Dutch Clarke -- the War Years

Brian Psy.D. Ratty

Description

In 1942, as American blood is about to be spilled in far-off Guadalcanal, a young man boards a train and blindly heads towards his destiny: boot camp with the United States Marine Corps. These tragic times of World War II were the defining years for millions of cowboys and plowboys. This book is a compelling chronicle about these years and one not-so-ordinary young man.

'The War Years' is a heartwarming saga about Dutch Clarke who, over the objections of his prominent family, answers his country's call. Just as Dutch is about to complete boot camp, family influence steps in and propels him through the ranks and into the Office of War Information. Here he puts down his rifle and takes up photography. Soon Dutch learns the power of the lens and the courage to use it.

This is a uniquely different war story about men who fought their way across the Pacific, not with guns but with cameras. This tapestry covers more than just guns and bullets; it is also about the human threads of prejudice, friendship and the ultimate sacrifice.

After surviving a Japanese POW camp and a daring escape, Dutch is given the opportunity to be one of the first American photographers to set foot on homeland Japan...here he turns his assignment from reconnaissance to revenge. This story is as fresh as today's headlines and as true as yesterday's sins.

Winner: Eric Hoffer Literary Award
Book of the Year Finalist – ForeWord Magazine

The War Years is an engaging and insightful look into Dutch Clarke's military service among tinsel town's celebrities, his front line action as a combat photographer, and his subsequent refusal to be cowed as a Japanese prisoner. It's an action filled, satisfying read for any reader, especially if you like a good military novel.
Gary Adams, author of Felicity – Hard Times – Happy Days.

The novelist misses nothing as his narrative snaps pictures of racism, injury, death, heroism, revenge, and redemption in nonstop action. Ratty effectively weaves a combination of current drama and flashbacks as Dutch narrates his saga. A skilled storyteller, Ratty has moments of elegant prose.
ForeWord Clarion Review

Sujets

• Historical
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456601843
• Langue: English

Extrait

Dutch Clarke
The War Years
Through a Bloody Lens
 
by
Brian Ratty
 
Copyright 2011 Brian Ratty,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
More Information: www.DutchClarke.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0184-3
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 


 
My story is dedicated to all the men and women who lived their lives, gave their sweat, and spilled their blood during the turmoil and struggle of World War II. No greater generation ever walked the face of this Earth.
 


AUTHOR’S NOTE
 
Dutch Clarke-The War Years is my second installment in a series of four books on the life and times of Dutch Clarke. The first book, The Early Years , was first published in 2002. More information on these books and any future releases can be found at www.DutchClarke.com .
Writing this series is a great adventure for me. I don’t write for profit or praise; I just enjoy telling a good story. If others find Dutch’s chronicles interesting, informative and entertaining, my rewards will have been realized. The War Years was especially challenging; the gold standard for war stories is quite high, with the likes of ‘Saving Private Ryan,’ ‘Band of Brothers’ and many more. When I approached the writing of this book, I decided that historical events and places would help shape my characters while hopefully giving the reader a true feel for these tragic times. While wars are won with guns and bullets, they are also fought by men and women doing thousands of different jobs. Dutch becoming a combat photographer is but one such example.
Over sixteen million American plowboys and cowboys answered their country’s call by donning uniforms, with tens of thousands of American women also joining the ranks. Of this number, some 291,557 did not return home, and another 670,846 came back with scars and wounds that would haunt many of them for years to come. This war was a devastating disaster brought on by the Axis Powers of: Japan, Germany and Italy, exacerbated by peace-loving Americans who, early on, didn’t want to get involved. After December 7 th of 1941, however, our country stood as one, determined to defeat this evil. The costs were horrible and the journey long, but in the end peace prevailed, and today America is free because of this greatest generation.
When many of these American soldiers returned home, with war still raging inside of them, they found a homeland at peace and prospering. Some, thinking it was as if the war years had just been forgotten, drank too much, had failed marriages, or suffered cold sweats and nightmares. Back then, we had no six-bit, politically correct terms for their condition; society offered them just one two-bit word: work. And work they did, building America into the economic powerhouse and free-world leader that it is today. We share our tomorrows because of their yesterdays.
 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
 
To Bernard (Bernie) Olsen, my mentor, my friend, who spent his war years as a young Ensign on a Navy hospital ship and then, many years later, retired as a full Captain from the Naval Reserve. Bernie was a family man of peace, with kitchen-table wisdom and a determination to keep America strong. To Murray Wallace McBride (one of four McBride brothers to serve: Jerry in the Air Corp, killed in action; Jack in the Navy, and Jim in the Navy), my father-in-law, my friend, my business partner. Private McBride trekked across Europe as an Army replacement after the Battle of the Bulge. He was a young Montana boy who got seasick just looking at water and had to join the fight after weeks aboard a troop ship. Murray saw some of the first enemy jets and was fired upon by boys in German uniforms who had only wooden bullets for ammunition. Later, being one of the few soldiers that didn’t drink, he was put in charge of some captured German wineries. To Lt Colonel Richard Powers (Ret.), my friend and cameraman who, as a young Lieutenant, fought his way up the boot of Italy and served his country through Korea and beyond. His stories were as gripping as any book ever written. To Vern Vasey, a young Seabee, who saw action on Tinian and Saipan, and had stacks of fascinating pictures and hours of riveting stories. To Doctor Arnold Neely who performed dentistry in the jungles and surgery in the foxholes. And finally to my father, Dudley, and grandfather, Harry, who stayed at home working at the Naval air stations at both Warrenton and Tongue Point, Oregon. Like Rosie the Riveter, these men gave of their sweat and toil to keep the war effort moving. Most of these fine men are gone now, but their deeds, sacrifices and valor will not be forgotten.
These very special men were not extraordinary. They were just guys who answered their country’s call and later cast a large shadow on my path of life. These were men who went to war, not for abstract reasons, but for the reasons of family, friends and freedom. I only hope and pray that future generations will find that same grit, spirit and devotion.
Writing this book has been a three-year adventure, with the help of many people who contributed ideas, encouragement and direction. My son-in-law and friend, Rob Waibel, read some of the story, early on, and helped me better understand my style of writing. Each chapter, as I completed it, was edited by Judith Myers of EditAvenue.com. She was a wealth of ideas, inspiration and corrections. In one way or the other, she improved most of the text in my story without ever changing its sprit. Judith Myers is a professional editor in every since of the word. After she was done, I was fortunate to have John and Molly Wirch do the proofing. John is an expert historian about World War II, with a deep knowledge about the weapons used. He and I spent wonderful hours talking events, places and the tools of war. His charming wife Molly took the manuscript, asking questions about events while making grammar and typing corrections. How lucky I am to have them as friends. Map artist Scott MacNeill helped me with the illustrations and did a wonderful job. But, through it all, my main anchor and source of support was my wife of thirty-five years, Tess. Almost every morning, we would spend time talking about the book’s c haracter development, grammar and vocabulary use. She reviewed and corrected every page before sending it off for professional editing, always with a smile, patience and words of encouragement. Thanks above all, and always, to my loving wife. Words have never been enough; she is my Rock of Gibraltar!
Having said that, it’s my name on the title page, and I’m responsible and accountable for every word.
 


 
Chapter One
We were a tiny speck floating in no particular direction across the vast Pacific. The cold ocean spray across my face jarred me awake. Groggy at first, I tried to regain my reality. Before my raft mates had fallen asleep, I had promised to be on watch, but then dozed off. The ocean was rolling with long swells, with a breeze out of the south. In my exhausted state, this pitching motion and fresh air had been just too much for me.
In the east, I could make out the first signs of the coming morning. The sky just above the horizon had a pink and amber glow. Sunrise would happen fast, as it always did in the South Pacific. Looking around the raft, I saw that my four mates were still sleeping. No need to wake them now, I thought. God knows they can use the rest, after last night . They looked peaceful yet pathetic in their dirty, tattered and torn clothes. The sun, sea and thirst would soon be our enemy for the day. They would need all their strength, and then some, to face what lay ahead.
Repositioning my body against the side of the raft, I realized how wet my butt and legs were. But then, all of us had the same problem, as the bottom of the float had only woven canvas straps that were open to the sea. The Japanese raft was made out of light-weight balsa wood and wrapped with gray cloth strips. The soggy craft was about fourteen feet long and six feet wide. There was no survival kit, no oars, no nothing. It was seaworthy, but that was about all.
Turning my head, I began watching the light show in the east. My mind was racing, my thoughts not really clear. I knew the month was March…the year 1945…but I had no idea what day, and I had no idea where we were or where the tides might take us. I had no idea about anything to do with the future. I did know that we had escaped, last evening, from a rusty old Jap POW freighter that had come under attack from the air or from a submarine. Something had blown a hole in the side of the Hell Ship we were imprisoned in. The breach in the hull was big enough for some prisoners to jump into the ocean to escape.
Luck had smiled on me in many ways, last evening. First, I was fewer than twenty feet from the blast when the shell hit. Second, any shrapnel from the explosion had missed me. Third, when I jumped into the water, no rifle fire pursued me as I swam away from the mired boat. The guards topside of the freighter still had their heads down and lights out. And, finally, I was lucky that I had only been in a Jap POW camp for the past twelve months and still had most of my wits and strength. The other poor devils on that doomed ship had been in captivity for years and had little of either remaining. Yes, I was lucky…but then I have always been lucky when it comes to surviving.
 

 
Reflections
A water drop ran down the fogged window. The outside lights of a passing town shone through its clear path. My mind was lulled, not so much by the reflecting lights as by the rhythm and movement of the train. The sound of its wheels racing over the ribbons of steel made a