It was a battle for a tiny Pacific island that tended to breed valor in all who fought.

That's what Hershel "Woody" Williams of Ona, W.Va., humbly tells everyone about the World War II struggle for Iwo Jima in early 1945.

Yet for four hours on Feb. 23 of that year, his courage went beyond ordinary valor: He strapped on a 70-pound flamethrower and took out seven fortified pillboxes - loaded with Japanese troops - so that stalled Marines could advance across the island.

Williams received the Medal of Honor, the nation's highest award for valor.

Today, he'll be in Charlotte and ride with members of the local Marine Corps League in the yearly US Airways Salute to Veterans Parade on Tryon Street. Tonight, he'll speak at the league's ball celebrating the Corps' 236th birthday.

At 88, Williams goes to every patriotic or Marine Corps event he can, representing those who died in the battle.

"I feel an obligation to do it as long as my health holds out and my brain works," Williams said Thursday by phone. "I couldn't have received the Medal of Honor medal without the assistance of an awful lot of brave Marines."

Woody Williams was a surprise addition to today's parade - he'd already accepted an invitation to the Marine ball.

He grew up on a West Virginia farm and tried to join the Marines at 17, but his mother wouldn't let him. At 18, he tried again. But, at 5 feet 6 inches, he was too short. When the Corps relaxed its height requirement, he enlisted immediately.

In November 1943, Williams was shipped to the Pacific with the 3rd Marine Division, assigned to a flamethrower-demolition unit.

His first battle, on Guam, was relatively easy compared with Iwo Jima. The beaches were largely undefended, and Marines advanced into the cover of jungle.

"On the ship at Iwo, we were replacements and told we'd probably never get off," Williams said. "It was supposed to take five days."

But Iwo was barren, with little cover. Its beaches were porous with ash from Mount Surabachi, making movement difficult and digging protective foxholes impossible. The beach became a killing field.

His 21st regiment landed Feb. 21. After two days, Marines had barely moved, pinned down by more than 20,000 Japanese troops holed up in a warren of concrete pillboxes, caves and tunnels.

Williams lost many friends. Morale fell.

Then on Feb. 23, many Marines stood and cheered as they fired rifles. An American flag flapped atop Surabachi. Williams didn't see it being raised, but he soon joined in.

A photo of the flag-raising is one of the war's iconic images.

Later that day, he'd seen enough carnage. Under orders, and with cover from the four riflemen, Williams grabbed a flamethrower and attacked the pillboxes, one after the other. As one flamethrower ran out of fuel, he'd crawl back for another - under withering enemy fire.

At one point, he felt bullets popping off his flamethrower. As he approached one pillbox, three Japanese soldiers, their ammunition spent, came at him with bayonets. He sprayed them with fire.

When it was over after 36 days, there were 26,000 U.S. casualties, including 6,800 dead.

Two of his four riflemen were among them.

He never knew their names.

The only one living

Just after the war, Williams shook when President Harry Truman hung the Medal of Honor around his neck and told him: "I'd rather have this medal than be president."

Twenty-seven men received the Medal of Honor for their actions on Iwo, 13 posthumously. Williams is the only one still living.

He'll wear his medal in Charlotte today.

"There were many people who did just as much or more than I did," Williams said. "I do it for an awful lot of Marines who couldn't come home."