Here, a woman rivets an airplane wing at a munitions factory.

 

A male and a female riveter work side by side at a factory in Corpus Christi, Texas, in 1942.

 

Dear Mom,
It’s the evening before Christmas, but it’s hard to realize this. I’ll just sort of skip this year and we’ll all celebrate twice as much next year. We stayed in a good building last night. And mabey tonight. It’s funny how much a building can mean. This is the first one we’ve been in since our arrival on the continent. Most of the people here seem to be quite glad to see us. They throw fruit to us. I don’t think they’re throwing it at us. And we wave very happily. I hope you Dad and Grandma all have a happy holiday and that you don’t worry too much about me. I’m all right. And even enjoying my little trip.

Love,
Burnett Miller

This afternoon while we were south of Bougainville we came across a raft with four live Japs in it. As the destroyer Spence came close to the raft, the Japs opened up with a machine gun at the destroyer. The Jap officer then put the gun in each man’s mouth and fired, blowing out the back of each man’s skull. One of the Japs did not want to die for the Emperor and put up a struggle. The others held him down. The officer was the last to die. He also blew his brains out. The Spence went in to investigate. All the bodies had disappeared into the water. There was nothing left but blood and an empty raft. Sharks were everywhere. The sharks ate well today. We went to battle stations and at 10PM we were attacked by enemy planes. Later darkness and rain started to come.
-- Sascha Weinzheimer

Working like slaves. Too tired to write and it’s always too dark to see when I get off duty. We were so close to the lines we could see our artillery fire and also that of the Germans. In our existence we received our first naval casualties. A ship right off shore from us was bombed and even our dentists were doing surgery we were so exhausted Working in the shock wards, giving transfusions, was rewarding but a sad experience. Many wounded soldiers faces still haunt my memory. I remember one eighteen year old boy who had just been brought in from the ambulance to the shock ward. I went to him immediately he looked up at me sighed and asked, “How am I doing nurse?” I was standing at the head of his litter. I put my hands around his face, kissed his forehead and said, “You are doing just fine, soldier.” He smiled sweetly and said, “I was just checking up.” Then he died. Many of us shed tears in private. Otherwise, we try to be cheerful and reassuring.I’ve seen surgeons work for hours to save a young soldier’s life, but despite it they die on the operating table. Some doctors even collapsed across the patient, broke down, and cried.
--June