him if the pill worked fast. He said, “You’re standing in the middle of the tent now, Just wait until you get to tent doorway, face toward the latrine, then take the pills. Good luck!”
The air crackled with tension!
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