United States Army People

"Quiet is easy to achieve," Dick repeatedly said, "but true peace must come from within." That was where the farm came in, a quiet piece of Pennsylvania where he could forget about the war. Without that refuge, Dick's thoughts always returned to the war, those horrendous battles, those fallen comrades, those lucky ones who suffered the million-dollar wound and returned to the States while the survivors went on. He approached the subject of what he referred to as "flashes from the past" only after we had known each other for five years. He turned to me once, changing the subject that we had been discussing, and said, "Don't you think it's strange that fifty-eight years after the war, I can't get these images out of my mind?" "Not at all, Dick. Every soldier bears the emotional scars of combat long after the war ends. War is only attractive to those who know nothing about it. I remember how one of the war's correspondents, I think it was Ernie Pyle, but I'm not sure, said at war's end, 'All we can do is fumble and try once more- try out of the memory of our anguish- and be as tolerant we can.'"

"This shy, quiet gentleman who introduced himself simply as "Dick Winters" immediately made an indelible impression on me. From the beginning, I was "Cole," he was "Dick." Never once for the next thirteen years did we ever address each other by rank or surname. Over dinner Dick and I discussed a myriad of topics, all associated with his wartime experience and his thoughts on leadership in war. Why were some commanders more effective than others in inspiring their men? How did you identify the best soldiers in your company? Had he relieved any commander in combat? To what did he attribute his success in Easy Company? Were his leadership principles applicable to the civilian and the corporate worlds? Minutes evolved into hours as we discussed leadership under a number of circumstances. Before we finished dinner, I had already decided that I would include Dick Winters in the book I was writing about combat leadership in World War II. To my great satisfaction, he invited me to spend a few days on his farm outside Fredericksburg, Pennsylvania. By the time that the evening was over, I had received the best primer on leadership than I had obtained in twenty-five years of commissioned service."

"I remember him as if it were yesterday. The old soldier emerged from the elevator in the hotel lobby at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, dapperly attired in a dark blazer with the crest of the 101st Airborne Division on his pocket. His neatly cropped gray hair reflected a military man far younger than his current seventy-nine-plus years. I am not sure what I had expected to see. At the time of our initial encounter, most veterans of World War II were in their late seventies or early eighties. Most veterans who visited West Point to share their reminiscences with the cadets walked with the aid of canes or walkers. In Winters's case, there was a noticeable spring in his step that belied his age."

"Author Stephen Ochs will tell the fascinating tale of late Fairfield native Michael J. Daly - from his "hell-raising youth" to his heroics on the WWII battlefield to his tireless voluntarism at St. Vincent's Medical Center in Bridgeport - at 3 p.m. on Saturday, March 23, 2013, at the Fairfield University Bookstore, 1499 Post Road, Fairfield. Ochs' talk is free and open to the public. Ochs, an instructor in the history department at Georgetown Preparatory School of Maryland, is the author of "A Cause Greater Than Self: The Journey of Captain Michael J. Daly, World War II Medal of Honor Recipient" (Texas A & M Press, 2012). His book chronicles Capt. Daly’s memorable life, revealing how a family disappointment who was kicked out of West Point evolved into a man devoted to others. Starting as an enlisted man, Daly rose through the ranks to become a captain and trusted company commander, bravely earning three Silver Stars, a Bronze Star with a "V" attachment for valor, two Purple Hearts and the Medal of Honor. After returning from war, Daly was a longtime board member at St. Vincent’s Medical Center, where he championed the cause of the indigent poor and terminally ill. He was posthumously awarded the first Fairfield Award from the Fairfield Museum and History Center for his life of service. The Museum is co-sponsoring his appearance at the Bookstore with the University’s MFA in Creative Writing Program and its Learning for a Lifetime Program. Ochs' book has received high praise from critics and fellow authors alike. "I'm not aware of recent works that so well document events in small units, particularly those of the campaign in Southern France and Germany," wrote Edward G. Miller, author of "A Dark and Bloody Ground." "The author’s superb source materials from the Daly family and veterans is what set this story apart." A Washington Post reviewer cited Ochs' ability to interweave Daly's career with the rise of his Irish Catholic family. "Throughout the narrative, Daly's tactical brilliance in leading a squad, a platoon and a company shine through," wrote Bing West."

"World War II significantly impacted school life and would draw over 400 alumni into the armed forces. One of those, Captain Michael J. Daly ’45, received the Medal of Honor for his heroism during the battle for Nuremberg, Germany, in April 1945. Daly later recalled that when President Harry S. Truman draped the medal around his neck at the White House on August 23, 1945, he felt a mixture of pride and humility, as well as grief for those he considered the real heroes – “the guys who didn’t come home.” Twelve of those were fellow alumni of Georgetown Prep, who were drawn from classes that spanned the 15 years from 1928 through 1943."

"The Opinion page is an arena — sometimes a battlefield — for the exchange of ideas. Fire from the right, fire from the left. Fire from behind and from the front. And the newspaper, of course, fires its own salvos. When I was the editor of the opinion page, a ceasefire, in the form of an especially thoughtful op-ed or letter, was always welcome. One of the thoughtful people during my tenure was a guy named Ron Kurtz, of Monroe. In a letter published on these pages earlier this month, Kurtz suggested “rededicating military posts named after Confederate generals with names of those who received the Medal of Honor for their selfless heroism on the battlefields.” That’s a grand idea. Not only were these Confederate generals trying to tear the country apart, some were spectacularly inept. Let me just seize on Kurtz’s idea and push it forward a couple of notches: Name a base after Michael J. Daly, of Fairfield — no relation to me — who was awarded the medal in August 1945 by President Harry S. Truman. Daly was awarded the medal for his “selfless heroism,” as Kurtz put it, in the Allied assault on the ruined city of Nuremberg in April of that year. While advancing over a wall — a task he took on rather than sending other men — he was shot in the neck. One of his men cleared Daly’s airway of tissue so he could breathe. Daly survived the war and died in Fairfield in 2008 at age 83."

"Through the serendipity of a shared name — my mail to him; his to me — we became acquainted. Through a shared love of writing we became friends. In addition to his other attributes — compassion, humility, gentleness — he was a fine writer. Some of his works — scores of brief but beautifully composed notes he wrote to me regarding this column or that, and a blazingly powerful short autobiographic sketch he prepared for delivery to a high school class — are among my treasured possessions. Were a soldier in training — or an officer or drill instructor teaching those young soldiers — be curious enough to look up the story of Michael J. Daly, they’d see — far beyond the heroics of that long-ago day in Nuremberg — the qualities that constitute the citizen-warrior."

"It was one of those hot days and it got to be about a hundred degrees, and old Mike just got fed up and threw his books in the corner, and said, 'See ya later, Doc, I'm going to war.' Next thing we heard, he was in Italy with the 3rd Division, where he later was awarded the Medal of Honor and received a battlefield promotion."

"Merrell's Medal of Honor was one of the last two awarded for deeds during the ground war in Europe. The other was earned the same day by another soldier of the 15th Infantry, 3d Division, Lieutenant Michael Daly of Company A. Daly, a twenty-year-old from Southport, Connecticut, had fought in every major battle from his days as a private first class with the 18th Infantry on Omaha Beach to Nuremberg, where he fought with the 3d Division. Already holding the Silver Star, the Purple Heart, and a battlefield commission, Daly "felt an obligation to protect the surviving members of the company. You do all the time. Maybe, in a way, more than normal, knowing the war was nearly over." Daly acted as the lead man for his troops as they fought toward the center of war-destroyed Nuremberg, although as commander of Company A, he could have relegated this task to others. The city was contested from one pile of rubble to another, each pile a small fortress for hardened SS troops who ferociously resisted every inch of the American advance. For four days the Americans went about the bloody task of rooting them out."

"April 18 was the second day of the attack. Daly was scouting a rail bridge that led into the city when a German machine gun caught him and his men in the open. He charged forward, running to within fifty yards of the Germans before he opened fire with his carbine and killed the three gunners. He again pushed ahead of his company, advancing on a house that contained a German antitank gun. In the words of one of his men, he was "taking his life in his hands and we all knew it." As he worked his way to the house, rifle fire kicked up the dust around him. With only his carbine, Daly killed all six Germans manning the antitank equipment. Then, when he saw a long-time friend fall in the assault, Daly, in "hot blood," twice more led attacks on German machine-gun positions, each time moving to within pointblank range while directing the fire of his troops on the Germans. At one critical point, he seized a discarded M1, crawled forward to within ten yards of a German machine-gun nest, and killed the Gunners, securing the position. Daly was wounded badly in the face the following day. Once he recovered he was shipped home. Like so many medal recipients, Daly refused to see his award as a testament to individual heroism. "The medal is very important to me..." he later said, "to insure the memory of those who died.""

"Michael Daly entered West Point in 1942, but he left after one year to enlist as a private in the infantry. He trained in England and waded ashore on Omaha Beach on D-Day with the 1st Infantry Division, known as "the Big Red One." After moving through France and into Germany, Daly was wounded near Aachen; he recuperated in England, then returned to action assigned to the 3rd Infantry Division and was given a battlefield commission as a second lieutenant. Early on the morning of April 18, 1945, First Lieutenant Daly was in command of an infantry company moving through the rubble on the outskirts of Nuremberg, where bombed-out houses provided good cover for German snipers. As the Americans were going down the city's main thoroughfare, an enemy machine gun suddenly opened up from across a city square. As his men fell all around him, Daly charged the German position and killed the three-man crew with his carbine. Continuing on ahead of his unit, he came upon an enemy patrol armed with rocket launchers entrenched in the shell of a house and ready to ambush American tanks. He again opened fire with his carbine. Though the Germans responded by firing rockets, he held his ground and kept shooting until he had killed all six members of the patrol. As he continued to move ahead of his company, Daly entered what had been a city park. A German machine gun began firing from close range. When one of his men was killed, he picked up the soldier's rifle and used it to shoot both enemy gunners. In all, he killed fifteen Germans that afternoon and took out three machine-gun positions. The next day, as he was leading his company into action, Daly was shot in the face; the bullet entered at one ear and exited the opposite cheek. Falling to the ground, he felt that he might drown in his own blood until one of his men cleared his throat. Daly received medical treatment in England and in the States until mid-1946 but was well enough to travel to the White House on August 23, 1945, to receive the Medal of Honor from President Harry Truman. The next day, he was back home in Connecticut, riding in a motorcade. Alongside him was his father, Paul Daly, a World War I recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross who had twice been recommended for the Medal of Honor. The elder Daly had reentered the Army after Pearl Harbor, was severely wounded while serving as a regimental commander in northern France, and was sent back to the States to recuperate. Sitting next to him that day, Michael wished his father had received the medal he was wearing around his neck."

"Every man deserves a cause greater than himself... All of us here are privileged people, for we have been called to defend the most noble experiment the world has ever known- that man can but seek his destiny while living in freedom."

"Without courage there is no protection for our other values. Every man loses his courage at times. All of us should pray every morning that God will give us the courage to do what is right. And remember when you pray that if you rise at all a better man- your prayer has been answered. Never underestimate the good that one man can do... Remember us as long as you can. We will never forget you."

"Early in the morning of 18 April 1945, he led his company through the shell-battered, sniper-infested wreckage of Nuremberg, Germany. When blistering machinegun fire caught his unit in an exposed position, he ordered his men to take cover, dashed forward alone, and, as bullets whined about him, shot the 3-man guncrew with his carbine. Continuing the advance at the head of his company, he located an enemy patrol armed with rocket launchers which threatened friendly armor. He again went forward alone, secured a vantage point and opened fire on the Germans. Immediately he became the target for concentrated machine pistol and rocket fire, which blasted the rubble about him. Calmly, he continued to shoot at the patrol until he had killed all 6 enemy infantrymen. Continuing boldly far in front of his company, he entered a park, where as his men advanced, a German machinegun opened up on them without warning. With his carbine, he killed the gunner; and then, from a completely exposed position, he directed machinegun fire on the remainder of the crew until all were dead. In a final duel, he wiped out a third machinegun emplacement with rifle fire at a range of 10 yards. By fearlessly engaging in 4 single-handed fire fights with a desperate, powerfully armed enemy, Lt. DALY, voluntarily taking all major risks himself and protecting his men at every opportunity, killed 15 Germans, silenced 3 enemy machineguns and wiped out an entire enemy patrol. His heroism during the lone bitter struggle with fanatical enemy forces was an inspiration to the valiant Americans who took Nuremberg"

"When things hang in the balance, it is the infantry that a country calls on. It falls on them to close with the enemy and decide the day... We lost some of our best people... They were often men who took the most chances and without whom you could never win a battle. They came from every walk of life- they represented the very best of my generation. You would have been proud to serve with them. As a platoon leader and company commander they sustained me then just as they sustain me now."

"Anyone would have done what I did. Luck is important in life, but in combat it is crucial. The bravest things are often done with God the only witness."

"Some people blame their misfortunes on it. It must be put in perspective. It is a purely personal thing. Your country does not owe you anything because you received this medal. After all, it was my [good] fortune that somebody wasn't shooting straight."

"Alumni, of course, were in the military from the very earliest stages of the war, some even before Pearl Harbor. By early 1943 over two hundred alumni were on active duty and a year later this figure had climbed to four hundred. Occasionally an alumnus would return to the School and invariably end up by speaking to the assembled student body and providing a firsthand account of action in the theater from which he had come. Notices of service awards to alumni were read. (The Prep could boast of a Medal of Honor awardee in Michael Daly '41.) And sadly, word would inevitably arrive, from time to time, of a death in action. (More than a dozen alumni were to give their lives before VJ Day)."

"Everyone has a breaking point. You have a reservoir, but it can dry up if you are in combat too long. If a person had been in combat too long, he deserved some special consideration."

"You've got to be careful. You can become a professional hero. There's an awful sadness with that. You spend your life going from ceremony to ceremony. You have to move on. Life is a long-distance race. If too much of your life is centered on things you did early- there's a sadness. You can only stand up and hear what you did a few times. It's something you did at one time. There is also an embarrassment about the killing aspect. You don't want to be known for killing."

"I can't talk very well but I want to say that this is the 'swellest' thing that ever happened to me. A heck of a lot sweller than getting the medal from the President."

"I was darn lucky, and that's an understatement, but we should never forget, on this V-J Day, the boys who never came back and should receive the medals."

"Now, Messrs Editors, I should deem it an insult to you and to the public to attempt to weigh the oath of General U. S. Grant with a counterpoise so lignt as the assertion of Robert Ould. The testimony I have placed before you is undoubted and cannot be refuted.Read it, Soldiers of the North, before, in friendship, you strike the hands of these infamous fiends whose garments are even yet dripping with the blood of thirty thousand of your worse-than-murdered comrades, and who are already whetting their knives and preparing their weapons in anticipation of the election of Seymour, in which event an appalling cry of murder will come up from the South, rendering utterly insignificant the feeble moans we already have from Camilla and Opelouses. Do not insult the memories of those who have freely poured out their life-blood in defence of civil liberty by forgetting at the end of three short years the story of their terrible sufferings. Let the tortures, the starvings, the cold-blooded murders, inflicted upon your heroic comrades be remembered at least so long an the present generation of traitors shall exist. Let It be the proud work of the Democratic party to warm into political life, traitors whose only regret is that their power to destroy the Government is not commensurate with their will to do it. Let it be the peculiar province of this Democratic party to strive for the honor of placing your beloved country once more in the minds of the wilful murderers of your poor comrades."

"A younger brother, Sullivan A. Meredith, fell in and took arms at the outbreak of the rebellion and joined the Army to the Shenandoah, whose equal in personnel had scarcely been rallied under any flag since the crusades. Col. Meredith, who subsequently earned the yellow sash, was one of that large body of gallant men who volunteered to remain after their term of service bad expired, to hold for the federal government that old battle ground of nature where the river of swans, reinforced by the Shenandoah, bursts through the Blue Ridge."

"As a nation we were not prepared for World War II. Yes, we won the war, but at a terrific cost in lives, human suffering, and material, and at times the margin was narrow. History alone can reveal how many turning points there were, how many times we were near losing, and how our enemies’ mistakes pulled us through. In the flush of victory, some like to forget these unpalatable truths."

"Our Air Force belongs to those who come from ranks of labor, management, the farms, the stores, the professions and colleges and legislative halls...Air Power will always be the business of every American citizen"

"Strategic air attack is wasted if it is dissipated piecemeal in sporadic attacks between which enemy has an opportunity to readjust defenses or recuperate."

"A modern, autonomous, and thoroughly trained Air Force in being at all times will not alone be sufficient, but without it there can be no national security."

"We tried to learn how to secure quantity production of airplanes the hard way. We never accepted the fundamental principle that an air-plane building program must be supervised by men who know how to design and construct airplanes.... Certainly, World War I definitely proved that trained aviation personnel can be turned out much faster than we can turn out airplanes. The truth is, the foundation for any workable production plan for aircraft must be built up in time of peace."

"The technical genius which could find answers was not cooped up in military or civilian bureaucracy, but was to be found in universities and in the people at large."

"America owes its present prestige and standing in the air world in large measure to the money, time and effort expended in aeronautical experimentation and research. Our future supremacy in the air depends on the brains and efforts of our engineers."

"Offense is the essence of air power."

"The idea which I carried out in the boys [sic] books was to give facts, interspersed by thrills and sensations, which would give the reader a comprehensive idea of the development of aviation. The thrills and sensations filled the boy's desire in that direction while he absorbed the facts."

"I saw this propellerless plane taxiing around the air field and making short flights. I knew then and there I must get the plans and specifications of that jet plane back to the United States."

"To win a war, one must try and kill as many men and destroy as much property as you can. If you can get mechanical machines to do this, then you are saving lives at the outset."

"That skinny pharmacist's mate from Georgia who's getting the Medal of Honor is the only CO I consider to be on the level."

"Even though I said those things to him in regard to carrying a rifle, then he would never be by my damn side at all unless he had a rifle. But then, in the long run, finding out that he was one of the bravest persons alive. And then to have him end up saving my life was the irony of the whole thing."

"He demonstrated that unconditional love, compassion, acceptance, and forgiveness, are possible even in the most adverse circumstances."

"He was a company aidman when the 1st Battalion assaulted a jagged escarpment 400 feet high. As our troops gained the summit, a heavy concentration of artillery, mortar, and machine-gun fire crashed into them, inflicting approximately 75 casualties and driving the others back. Pfc. Doss refused to seek cover and remained in the fire-swept area with the many stricken, carrying them one by one to the edge of the escarpment and there lowering them on a rope-supported litter down the face of a cliff to friendly hands. On 2 May, he exposed himself to heavy rifle and mortar fire in rescuing a wounded man 200 yards forward of the lines on the same escarpment; and two days later he treated four men who had been cut down while assaulting a strongly defended cave, advancing through a shower of grenades to within eight yards of enemy forces in a cave's mouth, where he dressed his comrades' wounds before making four separate trips under fire to evacuate them to safety. On 5 May, he unhesitatingly braved enemy shelling and small-arms fire to assist an artillery officer. He applied bandages, moved his patient to a spot that offered protection from small-arms fire, and, while artillery and mortar shells fell close by, painstakingly administered plasma. Later that day, when an American was severely wounded by fire from a cave, Pfc. Doss crawled to him where he had fallen 25 feet from the enemy position, rendered aid, and carried him 100 yards to safety while continually exposed to enemy fire. On 21 May, in a night attack on high ground near Shuri, he remained in exposed territory while the rest of his company took cover, fearlessly risking the chance that he would be mistaken for an infiltrating Japanese and giving aid to the injured until he was himself seriously wounded in the legs by the explosion of a grenade. Rather than call another aidman from cover, he cared for his own injuries and waited five hours before litter bearers reached him and started carrying him to cover. The trio was caught in an enemy tank attack and Pfc. Doss, seeing a more critically wounded man nearby, crawled off the litter and directed the bearers to give their first attention to the other man. Awaiting the litter bearers' return, he was again struck, this time suffering a compound fracture of one arm. With magnificent fortitude he bound a rifle stock to his shattered arm as a splint and then crawled 300 yards over rough terrain to the aid station. Through his outstanding bravery and unflinching determination in the face of desperately dangerous conditions Pfc. Doss saved the lives of many soldiers. His name became a symbol throughout the 77th Infantry Division for outstanding gallantry far above and beyond the call of duty."

"There were one hundred and fifty-five went up and fifty-five got themselves down, so they wanted to say I lowered one hundred, but I refused. They wanted to know how many I took care of. I said, 'I don't know.' I don't see how it could possibly be more than fifty. So they're the ones who changed it from one hundred. I wanted fifty, and they made it seventy-five. I don't want to ever say I took care of seventy-five. All I want to say is I was just thankful that the Lord was able to use me, and forget the number. It's not the number: It's doing the best you can."

"Pfc. Desmond Doss is perhaps one of the most unlikely recipients of the Medal of Honor. Born in Lynchburg, Virginia, on Feb. 7, 1919, Doss was raised in a strict Seventh-day Adventist family. Entering the Army on April 1, 1942, Doss was classified 1AO, meaning conscientious objector (CO) available for noncombatant military service, as Seventh-day Adventists are prohibited from working on the Sabbath. The Army did not have a separate category for a noncombatant other than CO, so Doss became a medic with the 1st Battalion, 307th Infantry Regiment, 77th Infantry Division. Following basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, Doss’ company shipped to the Pacific in mid-1944. Doss’ support of his fellow soldiers on Guam and subsequently on the island of Leyte in the Philippines, Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s initial landfall on the Philippine Islands, was exceptional, and he received a Bronze Star with V device. The 77th Division relieved the 96th Infantry Division on the island of Okinawa on April 28, 1945. It was on Okinawa that Doss encountered his rendezvous with destiny. Stretching across the island was a 400-foot cliff called the Maeda Escarpment. Doss’ company’s mission was to scale the ridge and eliminate the enemy on the reverse slope of the escarpment. The climb was exceedingly difficult, with the last 30–40 feet nearly vertical. On May 2, 1945, Doss reached the summit with 155 soldiers from Company B. At the top of the escarpment, Company B encountered heavy resistance. When the commander ordered his men to retreat on May 5, Doss refused to abandon his wounded comrades. Over the next five hours, Doss dragged wounded soldiers individually and lowered them over the ledge to the safety of their comrades below. All the time, he kept praying, “Lord, help me get one more.”"

"And this is another place where we sort of disagree. To sum up my award now, you say I saved a life because I lowered a man down a cliff? That's like you say the operation was a success but the patient died before we could get him sewed up. That's not saving. Of the men I took care of, a number didn't survive. Did you save any, Doss? You didn't save his life; you did the best you could. And thatis the reason I don't like it said I saved so many lives, because it couldn't be. I just did the best I could."

"And when I was eighteen, in nineteen thirty-seven, I registered, like anyone else, with my draft board in Lynchburg, Virginia. I believed in serving God and country. I took medical training, and I did what I could in preparation for getting into the Medical Corps where I could serve God and country without going against the dictates of my conscience. My pastor, R.F. Woods, went with me. We were Seventh-Day Adventists. I wanted to be known as a noncombatant, but the Army had no such classification. I had to accept Conscientious Objector status or face a court-martial. It meant you were going in with religious scruples. Now, I did not want to be known as a CO because they were refusing to salute the flag or serve the country in any way, shape, or form, and they were having demonstrations. Congress signed into law that COs could not be forced to bear arms. President Franklin D. Roosevelt and George C. Marshall, chief of staff, signed it, showing their approval. Adventists would not volunteer but would wait to be drafted. That's why I didn't go in until April first, nineteen forty-two. In addition to the Sixth Commandment, there was also the Fourth, to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Now, Saturday is the Sabbath to Adventists and they worship on that day and don't work. But, you know, Christ healed on the Sabbath. It's a type of work I could do seven days a week. That's why I wanted to get into the Medical Corps."

"I was working as a carpenter in defense work in a shipyard in Newport News, Virginia, and my boss offered me a deferment. But I did not feel it was essential work, so I refused because I was in good health and I did not want to be known as a 4-F or draft dodger, and I felt it was an honor to serve God and country. I didn't feel like I was better than anyone else. I could serve my country for twenty-one dollars a month. That's what we got when we went in. We had a joke in the Army:'You know how much I get? No. Twenty-one dollars a day! What? Yep, once a month.'"

"[About a framed poster depicting scenes for each of the Christian Ten Commandments] My dad bought it at an auction for seventy-five cents when they first started housekeeping, and so the picture's over a hundred years old. And when I looked at that picture, I came to the Sixth Commandment, Thou Shalt Not Kill. I wondered, how in the world could a brother do such a thing? It put a horror in my heart of just killin', and as a result I took it personally: 'Desmond, if you love Me, you won't kill.' And He says every man is your brother."

"How many soldiers had Doss rescued? Division headquarters reported 155 men went up the escarpment, and only 55 returned from the hill on their own. Doss modestly stated that he saved 50 men. .Doss’ exploits were later featured in the 2016 feature film Hacksaw Ridge, directed by Mel Gibson. Doss repeated his heroics over the next two weeks before he was seriously wounded on May 21, 1945. Evacuated to the U.S., newly promoted Cpl. Doss received the Medal of Honor from President Harry Truman on Oct. 12, 1945. Doss died on March 23, 2006, and is buried in Chattanooga National Cemetery in Tennessee. Doss remains the first conscientious objector to receive the nation’s highest award for valor in combat. Two decades later, Thomas Bennett and Joseph La Pointe Jr., also combat medics and conscientious objectors, followed in Doss’ footsteps during the Vietnam War."

"So, I feel like my work has been rewarding work. I have no regrets. I'm just thankful I had the honor and privilege to serve God and country."

"The Japanese were out to get the medics. To them, the most hated men in our army were the medics and the BAR men, the Browning Automatic Riflemen. They would let anybody get by just to pick us off. They were taught to kill the medics for the reason it broke down the morale of the men, because if the medic was gone they had no one to take care of them. All the medics were armed, except me. There was no evidence but your aid kit to show that you were a medic. Even though I was unarmed, the men wanted to get close to me. I had to shoo them away. They said they felt safer with me. I made it a practice to go on patrol with the men. The non-com [a noncommissioned officer, such as a sergeant] warned me not to, but I told him, it may not be my duty but it was what I believed in. I knew these men; they were my buddies, some had wives and children. If they were hurt, I wanted to be there to take care of them. And when someone got hit, the others would close in around me while I treated him, then we'd all go out together."

"Desmond Doss was Sergeant York without the rifle."

"The best advice I can give is put your heart and soul into your work. If you like what you're doing, the Lord will bless. I know some thought I was better. Well, I felt like I was. We put our heart and soul into our work. I feel like, especially for the medics, it's the most rewarding work there is. We can't save all but like I told you before about the experience, about the fellow that I took care of that I said I wouldn't give a plug penny for his life."