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Butterflies & Men in White. Tatum flew an average of one mission every two days, about an hour and 40 minutes to each mission. The entries in his journal are phrased like a boy's diary notes on how many butterflies he caught or what odd shells he found on the beach, but there is a deadly difference:
"August 12. Armed Recon. Hit Kimpo airfield, burned 4 yak fighters, damaged one more. Burned truck South of Taejon. Heavy flak.
"August 13. Armed Recon north of 38th. Burned trucks, one bus, one motor launch . . . Encountered 20-mm. & 40-mm. ack-ack. Hit on plane by 20-mm. Landed aboard, wire broke, hit fence.
"August 26. Armed Recon . . . Destroyed 3 trucks, 2 loaded with supplies.
"September 16. Strafed & killed many troops on road from Taejon to Seoul, strafed & sank junk full of troops on Han River northeast of Inchon. Caught troops coming out cave in hill to board junk. Many casualties . . ."
On Sept. 19, Tatum was shot down—by two bullets from North Korean rifles. He did not even notice that the plane had been hit until the pressure gauge on the instrument panel began to fall off to zero, and he realized that one of the slugs had hit fuel lines. He managed to turn around and ditch the plane about a mile offshore in the sea. He remembers scrambling into the life raft and watching the plane sink slowly. "I gave it sort of a half salute." His main worry was what his plane captain would think when Ensign Tatum was reported missing. A British cruiser picked him up.
That evening Tatum was unable to sleep. He thought about his life-insurance policy and how, if he had got killed, the Navy would have had to read all the letters from his girl which he had saved. "A hell of a job for somebody." But then he pulled his blanket over his shoulder and went to sleep. His crash landing is the only war experience Tatum dreams about. The men in white he shot on the road, or the old woman's detached arms and legs, never disturb his sleep.
Ensign Tatum describes patriotism this way: "I don't necessarily believe in the big shots as individuals. But there are a lot of people like me and you. I believe in them. I believe in the American girl I see walking in the street. I have never even met her, but I believe in her."
"If These People Aren't Stopped." If there is any one story of a U.S. fighting-man that can sum up the best in all the stories, it is that of Marine SERGEANT ROBERT WARD, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian who grew up in Los Angeles. He got to be a wonderful marksman with a bow & arrow. When he got hungry he would go out into the country and kill himself a rabbit. Ward's two older brothers were killed in action in World War II. Robert served in the Navy, later joined the marines. After he went into action in Korea last summer, his mother wrote to the President and to the Marine Corps, begging that Sergeant Ward, her only surviving son, be transferred from the combat zone. The marines' General Clifton Gates agreed to apply the "only surviving son" rule.* Leather-faced Sergeant Ward intercepted the transfer orders, went on fighting.
Eventually, despite his protests, Ward was transferred to a desk job in Japan. Last week his mother received a letter from Sergeant Ward. He wrote: