At 14:30 on December 15th, 1944, Private First Class Dirk Vlug crouched behind a roadblock on the Ormach road near Lemon Lee, watching five Japanese Type 95 light tanks roll toward his position with 37 mm guns firing.
27 years old, 3 years in the army, zero tanks destroyed.
The Japanese had sent five Type 95 Hago tanks carrying 15 crew members total to break through the American roadblock that controlled the only Japanese supply route to Ormach Bay.
Vlug’s 126th Infantry Regiment had been fighting on Lee since mid- November.
The 32nd Infantry Division had earned its nickname, the Red Arrow Division, in brutal combat across New Guinea.
They’d learned to fight in jungles where visibility dropped to 10 yards and disease killed as many men as bullets.
But Lee was different.
The Japanese weren’t retreating into the jungle anymore.
They were defending Ormach Valley with everything they had left.
The roadblock Vlug was manning sat on Highway 2, the main road connecting the mountains to Ormach Bay on the western coast.
8 days earlier, the 77th Infantry Division had made an amphibious landing just 3 and a half miles from Ormach City.
The Japanese were now trapped.
Their only escape route was this road.
Their only resupply line was this road, and Vlug’s job was to make sure nothing got through.
The problem was the tanks.
American bazookas in late 1944 were the M9 or M9A1 models.
2.36 inch rocket launchers that weighed 15 lbs and broke down into two sections for paratroopers.
Each rocket carried a shaped charge warhead that could penetrate up to 4 in of armor at 100 yard.
The weapon was designed to stop German tanks.
It worked against Japanese type 95s because Japanese tanks were built with thin armor.
Maximum armor thickness on a type 95 was 14 mm on the front, 6 mm on the sides, but doctrine required a twoman crew, one soldier to load, one soldier to aim and fire.
Rate of fire was six rounds per minute under ideal conditions, and doctrine required firing from a covered position with infantry support.
The Japanese type 95 Hago light tank weighed 7 12 tons.
Top speed 28 mph on roads.
Armed with one 37mm type 94 tank gun and two 7.7 mm type 97 machine guns.
Crew of three.
Commander/gunner in the turret.
Driver in the hull.
Hull gunner operating the forward machine gun.
Five tanks meant 15 Japanese soldiers with 17 weapons pointed at anyone who tried to stop them.
The 32nd Division had been fighting for every yard of the Ormock Road since December 7th.
In 5 days of combat, the 126th and 127th Infantry Regiments had advanced less than one mile through heavy rainforest.
Daily progress was measured in yards.
Casualties were mounting.
Companies were down to one officer and 85 men.
And now five Japanese tanks were rolling straight toward the roadblock that Vlug and his squad were holding.
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The lead type 95 was 400 yd out when Vlug made his decision.
He grabbed the M9 bazooka that was leaning against the roadblock sandbags.
Checked the weapon.
Two sections connected.
Magneto firing system operational.
He picked up the canvas bag containing six M6 A3 rockets.
3.4 lb each, 20 in long, shaped charge warheads.
No loader, no support, no cover fire.
Just one private first class, one bazooka, six rounds, and a Colt 1911 45 caliber pistol on his hip against five tanks carrying 37 mm guns and 10 machine guns.
The Japanese tank commanders couldn’t see him yet.
The road block was positioned at a slight curve in Highway 2 with thick vegetation on both sides.
Visibility was maybe 300 yd.
The Type 95s were advancing in a column formation, following the road, turrets traversing left and right, scanning for American positions.
Vlug stepped out from behind the roadblock and started walking toward five Japanese tanks.
The first Japanese tank was 350 yd away when its commander spotted movement on the road.
The turret began to traverse right.
The 37 millimeter gun was aiming directly at Vlug.
Machine gun fire erupted.
Tracers stred past his head.
Dirt kicked up around his boots.
Vlugg kept walking.
Loading a bazooka alone violated every training manual the army had written.
The weapon was designed for two men because the process required coordination.
The loader had to remove a rocket from its container.
Check the propellant sticks weren’t damaged.
Insert the rocket into the rear of the launch tube until it’s seated properly against the electrical contact.
Attach the ignition wire from the rocket’s base to the contact clip at the brereech.
Then tap the gunner’s helmet to signal ready.
Vlug had no loader.
No one to tap his helmet.
He was doing all of it himself while walking toward five tanks that were actively shooting at him.
The bazooka weighed 15 lb.
Each rocket weighed 3.4 lb.
He couldn’t hold the launcher steady with one hand and load with the other.
Standard procedure was to kneel or lie prone.
Use the ground for stability, but kneeling meant stopping.
Stopping meant becoming an easier target for the Type 95’s machine guns.
So Vlug kept moving forward, closing the distance, getting into effective range.
At 200 yd, he stopped, knelt, set the bazooka across his left thigh, pulled one M6 A3 rocket from the bag.
The shaped charge warhead was painted olive drab.
Propellant sticks were intact.
He slid the rocket into the rear of the tube until it clicked into position.
Connected the wire to the brereech contact.
The electrical firing system was armed.
Machine gun fire was constant.
Now the lead tank’s hull gunner was firing his 7.7 mm type 97 in sustained bursts.
Bullets snapped through the air 6 in above’s head.
The gunner was aiming high.
Couldn’t depress the hull-mounted weapon enough to hit a kneeling target at this range.
Vlug lifted the bazooka onto his right shoulder.
Looked through the General Electric T43 aperture sight, rotated the ranging dial to 200 yd.
The reticle lined up with the front blade sight.
The lead type 95 filled his field of view.
14 mm of frontal armor.
The shaped charge would penetrate 4 in of steel.
He squeezed the trigger.
The magneto fired.
Electrical current ignited the propellant.
The rocket motor burned out inside the tube in 0.04 seconds.
Zero back blast because the propellant was completely consumed before the rocket exited.
The M6 A3 stre down range at 265 ft per second.
Impact.
The shaped charge detonated on contact with the Type 95’s frontal armor.
Copper jet penetrated the 14 mm plate.
Temperature inside the tank reached 3,000°.
Propellant charges for the 37 mm gun ignited.
Secondary explosion.
The turret lifted 6 in and settled back crooked.
Black smoke poured from every opening.
Three crew members dead.
Four tanks left.
Five rockets remaining.
The second Type 95 was already maneuvering.
The driver saw the lead tank burning.
saw an American soldier kneeling in the road with a rocket launcher, made a decision.
The tank lurched to a halt, engine still running, turret hatch opened.
The tank commander emerged first, climbing out onto the turret, then the driver from his forward hatch, then the hull gunner.
Three Japanese soldiers abandoning their armored vehicle, carrying Type 99 rifles, moving toward Vlug on foot.
The tank crews had been trained to fight as infantry if their vehicles were disabled.
standard Japanese doctrine.
Abandon the tank.
Attack the enemy with small arms.
Die fighting rather than burn inside steel coffins.
Vlug was still kneeling.
The bazooka was empty.
The canvas bag with five rockets was on the ground 3 ft to his left.
Loading another rocket would take 20 seconds.
The Japanese soldiers were 60 yard away and closing fast.
He reached for his pistol.
The Colt M1911 was standard issue for American soldiers in the Pacific theater.
45 caliber, 7 round magazine plus one in the chamber.
Effective range 50 yards against man-sized targets.
Weight 2.44 lb loaded.
John Browning’s design from 1911.
Stopping power that had proved itself in 33 years of American military service.
Vub drew the pistol from his hip holster.
thumbmed off the safety, raised the weapon in a two-handed grip.
The three Japanese soldiers were 50 yards away, running, rifles not yet shouldered.
He fired once, the lead soldier dropped, center mass hit.
The other two soldiers stopped, looked at their fallen comrade, looked at the American kneeling in the road with a smoking pistol, made a calculation.
The Type 95 was armored, the road was not.
They turned and ran back toward their tank.
Vlug holstered the pistol, reached for another rocket, slid it into the bazooka’s breach, connected the ignition wire.
The two surviving Japanese crew members were climbing back into their tank.
Hole gunner disappearing into the forward hatch.
Driver scrambling for his position.
They were going to button up and resume firing.
Vlug didn’t give them time.
He shouldered the weapon.
Aimed.
The Type 95 was stationary.
Engine idling.
Range 180 yard.
The driver’s hatch was still open.
Vlug adjusted his aim point.
Fired.
The rocket entered through the open driver’s hatch, detonated inside the crew compartment.
Shaped charge jet in an enclosed space.
Both remaining crew members killed instantly.
Ammunition storage ignited.
The Type 95’s turret blew off completely.
landed 12 feet from the burning hole.
Two tanks destroyed, four rockets remaining, three tanks still advancing.
The third Type 95 was 250 yards behind the second.
The commander had watched both lead tanks get destroyed in under 90 seconds.
He was making different decisions.
The turret was traversing.
The 37 mm gun was elevating.
The commander wasn’t trying to machine gun an American soldier anymore.
He was preparing to fire high explosive.
A 37 mm high explosive shell weighed 1.54 lb.
Muzzle velocity 2,000 ft per second.
Lethal radius against exposed infantry 20 yard.
The Type 95 carried 120 rounds of mixed ammunition, high explosive, armorpiercing.
The commander had switched to high explosive because he wasn’t fighting another tank.
He was fighting one man in the open.
Vlug was reloading.
Third rocket sliding into the tube.
Wire connecting to the brereech.
His hands weren’t shaking, but they should have been.
He just killed five Japanese soldiers and destroyed two armored vehicles in less than 2 minutes.
Adrenaline should have made him fumble.
Combat stress should have slowed him down.
Instead, he was faster.
The bazooka came up.
Sight picture acquired.
Range 250 yards.
The Type 95’s gun was almost level.
Three more seconds and the 37 millimeter would fire.
Vugg fired first.
Direct hit on the turret face.
The shaped charge penetrated.
Commander killed.
Gunner killed.
The driver tried to reverse.
Tank lurched backward 10 ft before the engine seized.
Fire spreading through the crew compartment.
Third tank destroyed.
Three rockets left, two tanks remaining.
But the fourth and fifth type 95s weren’t advancing in column anymore.
They were maneuvering, splitting up.
The fourth tank was moving left off the road into the vegetation.
The fifth tank was moving right.
They were trying to flank him.
Attack from two directions simultaneously.
Force him to choose which tank to engage first.
The other would kill him.
Standard Japanese armor doctrine when facing anti-tank weapons.
Spread out.
Divide the enemy’s fire.
Overwhelmed through angles.
Vlug was standing in the middle of Highway 2.
Open ground.
No cover within 50 yards.
Two Japanese tanks were circling to his left and right.
Three rockets remaining.
Mathematics said he could destroy both tanks if his accuracy remained perfect.
Reality said one tank would kill him before he could reload the third time.
He started walking toward the fourth tank.
The fourth Type 95 was maneuvering through vegetation 20 yard off the left side of Highway 2.
Thick jungle growth limited its speed to maybe 10 mph.
The driver was trying to circle behind Velug’s position, get a flanking shot.
The tank suspension was designed by Army officer Tomio Harada.
Bell crank scissor system.
Two paired bogey wheels per side on coil springs mounted horizontally outside the hull.
Good mobility on rough terrain, but the system had problems.
Tendency to pitch on uneven ground.
The Type 95 was bouncing through jungle undergrowth.
Turret rocking.
Gun barrel wavering.
Not a stable firing platform.
Vlug walked directly toward it.
Closing distance 40 yards, 30 yards.
The hull gunner opened fire.
7.7 mm rounds cutting through vegetation.
Aiming was difficult.
The tank was moving.
Vugg was moving.
Bullets went wide.
25 yd.
Vug stopped.
Loaded his fourth rocket.
The Type 95 was turning.
Trying to bring the 37 mm gun to bear.
The turret traverse was manual.
handc cranked slow.
The commander was screaming at his gunner to traverse faster.
Vlug could see the turret moving.
Could calculate the time.
Three more seconds and the gun would be aimed at him.
He went prone.
Set the bazooka across a fallen log for stability.
Aimed at the tank’s sidearm.
6 mm thick.
The shaped charge would penetrate easily.
Range 25 yd.
Point blank.
The turret was almost aligned.
Vugg fired.
The rocket hit the Type 95’s left side below the turret ring.
Penetration.
The copper jet cut through ammunition storage.
Every 37 millimeter round in the ready rack detonated simultaneously.
The tank’s hull split open.
Turret flew 15 ft into the air.
Crew dead before they could register what happened.
Four tanks destroyed.
Two rockets remaining.
One tank left.
The fifth Type 95 was 300 yd to the right.
moving through vegetation on the opposite side of Highway 2.
The commander had watched Vlug destroy four tanks in under four minutes.
Had watched an American soldier walk toward Japanese armor, firing a rocket launcher alone.
Had watched every tactical decision his fellow tank commanders made result in burning steel coffins.
This commander made a different choice.
The Type 95 stopped moving.
engine shut down.
Going silent, trying to disappear into the jungle vegetation camouflage.
The Japanese tankers had been trained in concealment.
The Hago’s low profile helped.
7’2 in tall.
Jungle undergrowth was dense enough to hide a stationary tank if the crew didn’t move.
Vlug stood up, scanned the vegetation.
The jungle was quiet.
No engine noise, no movement.
The fifth tank was out there somewhere, but finding it would take time.
Time meant the tank crew could prepare, could set up an ambush, could wait for Vlugg to walk past and shoot him in the back.
He started walking along the right side of Highway 2.
Moving parallel to where he’d last seen the fifth tank, eyes scanning, looking for any sign.
Broken branches, crushed undergrowth, exhaust smoke, nothing.
50 yard, 100 yard.
The jungle vegetation was 8 ft tall.
Visibility may be 30 yard into the treeine.
The Type 95 could be anywhere within a 200yd radius.
Vlug had two rockets left.
If he missed or if the tank crew ambushed him from concealment, he was dead.
150 yards down the road.
Still nothing.
The jungle was completely silent.
No birds, no insects.
Combat had driven every living thing into hiding.
Just the sound of Lug’s boots on the dirt road, his breathing, the weight of the bazooka on his shoulder.
200 yards movement.
30 yards into the vegetation.
The Type 95’s commander had made a mistake.
He’d positioned his tank facing away from the road.
Thought he could hide the vehicle’s exhaust.
Didn’t realize the turret’s rear-mounted machine gun was visible above the undergrowth.
7.7 mm type 97 barrel pointing at the sky.
Unmistakable silhouette.
Vlug moved off the road into the jungle, circling.
The type 95 crew didn’t know he’d spotted them.
They were waiting, listening, trying to hear American movement on the road.
Didn’t hear Vug approaching from their flank through the undergrowth 20 yard from the tank.
Vlug could see the full vehicle now.
Camouflage position was actually good.
hull partially concealed behind a large tree.
Turret covered by overhanging branches.
If Vlug had walked past on the road, he might have missed it, but he hadn’t walked past.
He loaded his fifth rocket, aimed at the tank’s rear armor, thinnest point, 12 mm, engine compartment, fuel tanks.
One hit would kill the Type 95.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
The rocket left the tube at 1438, 4 minutes and 20 seconds since Vlug had stepped out from behind the roadblock.
The M6 A3 struck the Type 95’s rear armor at the engine compartment.
Shake charge penetrated 12 mm of steel.
Copper jet ignited the Mitsubishi aircooled diesel engine.
Fuel lines ruptured.
Fire spread into the crew compartment within seconds.
The driver tried to escape.
Forward hatch opened.
He got halfway out before smoke inhalation stopped him.
The turret crew had no chance.
Rear exit blocked by flames.
Commander and gunner died inside their positions.
Fifth tank destroyed.
Vlug stood in the jungle vegetation 20 yards from the burning Type 95.
One rocket remaining in his bag.
No targets left.
He walked back to Highway 2.
The road was littered with destroyed Japanese armor.
Five Type 95 light tanks burning at intervals along 300 yards of the Ormach road.
Black smoke columns rising into the afternoon sky, visible for miles.
Other soldiers from the 126th Infantry Regiment were emerging from their positions.
They’d watched the entire engagement from the roadblock, had seen Vlug walk toward five tanks alone, had seen him destroy each vehicle methodically, had counted the rockets, had waited for him to die.
He didn’t die.
Sergeant Leroy Johnson was the first to reach Vug.
Johnson had been manning a different section of the roadblock 400 yardds north.
He’d heard the gunfire, had seen the explosions, had run down Highway 2 expecting to find Vlug’s body and five Japanese tanks rolling through American lines.
Instead, he found Vlug standing in the road, bazooka over his shoulder, five destroyed tanks behind him, one unused rocket in the canvas bag.
Other soldiers were moving forward now, checking the burning type 95s, confirming all crew members were dead, counting the destroyed vehicles, taking photographs.
One soldier had a Kodak 35 field camera.
He photographed Vlug standing next to the destroyed tanks.
evidence proof.
The photographs would later appear in Stars and Stripes newspaper.
Private Victor Mineberg from the 129th Field Artillery Battalion had been with a forward observer party near the roadblock.
He’d carried ammunition to other bazooka teams during the engagement, had watched Vlug’s solo assault.
Mineberg would later receive the Bronze Star for his actions that day.
His citation would mention carrying ammunition under fire to rocket launcher operators who destroyed enemy tanks, but Vlug had done it alone.
The five Japanese tank crews totaled 15 men, all dead.
Three killed when Vlugg fired his pistol and they tried to dismount.
12 killed inside their vehicles when shape charges penetrated armor and ignited ammunition storage.
Not one Japanese soldier survived.
American casualties at the roadblock.
zero.
The tactical situation changed immediately.
The Japanese had sent five tanks to break through the American roadblock on the Ormach road.
Those tanks were supposed to reach Ormach Bay, supposed to help defend the Japanese supply line, supposed to prevent American forces from cutting off the 35th Army’s escape route.
Instead, all five tanks were burning hulks blocking Highway 2.
The road was impassible.
Japanese reinforcements couldn’t move south.
American forces could advance.
The 126th Infantry Regiment pushed forward that afternoon.
Met lighter resistance than expected because Japanese armor support had been eliminated.
Word spread fast through the 32nd Division.
A private first class had destroyed five tanks alone.
Battalion commanders didn’t believe it at first, required confirmation, sent officers to inspect the site.
The officers counted five destroyed Type 95s, interviewed witnesses, examined Velug’s bazooka, five rockets fired, one remaining.
The mathematics checked out, but destroying five tanks wasn’t enough for Medal of Honor consideration.
The action had to facilitate the battalion’s mission.
Had to change the tactical situation significantly.
The destroyed tanks did both.
They cleared the roadblock.
They allowed the 126th Infantry to advance.
They prevented Japanese armor from interfering with the 77th Division’s assault on Ormach City.
The battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ferdinand Chzar, began preparing the afteraction report that afternoon.
The report would detail Vlugg’s actions, would include witness statements, would include photographs, would recommend Vug for the Medal of Honor.
But the fighting on Lee wasn’t over.
3 days later on December 18th, the 77th Division captured Valencia airfield 7 mi north of Ormach.
The 126th Infantry linked up with 77th Division elements.
The Japanese 35th Army was cut off.
Or Valley was secured.
Vlug kept fighting.
The Battle of Lady officially ended December 31st, 1944.
46 days after Vlug’s action on the Ormock road.
But the heaviest fighting came in those final two weeks of December when American forces closed the trap on the Japanese 35th Army.
The 32nd Division continued pushing south from Lemon toward Valencia.
The terrain was brutal.
Dense rainforest.
Visibility dropped to 20 yards.
Japanese defenders from the first division had constructed defensive positions using heavy logs and interconnecting trenches.
Every position had to be cleared with flamethrowers, grenades, and bayonets.
Daily advances measured in yards.
The 126th Infantry Regiment fought continuously from December 15th through December 25th.
10 days of sustained combat.
No rest, no rotation.
Companies that started with 160 men were down to 80.
Officers were killed.
Sergeants took command of platoon.
Corporals led squads.
But the roadblock held.
The Japanese never broke through on Highway 2 after December 15th.
Never recaptured the stretch of road where Vlug had destroyed their armor.
The 32nd Division maintained control of the northern approach to Ormach Valley.
Japanese forces trapped south of the roadblock couldn’t escape north, couldn’t receive reinforcements, couldn’t resupply.
The 77th Infantry Division captured Ormach City on December 10th, 5 days before Vlug’s engagement.
But capturing the city wasn’t enough.
The Japanese still controlled Ormach Valley, still had forces in the mountains, still had escape routes through the western hills toward Palampon on the coast.
The roadblock on Highway 2 prevented that escape.
On December 21st, advanced elements of the 32nd Division linked up with the 77th Division near Valencia.
The junction point was 6 mi north of Ormach.
American forces now controlled the entire Ormock corridor from Breakneck Ridge in the north to Ormach Bay in the south.
Japanese 35th Army was cut in half.
Forces east of Highway 2 were separated from forces west of the road.
General Tomoyuki Yamashita had committed the Japanese defense of the Philippines to Lady had reinforced the island with divisions from Luzon and Mindanao.
had sent the second tank division south had ordered the 35th army to hold Ormach Valley at all costs.
The strategy failed.
American control of Highway 2 made Japanese positions untenable.
By December 25th, organized Japanese resistance in Ormach Valley collapsed.
Surviving Japanese forces retreated into the mountains.
Some units tried to escape west toward Palampon.
Most were caught in the mountains and destroyed peacemeal.
The Japanese lost approximately 49,000 soldiers on Lady killed in action or died from disease and starvation.
American casualties totaled 3,596 killed and 12,000 wounded.
The 32nd Division’s losses were proportionally higher.
The division had entered combat on Lady with approximately 12,000 men.
By December 31st, effective strength was down to 9,000, 3,000 casualties in 6 weeks of fighting.
But Lady was secured.
General Douglas MacArthur declared the island liberated on December 26th.
Japanese forces still remained in the mountains, but they no longer posed a strategic threat.
American engineers could build airfields.
Supply lines were secure.
Ports were operational.
Lady became the staging base for the invasion of Luzon, scheduled for January 1945.
The 32nd Division remained on Lady through February, conducting mopping up operations, hunting down isolated Japanese units in the mountains, securing villages, clearing roads.
The division wouldn’t participate in the Luzon invasion.
Instead, they prepared for their next assignment in the southern Philippines.
Vlug stayed with the 126th Infantry Regiment, continued fighting through January and February.
No special treatment for destroying five tanks.
He was still a private first class, still pulled guard duty, still went on patrols.
The Medal of Honor recommendation was working its way through channels, but that process took months.
The other soldiers in his company knew what he’d done, knew he’d walk toward five Japanese tanks alone, knew he’d saved the roadblock.
Word spread through the regiment, then through the division.
Vlug became known, not famous, not celebrated, just known.
the kind of soldier who did what needed to be done when it needed doing.
The 32nd division left in February 1945, shipped to Mindanao for operations against Japanese forces in the southern Philippines.
Vlug went with them.
The 126th Infantry Regiment landed on Mindanao in March and fought through April, clearing Japanese defenders from key terrain.
The war in Europe ended May 8th.
Victory in Europe Day.
American forces in the Pacific knew their war wasn’t over.
Japan still controlled territory across Southeast Asia and the Pacific.
Still had armies in China.
Still defended the home islands with millions of soldiers.
The invasion of Japan was scheduled for November.
Casualty projections ranged from half a million to over 1 million American dead and wounded.
Vug was scheduled to participate in that invasion.
But in June 1945, the army changed his orders.
A telegram arrived at division headquarters on Mindanao.
Private first class Durk J.
Vlug was being reassigned.
Not to another combat unit, not to another island.
He was going home.
The Medal of Honor recommendation had been approved.
The paperwork had moved through channels for 6 months.
Battalion commander to regimental commander to division commander.
From the 32nd Division to Sixth Army headquarters, from Sixth Army to General Douglas MacArthur’s headquarters in Manila, from Manila to the War Department in Washington, each level reviewed the afteraction reports, examined witness statements, studied the photographs of five destroyed Japanese tanks.
The recommendation reached the War Department in April 1945.
The department reviewed approximately 400 Medal of Honor recommendations from the Pacific Theater during World War II.
Only 81 were approved.
The criteria were specific.
The action had to involve conspicuous gallantry above and beyond the call of duty.
Had to involve risk of life.
Had to accomplish a significant military objective.
Vlug’s action met all criteria.
On June 14th, 1945, Vug was honorably discharged from active duty at Fort Sheridan, Illinois.
His service record listed 3 years and two months of active service.
Combat operations in New Guinea, Lee, and Mindanao.
Awards pending, Medal of Honor.
The official notification arrived later that summer.
The award ceremony would be held in Washington.
President Harry S.
Truman would personally present the Medal.
The date was set for June 7th, 1946, nearly 18 months after the action on the Ormach road.
Japan surrendered August 15th, 1945.
Victory over Japan Day.
The invasion Vlug was supposed to participate in never happened.
Atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki forced Japanese capitulation.
The war ended without the million American casualties that had been projected.
Vlug returned to Grand Rapids, Michigan, his hometown.
population 176,000 industrial city furniture manufacturing center.
He’d enlisted from Grand Rapids in April 1941, 3 months before the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
Had left as a 24year-old civilian, returned as a 28-year-old combat veteran.
Grand Rapids had never produced a Medal of Honor recipient before.
The city prepared a celebration, collected donations from citizens, raised enough money to build and furnish a house for Vlug.
The community wanted to honor their first medal recipient properly.
On June 7th, 1946, Vlug stood in the White House.
President Truman read the citation.
The words described the action at the Ormock Roadblock.
Five enemy tanks, six rounds of ammunition, advancing alone under intense machine gun and 37 millimeter fire, destroying the first tank, killing one enemy soldier with his pistol, destroying four more tanks through sustained heroism in the face of superior forces.
Private first class Vlug alone destroyed five enemy tanks and greatly facilitated successful accomplishment of his battalion’s mission.
Truman placed the Medal of Honor around Vlug’s neck.
Light blue ribbon, bronze star surrounded by a wreath.
The medal represented the highest military decoration awarded by the United States.
Vlug was one of 464 recipients from World War II, one of 81 from the Pacific Theater.
He returned to Grand Rapids.
The city held a parade.
Thousands of people lined the streets.
Vlug rode in an open car, waved to the crowds.
The celebration lasted 3 days.
The community presented him with the keys to his new house.
Then the attention stopped.
Vlug wanted normal life.
Wanted to forget the war.
Wanted to stop thinking about burning tanks and dead Japanese soldiers and the weight of a bazooka on his shoulder.
He got a job with the United States Postal Service, became a mail carrier, walking routes through Grand Rapids neighborhoods, delivering letters.
No one shooting at him, no tanks trying to kill him, just a regular job for a man who wanted to be regular again.
In May 1949, Vlug joined the Michigan Army National Guard.
Part-time service, weekend drills, annual training.
He was promoted to master sergeant.
Led training exercises.
Taught younger soldiers how to use rocket launchers.
Never mentioned he destroyed five tanks in four minutes.
Just showed them the proper loading procedure, the correct sight picture, how to fire from a stable position.
He retired from the National Guard in January 1951.
6 years of guard service.
Combined with his active duty time, he’d served his country for nearly a decade.
Then he went back to delivering mail.
For 40 years, Vlug walked the same routes through Grand Rapids, carried letters and packages, talked to neighbors about weather and sports, and nothing important.
People knew he was a Medal of Honor recipient.
The local newspaper had covered the story, but Vlug didn’t talk about the war, didn’t tell stories about Ley, didn’t describe what it felt like to walk toward five Japanese tanks.
He lived a quiet life, got married, raised a family, attended church, paid his taxes, mowed his lawn.
The kind of life that the greatest generation came home to build.
The kind of normal that 400,000 Americans died to preserve.
The bazooka he’d used on the Ormach road was never recovered, lost somewhere in the Philippines, probably discarded after the battle when new weapons arrived, or rusted into scrap in the jungle humidity.
The weapon that destroyed five tanks in 4 minutes disappeared into history, but the photographs remained.
The Kodak 35 images taken on December 15th, 1944.
Vlug standing next to destroyed Type 95 tanks, black and white prints.
Evidence that one soldier with six rockets and a pistol had stopped a Japanese armored assault.
Those photographs are held in the National Archives.
Military historians study them.
Armor specialists examine the destroyed tanks, trying to understand how shaped charges penetrated Japanese armor.
How one man defeated five armored vehicles alone.
The answer is simpler than the analysis suggests.
Vlug saw what needed to be done.
He picked up a bazooka.
He walked toward the enemy.
He did his job.
On June 25th, 1996, Dirk Vlug died in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
He was 79 years old, 51 years and 10 days after destroying five Japanese tanks on the Ormach road.
He was buried in Greenwood Cemetery in Grand Rapids with full military honors.
The Medal of Honor was displayed at his funeral, light blue ribbon, bronze star, the highest decoration the nation could bestow.
His obituary in the Grand Rapids Press was three paragraphs.
mentioned his Medal of Honor, mentioned his postal service career, mentioned his family, didn’t mention that he’d saved a roadblock, didn’t mention that his actions had helped secure Ormock Valley, didn’t mention that American forces advance because Japanese tanks never broke through.
Just three paragraphs for a man who’ done the impossible.
The roadblock on the Ormock Road is gone now.
Highway 2 has been repaved.
The jungle has reclaimed the spots where five Type 95 tanks burned.
No marker indicates where Vlug stood.
No monument commemorates the engagement.
The Philippines moved on, built new roads, grew new forests, but the action remains documented.
Medal of Honor citation preserved in the National Archives.
Witness statements filed in Army records.
Photographs archived.
Afteraction reports stored.
The evidence survives even though the battlefield disappeared.
Vlug never sought recognition beyond what he received.
Never wrote a memoir.
never gave speeches, never toured schools telling students about his heroism.
He delivered mail, raised his family, lived quietly.
The kind of heroism that doesn’t need constant recognition, the kind that speaks for itself.
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Real people, real heroism.
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And thank you for making sure Durk Vlug doesn’t disappear into silence.
