...cut away another inhibition – lay bare a few more nerves....

Rest Base in the Pacific
April 2, 1944
I’ve been a Marine exactly two years today

Dear girls,

I’ve been thinking [of sending] you the story of Namur for quite some time. I guess I didn’t because of censorship, and because a great deal of what I saw wasn’t nice and orderly and safe – that is, after all, the traditional view that one is supposed to impress on the loved ones at home. Of course they know it isn’t that way, just as well as you do, but they don’t want to sound as though they’re worrying themselves to death. Maybe it’s the realistic age we’re living in that makes the change – not blatantly so, as were the 20’s – but quietly, factually – simply accepting facts, though unpleasant, because of a desire to know rather than an attempt to seek a new thrill – a violent sensation – The Sun Also Rises – cut away another inhibition – lay bare a few more nerves.

I’m not writing because I want to shock or worry you, or because I’m proud of the dangers I’ve been through – it’s just that knowing and loving you, I think that you would prefer knowing what it was like and how I felt – and thus what it will be like next time. Known fears and worries are limited ones – unknown, they can become tremendous.

We knew where we going as soon as we had been out to sea a day or two. We had known for a month that we were to go directly into action, and when – we didn’t know where – we were issued many maps and photos, and reams of intelligence data, and operations orders – spent long hours every day teaching everything we knew to the men – memorizing, going over it, pounding it in. Hours of physical exercise out in the hot sun, the huge convoy stretched out to the horizon all around us, swelteringly hot below decks, increasingly tense feeling all over the ship, sleeping on the cool decks with the breeze, the constant boil of the phosphorescent sea under the prow, the constant darkness and quiet, and the ever-constant star that twinkled red and blue.

Singing every night, the old songs, the company accordionist playing up on deck. More work during the day, firing the weapons over the side, rifle inspection, final word on boat assignment tables, the last time you clean and oil your rifle, fuse your hand grenade and hang it on your belt – land – little low islands looking brilliantly green after weeks of blue sky and bluer water… the rumbling of guns, Roi and Namur marked by a thin trail of smoke threading across the sky – the Artillery and one outfit of Infantry lands on the nearby, lightly defended islands, and we hear the report on the radio; the Colonel announces all events over the P.A. and is cheered by the men – this is it – the last Officer’s meeting – the Colonel’s big red face, and bigger but unsteady grin under the only small light in the room, all the Officers tense and still, getting the final dope, the final meeting of The Agony Quartette, which is a Duet now, talking it over – this is it, you know, and deciding that we were excited but not afraid, and falling asleep with, strangely, no trouble at all.

Up before dawn, tight stomach but a ravenous appetite – forgot to wake up Ted, and he almost missed the boat. The last time I saw him, he was mad as Hell and cussed me out for a knucklehead. Went down into the men’s compartment, and they were all excited but very gay – overnight the atmosphere had changed – the incessant pounding had been going on for 24 hours now, and we didn’t see how there could be anything left. They called us up topside by boat groups – mine was last – by about an hour, the motor conked out – when we finally went over the net there were only a couple of landing boats to be seen, circling aimlessly around, belonging to other outfits. I took off like a bat out of Hell for where I thought the Company was – several miles away in the lagoon – they tagged along and we made quite a sizeable group – it was raining, and cold and the water was rough – I wandered from one rendezvous area to another, almost deciding to go in with the assault wave of another regiment, and finally stumbled on “A” Co. shells screaming overhead – the smell of powder, the brilliantly blue lagoon, and shivering with cold – for now it could only be cold – the word seemed clear in all the outfits I talked to that there was nothing left – I don’t know how they thought they knew, but we believed it; and felt bitterly disappointed. All the work, preparation, and worry seemed to be for nothing – there was nothing to do but walk ashore – Harry’s face when I finally found his boat was a study in dejection – “We won’t get our licks in now,” he yelled, but we formed up anyway.

Our Battalion was in reserve for the Regiment, and about 40 minutes after the first wave went in they called for us – we didn’t know why – probably to share to coconuts with them, but we started in. “A” Co. was to reinforce the Battalion assigned to the right half of Namur – we looked long and hard at the low island – the shelling had stopped now but a steady column of smoke went drifting over our heads – we could see the blasted palm trees, the tortured steel skeletons of the two hangers of Roi – we got down, just for form, because we had always done it, but inwardly terrifically let down – empty – the boat chugged in – suddenly when we were about 100 yards off shore a tremendous blast of air seemed to stop the boat, followed by a wave of sound that left everything throbbing – we involuntarily poked our heads up and looked – the whole right half of the island had heaved and coughed its flaming entrails up into the air – hundreds of feet above us – a Pillar of Fire in the daytime – the biggest munitions dump on the island had been mined and set off by the Japs a couple of hundred yards inland, concrete blocks rained into the water around us, every man muttered “Christ, this is it!” to himself, and a huge cloud of black ash drifted over the boat – so thick you couldn’t breathe or see the man next to you in the boat – the most terrifying moment I’ve ever spent – there seemed to be no more sound left in the world.

When it cleared, we were ten yards from the beach – the ash stuck to the green and brown camouflage paint, and we fought the battle in blackface – the grating jolt, the ramp went down and I pounded ashore through the shallow water to find thousands of men crouched on the beach in the shelter of a slight rise. They were as thick as flies – I said “Another Tarawa” to myself, and found a Lt. that I knew calmly trying to bandage a man who had half his face torn off by two machine gun bullets. He simply said, “Don’t go up there, Phil – it’s all mined – we had just knocked out the machine guns that were trained on the beach and started in and they blew it. It got Jim and every man in his platoon [probably 1st Lt. James B. Heater, F/24, wounded in action]. We’ve lost a lot.” I turned to go and stepped on a body burned black – Jap – so much foul meat – but I cussed it and was mad at it when I should, I suppose, have been revolted.

The Captain sensibly decided to go up through the blasted area – we could be sure no Japs were left there. We moved out, scurrying from one shell hole to another as we realized for the first time that a lot of rifle fire was coming our way.

The area covered by the bombardment, a 400 yard swathe cut along the length of the beach – stood for a simply incredible destruction. There had been many buildings, pillboxes, and men there – nothing was left but rubble – twisted iron, heaps of concrete, a few blasted palm stumps and shell-pocked earth – a super no-man’s land that you had read about so often, and here I was. This was the battle that I had pointed toward for so long – two years, almost. It all seemed unreal – I felt detached, but very tense.

We met nothing but a few snipers until we came to the northern half of the island. There some shells had landed, but there was a lot of shrubbery and treed area left – many dugouts, pillboxes, and blockhouses – and almost all the Japs left living on Roi and Namur by the bombardment. The first one I saw was half naked – an Officer, brandishing a Samurai sword. I slowly sighted on him, but before I squeezed the trigger he was down – one of my machine gunners was standing over him, smashed out a gold front tooth and put it in his pocket – I yelled, “Why?” – he said because his dad had asked for one, I said I was glad it was for a sentimental reason.

We moved around the perimeter of the island, just off the beach, from where we landed up to the northernmost point. On our flanks we were the forward echelon of the Regiment – we picked up stragglers from the outfit that had been blasted, but the rest of them followed us.

I noticed Corporal Ervin – then my machine gun squad leader – now my mortar section leader, up ahead, waving us on. As long as he was in the action, he stayed at least 50 yards ahead of anybody else in the Company – I took a couple of the others and went up to help him. He had stumbled on a dugout containing 6 or 7 Japs, had fired at them standing on the edge – then thrown a grenade or two and come back for more – a couple of us went up with him – I went around behind the position, and while they finished off the ones that were there, I waited for any that might retreat – one did, and I shot him as he tried to sneak past me in the undergrowth. I was partly, very dimly conscious that I had killed, but more aware of the satisfying way my little carbine heaved in my hands and coughed up bullets.

I realized that the sound of my firing might attract snipers, so I moved off and sat quietly in the bush, waiting for the others to come up. When they did we moved forward, [Lt.] Roy [Wood] and I side by side. I do like fighting next to him – we know each other well enough.

A burst of machine gun fire came from a blockhouse we were approaching, we all dove for nearby trenches, and Steve Hopkins and I landed in a small one. On a small projection lay a Jap – I thought him dead, and passed by him up the trench. Hoppy kept an eye on him, though, and when the wounded Jap rolled over to throw the grenade he had in his hand, Hoppy shot him. The kid was white-faced and chattery – “Did you see, Mr. Wood? Did you see the grenade? Did you see what he was going to do?”

Over our heads all Hell broke loose. My machine guns behind me started a duel with those in the blockhouse – pound after pound of lead went over, then a Jap knee mortar started pounding away, probing for our trench, but luckily never got it. During a lull in the fire fighting my runner crawled up to me, and Cpl. Ervin slipped out of the trench and went forward again. He came on a Jap machine gun nest beside the blockhouse, killed two of the men manning it, but was driven off when an officer knocked off his helmet with a round from his pistol. Ervin’s face was sprayed with bits of lead – he backed off, came back, and told us the situation – what was up there – where they were – I hopped out and went back to assign the target to my mortars – when I got there I found that a couple of the men had been wounded by the Jap knee mortars – but by the time we had set up, the forward elements of the company had moved up too close to the position to let us fire safely.

That was my job – to find targets for the mortars, check and see that no friendly troops were too close, and then adjust their fire onto the target. The mortar fires from behind the lines, and they need someone to control their fire from the front. My machine gun squads were attached to the rifle platoon, but if they happened to be around and I spotted targets for them, I controlled their fire, too.

That was the biggest trouble I had, though – our boys, the riflemen, were too eager to attack. Several times I could have saved lives if they had only waited for a preparatory mortar barrage, but they couldn’t wait to close with the Japs. It made for a headlong, rushing attack that never gave the enemy a chance to reorganize. Every one of them is vividly conscious of the fact that he is a Marine.

We used bazookas on the blockhouse, and finally it was silenced; Harry, then Cpl. Ervin ran across the open and threw hand grenades into the firing ports – I picked up Ervin’s helmet to toss it to him, but it was knocked out of my hand by a sniper’s bullet. Ervin hopped up on top of the blockhouse, and stood there silhouetted against the sky – legs spread apart, hatless, with blood on his face and his coat flung open, firing his rifle from the hip into the dugout that lay in front of Sgt. [Frank A.] Tucker and myself – he killed some, but fire kept coming at him from the dugout, so he jumped down, ran to it, and was hit just as he got in front of me. Harry and I yelled to him – he said he didn’t want any help, and pulled himself out with his right arm – he was hit in the side – and Harry had to order him back to the hospital. Ervin claimed that he could still throw grenades with his one arm.

Sgt. Tucker was in a hole on my left – he and Harry and Roy and two or three from Roy’s platoon and I gave the dugout a barrage of grenades – at a range of ten yards – they were deafening – Tuck and Cpl. Robbins charged first, but were driven back by fire. Then five or six of us went over the edge of the embankment and shot everything that moved – a rifle came around a corner – I shot it out of the Jap’s hands and someone else drilled him – he had a big silk flag tied to his rifle which I cut off and stuffed into my pocket – it’s one of the few found on Namur.

I found my other runner, gave him directions as to the disposition of the mortar sections, and he went back to tell them where to go. When I turned, the rest of them had gone on – running, stopping to fire when they saw a fleeing Jap – following the beachline along the island. Imm, my other runner – 17 and, literally, has never been kissed – and I started after them, heard heavy firing, and stopped to reconnoiter. We were almost up to a wide, cleared area, just off a road running parallel to the beach. The “daring dozen” were across the clearing, and apparently having a hell of a fight in the scrubbed area 100 yards ahead of us. We crawled into a shell hole with a Lt. from D Company – he told us to stay down for Christ’s sake, the road and the clearing were machine gun lanes, and the Japs had been killing anyone who tried to go up.

Only four of us got out of that trap whole – that any did was Sgt. Tucker’s doing – seeing that they were being methodically slaughtered, he stood up and opened fire with his rifle. As each Jap arose out of the opposing trench to fire, Tucker carefully sighted in and shot him – often, as we found out later, right between the eyes. They think that he killed about 30 Japs that way – he put two enemy machine guns out of action, and gave the others a chance to pull the wounded into nearby shell holes – bullets creased his helmet, punctured his canteen, and cut off his rifle belt, but he didn’t get down until the rest of them were safely in position. Harry was hit in the leg, but Roy was alright.

I didn’t know any of this until later. I only saw one man run across the clearing, and he was cut down – that was enough. We stayed there – I lay on my back, looking up at a shell scarred fragment of a tree that stood over our hole, watching the beautiful serene white terns soar over the battlefield – and for the first time, I was really afraid. Afraid of my own motives for staying there. I knew damned well that it was foolish to think of going up, but that didn’t matter. I was still afraid, wasn’t I? Yes, I was afraid, but it was a justifiable fear of a certain death – still afraid, though – I thought of the mortars, but the other Lt. said that the Third Battalion had reached the beach a few hundred yards up the line, and this was the last pocket of resistance. I thought he was wrong, and he was, but I couldn’t take a chance, and in the growing dusk I sat and worried – still firing forward, what could I do – nothing, but they needed help. Imm is asleep, confident that anything I decide is correct – but I haven’t decided, there is no decision to make – were are too disorganized to effect a mass rush, the Company spread out from here back to the blockhouse. They need help. Yes, I am afraid, I’ll admit it, but what about it? A half-track passed over our hole on the way up the road, but it doesn’t get 25 yards in front of us before it is stopped by the sheer force of thousands of rounds from Jap heavy machine guns – it backs off, without even getting a chance to fire a round. I now admit that I’m afraid – even to myself, but am no longer ashamed of it. And the half-track gives me an idea.

When it became quite dark I woke Imm up, and explained what we were going to do. He almost knifed me when I shook him awake, but luckily I called him by name as I did it. The firing had quieted down, and we hopped out of the shell hole, and scurried off in the dark to where I thought the command post was, to try to arrange to have tanks brought up at dawn. Moving around in the rear, we were challenged many times – often incorrectly, thus causing my answer to be incorrect – the first time, without thinking, I bawled out – “You lugheaded sonofabitch, that’s no way to give the password!” – then realized that the more I did that, the safer I was – everybody was jittery and trigger happy that night, and the more I sounded like a tough ole gunnery sergeant, the more at home they would feel. We wandered around for a little while, but the command post was well hidden, for we never did find it – when we got to the lagoon beach where we landed, half a mile back, I found a phone and called up Battalion to tell them what was happening, and ask for tanks. Col. Dyess surprised me by saying that the Captain had just radioed in the same dope and the same request. So I woke Imm up – with a long stick – and we headed back. We went by way of the beach around the island, to avoid all the trigger-happy boys, and were even more worried by the fact that we didn’t hear any challenge at all. Walking up that silent beach – only sporadic firing inland now – with 60mm mortar parachute flares going off at regular intervals – during which we would freeze in whatever positions we happened to be in. Dead bodies everywhere – some lying in the shallow wash inside the coral reef – the island was beginning to smell already.

Back at the company – when we got there, we found that they had just moved reinforcements up, the Captain and [Lt. Frank A.] “Fireball” Stott had placed half a dozen machine guns along our front line, which was about 50 yards from the Jap trenches and pillbox system. There wasn’t much action that night – some Japs tried to crawl through our lines, but didn’t get very far – Hoppy got it that night as he was helping to dig in his machine gun.

We crawled up to where the Captain was – in the front line – and it was a mistake – he thought we were infiltrating Japs, challenged us, but I was pretty deafened by the day’s firing and didn’t hear him – his runner almost plugged us before we were recognized. We exchanged “the word: - he had been on the left flank all day – the wounded had been evacuated, and we were expecting a counter-attack that night. It materialized, We had been told before we went in to expect it – that no matter how hopeless the situation, the Japs would always counter-attack, to save face and all that. They did it, but it hit our left, in B Company’s sector, before dawn with wild yelling and all the accoutrements – firecrackers, samurai waving officers who shouted commands in English – B Company was pushed back by the sheer violence of the attack, and they suffered pretty heavy casualties; but their 60mm mortars saved the day – they fired at a perilously close range, but succeeded in breaking up the charge. A damned good weapon – my favorite – if I had enough of them and enough men, I think I could pretty near win this war with them alone.

I crawled into the nearest hole when I had talked with the Captain, and after I had rolled the sleeping Imm into a trench, I curled up with the company’s First Sergeant. It started to rain – cold, steady, miserable rain – but in spite of the shivering and the flares and the fears of a counter-attack, I slept for a couple of hours – then the Top woke me up to stand watch for a couple of hours while he slept. He never realized that it was me until the next morning – thought I was some private, though he said that he should have recognized the bony knees and elbows – flares whistling weirdly and painting all things with a ghastly whitewash – occasional bursts of Jap machine gun fire over our heads – red tracer streaks against the sky – the sigh and wash of the sea at our side, and the distinctive, sickeningly sweet odor of Japs – something they eat makes them all smell the same.

At dawn the Captain called to me, and told me that he had checked all night, by radio, and found out that there were no Marines on the beach beyond us, only Japs, so it was safe to fire the mortars. We set a time, and I crawled back to the guns, and sat there with them, cleaned my carbine in the growing light, ate a couple of squares of chocolate – the first food I’d had in 24 hours, but I wasn’t hungry – drank a little water, the first I’d had in almost a day, and smoked my first cigarette with relish, as soon as it was light enough not to show. We fired about a hundred rounds, poured them into the dugouts and pillboxes that had given us so much trouble the day before. We heard screams and groans from where they fell, and it was all we could do to keep from cheering – our shelling brought return rifle fire from what was left of the Japs, and a couple of snipers started peppering our positions – but they were damned poor shots, and we finally cut them out of the trees. The tanks finally came up, Col. Dyess leading the way on foot – and he organized the attack – he was fearless to the point of being foolhardy, refused to take cover – even buck privates were yelling at him to get down, but he’d only wave his Tommy gun at them and say he was a lucky Irishman.

That attack broke the back of the resistance – from then on the Japs were disorganized and fleeing. When the mortars went out of action, I went up and helped a couple of my machine gun squads root them out of their dugouts. The mortars had made a slaughterhouse of the area, and then we chased the few remaining, there couldn’t have been more than 25 or 30, up the tank trap, an 8 foot trench that ran around the island just inside the beach.

We raced after them. It was like hunting rats then – they scurried and scrambled, hid among the bodies of their own dead – there were hundreds of dead, killed by the Naval bombing the day before, lying in the trench, horribly twisted and mangled – headless, bodies laid open to the backbone, small pieces of flesh splattered on the ground, and carcasses so thick that at times we had to walk on them to get by. I remember stepping over a Samurai sword, but was too tired to even pick it up. Didn’t care. Col. Dyess was killed halfway up by a machine gun that they had set up in ambush. Fired at me, I think, but I heard the click of the bolt and hit the deck, and the shots went over me.

Finally it was over – we met the other units coming around the island from the other side – the island was secured – well in hand, I suppose you’d call it, by one or two in the afternoon. We walked back down the beach – that picture that I sent you – and assembled in the center of the island – began to find out who was killed, and I realized that my face was taut and tired, and it was from pulling my lips tight into a set expression so that the sight of those piled bodies wouldn’t show on my face.

We started to clean up – mop up the wooded area for isolated snipers, and my platoon found a couple of cases of Jap beer – we all had a bottle or two – they forced five on me, and I promptly got tight – no food and almost no water.

And when the mopping up was over, and the terns were again beginning to show luminous white against the darkening sky, we returned to the spot on the beach where we had spent the night before, and fell exhausted on the ground. Never have I been so weary – so drained of feeling. I heard that Ted [1st Lt. Theodore K. Johnson] had been killed – I had been very close to him, and two boys in my platoon – they were merely facts to be noted, not to feel.

We slept, although it wasn’t sleep that we needed – just a chance to stretch out in the sun, alone, and do and think of nothing at all.

We had to bury those dead – those foul rotting bodies – dig in defenses, and remove all the duds from the area – and were lucky enough to have left the island before it was bombed by Jap planes – we watched that from the lagoon – it reminded me of the Fourth of July – that time we were on the Boston boat and watched the fireworks along the sound.

And we came back here, to this paradise, to rest, that we might fight as well again.

It’s taken several sittings to write all this, girls – I almost tore it up once, because it’s unconventional, because of the gory things, and because I say I was in the front lines and in danger. But you must know all that already. And it feels good to get it down on paper – somehow, that settles it – makes you feel it’s really over and done with. Not that it’s bothered me much, but you can’t help thinking of it at times.

All my love,

Phil

The Cleanup Of Namur

On February 11, 1944, Able Company boarded the SS Robin Wentley and prepared to sail for Maui.

Roi-Namur had been subjugated, cleared entirely of Japanese defenders. On other islands in the Kwajalein atoll, other garrisons of defenders were facing the same fate. The conquest of the Marshall Islands - of which Kwajalein is a part - was the next step in the larger scheme of "island hopping," by which American forces would gradually take strategically located airfields from the Japanese, thereby extending the range of their own aircraft and dominating the skies.

The Marines had had a busy week. After the crumbling of organized resistance, they set about the immediate business of mopping up, a process taking several days. Some Japanese were taken prisoner, others chose to die fighting from isolated holes. C.W. Hussey, of the 295th JASCO (Joint Assault Signal Company) noted that stragglers had accounted for perhaps 20 Marine casualties by February 4th.

The Marines were surprised to find several women on the island; Hussey noted that they "had no visible means of support other than their native attractiveness." They may have been conscripts in the infamous system of "comfort women," by which women from conquered territories were essentially forced into sexual slavery; this is a subject of much debate and shame to this day, and while there is no specific mention of this practice occurring on Roi-Namur, it was by no means unheard of and there would seem to be little other reason for civilians - women in particular - to be on an isolated military post.

When mop-up was completed, there was the yet more odious task of cleaning up the debris of the battle.

Namur has been touched by war and there is nothing tropical or lovely left. It looks as though someone with an imagination of his own had tried to make a Hollywood set for Journey’s End. Namur is a dry, hot, fetid version of the worst section of No Man’s Land that France ever had to offer – no living green thing, blasted tree trunks, huge gaping shell holes - disemboweled trucks, heaps of concrete and lumber that were once fortifications

- Phil Wood letter, dated February 13, 1944

Unexploded shells had to be carefully removed, discarded weapons and equipment were collected, categorized, and repaired (if American) or destroyed (if Japanese) - and many Marines could be seen toting Japanese pistols, flags, helmets, and prized swords as souvenirs. Hussey made a thorough tour of both Roi and Namur, and made the following report:

It is estimated that [Japanese] losses were between 25 and 30 to 1 as compared to ours. It is this observers belief that most of the Japanese casualties occurred before our forces landed. in covering both islands thoroughly, I do not believe you could find a spot where a circle could be drawn with a 12 foot radius that would not contain a shell hole or bomb crater.

Japanese small arms ammunition and aerial incendiary bombs were scattered all over both islands. From the thousands of beer bottles I saw in the pill-boxes and trenches I would say that the Japs were allowed some of the better things of life. Many were cultivating small vegetable gardens closely adjacent to their dugouts.

The pill-boxes and block-houses were built of reinforced steel and concrete and all interior partitions wore of the same construction. The entire shore line was studded with pill-boxes at intervals of 1 to 200 feet. Their large gun positions were all knocked out as were their radar and radio stations. Their radar equipment seemed crude.

But by far the worst duty on Roi-Namur was the disposal of the thousands of Japanese corpses. Someone high up had decided that, as the combat Marines had little fighting to do, they might as well occupy themselves with the disposal of the dead.

...bodies by the thousands – parts of bodies – so disfigured that they beggar description – horrible....

...we camped right in the middle of our own company battlefield and had to clean it up, and it was a mess, but the ocean was only a few yards away and there was a steady breeze to blow the stench away.

- Phil Wood letter, dated February 13, 1944

I saw three trenches each approximately 50 yards long, 15 feet wide, and 8 feet deep half filled with dead Japs, and two others that had been covered over with a sign "279 JAPS BURIED HERE." I saw one water filled bomb crater and counted 15 Japs and 1 pig floating in the bloody water. I saw small fragments of dead bodies being swept from the floor of 1 block-house which the Navy was making ready for headquarters site. The stench of death pervades both islands.

- C. W. Hussey, 295th JASCO

Hussey notes that the "dead disposal squads" he encountered were composed of volunteers, though the general impression I've gotten was that dealing with the bodies of the dead was abhorrent to every Marine - some of whom grumbled that if they'd known they'd be stuck with the clean-up, they wouldn't have killed so many - and everyone pitched in, if unwillingly, thinking that the sooner they got the problem dealt with, the sooner they'd be done.

I was involved in the burial of the thousands of dead Japs who had been allowed to lie in the hot sun for days. Their bodies were rotten. The purple flies covered their wounds and mouth. The flies would fly into our mouths if they were open. The smell was beyond comparison. I tried to use my gas mask but got sick in it and had to clean it out and just hold my breath as long as I could. We lost our grip on their arms and legs when we tried to toss them into the 6x6 truck and their bodies would hit the tailgate and drop to the ground. After we got the truck loaded with the bodies we had to stand on top of the bodies until we got to the hole where they were to be buried and then we had to pull them off the trucks. I was working with a corpsman and he had about 15 small bottles of peach brandy in his medicine bag. We drank this up during our work detail. By the end of the day we were feeling no pain. We jumped into the ocean to get the goop off and reduce the stench. We fell asleep on the beach at night rather than get shot by some trigger-happy marine should we try to find our way back to our company in the dark. This was my worst experience on that island, one that I will never forget.

- Alva Perry, personal recollection. The Fighting Fourth

Often, Japanese prisoners were conscripted for the worst of the mess, taking bodies of their former comrades and dumping them into shell holes, which were then filled in by bulldozers. After four days in the sun, the dead - many of them already shattered by explosives - were putrifying fast. Disgusted Marines often wound up with rotted meat on their hands and clothes, and nothing would get the foulness off except a dip in the ocean. Even that could be dangerous, as some of Able Company's mortarmen found out:

That damned sea - beautiful but deadly and treacherous - about a week ago I went swimming with three of my boys from the Mortar section - it is waist to chest deep for a hundred yards out, until the point where the waves break on the big jagged sections of the coral reef, where it drops sharply off - we had no intention of going all the way out - were twenty five yards from the danger point, when suddenly all four of us were caught in a terrific undertow and carried out. A couple of the boys were really powerful swimmers, but they were as lost as I - we were sucked out to where the enormous waves rolled in and smashed onto the reef – thrown in and sucked out for what seemed to be an eternity – way over our head most of the time – gasping for air and getting only foam and water – thrashing and twisting in an infinity of dazzling white pure clean foam, tossed about like a chip by a vast impersonal malevolent force - finally too weak to fight any longer, just trying to breathe and thinking that it was all over, what a silly way to die, of home and you, but over and over again – what a silly, pointless way to die – and finally when the ocean was through with us one enormous wave picked us up and vomited us into the shallow water, washed clean of any strength or thought or feeling - the four of us held on to each other and staggered in and collapsed on the sharp but dry coral rock - three of us passed out - it was a horrible experience, one which I will never forget.

- Phil Wood letter, dated February 13, 1944

The whole experience of cleaning up the dead was so horrific that there was an official objection in the battalion report, and in subsequent operations a rear echelon detachment was organized to handle the cleanup.

As the Seabees and naval staff started to move in and take over, the Marines had a little more free time - some, like Phil Wood, did some exploring:

Namur Island must once have been a lovely spot - it and Roi are the largest of a chain of a thousand or more islets strung on a thread of coral around a lagoon – the water is all shades – bright green, robin’s-egg blue, a deep, satisfying cobalt blue - you can walk, hip deep, from one island to another and I went to four or five and they were idyllic – soft rich brown earth, mangoes, breadfruit and coconut crowding each other for a chance at the sunshine, forming glades of shade roofed over by the vivid green leaves. The steady breeze keeps it always cool – no mosquitoes - the only sound being the hissing of the surf.

- Phil Wood letter, dated February 13

Others traded souvenirs, wrote letters, told and re-told stories of what they'd seen, or watched the Seabees repair the newly-christened Dyess Field on Roi. One airstrip was repaired and ready to receive planes by February 5, and already new anti-aircraft positions were being installed in the wrecks of Japanese fortifications. Dozens of cargo ships arrived, unloading supplies around the clock, and a few more holdout Japanese were killed. Namur was evidently home to a rather serious network of underground tunnels, which had to be explored and cleared out one by one.

Marines started to board the transports starting on February 8.

We received 100 marines from the assault forces this afternoon.... We expect about 1500 marines aboard tomorrow. They present a miserable spectacle, with a week's growth of beard, and fatigue uniforms torn and dirty.

- C. W. Hussey, 295th JASCO

Finally, at 1300 on February 11, Roi-Namur was officially turned over to the Navy. The 4500 man garrison under a Captain Gwen was composed mainly of Seabees, base personnel, and a small Marine guard detachment.

The Japanese struck back early in the morning of February 12.

[We] were lucky enough to have left the island before it was bombed by Jap planes – we watched that from the lagoon – it reminded me of the Fourth of July – that time we were on the Boston boat and watched the fireworks along the sound.

- Phil Wood letter, dated February 13, 1944

Well, Tojo reaped his revenge upon us this morning. Quoted below is the Navy Intelligence Officer's report of the air raid:"0200--By radio from Island Base Commander of Roi Island. TG alerted for approaching enemy aircraft bearing 245 degrees, distance 51 miles; succeeding bearings and distances 295 degrees--45 miles; 285 degrees--45 miles; 325 degrees--45 miles. Number and types undetermined

0209--Condition Red assumed--all hands called to G.Q.
0215--Smoke pots on ships and small boats set off
. 0220-- four search lights on Roi Island searching skies
. 0229--AA firing on Roi Island and from 3 ships in the lagoon.
0240-_Several large bombs were dropped on Roi Island and direct hits made on the fuel and munitions stores piled on the southern beach, setting off tremendous fires and explosions from the munitions and rolling flames and smoke from the fuel. Immediately after the first bomb struck a stick of about 8 small bombs were observed bursting in succession north of the southern beach of Roi. All AA fire ceased and searchlights went out when first bombs hit.
0420--smoke pots secured by order of Island Base Commander.
0440--All clear.
0600--Ships of TG sent boats and medical officers and corpsmen and medical supplies to Roi and to SS TYPHOON--that ship having been designated to receive all casualties from Roi.
0900--Fires on Roi Island still burning.

_ _ _ _ _ _

At about 0240 a bomb struck the water about 1000 yards off our starboard quarter. We were well Covered by our smoke screen at this time, as were most of the ships in the lagoon; however, some ship abeam of us in the vicinity of the MARYLAND and the BALTIMORE opened up with AA fire. Fires started on the beach simultaneously, with direct hits made in our oil and ammunition dumps. As the oil drums exploded it sounded like heavy gunfire, and the tracers from the ammunition dumps looked like a mammoth 4th of July celebration. I counted 8 different fires at one time.

At 0600 the Commodore ordered me to Yokohama Pier on Camouflage to dispatch the casualties in LCV'S to the SS TYPHOON. I dispatched 23 boats with a total number of 252 wounded to the TYPHOON BY 0930. Better than 65 percent of these men had head injuries, and 5 died enroute to the TYPHOON. After combing both islands and seeing that the stream of wounded was reduced to a mere trickle of walking cases I moved back out to the TYPHOON. We were not able to get all the wounded aboard until 1400. At about 1700 we saw the last fire extinguished on Burlesque. When I left the TYPHOON there were only 11 known dead, although we hadn't had any recent intelligence from the beach.

At 1800 we departed along with the SS ROBIN WENTLEY bound for Maui with about 3100 marines aboard the two ships.

- C. W. Hussey, 295th JASCO

[All quotes by Hussey are from this website: http://jasco295.tripod.com]

The final tally of casualties for the operation were as follows:

4th Marine Division:

190 killed, 547 wounded

Imperial Japanese Navy

[61st Guard Force, 4th Fleet Construction Unit, 24th Air Floatilla HQ, 275th, 281st, and 735th Air Units]

3,472 killed, 264 captured

"It was like hunting rats...."

...the Top woke me up to stand watch for a couple of hours while he slept. He never realized that it was me until the next morning – thought I was some private, though he said that he should have recognized the bony knees and elbows – flares whistling weirdly and painting all things with a ghastly whitewash – occasional bursts of Jap machine gun fire over our heads – red tracer streaks against the sky – the sigh and wash of the sea at our side, and the distinctive, sickeningly sweet odor of Japs – something they eat makes them all smell the same.

At dawn the Captain called to me, and told me that he had checked all night, by radio, and found out that there were no Marines on the beach beyond us, only Japs, so it was safe to fire the mortars. We set a time, and I crawled back to the guns, and sat there with them, cleaned my carbine in the growing light, ate a couple of squares of chocolate – the first food I’d had in 24 hours, but I wasn’t hungry – drank a little water, the first I’d had in almost a day, and smoked my first cigarette with relish, as soon as it was light enough not to show.

- Phil Wood

The 24th Marines had weathered their first night in combat. The soon-to-be-standard warning "Stand by for counterattack" had made its way down the line, and as expected, several Japanese went screaming forward in the darkness, striking in Third Battalion's sector. Company B, attached to that battalion as reinforcements in the same manner that A was to Second Battalion, repulsed the enemy as they poured into a gap between their flank with Company I.

We had been told before we went in to expect it – that no matter how hopeless the situation, the Japs would always counter-attack, to save face and all that. They did it, but it hit our left, in B Company’s sector, before dawn with wild yelling and all the accoutrements – firecrackers, samurai waving officers who shouted commands in English – B Company was pushed back by the sheer violence of the attack, and they suffered pretty heavy casualties; but their 60mm mortars saved the day – they fired at a perilously close range, but succeeded in breaking up the charge. A damned good weapon – my favorite – if I had enough of them and enough men, I think I could pretty near win this war with them alone.

- Phil Wood

Reinforcements were quickly assembled and dispatched to the scene of the action, but it was all over within 35 minutes. Not only were the Japanese repulsed, but an additional 50 yards of ground had been gained.

[The aftermath of the banzai attack against B Company.]

The jump-off time was set for 0900. The units on the left and center had the farthest distance to go - a couple hundred yards still separated them from the beach - but Able Company on the right still faced a troublesome series of defenses around Nut Lane, crowned by a stubborn pillbox that had resisted assaults the day before. They waited for tank support - delayed, ironically, by their success on the day before; it had been anticipated that the tankers would still be deployed on Roi, but the speedy conquest of that island and subsequent movement of the tanks to Namur meant that their supplies of fuel and ammunition were inconveniently far away.

The mortarmen of Able Company were finally able to put their skills to use.

We fired about a hundred rounds, poured them into the dugouts and pillboxes that had given us so much trouble the day before. We heard screams and groans from where they fell, and it was all we could do to keep from cheering – our shelling brought return rifle fire from what was left of the Japs, and a couple of snipers started peppering our positions – but they were damned poor shots, and we finally cut them out of the trees.

- Phil Wood

Finally, at 10.06, the tanks and halftracks arrived and the Marines unleashed hell upon the last remaining enemy in their sector. The commander of First Battalion, Lt. Colonel Aquilla Dyess, led the attack on foot; his red hair neatly complemented by the red bandanna he habitually wore around his neck.

...he was fearless to the point of being foolhardy, refused to take cover – even buck privates were yelling at him to get down, but he’d only wave his Tommy gun at them and say he was a lucky Irishman.

- Phil Wood

The fight was over almost before it began.

That attack broke the back of the resistance – from then on the Japs were disorganized and fleeing. When the mortars went out of action, I went up and helped a couple of my machine gun squads root them out of their dugouts. The mortars had made a slaughterhouse of the area, and then we chased the few remaining, there couldn’t have been more than 25 or 30, up the tank trap, an 8 foot trench that ran around the island just inside the beach.

We raced after them. It was like hunting rats then – they scurried and scrambled, hid among the bodies of their own dead – there were hundreds of dead, killed by the Naval bombing the day before, lying in the trench, horribly twisted and mangled – headless, bodies laid open to the backbone, small pieces of flesh splattered on the ground, and carcasses so thick that at times we had to walk on them to get by. I remember stepping over a Samurai sword, but was too tired to even pick it up. Didn’t care.

- Phil Wood

As the Marines approached the trench that Sergeant Tucker had covered the night before, the one remaining Japanese shoved the barrel of his Arisaka rifle into his mouth, kicked off one of his shoes, and pulled the trigger with his toe. He lay alongside some 38 of his comrades, many of whom had been killed by a single shot between the eyes - testament to Tucker's skill.


Finally, the end was in sight. The Japanese piled into the antitank trench and shot at the Marines with everything they had left - rifles, machine guns, pistols, and grenades. Dyess was still leading, shouting and waving his submachine gun, glorying in the fight. He jumped up on the parapet as several Marine tanks turned the flank of the trench, spraying canister rounds and machine gun fire and piling up Japanese bodies three deep in some places.

One Japanese machine gunner still had some fight left in him.

...Col. Dyess was killed halfway up by a machine gun that they had set up in ambush. Fired at me, I think, but I heard the click of the bolt and hit the deck, and the shots went over me.

- Phil Wood

Captain Schechter was reminded of a strange conversation he had had with Dyess aboard the USS DuPage.

...one day when we were aboard the transports, Colonel Dyess asked to see me in private. We went over to the fantail and he put a hand on my shoulder.

"Buck," he said, "I know you're a lawyer. I also know I'm going to be killed on this operation. I want you to help me make out my will."

"Oh come on, Colonel," I answered, "I'll be glad to help on your will. My fee will be your picking up the check when we have dinner after the war back in the States. You're not going to get killed."

"Thank you, Buck, but I just feel in my bones that I am going to get killed."

And, of course, he did.

- Irving Schechter, 1982 interview quoted in "Semper Fi, Mac" by Henry Berry.

Lt. Colonel Dyess. 1909 - 1944

And then, suddenly, it was over.

...we met the other units coming around the island from the other side – the island was secured – well in hand, I suppose you’d call it, by one or two in the afternoon. We walked back down the beach – that picture that I sent you – and assembled in the center of the island – began to find out who was killed, and I realized that my face was taut and tired, and it was from pulling my lips tight into a set expression so that the sight of those piled bodies wouldn’t show on my face.

- Phil Wood

The last resistance was overcome by 1215. The units that had not been too badly hit during the assault phase were assigned to mop up duty; Able Company was one of those.

We started to clean up – mop up the wooded area for isolated snipers, and my platoon found a couple of cases of Jap beer – we all had a bottle or two – they forced five on me, and I promptly got tight – no food and almost no water.

Helped clean up the last few snipers with a bun on – a funny story for the grandchildren, and historically quite correct – the victors drunk on their spoils, and pillaging if there had been anything left to pillage. Except that I didn’t feel like any part of the grand stream of history. My feelings were all intensely personal, as I remember.

And when the mopping up was over, and the terns were again beginning to show luminous white against the darkening sky, we returned to the spot on the beach where we had spent the night before, and fell exhausted on the ground. Never have I been so weary – so drained of feeling.

- Phil Wood

They began to find out which of their friends were alive, and which had fallen. Phil Wood's "Agony Quartette" had been demolished. "Big Harry" Reynolds had taken a bullet in the leg. Ted Johnson, the Executive Officer of C Company, had also been hit in the leg, but far more seriously. He died aboard a hospital ship and was buried at sea. 1st Lt. Howard "Frank" Shattuck had also been wounded and evacuated.

As Phil Wood would later note, their casualties had been "comparatively light." Yet they were still dear friends wounded and killed. Each man accepted the loss in his own way, for the young lieutenant, "they were simply facts to be noted, not to feel."

That evening, the sky was graced by the most beautiful sunset that any who saw it could remember. The entire sky was painted gold. Even Corporal Ervin, freshly bandaged aboard the USS Solace, was impressed by the natural requiem for Able Company's baptism of fire.

KILLED:
PFC Stephen Peter Hopkins. Washington, DC. Age 18. Died of "cranial avulsions" aboard USS Calvert. Buried at sea.
PFC Cecil Graham Lewis. Bumpus Mills, TN. Age 23. Died of bullet wounds to the chest, reportedly caused by sniper fire. (Lewis succeeded Bill Quinn's squad when the former was wounded).
PFC Paul Glen Southerland. Lawton, OK. Age 22.

WOUNDED:
1st Lt. Harry Dare Reynolds, Jr.
Corporal Arthur B. Ervin, Jr.
PFC John C. Card
PFC Raymond E. Davis
PFC Edward John Horan
PFC William J. Quinn
PFC Leon H. Roquet
PFC Dalton J. Young
Private David C. Henderson
Private Lawrence Elmer Knight
Private Philip Valley

We slept, although it wasn’t sleep that we needed – just a chance to stretch out in the sun, alone, and do and think of nothing at all.

- Phil Wood

Members of Able Company after Namur, displaying some of their trophies. Amedeo Izzo is standing at far right.

For some excellent pictures of the islands as they appear today, see Nowhereatoll. Of particular note is the large blockhouse at Nadine Point, which was one of the obstacles tackled by Able Company - either Ervin's blockhouse, or the one taken on February 2.


Map showing the progress of the campaign, from the USMC Historical Monograph.

"...every man muttered 'Christ, this is it!' to himself..."

"Up before dawn, tight stomach but a ravenous appetite – forgot to wake up Ted, and he almost missed the boat. The last time I saw him, he was mad as Hell and cussed me out for a knucklehead. Went down into the men’s compartment, and they were all excited but very gay – overnight the atmosphere had changed – the incessant pounding had been going on for 24 hours now, and we didn’t see how there could be anything left."

- Phil Wood letter, April 2, 1944

Operation Flintlock was now in its second day. The small islands flanking "Burlesque" and "Camouflage" - Roi and Namur - had fallen to the 25th Marines on January 31, with only light resistance. The division's artillery, the 14th Marines, had landed and set up their heavy guns to support the coming assault. The Navy was systematically pulverizing the two larger islands, sending up columns of smoke and occasional sheets of fire.

"The day was perfect, from our troop transport we could see in the distance the islands we were supposed to take from the Japanese.... The islands were beautiful, large palm trees swaying in the bright sunlight. The Navy was blowing the islands to pieces."

- Alva Perry, BAR gunner and Able Company scout.

It was expected that Roi would be the tougher nut to crack. There was a large airfield covering most of the island, which was the primary objective of the Marines in the boats. Its slightly smaller companion, Namur, was dotted with supply warehouses and barracks for the Japanese garrison. Both had been subjected to weeks of preparatory bombing and shelling, and the prevailing sentiment shared by all - Marine and Navy, general and private - was that there would be very little for the Marines to do once they had landed. With the lessons of Tarawa fresh in mind (the preliminary bombardment had been woefully inadequate, resulting in horrifying casualties among the Marines), the Navy gunners and carrier pilots were going all out.

However, the best laid plans can always go astray. The troubles began almost at once as officers realized that there were nowhere near as many amtracks as they had been led to expect. The small tracked craft had landed the 25th Marines with little difficulty, but many were unable to find their parent ships to refuel. The LST that had launched them had no recognition lights, and many skippers turned away amtracks from other ships. The result of this confusion was that many amtracks were stranded on dry land on the outlying islands, unable to move for want of fuel. Only 48 of the allotted 110 vehicles had arrived by 0630, and the time for the assault was drawing near.

The Second and Third Battalions of the 24th were scheduled to make the initial assault landing, with First Battalion in a floating reserve to be sent in as needed. The available amtracks were distributed, and the Marines divided themselves into "boat teams." These were organized from each platoon, with the idea that the companies would reorganize themselves once they had made it to the O-1 line halfway across the island. Each boat was led by a platoon commander or platoon sergeant, and consisted of a light machine gun or mortar team, two BAR teams, a three-man bazooka team, and five riflemen carrying demolition material for use on the inevitable fortifications. After the breakfast of steak and eggs (which would become the customary final meal before a landing, gaining it the dubious sobriquet of "the condemned man's breakfast"), the loudspeakers crackled and the loading of the amtracks began. Later waves would have to be content landing in LCVP craft (the familiar "Higgins Boat") and wading ashore.

Able Company was supposed to stay in reserve for the Second Battalion. In the continuing confusion, G/2/24 missed the assembly area, and Able was put on standby to join the first assault wave. Finally, G Company chugged up in scrounged amtracks, and as the shells howled overhead the signal was given to "land the landing force." The commanding officer of the 24th, Colonel Franklin Hart, wanted to delay the landing until he could find more tractors - 24 were still missing - but it was already 11:12, and the 23rd Marines were already racing towards the beachhead on Roi. The 24th would have to go ahead as they were, with each of its assault battalions at only two-thirds of their planned strength.

[Namur on the morning of February 1. Small black specks in top of photo are the landing craft of the first wave of the 24th Marines]

It took a long time for the tractors to reach the beachheads. The Marines were heartened by the lack of incoming fire, and equally pleased by the amount of steel flashing overhead. A brief rain squall blew in and threatened to disrupt a planned strike by carrier-based planes, but the pilots persevered and came in low overhead, tearing up the already blasted landscape. It was 11:55 when 2/24 ground ashore on beach Green 2, on the right flank of the line.

[A machine gun team from Second Battalion comes ashore. Yokohama Pier, the dividing structure between the two beaches, may be seen in the background.]

The confusion continued. The bombardment had been almost too effective in places, and had obliterated many of the landmarks that both Marines and amtrackers were to rely upon to maintain their alignment. Furthermore, an unexpected obstacle cropped up in the form of an anti-tank ditch that proved to be much larger in reality than it had appeared in recon photos. Had all gone according to plan, the Marines would have been ferried 100 yards inland by the amtracks - but as it was, they were forced to debark at the water's edge and move forward on foot. Companies E and F landed almost on top of each other, but the men, in a testament to their training, formed ad-hoc assault groups and pushed forward of their own volition until they could be reorganized.

It was clear that the bombardment had not been one hundred percent effective. Shattered trees, burning buildings, and smashed positions were everywhere in evidence, but still the Marines were experiencing heavy incoming rifle and machine gun fire. 3/24 landed at 1200 and muscled their way forward to the O-1 line, making steady progress but taking inevitable casualties.

Back on the DuPage, Able Company was being loaded into their LCVPs. They daubed their faces with camouflage paint, checked each other's equipment, arranged their packs and watched the smoky island that was their destination. A thoughtful officer handed out chewing tobacco; some of the younger Marines opted for chewing gum instead. The LCVPs were capable of landing 36 equipped men at once, and it would appear that the concept of the assault boat team was done away with. They clambered down into the small craft without incident and pulled away from the USS DuPage. Even now, the plan was not functioning efficiently:

They called us up topside by boat groups – mine was last – by about an hour, the motor conked out – when we finally went over the net there were only a couple of landing boats to be seen, circling aimlessly around, belonging to other outfits. I took off like a bat out of Hell for where I thought the Company was – several miles away in the lagoon – they tagged along and we made quite a sizable group – it was raining, and cold and the water was rough – I wandered from one rendezvous area to another, almost deciding to go in with the assault wave of another regiment, and finally stumbled on “A” Co. shells screaming overhead – the smell of powder, the brilliantly blue lagoon, and shivering with cold – for now it could only be cold....

Their emotions ran the full gamut from excitement to trepidation to disappointment.

Mortarman Wilbur Plitt, who suffered from chronic seasickness, was trying his hardest to keep his stomach under control. Alva Perry was likewise nauseated, from nervousness more than the choppy waves, and found that sweat, rain, and spray caused the camouflage paint to run down into his eyes, making them burn and nearly blinding him. Machine gun squad leader Arthur Ervin, who had been at Pearl Harbor, Midway, and Guadalcanal, was stoic and quiet, chewing a plug of tobacco. Rifleman Lawrence Knight joined in a spirited chorus of the Marine's Hymn. George Smith, Howie Haff, and JJ Franey were clowning around, playing Mutiny on the Bounty. Their leaders, having been keyed up for so long, were disheartened.

...the word seemed clear in all the outfits I talked to that there was nothing left – I don’t know how they thought they knew, but we believed it; and felt bitterly disappointed. All the work, preparation, and worry seemed to be for nothing – there was nothing to do but walk ashore – Harry’s face when I finally found his boat was a study in dejection – “We won’t get our licks in now,” he yelled, but we formed up anyway.

Our Battalion was in reserve for the Regiment, and about 40 minutes after the first wave went in they called for us – we didn’t know why – probably to share to coconuts with them, but we started in. “A” Co. was to reinforce the Battalion assigned to the right half of Namur – we looked long and hard at the low island – the shelling had stopped now but a steady column of smoke went drifting over our heads – we could see the blasted palm trees, the tortured steel skeletons of the two hangers of Roi – we got down, just for form, because we had always done it, but inwardly terrifically let down – empty....

They passed the main battle line of the fleet, where the battleship USS Washington was blasting away. As the small boats passed the mighty warship, she let go with a full broadside. The shock wave nearly swamped the LCVPs, and many of the startled Marines swallowed their chewing gum. There was now nothing between them and the enemy but the thin hull of their boat. Ashore, the battle was moving forward in fits and starts. Marines were moving forward, cleaning out Japanese positions one by one. Corpsman on the beach attended to the wounded and the dying, and the regiment's first dead were carefully and respectfully set aside.

It was 1305. F Company had been reorganized, and its demolitions teams were busy throwing satchel charges into any structure they saw, occupied or not. One of those teams, headed by Lt. Saul Stein, approached a large blockhouse. Upon breaching the wall with a shaped charge, they were startled to see a full platoon of Japanese soldiers burst out the door and run hell-for-leather away from the building. This was the first time most of the Marines had seen their enemies up close, and at first they were too surprised to fire, let alone wonder at the reason for the exodus. Chalking it up to Oriental inscrutability, they heaved their satchel charges into the hole and ducked for cover.

It wouldn't be enough.

[Namur island disappears entirely under a cloud of smoke, debris, falling warheads, and body parts]

...suddenly when we were about 100 yards off shore a tremendous blast of air seemed to stop the boat, followed by a wave of sound that left everything throbbing – we involuntarily poked our heads up and looked – the whole right half of the island had heaved and coughed its flaming entrails up into the air – hundreds of feet above us – a Pillar of Fire in the daytime – the biggest munitions dump on the island had been mined and set off by the Japs a couple of hundred yards inland, concrete blocks rained into the water around us, every man muttered “Christ, this is it!” to himself, and a huge cloud of black ash drifted over the boat – so thick you couldn’t breathe or see the man next to you in the boat – the most terrifying moment I’ve ever spent – there seemed to be no more sound left in the world.

[The explosion as seen from neighboring Roi Island. Note the landing craft approaching the beach.]

F Company's team had detonated the main magazine on Namur, where tons of aerial bombs and torpedoes had been stored. Twenty Marines were killed outright, a further hundred were wounded, and one man with a charmed life was blow clear off the island and into the ocean, where he was later picked up - shocked, but uninjured. Second Battalion's advance came to a screeching halt around the massive crater, which was already beginning to fill with water. Nearby magazines started exploding, sending more debris into the air. One Marine on the beach ducked for cover, then heard a whistling and a thud - the man next to him had disappeared under a chunk of concrete the size of a refrigerator, and only his lower legs were visible.

[The blockhouse had stood here. Note Marines on the lip of the crater for scale.]

Able Company was also handed its first casualties. Al Perry's boat had just dropped its ramp - they had been using the blockhouse as a guide - and a piece of masonry hurtled down into the boat, striking PFC William Quinn in the shoulder. Perry, standing immediately behind Quinn, was convinced that his friend had just lost his arm, but stepped around him and ran forward. In another boat, PFC Edward Horan was knocked to the deck by a fragment striking his helmet. He wasn't badly hurt, but a trickle of blood wound down his face. Corpsman Francis Munski, standing next to Horan, rounded on him and sized him up. "You can't go in," he said, in a tone that brokered no debate.

Horan would be damned if he was going to miss the landing. "Why in the hell not?"

"Because you're bleeding," said Munski.

"Well, I ain't bleeding THAT bad!" Horan shot back. The two bickered back and forth as the boat ground ashore, paying no attention to the anxious Marines behind them who wanted nothing more than to get the hell onto the beach and off the now stationary target. Eventually, Munski - a tough, no-nonsense former rancher from Montana - prevailed, and Horan was taken back out to a hospital ship with much grumbling.

Phil Wood tried to clear the cover of ash from his facepaint, gave up, and:

...pounded ashore through the shallow water to find thousands of men crouched on the beach in the shelter of a slight rise. They were as thick as flies – I said “Another Tarawa” to myself, and found a lieutenant that I knew calmly trying to bandage a man who had half his face torn off by two machine gun bullets. He simply said, “Don’t go up there, Phil – it’s all mined – we had just knocked out the machine guns that were trained on the beach and started in and they blew it. It got Jim and every man in his platoon. We’ve lost a lot.” I turned to go and stepped on a body burned black – Jap – so much foul meat – but I cussed it and was mad at it when I should, I suppose, have been revolted.

[The "Jim" is probably 1st Lt. James B. Heater, F/24, wounded in action].

George Smith and his close friend Tom Hurley rocketed off their boat as soon as Horan was out of the way. They recognized the beachmaster, who screamed at them to "get the hell off the beach!" Smith and Hurley didn't wait to be told twice, but leaped over the low sea wall and took cover in the anti-tank ditch.


Here they confronted their first Japanese. He was dead, and evidently had been for some time - most likely a victim of the opening bombardment. He was beginning to bloat up in the heat; his skin tightening around an expanding body, with discolored streaks running down his face as if someone with varnished fingers had slapped him. Later, Smith would remember the Japanese wore knee-high boots. What struck the Americans most was the man's size. He had evidently stood over six and a half feet; a lofty height for anyone in the 1940s but particularly for a Japanese man. Smith was taken aback - he had believed the Japanese were all short and bandy legged with glasses and buck teeth - and he turned to Hurley and shouted "I think I'm in the wrong ball game!" He knew he could take all the short Nipponese in the world, but this giant was something else altogether.

Al Perry was still battling against the camouflage paint in his eyes. A Japanese machine gun had spotted him, and for what seemed like an eternity the young Marine was pinned face down just off the beach. He could see the tracers reflecting off his BAR as they whipped by overhead. He didn't recognize anyone around him, and was wondering if he would be there until nightfall, when a Hellcat fighter roared in overhead, guns blazing. The Japanese machine gun stopped abruptly. Perry picked himself up and stumbled inland.

[Carrier based Hellcat fighters race overhead to provide air support]

Able Company was on the far right of the Marine line. To their left was Company E, to their right the beach and the Pacific ocean. The staff of Second Battalion were scrambling to find the extent of the damage caused by the explosion, and their assault companies were stalled. The pause would give the relatively fresh reinforcements of Able Company time to catch up and press along to the O-1 lines. Before them, they could see what Lt. Phil Wood later described as:

...a dry, hot, fetid version of the worst section of No Man’s Land that France ever had to offer – no living green thing, blasted tree trunks, huge gaping shell holes - disemboweled trucks, heaps of concrete and lumber that were once fortifications - bodies by the thousands – parts of bodies – so disfigured that they beggar description – horrible.

[Stuart tank "Hothead" of Company B, 4th Tank Battalion, passes through a company headquarters]

Captain Schechter, faced with his first combat decision under fire, ordered Able to advance over the blasted ground. Although the cover was gone, he could be sure there were less Japanese to his front. The company moved out, leapfrogging from one shell hole to the next. The resident veteran, Corporal Ervin, led the company of his own volition, sometimes as much as fifty feet ahead of the next man. To be isolated in terrain populated by snipers was almost reprehensibly dangerous, and when a Japanese soldier threw back the cover of his spider hole and popped above ground nearly at Ervin's feet, it seemed that the corporal's bravado would be his undoing. Perhaps the defender was nervous, perhaps he hadn't expected to see an American that close, or perhaps he was just miserably unlucky, but the one shot he managed to loose from his Arisaka rifle left a long burn mark up Ervin's side without breaking the skin. Ervin turned and fired without aiming, killing the unfortunate Japanese instantly. He came trotting back down the road towards the rest of the gunners, shirt flapping open and a strange look on his face. His squad clustered around, convinced that he had been wounded - he had that look and couldn't speak - until he finally gagged and spluttered and his comrades realized that in his surprise he had swallowed his plug of chewing tobacco. The peculiar look on his face had been one of intense concentration as he fought to keep from vomiting. When they realized that their lion of a corporal hadn't been badly hurt, the gunners broke out laughing.

The bombardment had cleared out most of the resistance in the southern portion of the island, and the company encountered only a few other isolated snipers until they drew near to the O-1 line near Nadine Point. There, Lieutenant Wood saw his first live enemy:

The first one I saw was half naked – an Officer, brandishing a Samurai sword. I slowly sighted on him, but before I squeezed the trigger he was down – one of my machine gunners was standing over him, smashed out a gold front tooth and put it in his pocket – I yelled, “Why?” – he said because his dad had asked for one, I said I was glad it was for a sentimental reason.

Able Company was approaching a complex of bunkers, pillboxes, and trenches that formed an anchor of the Japanese defensive line. Stragglers from F Company were beginning to reorganize and tag along with Able's advance, which was the "foremost echelon of the Regiment" as far as any of them could see.

Corporal Ervin had recovered from his startling experience, and was back in front as if nothing had happened. He could be seen up ahead, frantically waving for the company to catch up, and Lt. Wood gathered a team and rushed forward to help. Ervin had found a small dugout containing six or seven Japanese and had jumped up on the parapet, emptied a clip and thrown two grenades, and was desperate for more. The gunners were eager to get into the fight, and unslung their carbines. Phil Wood crouched as low as his six-foot-four frame would allow - he wasn't a terribly agile man; his men remarked that he "ran like a wounded deer," but the Japanese were distracted by the destruction being wrought by Ervin's team, and he managed to sneak around behind the position without being seen.

...while they finished off the ones that were there, I waited for any that might retreat – one did, and I shot him as he tried to sneak past me in the undergrowth. I was partly, very dimly conscious that I had killed, but more aware of the satisfying way my little carbine heaved in my hands and coughed up bullets. I realized that the sound of my firing might attract snipers, so I moved off and sat quietly in the bush, waiting for the others to come up.

More Marines appeared, in the form of Lt. Roy Wood's rifle platoon. The riflemen and machine gunners moved forward cautiously, and dove to the ground as a nearby blockhouse erupted in a storm of machine gun fire. One of Able's machine gunners opened fire, as he had been trained to do - but trapping most of the company between himself and the Japanese.

[A gunner and his assistant, 24th Marines]

The Marines scrambled for cover as "all Hell broke loose overhead." Phil Wood landed in a Y-shaped trench that ran perpendicular between the beach and the road, next to his young gunners Steve Hopkins and George Smith. They were not alone. Several Able Company riflemen had been using the trench for cover, and were studiously ignoring a Japanese soldier who lay with his head against the trench, immobile. To Smith, it looked like he had been praying when he was killed.

Hopkins wasn't buying it. They had all heard stories of the tricks the Japs would pull - shouting in English, booby trapping souvenirs, and playing dead until a careless Marine got too close. Everyone else in the trench was looking forward, but Hoppy kept his rifle dead center on the corpse's head. Hoppy followed his lieutenant up the trench, with his muzzle almost touching the dead man - who suddenly came to life, holding a grenade in his hand. Luckily for the Marines, Japanese grenades had to be armed by striking them against something, usually a helmet. The Jap had raised his arm halfway when Hopkins' first bullet tore through his brain. To his and Smith's disbelief, the .30 caliber round only caused the enemy to pause, shake his head as if stunned, and continue to move his hand towards his helmet. Hopkins emptied the rest of his magazine into the Jap. His face was deathly white, and he couldn't stop chattering. With disbelief and shock tempered by indignation, he appealed to his platoon leader, "Did you see, Mr. Wood? Did you see the grenade? Did you see what he was going to do?"


It had nearly been a fatal mistake, and one of the few Phil Wood would ever make. The lesson was dramatically learned and illustrated: never trust a dead Japanese unless you shot him yourself - then shoot him again to make sure. It soon became commonplace for any Marines passing a Japanese corpse to put an additional shot or two into each. The cost in ammunition was far outweighed by how many lives were saved by this sensible - if brutal - practice.

Other machine gunners behind the trench cut loose on the blockhouse, which was still spitting fire, and for a time the men in the trench were pinned there, as several pounds of lead whipped by overhead. Occasional explosions nearby indicated that the Japanese were trying to hit the trench with a grenade launcher - one the Marines popularly called a "knee mortar" - had one of its 50mm projectiles landed in the trench, there would have been a catastrophe, but luckily the gunner's aim was off.

Once more, the advance was not moving quickly enough for the ambitious Corporal Ervin. He waited for a lull in the firing, then - as Phil Wood was distracted by the arrival of young PFC Bill Imm, his runner for the mortar section - he slipped out of the trench. A different machine gun began firing, there was the answering snap of an M1 and the blast of a grenade, shouts, screams. Ervin reappeared, helmetless, bleeding from several small cuts on his face. He told the men in the trench that he had found a machine gun nest outside the blockhouse. He had killed two of the gunners, but a Japanese officer had knocked his helmet off with a pistol round; the bullet had fragmented and hit him in the face, luckily missing his eyes.


Overhead, the machine gunners opened up again, answered by the blockhouse. It was time to involve the other section of the Weapons platoon. The mortars were behind the front lines, ready and waiting to fire in support of the advance. Instead of sending Imm back alone, Phil Wood decided to go back himself. He described his role to his mother and sister:

That was my job – to find targets for the mortars, check and see that no friendly troops were too close, and then adjust their fire onto the target. The mortar fires from behind the lines, and they need someone to control their fire from the front. My machine gun squads were attached to the rifle platoon, but if they happened to be around and I spotted targets for them, I controlled their fire, too.

When he arrived at his mortar section, he found that the Japanese knee mortars had not been entirely fruitless. Several wounded men lay in the relative safety of the mortar position, their faces showing the shock of traumatic injury and the scare of a first exposure to combat. The young lieutenant was happy to think that his mortars - who had shown great proficiency on the target range - would be able to hit the enemy before more Marines were hurt. However, by the time the excited mortarmen had set up their tubes and found the range, more of the company's riflemen had rushed forward to join the fight, and they were crowding too close to the blockhouse.

... the biggest trouble I had, though – our boys, the riflemen, were too eager to attack. Several times I could have saved lives if they had only waited for a preparatory mortar barrage, but they couldn’t wait to close with the Japs. It made for a headlong, rushing attack that never gave the enemy a chance to reorganize. Every one of them is vividly conscious of the fact that he is a Marine.

The "headlong, rushing attack" that could not wait for mortars found the punch it needed in the bazooka. Each regiment carried several of the relatively new rocket launchers in its weapons pool, parceling them out for assaults or for specific missions. The boat teams of the assault waves carried one apiece, and in the absence of Japanese tanks, the bazooka found a new role as a bunker-buster. After a few rounds, the machine guns were knocked out and Ervin - accompanied by company executive officer "Big Harry" Reynolds - raced across the open ground with grenades, which they flung into the firing ports. The others followed close behind; Phil Wood picked up Ervin's dented helmet, intending to throw it to the corporal, but a second bullet whizzed in and sent it flying. Ervin was not deterred. He leaped onto the roof of the blockhouse, and:

...stood there silhouetted against the sky – legs spread apart, hatless, with blood on his face and his coat flung open, firing his rifle from the hip into the dugout....

Ervin slammed another clip into his rifle, jumped off the roof and raced headlong for the dugout. The Japanese were lucky, this time. As he passed in front of the amazed lieutenants, a rifle shot hit him in the right side, and he fell out of sight into a hole. The Marines nearby yelled to him, and were met with a sharp retort - Ervin did NOT need any help, he said - and to their astonishment, Ervin appeared, dragging himself out of the hole with his right arm, and making his way back to where the officers stood. He was clearly in pain, but not yet ready to give up the fight; he turned down all offers of assistance and demanded grenades. If he couldn't fire with one arm, he could at least throw grenades. Reynolds eventually had the last word - he was not called "Big Harry" for nothing, and could be very intimidating when the need arose - and Ervin retired in a storm of protest and under a direct order to report back to the aid station.

There was plenty of fight left in the Japanese, though, and Phil turned to his steady, soft-spoken, and ever-so-slightly peculiar machine gun section leader, Sergeant Frank Tucker. The sergeant, a former traveling salesman from the small town of Hugo, Oklahoma, was nearly thirty years old - one of the oldest in the company, older than any of his commissioned officers - and was as solidly dependable as Ervin was headstrong and reckless. Tucker, Phil Wood, Roy Wood, Reynolds, and a few riflemen of Roy Wood's platoon yanked the cotter pins from their grenades, and lobbed them into the troublesome dugout only ten yards away. The explosions were deafening and devastating. Tucker and Corporal Franklin Robbins jumped from their cover, but hit the ground again almost immediately - at which point the three lieutenants and other riflemen went over the top, as some of their relatives had done in France, many years ago - and shot everything that moved. Phil Wood took aim at a rifle sticking around a corner, knocked it from the Jap's hands, and kept the silk battle flag tied to it as a souvenir.

Finally, the dugout was clear. Phil Wood turned to his runner, gave specific directions for the disposition of the mortars, and with PFC Imm, turned to face the front. He saw that the others had chased after a few Japanese who had run from the dugout, stopping only to pick off a defender as they raced along the beach. Not wanting to be left behind, the two men from Weapons platoon raced after, only to be brought up short by sudden heavy firing. Moving forward cautiously, they found themselves on the edge of a wide clearing. Nearly 100 yards away, they could see twelve Marines - among them Sergeant Tucker, lieutenants Roy Wood and Harry Reynolds, and Larry Knight - in a blistering and lopsided firefight with another trench full of Japanese. Some 25 of the enemy lay sprawled across the clearing, but an estimated 50 had turned on their pursuers. A nearby officer yelled at Phil Wood and Imm to get down, that the Japanese had machine guns laying a crossfire down the road and across the clearing, and were killing anyone who tried to move forward. As if on cue, a Marine sprinted across the clearing and was immediately cut down.

That was enough. Phil Wood and Bill Imm crouched down in their hole, not daring to move forward and unwilling to move back. The young lieutenant was faced with another realization of combat - that of fear.

I lay on my back, looking up at a shell scarred fragment of a tree that stood over our hole, watching the beautiful serene white terns soar over the battlefield – and for the first time, I was really afraid. Afraid of my own motives for staying there. I knew damned well that it was foolish to think of going up, but that didn’t matter. I was still afraid, wasn’t I? Yes, I was afraid, but it was a justifiable fear of a certain death – still afraid, though – I thought of the mortars, but the other Lt. said that the Third Battalion had reached the beach a few hundred yards up the line, and this was the last pocket of resistance. I thought he was wrong, and he was, but I couldn’t take a chance, and in the growing dusk I sat and worried – still firing forward, what could I do – nothing, but they needed help. Imm is asleep, confident that anything I decide is correct – but I haven’t decided, there is no decision to make – were are too disorganized to effect a mass rush, the Company spread out from here back to the blockhouse. They need help. Yes, I am afraid, I’ll admit it, but what about it? A half-track passed over our hole on the way up the road, but it doesn’t get 25 yards in front of us before it is stopped by the sheer force of thousands of rounds from Jap heavy machine guns – it backs off, without even getting a chance to fire a round. I now admit that I’m afraid – even to myself, but am no longer ashamed of it.

Other elements of Able Company were encountering armor support. The 24th Marines had been organized into a Regimental Combat Team, and were supported by Company B, 4th Tank Battalion. These tankers were riding in M5A1 light tanks, mounting a 37mm main gun. Some were equipped with flamethrowers.

Their commander, Captain James L. Denig - son of Brigadier General Robert Denig - was at the head of his column, in his tank Hunter. The roads were generally clear enough for the tanks to pass, but the pre-invasion shelling had caused debris and tree trunks to fall across the road. Denig was proceeding north alongside Narcissus Street, when for some reason his tank swerved through the undergrowth and stuck its nose onto the gravel road where it paused, apparently hung up on a fallen tree. Suddenly, five or six Japanese jumped out of the brush and raced for the tank.

Howard Smith, one of Able Company's BAR gunners, was covering the advance with others from his platoon. He fired off two magazines, spraying the side of the tank, and killed four of the climbing Japanese. A rifleman nearby took care of a fifth. However, the one remaining defender had found what he was looking for - an opening in the tank's armor.

Denig was driving a newer model of the M5. The addition of an onboard radio was relatively new for this model; previous tankers had communicated with a complicated series of flag signals through a small port in the turret. It made sense to retain the port, just in case the radio went down, and Denig's tank was one of those that provided for both means of communication. Inexplicably, though, the flag port had been left open. A possible explanation is that Denig's crew was becoming overheated in their vehicle and had opened the small hatch for a little extra ventilation.

The hatch was barely wide enough for a Japanese grenade, but it was wide enough.

The charged grenade fell through the port, landing in Denig's lap. Within seconds, Hunter was an inferno. The tank was carrying almost a full load of ammunition, and as the intense heat reached the ammunition lockers, rounds began exploding. Howard Smith handed off his BAR and raced towards the blazing Hunter, braving intense gunfire and climbing onto the turret. He hauled Captain Denig bodily out of the turret and dragged the stricken officer to the cover of the nearby underbrush. Smith then ran back to the front of the tank and rescued the assistant driver, Corporal William Taylor. He turned to the driver's hatch and tugged - but the hatch was jammed, the turret frozen in place and preventing it from opening. Nothing could be done for the poor tanker inside, who was found the next day, "pretty well cooked." Smith jumped back onto the tank, where the gunner, Corporal Ben Smith, was frantically trying to free himself. Howard Smith helped him out of the tank and back to the safety of the Marine line. Captain Denig, whose body had been shattered by the grenade blast, died shortly after the rescue, but two of his crew owed their lives to Smith's bravery.

[Captain Denig's tank, Hunter, after the battle's conclusion. A dead Japanese has been run over, and evidently a shell pierced the left side of the tank just above the treads]

Night was falling on the first day of the battle for Namur. At 19.30, Colonel Hart ordered a halt, and told his men to dig in for the night. At the front of Able Company's advance, the Japanese were slowly whittling down the "daring dozen" who still opposed them, although cut off. Lieutenant Reynolds was shot through the leg. Young PFC Knight was shot in the face, but like Corporal Ervin, he refused to leave the line until ordered to do so by Lt. Roy Wood, his platoon commander. Other Marines were being killed and wounded, and with night approaching, concern about infiltrators began to grow. They were too few to attack, and the clearing was still being swept by fire. Something had to be done.

Suddenly, an American rifle cracked, and a Japanese head snapped back and dropped out of sight. Then a second, then a third. The Marines raised cautious heads and saw Sergeant Tucker hidden behind a palm tree. He had crawled away from the group, and was now standing behind a large palm tree, calmly picking off each enemy soldier as they appeared. Furious, the Japanese directed all their attention towards Tucker. Their bullets stripped the bark from the tree, drilled a hole in Tucker's helmet, punctured his canteen, shattered his field glasses, and cut off his rifle belt, yet somehow missed the intrepid sergeant. Tucker, on the other hand, was steadily dropping one enemy after the other. As he silenced two machine guns and nearly a dozen rifles, the rest of the squad dragged the wounded to cover, and established a better defensive position. Once his comrades were safely under cover, Tucker dropped to his stomach. He and an unidentified corporal kept up their harassing fire on the Japanese trench by moonlight.

Meanwhile, Phil Wood and Bill Imm were encountering danger on a mission of their own.

When it became quite dark I woke Imm up, and explained what we were going to do. He almost knifed me when I shook him awake, but luckily I called him by name as I did it. The firing had quieted down, and we hopped out of the shell hole, and scurried off in the dark to where I thought the command post was, to try to arrange to have tanks brought up at dawn. Moving around in the rear, we were challenged many times – often incorrectly, thus causing my answer to be incorrect – the first time, without thinking, I bawled out – “You lugheaded sonofabitch, that’s no way to give the password!” – then realized that the more I did that, the safer I was – everybody was jittery and trigger happy that night, and the more I sounded like a tough ole gunnery sergeant, the more at home they would feel. We wandered around for a little while, but the command post was well hidden, for we never did find it – when we got to the lagoon beach where we landed, half a mile back, I found a phone and called up Battalion to tell them what was happening, and ask for tanks. Col. Dyess surprised me by saying that the Captain had just radioed in the same dope and the same request. So I woke Imm up – with a long stick – and we headed back. We went by way of the beach around the island, to avoid all the trigger-happy boys, and were even more worried by the fact that we didn’t hear any challenge at all. Walking up that silent beach – only sporadic firing inland now – with 60mm mortar parachute flares going off at regular intervals – during which we would freeze in whatever positions we happened to be in. Dead bodies everywhere – some lying in the shallow wash inside the coral reef – the island was beginning to smell already.

By the time they returned to the lines, Captain Schechter had established a stronger defense, employing six machine guns - both the light MGs of Phil Wood's platoon, plus the heavier M1917 Brownings of D Company, under Phil's friend and singing partner Lt. Fred "Fireball" Stott.

There was one more tragedy in store for the weapons platoon that night. PFC Tom Hurley was ordered to move his squad to a new position. Gunner George Smith and his assistant, Richard Grosch, trotted down the dark road until they came upon a heavy machine gun. They turned off the road and moved perhaps fifteen yards nearer to the beach. The Japanese lines were only twenty five yards in front of them. As the ammunition carrier for the crew, Steve Hopkins had followed along and was beginning to dig a foxhole as Smith and Grosch prepared their gun. Smith looked up and saw someone moving down near the beach. The gun was not ready to fire, so he called to Hoppy to cover the man with his rifle. Hoppy dropped prone, struggled for a brief moment with his weapon, and in the blackness a muzzle flashed, a rifle barked, and there was the sound of a bullet striking home. Young Steve Hopkins went limp. Horrified, Smith screamed for a corpsman and went to help his friend. Hopkins was alive, but unconscious. The bullet had slammed into his face, causing catastrophic damage.

A corpsman arrived and immediately went to work. A stretcher had been called for, but was a long time in coming - as they waited, the corpsman told the numbed gun crew that they were ten yards ahead of Able Company's main line, dangerously exposed. Smith, who had a real "head of steam" from seeing his good friend shot down next to him, stood up and demanded to see Lawrence Knight. "Where's Knight?" he kept repeating. "I wanna talk to Knight." He didn't know why - Knight was not a close friend, just someone known by sight and association - but at the time, Knight was the only person to talk to. The corpsman told him that Knight was back behind the lines, and was unable to speak because he'd been shot in the mouth. Finally, a stretcher arrived and Hopkins was gently carried back along the beach to the aid station. He died aboard the USS Calvert within hours, without regaining consciousness.

Phil Wood and Bill Imm located Captain Schechter and his runner - they were nearly shot when they didn't hear the challenge - and the officers exchanged The Word. Schechter had been on the left flank all day, near E Company, and mentioned that all of the company's wounded had been evacuated. They were to expect a counterattack that night, and off in the distance trigger-happy Marines occasionally shot at shadows or at solitary creeping Japanese. Imm had fallen asleep again. Phil Wood "rolled him into a trench," then crawled into a hole with Gunnery Sergeant Walter Russell.

It started to rain – cold, steady, miserable rain – but in spite of the shivering and the flares and the fears of a counter-attack, I slept for a couple of hours....