Beyond the Call: Medal of Honor Stories

Welcome to Beyond the Call, where history, leadership, and heroism come alive.
Today’s episode tells the powerful story of Private First Class James Dennis La Belle, a United States Marine who, in the heat of the Battle of Iwo Jima, made the ultimate sacrifice to save his fellow Marines. On March 8, 1945, in the chaos of close combat, La Belle threw himself onto a live grenade, shielding his comrades from certain death. His selfless act of courage stands as a timeless example of duty, loyalty, and the unbreakable bonds of brotherhood forged in war.
Narrated from the full article, this episode brings you into the heart of one of World War II’s most intense battles, capturing not only the historical facts but also the human spirit behind them. To explore more stories like this, visit Trackpads.com for additional articles, podcasts, and multimedia content.
Podcast Script
Welcome to Beyond the Call, where history, leadership, and heroism come alive.
Today’s episode explores Shield of Sacrifice: James Dennis La Belle’s Heroism in World War Two, a powerful story of courage and perseverance.
If you enjoy learning more about military history and extraordinary individuals, be sure to visit Trackpads dot com for articles, podcasts, and more.
Introduction
Private First Class James Dennis La Belle’s name is etched in the annals of valor, a lasting testament to the unyielding courage of the United States Marine Corps during the bloodiest battles of World War Two. In the crucible of Iwo Jima, where every inch of black volcanic sand was paid for with lives, La Belle’s final act was not only one of extraordinary bravery but of deliberate, selfless choice. His sacrifice ensured that his fellow Marines could continue the fight against a determined and deadly enemy.
On March eighth, nineteen forty-five, in the chaos of close-quarters combat, La Belle found himself in a forward foxhole alongside two comrades, holding the line under constant threat from Japanese forces. When a live grenade fell where it could not be reached or thrown back, La Belle had mere seconds to decide. His choice—to throw himself upon the grenade—forever sealed his fate but saved the lives of those around him. This was not the act of chance or reflex alone, but of a Marine who fully understood the cost and paid it willingly.
In telling his story, we do more than recount the events of that night on Iwo Jima. We honor the measure of a man whose final moments were defined by duty, resolve, and an unshakable commitment to his brothers-in-arms. His actions embody the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States military, a legacy of courage that continues to inspire generations.
Historical Context
By early nineteen forty-five, the Pacific War had reached its most brutal and unforgiving phase. The island-hopping campaign, a strategic effort by Allied forces to push toward the Japanese mainland, had brought American troops to the doorstep of Iwo Jima. This eight-square-mile volcanic island was more than just a strategic foothold—it was a fortress bristling with entrenched Japanese defenders, its tunnels, bunkers, and artillery positions meticulously prepared to repel any invasion. The island’s location, halfway between the Mariana Islands and Japan, made it vital for launching bomber escort missions and emergency landings for damaged aircraft returning from raids on the Japanese home islands.
On February nineteenth, nineteen forty-five, the United States launched the amphibious assault on Iwo Jima, marking one of the most fiercely contested battles of the war. The operation involved more than seventy thousand Marines from the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Marine Divisions. Facing them were approximately twenty-one thousand Japanese troops under Lieutenant General Tadamichi Kuribayashi, who had prepared a defense designed not for repelling the landing but for inflicting maximum casualties in a drawn-out battle of attrition. Every yard of ground was contested, with defenders using interlocking fields of fire, sniper positions, and deadly ambushes to slow the American advance.
The terrain was as much an enemy as the Japanese themselves. Composed of loose volcanic ash and jagged rock, the island offered little cover for attacking forces while providing defenders with natural concealment. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder, while artillery shells and mortar rounds churned the ground into a shifting, hazardous battlefield. In this hellish environment, the Marines advanced slowly, often measured in feet gained per day, under withering enemy fire and the constant threat of sudden counterattacks.
For the Fifth Marine Division, to which Private First Class La Belle belonged, the fighting was relentless. The division had landed in the first wave and bore the brunt of the Japanese defense in some of the most contested sectors of the island. Their mission was to push inland, secure vital terrain, and hold the line against repeated counterassaults, all while sustaining heavy losses. Within this unforgiving theater, La Belle’s final stand unfolded—a single act of valor in a campaign where heroism was measured in both survival and sacrifice.
Personal Background
James Dennis La Belle was born on November twenty-second, nineteen twenty-five, in Columbia Heights, Minnesota, a close-knit community just north of Minneapolis. Growing up during the Great Depression, he learned the values of hard work, resilience, and self-reliance at an early age. Friends and family remembered him as quiet but determined, with a natural sense of responsibility that belied his years. He attended local schools and, like many young men of his generation, was shaped by a national atmosphere of uncertainty and patriotism as the world edged toward global conflict.
When the United States entered World War Two following the attack on Pearl Harbor in December nineteen forty-one, La Belle—still in his teens—watched as older classmates and neighbors went off to war. By nineteen forty-three, with the conflict raging across Europe and the Pacific, he made the decision to enlist in the United States Marine Corps Reserve. He entered service in February nineteen forty-four, reporting for training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, California, where he quickly proved himself capable and disciplined.
After completing recruit training, La Belle advanced to infantry instruction, preparing for the rigors of amphibious assault operations that defined Marine combat in the Pacific. His assignments prior to Iwo Jima included advanced combat training and integration into his wartime unit, Company F, Second Battalion, Twenty-Seventh Marines, Fifth Marine Division. This division would soon be tasked with one of the most dangerous and pivotal missions of the Pacific War—the seizure of Iwo Jima.
La Belle’s early months in uniform were marked by intense preparation rather than frontline combat, but this would change rapidly. In February nineteen forty-five, his division was transported to the staging area for the invasion, and by the time they approached the beaches of Iwo Jima, he was already seasoned in the discipline and teamwork essential for survival in battle. Less than a month after landing, he would perform the selfless act that would define his legacy.
He never returned home from the war. Private First Class La Belle was killed in action on March eighth, nineteen forty-five, during his act of heroism. His body was later interred in Fort Snelling National Cemetery in Minnesota, where his grave remains a solemn place of remembrance. Today, his name stands among the honored Medal of Honor recipients, ensuring that his courage and sacrifice will never be forgotten.
Medal of Honor Citation
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while attached to the Twenty-Seventh Marines, Fifth Marine Division, in action against enemy Japanese forces during the seizure of Iwo Jima in the Volcano Islands, on March eighth, nineteen forty-five. Filling a gap in the front lines during a critical phase in the battle, Private First Class La Belle had dug into a foxhole with two other Marines and, grimly aware of the enemy’s persistent attempts to blast a way through our lines with hand grenades, applied himself with steady concentration to maintaining a sharply vigilant watch during the hazardous night hours. Suddenly a hostile grenade landed beyond reach of his foxhole. Quickly estimating the situation, he determined to save the others if possible, shouted a warning, and instantly dived on the deadly missile, absorbing the exploding charge in his own body and thereby protecting his comrades from serious injury. Stouthearted and indomitable, he had unhesitatingly relinquished his own chance of survival so that his fellow Marines might carry on the relentless fight against a fanatic enemy. His dauntless courage, cool decision, and valiant spirit of self-sacrifice in the face of certain death reflect the highest credit upon Private First Class La Belle and upon the United States Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life in the service of his country.
Where Valor Was Forged
What follows is a blend of recorded history and dramatized combat detail, created to honor Private First Class James Dennis La Belle’s sacrifice while immersing the listener in the conditions and intensity of the battle. The sequence of events, locations, and circumstances align with documented facts, while certain sensory and environmental details are reconstructed to provide a vivid, cinematic understanding of what happened that night.
The night of March eighth, nineteen forty-five, settled heavily over Iwo Jima like a suffocating shroud. The island was a shattered wasteland of black volcanic ash, churned by artillery and stained with the scars of relentless combat. Smoke hung low in the air, drifting in ghostly sheets across the front lines, mixing with the acrid stench of burned cordite and the sharper tang of spilled fuel. Somewhere in the distance, the muted thump of naval gunfire echoed from offshore, each distant detonation briefly illuminating the horizon like heat lightning. But here, along the sector where Company F, Second Battalion, Twenty-Seventh Marines held the line, the war had distilled into something smaller, darker, and far more personal.
La Belle lay pressed into the side of the foxhole he shared with two fellow Marines. They had been here since nightfall, tasked with holding a gap in the line—a position vulnerable enough that even a single breakthrough could unravel the tenuous front. The ground around them was loose, shifting volcanic ash, impossible to dig deep into without the walls collapsing. Every movement caused a slow trickle of grit to slide down the side of the hole, coating their weapons and clinging to their sweat. Their rifles, M One Garands, lay within easy reach, barrels kept clear with taped muzzles. Nearby, a Browning Automatic Rifle rested across the lap of one Marine, its bipod legs dug into the dirt, ready for a sudden burst of suppressive fire.
The Japanese had been relentless since sunset. Grenades had already been lobbed toward their position three times that night, each one skittering or bouncing just short enough for the Marines to either throw it back or duck behind a corner of their position. La Belle had taken the second grenade himself, grabbing it with a gloved hand and flinging it into the darkness before it detonated midair. That act alone had earned him a sharp slap on the back from his foxhole mate, but it had also driven home the reality—they were under constant watch from an enemy that was not only close, but patient.
Somewhere beyond the dim perimeter, the low murmur of Japanese voices occasionally drifted in. It was impossible to tell how far away they were. The volcanic terrain distorted sound; sometimes a whisper felt like it came from twenty yards away when the source was actually fifty. Every now and then, the Marines could hear the scrape of boots against rock or the dull thud of a body moving prone through the ash. This was General Kuribayashi’s defense strategy in action—using the cover of darkness and intricate knowledge of the island’s surface to infiltrate and probe American lines.
La Belle’s position was lit intermittently by the distant flare of illumination rounds, each one bursting overhead and washing the ground in harsh, artificial daylight. The sudden brightness always froze both sides in place. The Marines would scan the open ground for silhouettes, and the Japanese would melt into their dugouts, tunnels, and shadowed depressions. Then, just as suddenly, the light would vanish, plunging the battlefield back into its murky half-darkness, where every shadow might conceal a rifle barrel and every silence might be the breath before an attack.
It was during one of these intervals of near-complete darkness that it happened. La Belle heard the faint, hollow thunk of a grenade being launched by hand—a sound distinct from the sharper crack of a rifle or the deeper report of a mortar. Instinctively, he tensed, scanning the lip of the foxhole. The sound was followed by the quick metallic clatter of something landing just beyond the reach of his arm, a mere two or three feet from the trench wall. There was no time to calculate angles or trajectories.
He shouted—a sharp, urgent command for his comrades to get down—already knowing that the confined space and proximity meant they would not all survive the blast if it went off where it had landed. In that instant, La Belle’s training, his sense of duty, and the hard calculus of war crystallized into a single decision. He lunged forward from his crouched position, throwing his body over the lip of the hole and onto the grenade, his chest pressing into the rough metal casing as his arms closed around it in a final, instinctive embrace.
The detonation was deafening. The force tore through La Belle’s body, the shock wave slamming into the side of the foxhole and showering his comrades with grit and shrapnel fragments. The two Marines inside instinctively curled tighter into the dirt, their ears ringing from the blast. When the dust settled and the echoes faded, they looked toward the spot where La Belle had been. He was still there, motionless, his body shielding them from what would have been certain death or catastrophic injury.
The Japanese did not press their advantage in that moment. Whether deterred by the sudden ferocity of the blast or repelled by other nearby Marine positions opening fire, the probing attack receded back into the night. The two survivors in the foxhole stayed low for the next hour, scarcely daring to speak except for brief bursts of radio communication to confirm their position and request resupply of ammunition. The voice on the other end—calm but clipped—acknowledged their call, giving the quiet assurance that help was on the way.
When relief finally arrived and the position was rotated, the story of what had happened spread quickly through the company. By the time dawn broke over Iwo Jima, casting its first pale light over the pitted and broken landscape, everyone in Company F knew that Private First Class James Dennis La Belle had given his life so that two fellow Marines could live. In a battle where countless acts of bravery were performed daily, his sacrifice stood out—not only for its immediacy, but for the unmistakable clarity of his intent.
The dawn of March eighth had broken with no promise of respite. From the moment La Belle’s squad rotated back into their sector after a brief resupply, they knew the night ahead would be long. By midafternoon, Japanese artillery had once again found their range. Mortar rounds fell intermittently, some whistling overhead before exploding harmlessly behind them, others crashing uncomfortably close, sending shards of volcanic rock clattering into the foxhole. La Belle and his fellow Marines endured the blasts in silence, conserving their strength and keeping their focus sharp for the inevitable nighttime push.
By late afternoon, the wind began to shift, dragging smoke from burning fuel dumps and wrecked vehicles across their sector. It was a bitter, metallic smell, mingled with the sweet, cloying scent of the island’s volcanic ash—a reminder that every breath here was borrowed air in a place that devoured men. Above them, the roar of Corsair fighter-bombers strafing enemy positions hinted at the wider battle raging beyond their line of sight. Even so, for those in the foxholes, the war narrowed to what could be seen down the barrel of a rifle and what could be heard in the spaces between heartbeats.
La Belle had developed a habit in those tense hours before nightfall—checking his weapon and ammunition every twenty minutes, not from forgetfulness but as a ritual. He would run his thumb along the smooth clips of his M One Garand, ensuring they were clean of ash. His bayonet, already fixed to the rifle, gleamed faintly in the dim light. Each movement was deliberate, not only a readiness drill, but a way to keep his hands from betraying the tremor that came with anticipation.
As the sun slipped away and darkness crept in, the Japanese intensified their harassment. A sniper’s bullet cracked just above the lip of their position, punching through a sandbag and showering them with dust. Somewhere to their left, a Marine cursed and returned fire, the flat bark of his rifle snapping into the night. La Belle glanced at his comrades—both alert, both knowing they were being tested.
When full darkness arrived, the battlefield seemed to shift in nature. The steady exchanges of gunfire gave way to a deadly quiet, broken only by the distant thump of mortars and the occasional scream of a man hit somewhere along the line. Then came the telltale sound—a metallic clink followed by the soft thud of something heavy striking the ash. It was close, far too close.
This time, the grenade landed just outside the lip of the foxhole, in the only spot where no hand could reach it in time. The three Marines registered it almost simultaneously, but it was La Belle who moved first. He had been through enough close calls to understand that hesitation was the enemy’s ally. Shouting a warning, he vaulted forward, his body propelled by the certainty that there was no other way.
In those last seconds, La Belle did not think about the blast, the pain, or even the certainty of death. His focus was singular—two Marines, alive because he would not allow them to die. He came down hard over the grenade, curling his arms and shoulders to shield as much of its force as possible. The detonation ripped through the night like a thunderclap, shaking the ground beneath them and sending a flash of light that momentarily lit the twisted terrain.
The impact was absolute. The force lifted one Marine partially from the floor of the foxhole, slamming him back down. Dirt and fragments of rock rained over them, the air filled with the smell of explosives and scorched fabric. When they looked toward La Belle’s position, there was no question of what he had done.
The survivors radioed in the situation, their voices steady but subdued. “Gap sector holding. Two effectives. One KIA. Repeat, one KIA.” The acknowledgment came quickly: “Hold position. Relief inbound.” The Marine on the other end of the line did not need the details. On Iwo Jima, such brevity was understood; courage was often spoken of in the space between words.
When the relief team finally arrived, they moved with a quiet respect, securing the position and tending to the living before carrying La Belle’s body back toward the aid station. In the pale light of morning, those who passed the stretcher slowed their steps or gave silent nods. Word of his sacrifice spread quickly through the company, reaching even the rear echelons.
By that afternoon, La Belle’s act was already being recounted to new arrivals—how he had filled a gap in the line, how he had spotted the grenade, and how he had made a choice that only a few could truly understand. It was a story told not in boast, but in the quiet acknowledgment of men who knew they were part of a brotherhood forged in the hardest conditions imaginable.
In the days that followed, the battle for Iwo Jima would grind on. More Marines would fall, more foxholes would be taken and retaken. But for those who had been there that night, the memory of La Belle’s final moments would remain sharper than the explosions, more enduring than the victory itself. His sacrifice had been a single heartbeat in the vast machinery of war, yet it had carried the weight of everything the Marine Corps stood for—loyalty, selflessness, and the unbreakable bond between brothers-in-arms.
Reflections and Lessons Learned
The actions of Private First Class James Dennis La Belle offer a timeless example of leadership through sacrifice, even without the formal rank or command authority that usually defines a leader in battle. In the chaos of a firefight, leadership is often demonstrated not through orders given, but through actions taken without hesitation. La Belle’s decision to give his life for his fellow Marines was a moment of moral clarity under unimaginable pressure, and it reflects the type of courage that inspires units to endure and prevail.
His story also underscores the principle that resilience is not only about survival, but about maintaining the will to act decisively in the face of certain danger. Resilience is forged long before the moment of crisis—in training, in discipline, and in the shared bonds between those who serve together. La Belle’s ability to act in that critical second was the result of months of preparation and the trust built within his unit.
From a moral standpoint, his sacrifice reminds us that courage is often inseparable from compassion. In the unforgiving environment of Iwo Jima, self-preservation would have been the instinct of many, yet La Belle chose a path that placed the welfare of others above his own. This choice reflects the deeper ethos of service: that the measure of one’s life is found in the lives we protect and the values we uphold, even at the cost of our own survival.
For modern readers and leaders, La Belle’s story challenges us to consider how we might respond when faced with our own moments of decision—whether in combat, in crisis, or in the everyday trials of life. It speaks to the importance of living with a readiness to act for others, to be deliberate in preparation, and to hold steadfast to a code of conduct that values honor over self-interest.
Closing
Private First Class James Dennis La Belle’s name belongs among those whose legacy is defined not only by their service, but by the ultimate choice they made in defense of others. His act on March eighth, nineteen forty-five, in the black volcanic ash of Iwo Jima, was more than a single moment of heroism—it was the culmination of his training, his loyalty to his fellow Marines, and his unshakable commitment to duty. In those final seconds, he embodied the highest ideals of the Marine Corps and the United States military, leaving behind a story that continues to inspire.
We honor him not simply by remembering the circumstances of his death, but by carrying forward the values he lived by—courage, selflessness, and fidelity to those who stand beside us. As we reflect on his sacrifice, we are reminded that the freedoms we enjoy are safeguarded by individuals willing to make the ultimate commitment. James Dennis La Belle gallantly gave his life in the service of his country, and for that, his memory will remain a shield of sacrifice for generations to come.