CHRISTIAN SENSE
BY TOM SMIKOSKI
A publication devoted to making sense out of the twenty-first century.
MICHAEL
This story has been going around for fifty years.
Please pass it on to your friends)
What follows is a letter written by a young Marine to his mother while he
was hospitalized after being wounded on a Korean battlefield in 1950. It
came into the hands of a Navy Chaplain, who read the letter before 5,000
Marines at a San Diego Naval Base in 1951.
The Navy Chaplain had talked to the young man, to his mother, and to the
sergeant in charge of the patrol. This Navy Chaplain, Father Walter Muldy,
assures anyone who asks, that this is a true story. This letter was read
once a year in the 1960's over a Midwestern radio station at Christmas
time. Here is the letter:
Dear Mom,
I wouldn't dare write this letter to anyone but you because no one else
would believe it. Maybe even you will find it hard, but I have to tell
somebody. First off, I am in a hospital. Now don't worry, you hear me,
don't worry. I was wounded but I'm okay. The doctor says that I will be up
and around in a month. But that is not what I want to tell you.
Remember when I joined the Marines last year; remember when I left, how
you told me to say a prayer to St. Michael every day. You really didn't
have to tell me that. Ever since I can remember you always told me to pray
to St. Michael the Archangel. You even named me after him. Well I have
always prayed to St. Michael. When I got to Korea, I prayed even harder.
Remember the prayer that you taught me? "Michael, Michael of the morning
fresh corps of Heaven adorning." You know the rest of it. Well, I said it
every day, sometimes when I was marching or sometimes resting, but always
before I went to sleep. I even got some of the other fellas to say it.
Well, one day I was with an advance detail way up over the front lines.
We were scouting for the Commies. I was plodding along in the bitter cold,
my breath was like cigar smoke. I thought I knew every guy in the patrol,
when alongside of me comes another Marine I never met before. He was bigger
than any other Marine I'd ever seen. He must have been over six feet four
inches, and built in proportion. It gave me a feeling of security to have
such a body near me.
Anyway, there we were trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread out.
Just to start a conversation I said: "Cold ain't it." And then I laughed.
Here I was with a good chance of getting killed any minute and I am talking
about the weather!
My companion seemed to understand. I heard him laugh softly. I looked at
him,
"I have never seen you before. I thought I knew every man in the
outfit."
"I just joined at the last minute," he replied, "the name is Michael."
"Is that so," I said surprised. "That is my name too."
"I know," he said and then went on, "Michael, Michael of the morning..."
I was too amazed to say anything for a minute. How did he know my name, and
a prayer that you had taught me? Then I smiled to myself; every guy in the
outfit knew about me. Hadn't I taught the prayer to anybody who would
listen? Why now and then, they even referred to me as St. Michael.
Neither of us spoke for a time, and then he broke the silence.
"We are going to have some trouble up ahead."
He must have been in fine physical shape for he was breathing so lightly
I couldn't see his breath. Mine poured out in great clouds. There was no
smile on his face now.
Trouble ahead, I thought to myself, well with the Commies all around us,
that is no great revelation. Snow began to fall in thick, great globs. In
a brief moment the whole countryside was blotted out, and I was marching
in a white fog of wet sticky particles. My companion disappeared.
"Michael!" I shouted in sudden alarm.
I felt his hand on my arm, his voice was rich and strong. "This will stop
shortly."
His prophecy proved to be correct. In a few minutes the snow stopped as
abruptly as it had begun. The sun was a hard shining disc. I looked back
for the rest of the patrol. There was no one in sight. We lost them in the
heavy fall of snow.
I looked ahead as we came over a little rise. Mom, my heart stopped. There
were seven of them, seven Commies in their padded pants and jackets and
heir funny hats. Only there wasn't anything funny about them now. Seven
rifles were aimed at us.
"Down Michael!" I screamed, and hit the frozen earth.
I heard those rifles fire almost as one. I heard the bullets. There was
Michael still standing. Mom, those guys couldn't have missed, not at that
range. I expected to see him literally blown to bits. But there he stood,
making no effort to fire himself. He was paralyzed with fear. It happens
sometimes, mom, even to the bravest. He was like a bird fascinated by a
snake. At least that was what I thought then.
I jumped up to pull him down and that was when I got mine. I felt a sudden
flame in my chest. I often wondered what it felt like to be hit. Now I know.
I remember feeling strong arms about me, arms that laid me ever so gently
on a pillow of snow. I opened my eyes, for one last look. I thought I was
dying. Maybe I was even dead. I remember thinking well, this is not so bad.
Maybe I was looking into the sun. Maybe I was in shock. But it seemed I saw
Michael standing erect again, only this time his face was shining with a
terrible splendor.
As I say, maybe it was the sun in my eyes, but he seemed to change as I
watched him. He grew bigger, his arms stretched out wide, maybe it was the
snow falling again, but there was a brightness around him like the wings
of an angel. In his hand was a sword. A sword that flashed with a million
lights.
Well, that is the last thing I remember until the rest of the fellas came
up and found me. I do not know how much time had passed. Now and then I
had but a moment's rest from the pain and fever. I remember telling them
of the enemy just ahead.
"Where is Michael?" I asked.
I saw them look at one another.
"Where's who?" asked one.
"Michael. Michael that big Marine I was walking with just before the
snow squall hit us."
"Kid," said the sergeant. "You weren't walking with anyone. I had my eyes
on you the whole time. You were getting too far out. I was just going to
call you in, when you disappeared in the snow."
He looked at me, curiously. "How did you do it, kid?"
"How did I do what?" I asked half angry, despite my wound.
"This Marine named Michael and I were just."
"Son," said the sergeant kindly, "I picked this outfit myself and there
just ain't another Michael in it. You are the only Mike in it."
He paused for a minute.
"Just how did you do it, kid? We heard shots. There hasn't been a shot
fired from your rifle. And there isn't a bit of lead in them seven bodies
over the hill there."
I didn't say anything, what could I say. I could only look openmouthed with
amazement.
It was then, the sergeant spoke again. "Kid," he said gently, "every one
of those seven Commies was killed by a sword stroke."
That is all I can tell you, Mom. As I say, It may have been the sun
n my eyes, it may have been the cold or the pain. But that is what happened.
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