“Neal A. Maxwell in World War II,” Liahona, Dec. 2022.
Stories from Saints, Volume 3
Neal A. Maxwell in World War II
Photographs courtesy of the Maxwell family
The Allies celebrated “Victory in Europe Day” on May 8, 1945. Neal Maxwell cheered the news, as did other American soldiers battling to capture the Japanese island of Okinawa. But their celebrations were subdued by the reality of their own situation. With kamikaze pilots attacking the Okinawa harbor and artillery fire blazing on the island’s hills, the American troops knew their part in the fight was far from over.
“This is real war,” Neal thought. The battlefront was far less glamorous up close than what the newspapers and movies had led him to believe. It filled him with a dull, sick feeling.
Elder Maxwell (left) served in the US military in the Pacific theater of World War II.
Neal and the soldiers with him were assigned to a division as replacements. On May 13, he wrote home to Utah. He was not allowed to tell his parents the specifics of his assignment, but he assured them of his well-being. “I’m all alone as far as spiritual companions are concerned, except for One,” he wrote. “I know He is always with me.”1
Neal was in a mortar squad assigned to fire explosive shells at enemy positions hidden inland. He took a position in a foxhole, and after days of back-and-forth warfare, heavy rains turned the scorched landscape into a quagmire. Neal’s foxhole filled with mud, making rest nearly impossible as he tried to sleep standing up. Meager military rations did little to stave off hunger, and the water he received came up the hill in five-gallon tanks and always tasted of oil. Many men drank coffee to mask the water’s foulness, but Neal wanted to be obedient to the Word of Wisdom and refused. He did his best to gather rainwater, and on Sundays, he used water he saved and a biscuit from his rations for the sacrament.2
One night in late May, three enemy shells exploded near Neal’s mortar position. Up until then, the Japanese had not been able to find the location of his squad. But now it seemed the artillerymen had triangulated his position and were closing in. When another shell exploded just a few feet away, Neal feared the next one would find its target.
Leaping from the foxhole, he took cover against a knoll. Then, realizing he was still in danger, he scurried back to the hole to await whatever came next.
Illustration by Greg Newbold
In the mud and darkness, Neal got on his knees and began to pray. He knew he did not deserve any special favors from God and that many righteous men had died after offering fervent prayers during battle. Still, he pleaded with the Lord to spare his life, promising to dedicate himself to God’s service if he survived. He had a smudged copy of his patriarchal blessing in his pocket, and he thought of a promise it contained.
“I seal you up against the power of the destroyer that your life may not be shortened,” his blessing read, “and that you may not be deprived of fulfilling every assignment that was given unto you in the preexistent state.”
Neal finished his prayer and looked up into the night sky. The shattering explosions had ceased, and all was quiet. When the shelling did not resume, he felt in his soul that the Lord had preserved his life.3
Not long after, Neal wrote a few letters to his family back home. “I’m so lonely for you, sometimes I feel like crying,” he said. “All I have to do is be worthy of my patriarchal blessing, your prayers, and my religion. But time and so much action hang heavy on a man’s soul.”
“I can say only God prevented my death at times,” he wrote. “I have a testimony no one can crumble.”4