The Pacific (25 page)

Near the ammo pits, several sergeants belted .30-caliber ammunition as fast as they could. Manila slung a bunch of belts over his shoulders until he staggered under the weight. He grabbed some dynamite caps because they were handy.
¹⁵⁹
Pistol in his hand, Basilone trudged the direct route back through enemy- held territory to LaPointe and Evans.
¹⁶⁰
The belts were heavy. Bullets sang in the air around him and he felt like an easy mark. "That lousy hundred yards," he said later, took him fifteen minutes.
¹⁶¹
The moon came out, providing some light, making it easier to kill. The marines' artillery pounded the enemy's rallying points, a hundred yards beyond the barbed wire.

The enemy came in another rush just as first daylight began to filter through the trees. The dead bodies covering the barbed wire made crossing it easier. John's firing lines had become blocked by the pile of bodies out there, so he shifted one of his guns to get a better angle. But he didn't fire immediately. He waited. He waited as the enemy got close enough to hurt him, waited until "the japs charged within point-blank range," until he didn't have to have an accurate aim to hit someone, and pulled the trigger.
¹⁶²

After this charge faded, Manila noticed squads of soldiers surging into the foxholes and gun pits, relieving exhausted marines.
¹⁶³
He was among the last to notice the soldiers, since the 3/164 had been reinforcing the 1/7's line for hours now. Enemy troops were loose in the area. Not far from Manila's position a larger enemy force of about forty was determined to hold on to its breach in the marine line. While Evans, LaPointe, and their sergeant held their post, squads of marines and soldiers set about wiping out the salient in the lines and the individual infiltrators. The process lasted for hours, as it could only be done at close range with rifles and pistols.
¹⁶⁴

The soldiers could snap off a full clip of eight shots as fast as they could pull the trigger, while the marines had to slide the bolt back on their Springfields after every shot. Men armed with Springfields killed slowly: Bang! Pause. Pause. Bang! Pause. Pause. Soldiers with Garands, however, fired Bang! Bang! Bang! in groups of eight before the ammo clip was spat out. The "mopping up operations" continued on through the day, the high ping of ammo clips being spat out discernible, as the defensive position line was reestablished.

Colonel Puller came over to Sergeant Basilone and said, "Nice work."
¹⁶⁵
By Chesty's count, "there were nearly a thousand japs--dead japs--out in front, and several hundred also dead, between our lines and the wires." Someone counted thirty-eight dead stacked up around the front of John's right gun position.
¹⁶⁶
Many hundreds more lay dead in the jungles beyond, killed by the artillery or heavy mortars before they could join one of the six "Banzai attacks." Any estimate of the enemy's wounded, using these rough estimates of the KIAs, would number in the thousands.

The colonel, assisted by the officers of the 1/7, also listened carefully to their men recount the action so as to prepare to write their reports. The number of enemy dead near John's position, while impressive, did not compare with the total in front of Able Company's position. Able Company, however, had had a lot more heavy weapons. Able Company had not been overrun.

Chesty congratulated all of the 1/7 on a job well done. The 1/7 had only been at 75 percent of its authorized strength and it had held a length of the perimeter usually defended by two battalions with some help from the soldiers.
¹⁶⁷
As the sergeants began counting noses for their muster rolls, it looked like the night had cost the 1/7 nineteen dead, thirty wounded, and twelve missing in action. John heard the machine guns had burned out twenty-six thousand rounds of .30- caliber slugs. "After that I discovered I was hungry, so I went to the CP to see about getting chow. All we could get was crackers and jam...."
¹⁶⁸

In the late afternoon, the 3/167 had taken responsibility for this section of line. The 1/7 may have given them a nod of appreciation before moving up into the relative safety of Bloody Ridge. Before pulling out, John went over to see some of his friends in Able Company, who had stopped the main onslaught coming out of the Bowling Alley. He pointed to one of the 37mm cannons, which had fired canister shot all night, and told his friend Manny, "God bless you guys. Thank you. That, that's the best weapon the world ever saw."
¹⁶⁹
A few of his Charlie Company marines, their skipper noticed, walked up Bloody Ridge carrying the new Garand.
¹⁷⁰

The IJA attacked again that night. A few shells landed on the ridge, but this fight belonged to the army. Over the next few days Charlie Company would be drawn back into the fight for brief periods, but there would have been a lot of talk about what had happened and who got hit. The enemy's biggest salient had come near Manila's position, between Charlie Company and Baker Company. Platoon Sergeant Robert Domokos had organized a few men into an assault and wiped them out.
¹⁷¹
Sergeant London "Pappy" Traw, a machine-gun platoon sergeant who had been around a lot longer than Manila, had also been at the point of attack, although attached to Baker Company. He had been killed.
¹⁷²
More than ten bodies had been counted in front of Private First Class Edmund Dorsorgna's position.
¹⁷³
One of the gun crews on Ed's right flank had fled, leaving him exposed. He had had to fix his machine guns four times that night. John's Dog Company had lost five WIA and six KIA, including Corporal Weydandt, whose enlistment had run out two weeks before, but he had continued on, although he had decided not to reenlist. Charlie Company had lost eight KIA and nine WIA, including Anderson, who had been shot in the ass.

ON THE MORNING OF OCTOBER 25, LIEUTENANT MICHEEL WOKE UP ANGRY THAT he had had to endure another night's shelling because the day before he had failed to find the Tokyo Express. Worse, after two nights of rain, "it was just sloppy as heck" and the Wildcats were struggling to get off the ground. The fighters' Cow Pasture had not been covered in Marston matting. Although Henderson Field had been sheathed in the steel planking, the Dauntlesses and torpedo planes could not take off because the Japanese artillery kept shelling it. Gasoline had run short again. The first enemy planes arrived at eight a.m. Mike, disgusted, "sat there and watched those japs drop bombs on us. . . ." Scouts radioed reports of more enemy ships headed for them. If the Dauntless didn't get up to stop them, he thought, "we're never going to get off this island."

FROM THEIR HILLTOP OP WEST OF THE LUNGA RIVER, SIDNEY AND HIS SQUAD could see Henderson Field. "Everywhere you looked was jap planes." The marines watched the proceedings wearily, having been up most of the night expecting to be called to help the 1/7 at any moment. They had heard the shit hitting the fan up in Sector Three, even as it had rained so hard one had to seek shelter just to "have room to breathe." All night long the sound of the 1/7's machine guns, 37mms, and 81mm mortars had carried to them. The battle the night before had followed days of watching the infantry and the airplanes fight the IJA along the Matanikau. In the past few days U.S. planes and artillery had loosed a furious barrage beyond the river. Reports had come to Sid's squad that "the dead are hip deep high over a 5 mile area . . . [the] whole beach covered with dead japs."

The morning of the twenty- fifth, however, U.S. planes were very late taking off from Henderson. It looked like the enemy planes circling over it were waiting for permission to land. From their vantage point, Sid and Deacon watched as, at last, the dogfights finally broke out. "All over the heavens . . . plane after plane came down. Zeros burst in midair and blew up before hitting ground. The ground AA riddled the bombers and several Zeros . . . they were dropping like flies. Three Japanese destroyers entered the harbor. We watched them sink a [U.S.] transport and a gun boat." Then the three enemy warships started shelling Kukum and the airfield. "God," Deacon prayed, "please give us more victories and peace."

THE WILDCATS HAD BEEN HARD AT WORK FOR HOURS, CLEARING THE SKY OF raiders, before the first strike of dive bombers took off at one p.m. Five dive-bombers went chasing after the three destroyers that had parked off Lunga Point earlier that morning and shelled Kukum and the airfield. They found one cruiser, one light cruiser, and two destroyers. The Dauntlesses later reported one sure hit, on the cruiser, and a couple that were at least near misses. Another strike followed. Bombing Six got its turn around three o'clock. The four planes led by Ray Davis scored two near misses. Mike flew on the fourth strike, with three other dive-bombers, a few Wildcats and four P-39s. Up the channel they went, searching for the destroyers and any other members of the Tokyo Express scurrying up the slot. They found their targets at about four thirty. The four runs of the dive-bombers resulted in one near miss on the light cruiser. The pilot of the P-39, however, upstaged them with a direct hit on the cruiser, the largest and most important warship in the group. The Japanese continued to flee, the two largest ships trailing oil. The mission took just under two hours and then they were back at the field, watching the furious fighter battles in the sky. One of the fighter pilots, Captain Joe Foss, shot down four Zeros that day.

Mike had no sense of victory, only grave doubt. The total number of flyable Dauntlesses was a dozen, with about the same number of Wildcats ready for action. The field was still in poor condition, there were shortages of everything, and the enemy's 150mm artillery fired at them at will. Just as he rarely showed his anger, though, so too did Mike keep his concern to himself. When Bombing Six's skipper, Ray Davis, evaluated the men in his command, in Lieutenant Micheel he saw a pilot who, "with utter disregard for his own safety . . . carried out all missions unflinchingly."
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Before bed, they learned
Enterprise
and
Hornet
had steamed into the area. The appearance of U.S. task forces usually meant that the Imperial Fleet carriers had also returned. The tired Cactus pilots enjoyed a night free of the shells from Japanese ships. The next morning in the ops tent, pilots heard reports of the battle raging between the carriers just five hundred miles away. They also received reports of carriers, battleships, and every other enemy ship nearing their position. Mike and two others spent the morning bombing and strafing an area south of the fighter strip, what the marines called Sector Three. Reports of enemy warships continued to pour in. None of the strike missions, however, located these ships. By the late afternoon they heard that the Japanese dive-bombers had hit both carriers and that the U.S. pilots had gotten some hits, too. Sometime the following day the news came that the Big E was now the only U.S. carrier in Pacific Ocean. USS
Hornet
had been sunk.
^o

The Cactus Air Force could expect some more relief to show up soon--whatever was left of the
Hornet
's former planes and pilots. On occasions like this, the squadron doctor opened a big bottle of whiskey in the ops tent and allowed his pilots to take a few snorts. This wasn't the "medicinal brandy" issued by the navy. The doctor had found a Seabee who had a supply of whiskey and a crazy desire for airplane parts. The doc arranged to have instrument panels and other interesting items snapped off the scrapped planes. Asked what the guy wanted them for, the doc said that, as he understood it, the Seabee intended "to build an airplane after the war was over." A few tips of the glass ended Navy Day, 1942.

IN THE RAIN ON MONDAY, OCTOBER 26, A THOUSAND POWS PREPARED TO WALK out of Cabanatuan POW Camp Number One. First they had to say good-bye to their friends. The strong, who were leaving, would look at the weak and wonder if they would live long. Those staying behind would wonder if the group was sailing for Japan, a destination that ruled out escape, made liberation seem remote, and probably meant death. Each side, though, wanted desperately for someone to survive, for someone to tell the story of Cabanatuan to the world, and most of all for someone to tell their individual fates to their respective families back home.

On the hike to the train depot, Shifty carried a bag filled with all his equipment and the provisions he could purchase. What he jokingly called a deluxe car--eighty men to a boxcar--carried them slowly along. "At one of the frequent train halts . . . a group of Filipino children tested the jap guards on our boxcar and found out they did not understand English. The children then sung God Bless America." The train took them to Manila.

They spent only one night in Bilibid, marching down to the docks the next day and boarding a ship, formerly a U.S. ship, SS
Erie
, and now
Erie Maru
. Loading one thousand men into an eight-thousand-ton freighter already full with barrels of aviation gasoline led to the usual orders for the POWs to squeeze themselves into tight confines belowdecks. When the ship pulled away from the dock, the guards relaxed. Shifty and his friends Mike Dobervich and Jack Hawkins worked their way back on deck. They climbed onto the top of large rice sacks, with fresh air and a modicum of room. It was immediately decided that one of them would remain there at all times to protect the space from other POWs. They had found a space that improved their chances of survival ever so slightly. They would fight to keep it.

THE BATTLES RAGED DAILY AROUND THE #4 GUN SQUAD. TO THE SOUTH, THE ARMY had fought off another banzai attack and killed sixty- five, capturing one POW. To the west, at the Matanikau, the marines had killed eight hundred to nine hundred and taken no prisoners. This latest struggle for the Matanikau had, according to Deacon's calculations, nearly equaled in ferocity their Battle of Hell's Point, but it had only lasted eight hours, whereas the 2/1 had fought for sixteen hours. Shells from the big artillery guns on both sides swished over their heads by the hour.