September 25, 1943

Dear Wanda,

It looks like today is going to be another rainy day and I don’t know whether I like it or not. There is times when I really like rain but again there is times when I hate it. When trying to move through the jungle without being seen or heard, it is a great help. No matter how thick the jungle, it is impossible to move without being detected in some way.

When a tropical storm hits, you can almost run through the jungle and it is safe though. Again when you are trying to catch a few winks in some place where you have no cover, rain will keep you awake and you will curse it. Rain on a tent at night is nice and helps me to sleep. The time rain is most welcome though is when the heat is unbearable and you are about to pass out and a shower comes up and cools things off for a few minutes. It really puts new life in you.

The other day my mother sent me a letter and wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas. It struck me so funny I had to laugh. To me Christmas is a day when you should have snow, bright lights, and the holiday spirit in the air. How can you love any of those things in this green hell. Back home Christmas probably doesn’t seem the same to them because so many of the fellows are away. I thought I might make it home this Christmas and although I still have a chance it is mighty slim. This will make my fourth Christmas away. When my mother wrote though I named some small things I need that she can send me. I know it will make her feel better. It is the small personal articles that are hard to get over here so it will help me to. “White Christmas” is still a favorite here.

The time flies so fast over here I sometimes wonder where it goes. We keep on the move and plenty busy so it seems that I left the states just a few days ago. We curse at the work and filthy things we have to do because it doesn’t seem that we are getting any place and in a way we aren’t. It is the people that come behind us that will profit from our work.

I never knew what made a Marine so proud and arrogant until I got over here. We get shoved around and criticized for our barbarous method of fighting by other branches of the service and some mighty important people. One woman even went so far as to say we weren’t fit to be brought back to the civilized world. Maybe we aren’t exactly angels but when there is a tough job to do or a beach head to make it is always a case of call the Marines. This has been proven many a time already. Most of the time you people never hear of these things though.

That is about enough of my troubles to talk at one time. If you don’t hear from me for a while don’t think I have forgotten you. It will just be that we have moved on and I will write as soon as possible.

Love

Bob

Ptc. Robert L. Parry