In the mist of the battle, with explosions all around, bullets whizzing over his head a calmness, a sang-froid, if you will came over him, without thinking he crawled out of his foxhole. He inched his way up the hill toward the pillbox that was spewing out a solid stream of tracers chewing up the ground all around him and the other Marines who were trying to take the same hill. He reached the enemy pillbox and pushed his grenade right through the narrow slit. The pillbox erupted into ball of fire, the marine rolled unto his back, lit a cigarette closed his eyes and took his last breath. A brave Marine died that day on Guadalcanal as so many others did that day.