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Not to brag, but I scored 30 out of 30. However, in my defense, I do have 3 degrees in American History.
My dad was in the Marines during WW2. He seldom spoke about his exploits until he was on his deathbed. Initially, my dad was one of Adm. Halsey's Personal Marine Detachment, 1st Marine Division ("Just a fancy name for Halsey's body guards," my dad claimed). He held that honor for a while; even managing to "liberate" some of Halsey's silver dinnerware (which I now have) before being transferred to a rifle company. He was among the first ashore on Okinawa. He and one of his squad-mates were sharing an outer perimeter foxhole during one of the Japanese many attacks. My dad said he emptied his M1 several times and was just about out of ammo when the Japanese soldiers finally reached their fox hole. My dad was shot in the knee. His squad-mate was shot twice and then bayoneted.
My dad shot and killed the Japanese soldier who'd killed his squad-mate, plus two more that were attacking their, specific, hole, including the one who'd bayoneted his squad-mate, before he was out of ammo. Oddly, at that point, their Japanese retreated back to their lines, allowing the Marine to gather-up their dead and wounded. My dad was evacuated back to a field hospital for surgery to remove the bullet in his leg. Six weeks later, he was allowed to return to his squad and finished out the battle. For this and subsequent actions, he was awarded the Purple Heart, the Bronze Star Medal, and the Silver Star Medal.
His older brother was a Sherman tank commander with Patton's armies; beginning with Patton in North Africa; going with him to Sicily; then, with his 3rd Army in France. He participated in the Battle of the Bulge and ended the war crossing the Rhine River and hooking-up with Russians west of Berlin.
As for myself, in a nut-shell, I joined the Navy in 1970. Went to Pensacola NAS and graduated a Naval Flight Officer. January 1973, found me stationed aboard the USS Midway as an F-4 Phantom NFO/RIO (back seat rider), attached to VF-161. On our 3rd mission, we were shot down by a SAM. My "stick" (pilot) was vaporized as the missile took out the front of our aircraft, just as his seat cleared the canopy rails. (Ejection sequence of an F-4 Phantom was that the back seat ejected 1.5 seconds before the front seat to avoid the 2 aviators from smashing into each other.). Pete was a married man with 2 small kids and a drop-dead, built like a 2 story brick outhouse, beautiful wife. I was unmarried with no kids.
I splashed just a couple of hundred yards from the North Vietnam shore. Immediately, NVA soldiers were on the beach and I was taking fire. In just a few minutes, a Rescue chopper was overhead. Someone tossed me an M16 and I emptied it firing back toward shore. Then, a gunship arrived and took care of the enemy on the shore while I was hauled aboard the Rescue chopper. I left the Navy in September of 1973, being unable to pass the medical physical to return to flying.