starts. The second reason for including this additional text is that I wanted you, the reader, to understand that I have not put this book together unknowingly or half-heartedly. I wanted you to feel something of what I felt, and, possibly, to think some of the things that I thought during those dreary months before the pictures of the book made it possible for the men to tell of themselves. Yet, to learn their stories, each page of photographs must be read as carefully as you might read a page of written text in a novel. Asking you to read the story In their faces and hands and bodies, as they were feeling it themselves at the moment of impact, is only fair to them—and is asking more of you than ever before has been asked of the picture-viewing audience. Nearly every man in this book is a U.S. Marine. It is no accident. I was one of them in World War II. Having shared their lives, as they did mine, during three years while moving up out of the South Pacific islands and right into Tokyo Bay for the surrender of the entire Japanese Empire, I took it for granted, when they arrived in Korea, that I would photograph their battles. I wanted to show what war did to a man. I wanted to show something of the comradeship that binds men together when they are fighting a common peril. I wanted to show the way men live, and die, when they know Death is among them, and yet they still find the strength to crawl forward armed only with bayonets to stop the advance of men they have never seen, with whom they have no immediate quarrel, men who will kill them on sight if given first chance. I wanted to show something of the agony, the suffering, the terrible confusion, the heroism which is everyday currency among those men who actually pull the triggers of rifles aimed at other men, known as “the enemy”. I wanted to tell a story of war, as war has always been for men through the ages. Only their weapons, the terrain, the causes have changed. D.D.D. March, 1951 이것이 전쟁이다! Ⅱ. In Explanation l 17
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