Authors: Leon Uris
WE HAD
been aboard the
J. Franklin Bell
nearly a month. We were all quite logy and unsteady at first. It was a blessing to be traveling light. Everything we carried was either in our pockets or on our pistol belts. The romance of the trek was exciting but it soon became evident that Highpockets had no scenic tour in mind.
We assembled and moved out quickly. Captain Harper, the gum-chewing skipper of George Company, took the point of march. He was followed by Shapiro’s Foxmen, Headquarters, Major Pagan’s weapons company, and the rear was brought up by Captain Whistler’s Easy Company.
Out a few islands ahead of the battalion a squad from Jasco scouted for us. They were reconnaissance specialists billeted at Fleet Marine Force Headquarters and were sent any place in the theater of war where their talents were needed. Many Jasco men were from the disbanded Raider battalions.
The tide was moving out of the lagoon. The only barrier between islands was ankle-deep water. Harper’s boys waded from Bairiki to Belle and stepped onto the path that ran close to the lagoon side of the island.
We moved along the path down Belle at a stiff pace. A few yards from the age-worn path was the still lagoon. On the other side of the path was light brush that sometimes thickened into jungle denseness. Clusters of palm trees were everywhere. They were smaller than the cultivated palms of the Lever Plantation on Guadalcanal.
The tinyness of the islands was amazing. Like their bastard cousin, Betio, the islands were long and narrow, running like a chain with links of water between them. They varied in length from several yards to several miles. The width was seldom more than a few hundred yards. Opposite the calm lagoon side was sharp cragged coral pounded by a heavy surf from the ocean.
The sun was as blistering as Huxley’s pace but we necessarily slowed down at any signs of Jap life. First we hit an abandoned fuel dump holding several thousand gallons of high octane gas and oil that the Jap commander had wisely dispersed from Betio to prevent conflagration. Now and then an empty thatched hut cropped into view, deserted and eerie. From bits of information that came in we concluded that these islands had been used as an officers’ country club.
The passage from island to island was easy now as the tide completely dried the lagoon to a shelf of glistening moist sand covered with millions of shells and shiny “cats’ eyes.” The devilish heat soon stirred up a string of bitching down the column. Why the hell, out of the whole goddam Second Division, did the Second Battalion have to get this deal? Destiny, sheer destiny for the Hiking Whores.
In late afternoon we found the first concrete evidence of Japs. When crossing from one island to another, we ran into a Jap truck bogged in the soft sand.
“Don’t touch it. It’s probably booby trapped.” Huxley hurried the pace. We were traveling by then on Karen Island, a long one, running some six miles. As dusk fell it seemed as if we were getting nowhere fast in finding the fleeing remnants of the enemy garrison. The size of their force remained a complete mystery. At any rate, they were running like hell. This gave us little comfort, for the last island on the atoll was still a good twenty-five miles away. It held a leper colony.
We were heading east next day on Karen, the outermost island in that direction, when the middle of the island took an elbow swing northwest. It was here that we ran head on into an abandoned village. From this tip of Karen there was a sweeping view of the ocean. Towers made it obvious that the camp was used for observation. George Company moved past the village and set up a guard line as the rest of us moved in to shake the place down.
We split into parties after a cautioning against booby traps and moved from hut to hut digging for clues. The village lay in a clearing surrounded by palm trees. It showed plenty of signs of a hasty retreat.
The huts were nothing more than long slanting roofs reaching nearly to the ground and supported by short stout poles. They were open on all sides but pitched so low we had to stoop to enter. There were no doors or windows, of course, and the decks were covered with woven mats and small pillows, probably the work of the natives. There was little of intelligence value to us. The stripping had been complete. Here and there were Japanese pin-ups and to our surprise several pictures of Hollywood actresses. It appeared that the Imperial Marines had the same attraction to Betty Grable that we had.
A few moldy pieces of leather, a stray helmet smelling of mustiness—little else was left. An artesian well had been dug into the coral in the center of the village but we were warned to draw no water until Doc Kyser tested it for poison. Spanish Joe discovered a pair of women’s silk pajamas, indicating that a ranking officer had commanded the place and had kept a mistress there. We counted the huts to get an estimate of enemy strength and we didn’t like the count. It added up to several hundred.
As we swung north on Karen it began turning dark. George Company set up guard and we pulled to a tired stop. As soon as we got into communication with the Jasco squad and the alligator bringing our supplies, we headed down to the ocean for a dip. The lagoon would have been preferable but the tide had taken all the water from it. Swimming was treacherous in the pounding surf and cutting coral. It was icy cold but revived us.
Shivering and blue, we ran around naked to dry off. The alligator pulled into the bivouac and unloaded and rations were doled out. My boys gathered around the radio for chow.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch. We got K-rations.”
“They must have got us mixed up with the Army on Makin.”
“Heah, heah.”
“Three boxes. Look at the label…breakfast, lunch, and dinner…well, kiss my moneymaking ass.”
“The old Corps is going first cabin.”
“Say, you know what day this is?”
“Sure, Thursday.”
“No, I mean what day?”
“So, what day already?”
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll be go to hell. It’s Thanksgiving…Mary, lead us in prayer.”
“Go to the devil.”
We became quiet as we tore the wax tops from the boxes and pulled out our Thanksgiving meal. The revelation had plunged us all into our own particular memory of what the day meant.
Danny thought of the big football game back in Baltimore. Brisk and cold out and Kathy there on the fifty-yard line wrapped in a blanket, with Sally Davis….
A farmer’s table in Iowa is something to behold on Thanksgiving. Seabags’ folks didn’t just put up a pumpkin pie, they put up a dozen of them.
“Sure is a pretty island.”
“Yeah, it sure is.”
“Levin, do Jewish people celebrate Thanksgiving?” the Injun asked.
“What you think, we’re savages?” Levin answered indignantly. “You should see all the relatives I got. I wanna tell you guys something. You ain’t lived till you get a heat on with Manischewitz Wine.”
“We always got a good feed in the Corps,” Burnside said.
“Hey, you radiomen. Put out that fire and turn the smoking lamp off,” a security guard called.
“I wonder how many Japs they got left?”
“I don’t give a big rat’s ass how many.”
A mantle of darkness enveloped the little atoll. We downed cold coffee, lit up a king-sized cigarette from the K-ration and hid the tip of it. We looked toward the horizon. Far-off streams of smoke penciled into the orange sky from the ships taking the Second and Eighth Marines away. The Sixth was gone too. Only Huxley’s Whores and an unknown destiny remained. The warships and the planes had left for another target. We were alone. An uneasy chill passed through me. On the edge of the world with our battalion…what would tomorrow bring?
L.Q. broke into the spell of nostalgia that was enshrouding us…“Hey, Speedy, how about a song or two before taps?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He went to his foxhole and got his guitar. We were traveling light but not light enough to leave his guitar behind. We sat in a circle about him as the first stars of night appeared in the still sky. From about the bivouac men gathered to listen.
“I was a-hiking today,” Speedy said strumming the guitar, “and I got to thinking about Betio and as we was walking the words just started coming to me…you all know ‘Old Smokey’…well, these here words kind of fit that tune.
“From out of New Zealand, the Gyrenes set sail,
To grab them an atoll where Japs got their mail.
On an island called Helen, they staked out their claim,
And the Second Division, won e’er lasting fame.
Dug deep in the coral, way under the sand,
Five thousand Japs waited for them to land.
The Second hit Blue Beach, and hit with a thud,
The Second hit Blue Beach, all covered with blood.
The Second hung on to the ground they had made,
All night they hid down neath the seawall and prayed.
The Eighth came ashore, boys, and landed by noon,
They waded past buddies, killed in the lagoon.
The Sixth came through Green Beach, o’er buddies who paid,
And killed all the Japs for the mis’ry they’d made.
Oh one thousand white crosses, to tell of their laurel,
There’s a thousand Gyrenes lay, asleep in the coral.
Now listen you mothers, you sweethearts and wives,
Shed no tear for the Gyrenes who laid down their dear lives.
On an island named Helen, they staked out their claim,
And the Second Division won e’er lasting fame.”
As the freckled-faced boy lay down his guitar, all that could be heard was the pounding of the surf on the other side of the island. I dropped exhausted into my foxhole and drew my poncho over me. A bed in the Waldorf couldn’t have felt better. It had been many days since I had slept…many days.
“
Psssst,
Mac.”
I sprang up, whipping my carbine out.
“Easy—it’s me—Marion.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m in contact with the Jasco squad. They’ve spotted Japs up ahead.”
I crawled from my hole. It was pitch black. I couldn’t find my shoes. I hadn’t anticipated this emergency and had welcomed the opportunity of taking them off for the first time in a week. The sharp coral cut me as I held Marion’s hand while he led me to the radio. Danny, who was bunked next to the generator, was already up and at the earphones. I held a muted flashlight for him as he wrote:
LW V JAS. LW V JAS. LW V JAS: J
APS ESCAPING PAST US ON NORTH END OF
N
ELLIE
K.
“Ask how many. Marion, get the skipper up,” I said.
JAS V LW: H
OW MANY
K.
LW V JAS: A
PPEAR TO BE SEVERAL HUNDRED
K.
Marion stumbled back with Huxley. “What’s the scoop?” he asked.
“The Japs are moving past Jasco on Nellie. They say several hundred of them.”
The whole camp was now propped up on one groggy elbow.
“Tell them to lay low and not to try anything,” Huxley said.
“Crank the generator, Mac,” Danny said.
JAS V LW: D
O NOT CONTACT ENEMY.
S
TAND BY
K.
Danny flicked the receiving switches as Marion held the flashlight close to the message pad. There was a deathly silence in the black night. Danny reached for the dials and gently moved them to catch an answering signal. He turned his face to me.
“Better send that last one over,” I said, turning the generator.
JAS V LW: D
O YOU READ ME, DO YOU READ ME
K K K.
“Maybe they had to quiet down. Their generator would have attracted the Japs,” I said.
“Hold it!” Danny crouched over the message pad.
LW V JAS: W
E HAVE BEEN…
The message broke. Danny dropped his pencil and we all breathed deeply.
“They’ve been attacked,” Marion whispered.
“There is nothing we can do,” Huxley said. “Let’s get some sleep.”
The new day found me achingly stiff but well slept out. I fought into my socks which were still damp from yesterday’s wading. I had no fresh change along.
The squad huddled around the radio as we ripped off the wax carton tops and dug in for breakfast. There was no time for a fire to warm the coffee so the black dynamite would have to go down cold.
“I hear the Jasco squad got wiped out last night,” Andy said.
“We couldn’t get them this morning. It don’t look good.”
“Gimme a cigarette.”
“Whatsamatter, you white men never carry your own weeds.”
“Butts on that smoke.”
“Butts on them there butts, cousin.”
“I don’t like the smell of this whole shebang. The atoll is wide open for a counterattack from the Marshalls. What’s to keep them from coming down after us?”
“What about it, Marion?”
“Counterattack seems rather unlikely but, of course, it can’t be ruled out.”
“See, what did I tell you? Even Marion says it’s possible.”
“I doubt if the Japs are in condition to counterattack. We are attacking too many places at the same time,” Marion continued. “If they move out of the Marshalls to hit us, they’ll leave the door wide open for the First or the new Fourth Division.”
“What makes you so smart?”
“I can read.”
“Maybe if we get them on the run we’ll have a clear field to Tokyo,” Speedy said. “I hear that Henry Ford is giving ten thousand dollars to the first Gyrene that sets foot on the Jap mainland.”
“Don’t discount your enemy,” Marion said. “You should see by now that they can fight.”
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of crazy bastards.”
Burnside growled into the session. “Hey, Mac, you bastards going to sit here all day? Crack down the radio. Captain Whistler’s already got Easy Company reconnoitering up ahead.”
“I hear we’re going to run into some native villages today,” Levin said, getting up and starting to break down the radio.