Personal Narrative: Why I Didn T Tell Me During The Summer Of 1943

It was now the sunday morning of December 7, 1941, where many military personnel had a time of leisure. Many of them either were still sleeping, in halls eating breakfast, or getting ready for church. I who had been in the mess hall having breakfast sat with a group of men, enjoying a warm bowl of oatmeal and coffee. As I took a sip of coffee I felt all my muscles awaken and gain strength ready for what this day would bring me. It was just another day of work, or that is what we all thought. The hall was full of cheerful men laughing, talking, and eating. All of a sudden we heard the sounds of planes racing through the thick air, and the crowd of people grew silent. I looked around as everyones faces grew with fear and confusion, as they ran outside to see what was going on.

My first disturbing encounter with SFC Wilson was in November 2016, we were housed in lodging across from one another and he made the remark that I should make sure my door is secure and rattled off my key door lock number. After that incident, I shoved the sofa that was in my room up against the door every night until I moved to permanent housing. I was very relieved that I would be away from him so that I could sleep better at night. The second incident was during the first course of the 42A30, SFC Wilson introduced himself to the instructors and made it known to them that he did not know what he was doing and he would need assistance from all of us. He would ask my opinion about issues or situations that he was assisting in creating

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you all, but I do hope you all are well. It has been a rough three months since I've joined the other nurses in aiding this war and needless to say I have settled in and adapted to the conditions. Since the beginning, nothing has changed within these 3 months, neither side had gotten much advantage of the war. It would be as if a back and forward tug of war between the two sides. Everyday I watch from the tent as hundreds of men rot away in the horrid conditions of the trenches. Many were brought in but many doesn't mean all. After barely being treated and having about a week of recovery soldiers were sent back to suffer in the battlefield. A few weeks ago a huge storm crossed the battlefield. The trenches

Meanwhile, a specific sergeant tried to make my life harder. This sergeant enjoyed agonism which “occurs among those who enjoy fighting for its own sake and who perceive trading insults as a type of game” (p.21). I constantly tried to filter out the words being filled in my head, but my internal dialogue had been so negative and judgmental for so long I really believed the bad things. I could not and did not understand that I was good person with many good characteristics. I was fighting 2 wars in a combat zone, one against terrorists in the desert and the other inside my head.

Through the years 1939 through 1945 there was the terrifying tragedy of World War II. It wrecked people’s homes and nations, killed many families and friends. However, the true destruction it caused was on the mind, the psyches and the sanity of the loved ones waiting at home and the men in battle. I am Louie Zamperini and this is my story from the war, and how I was unbroken.

In the text, “How to Tell a True War Story” Tim O’Brien expresses his thoughts about the true war story and how the war story is changed according to the person who tells it. Jon Krakauer illustrates Chris McCandless’s journey into the Alaskan wilderness and reasons for McCandless’s gruesome death in an isolated place, in his book “Into the Wild.” O’Brien relates introspection and a soldier’s war story by saying that the war story portrays the feelings of a soldier. A soldier’s war story is not the exact war story; it is the illustration of that particular soldier’s perception. Narrating a war story is not like inundating others with facts and numbers however, it is about the introspection of a soldier, because that soldier determines

Sweat beads dripping down my forehead, loud thuds in my head and a dark, dark quiet room. I kicked the blanket off of me, it almost felt like I was lifting a heavy weight off my shoulder and throwing the burden out the window. I spun my feet around and got up quickly, the world spun with me as if I was being sucked into an inevitable vivid hole like in Alice in Wonderland. I could feel the adrenaline rush. My heart was beating irregularly and I had a blurred vision. I managed to balance my feet on the cold, hard wooden floor. I felt a shiver scamper down my spine. I started fumbling for my calendar. Same day today, 10 years ago, 20th of September 1944, I was arrested by the Gestapo and deported to the Westerbork transit concentration camp and

Times like the year 1943, were never talked about in my family. 1943 was 60 years before I was born, yet if you bring up that time, you would be hushed by your mother and told to be quiet. But why? Nobody in the family even knew why. Well, except my great grandfather, Joseph G. Koch. He lived it. Saw it. Smelled it. “The odor of burned flesh was strong,” he said. 2008 was the year when everything changed in the family. The code was cracked. The silence was broken. The secret was out. That was the year my twit-headed uncle put himself to good use, and asked my Great Grandfather about the importance of 1943 and what it meant to him. This was the first time anything was talked about. The hushes and whispers finally dissipated.

Little did I know that was going to be the second to last time I would see her. If I knew about my upcoming death and I had a choice, I would have stayed, but when you are deployed to the US army you don't have choice. You can resist orders and be killed or you can follow orders and have a slight chance of surviving. I chose the later because I wanted to come home to my beautiful wife.

Every morning I wake up at six a.m. I see the reflection of myself in my gleaming pocket knife. I look more like my father now than ever. He is back in Ohio as I follow in his footsteps by joining the armed forces. He was in the army and because of that I lived in Ohio and Germany for most of my life. I still remember the days in Germany when I got to visit the German schools and go outside of the base. Here in Ceiba, Puerto Rico at Roosevelt Roads Naval Base, the weather is hot and humid, it smells of salt water all the time and you constantly hear the waves crash against the colossal boats docked in the harbor. As I lay in bed as a child I used to dream of captaining submarines in the midst of war, I wanted to sail the seven seas using nuclear

turning my head again I saw Simon dive to my aid. He did not utter a

Dad can you tell me about world war 1,sure i can son your grandpa told me this story when i was your age it was a cool night on august 31, 1915 it was two thirty-five in the morning.my group was tired because two or three people had to stay up to watchguard every hour or two they swap place that way they all got enough sleep.the germans came so fast we didn’t have a lot of time to react to it,(Dad-I remember this part the most because how your grandpa describe it) it was like nonstop fighting for the next four days when it was over it was like a herd of elephants came through and completely destroyed the place.It was the first of september we got word to move to a different location because they wanted to bomb them that way we had a little time to get better,get more ammo,rest,well we bomb them and according to one of my teammates they were expecting it so they blow up the air crafts.

August 6th, 1945. It was just an ordinary day. I woke up early this morning to help a friend move some things. Everything was well until I saw the light. I plunged myself between two large rocks, no questions asked. When I was able to get a glackr of what has happened I saw nothing but destroyed homes and dust. I’ve never seen so much blood, it was unbearable. A lady and her injured boy came my way and I couldn't help but help them and take them to a shelter to get help. As I looked over the city, a thick black smoke filled the air. Then the thought hit me, what about my family? Immediately after I ran to search for my family. On the way to search for them I began to feel guilty. How could all these people be hurt, injured or even dead,

It was a dreary day, as it was every day here. The sky permeates with hate. The sun hiding from the horror under a blanket of darkness. The door to our barracks slams open and I knew it was my time. Some of the new prisoners were up and ready not knowing what approached them while us more wary prisoners hid as we had heard the stories. They round all of us up but what awaited us was so grimmer.

A world war has begun. Bombs are being dropped and the world as we know it will cease to exist and people are fleeing to available shelters. I, a member of a speacial government department, had been notified that a group of ten was in conflict over who would be permitted into a shelter made for six. It's critical that the choice was made quickly and that chosen were the best possible candidates. Therefore, I chose the sixteen-year-old girl and the physician to reside in the shelter, but rejected the violinist.