The Pacific (57 page)

"Have you ever been married?" she asked the chaplain.

"Of course not."

"In that case, what can you tell me? You've never been married. You can't tell me nothing." The challenge was classic Lena. She knew they didn't have two weeks to wait. They had to get married before they got their leaves. She also wanted to get married in a church with a long aisle, not on the base. So John went around one morning to see the chaplain of the Twenty-eighth Marines, Father Paul Bradley. Bradley, about John's age, understood and agreed.
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Lena booked the nearby St. Mary's Star of the Sea Church, in Oceanside, for the evening of July 11.

Along with the pressure of getting married came another momentous decision. On July 6 his four-year enlistment in the USMC would expire. It's likely no one knew that his enlistment was up because in the wake of the attack on Pearl Harbor everybody had signed up for the duration of the war plus six months. This fact kept service personnel from having conversations about "when are you getting out?" The end of his enlistment brought back a familiar feeling. His family and friends back in Raritan had not even wanted him to request reassignment from D.C. Every marine at Camp Pendleton had found his return to a line unit remarkable. He did not enjoy being remarkable.

John's great gift, however, was to know himself. Being a gunny made him happy. He also felt a strong duty to the men of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, Twenty-seventh Marines. He may have always known he would "ship over," or reenlist, but at some point he had to tell Lena, "I've got to go back overseas. I have men in my platoon that have never been there before." Lena understood that "he couldn't send them over there and let something happen to them."
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On July 3, Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone quietly shipped over for another two years of service. His contract with the USMC stated that he would "further oblige myself to serve until 6 months after the end of the war or national emergency if so required."
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Four days later, Johnny and Lena went and got their marriage certificate. He bought her the wedding ring. It cost six dollars.
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The next day, the AP wire service carried a story picked up by various newspapers around the country and especially those in New Jersey: "Guadalcanal Hero to Wed."
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IN OBSERVANCE OF INDEPENDENCE DAY, THE 1ST DIVISION HANDED OUT A BEER ration to all hands on July 3. Sledge sold his ration, as usual, and watched as the boys had a big night of merrymaking. Some sang, others played poker, and others took in the movie starring Frank Sinatra. When the famous singer appeared on-screen, men in the audience feigned swoons of rapture. Gene enjoyed their jokes more than Sinatra's acting.

The guys in Sledge's tent woke up hungover on Tuesday, July 4. In the afternoon, ice cream was served in the division movie area. On the small, crude stage, six Red Cross women doled out scoops as fast as they could. A huge crowd had gathered. Eugene could not tell if they were there to see the women or get a scoop. No officer had bothered to impose order, so the great mass heaved itself against the stage. The convulsions gave way to a riot. Watching the MPs struggle in vain to stop the fights breaking out came as no surprise, although it disgusted him. Two men were knocked out cold and a third fell victim to heatstroke before Eugene decided not to attempt to get ice cream.

He returned to his tent, weary from the heat. Someone had rolled up the side flaps of the tent, allowing air to circulate as they lay on their bunks. "In normal times," Gene concluded, "I am sure a white man, if he was sane, wouldn't live in this part of the world." The heat made him want to be in France with Edward. A stream of packages loaded with treats improved life inside Sledge's tent. If it wasn't cookies or cake, Sledge had copies of
Reader's Digest
and
Muzzle Blast
magazine (about antique firearms) to loan. The reading material was eaten up with every bit of relish as the food because it staved off boredom.

While lying on his bunk he heard one of his buddies let out an angry whoop. A big rat was under his bunk. In a fit of rage, the friend found a large stick and attacked. The rat ran out of the tent, followed closely by his attacker, who was yelling, "Kill him! Kill him!" Across the company street they went, the rat searching for cover from the blows. They went through five open tents, throwing everything into confusion. Surprised marines demanded to know what the hell was going on, until at last the angry marine dealt the rat a big blow, the "Coup de Grace," Eugene called it, ending the battle much to the enjoyment of the gawkers.

SHIFTY STEPPED OFF THE BOAT ON JULY 7. THE TRIP TO PAVUVU HAD TAKEN Lieutenant Colonel Shofner three weeks. One look must have made him feel right at home--he was back in the boonies for the start of the second half of his war. Protocol required him to report to the regimental headquarters. Colonel Harold D. "Bucky" Harris commanded the Fifth Marines, to which Shofner had been assigned. Colonel Harris had served on Guadalcanal as an assistant chief of staff and had worked his way up through Cape Gloucester to take command of the regiment. Shofner met Bucky Harris's staff as well as the other battalion commanders. When appropriate he would go to the division's HQ and meet General Rupertus and his staff. Almost all of them were veterans of the Canal. Shifty also looked for his cousin who served with the Eleventh Marines, the division's artillery regiment.

While welcoming Colonel Shofner to Pavuvu, a place everyone acknowledged was "more of a hog farm than a rest camp," Bucky Harris and his staff would have described it as the only choice.
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Although the huge base at Guadalcanal had Quonset huts with lights and plenty of good chow, it had had drawbacks. Rupertus's boss, General Geiger, had feared that his men would have been put to work as stevedores if he had stationed them on the Canal. Geiger wanted his men to rest after the campaign on Cape Gloucester. He also wanted to make sure they were free to begin training. As for a rest camp in Australia, Shofner heard that keeping the 1st Marine Division out of Australia meant keeping it out of the control of General Douglas MacArthur.

The marines were still bitter about having had to serve under MacArthur and support his New Guinea Campaign. The jungles of Cape Gloucester had been a dead end, they told him, where "more men were hurt from falling trees than by enemy action." The division staff had already begun planning for the next campaign. The target promised to be an escape from the rain forest and the plague of malaria. It would not, however, represent an escape from General MacArthur, for the coming operation would support another MacArthur campaign, this time his invasion of the island of Mindanao. This news thrilled Shofner, even if it meant helping MacArthur. If Shifty could not liberate the Davao Penal Colony on Mindanao himself, at least he would help make its liberation possible.

The 1st Division would neutralize the threats to MacArthur's flank coming from the island of Peleliu, in the Palau Island chain, as well as the islands of Yap and Ulithi Atoll. Aircraft based in these locations could strike Mindanao. "General MacArthur," the marines had been informed, "believed that he could not mount an amphibious campaign against the Philippines unless this potential threat to his lines of communication was eliminated."
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Not every marine agreed with MacArthur. Other ideas about what the next target should be made for conversation around the officers' mess, with or without references to General MacArthur, especially when the chatter was leavened by a sprinkle of gossip from the highest levels. Admiral Halsey had recommended speeding up the war by skipping past the Philippines and striking Formosa or Japan.

Dinners inside the crude officers' mess also would have been enlivened by descriptions of the beautiful women of Australia and New Zealand. When the discussions turned to life on Pavuvu, Shofner caught a hint from the others: "if you think this is bad, you should have seen it when we arrived." It surprised him. They knew he had been a prisoner of Hirohito. Their knowledge obviously lacked detail if they thought conditions on Pavuvu put him off. He began to feel a little out of step with his fellow officers and the feeling did not fade. After a time he realized the root of it. Even though his war experiences had earned him their respect, he was not going to be immediately "admitted to the fold." The men of the 1st Marine Division had gone through a lot together. Guadalcanal came up in most conversations, either as their beginning or their end. The Canal had forged a bond that he did not share.

The Canal veterans, however, were rotating home in record numbers. In a short span of time, the division received some 260 officers and 4,600 enlisted men to replace those sailing stateside. At all levels, the new men were mixed in with the vets. Bucky Harris assigned Colonel Shofner to command the 3rd Battalion, Fifth Marines (3/5). Shifty walked over to his HQ to meet the officers of the 3/5.

His battalion HQ comprised the men of the Headquarters and Services Company (H&S Co.). Sixteen officers, supported by NCOs and enlisted personnel, supported and directed the work of the battalion's three rifle companies: Item, King, and Love.
^z
Most of his officers, including his executive officer, had joined the battalion after the Canal and some after Gloucester.
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The "lean mixture" of combat veterans in the 3/5 alarmed him. At least King Company, led by Captain Andrew A. Haldane, had an experienced leader. Haldane had fought on the Canal as a lieutenant with a different unit and had a good reputation. When asked about his officers, Haldane would have gone through his list of platoon leaders. The K/3/5 had a few experienced officers. His executive officer, First Lieutenant Thomas J. Stanley, had served with King on Cape Gloucester, as had his mortar section leader, Second Lieutenant Charles C. Ellington.
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A few of his senior NCOs had proven themselves on the Canal.

Junior officers were not likely to complain to a new CO. If asked, Haldane and the others on the battalion staff would have admitted that the morale of the men had "hit an all time low."
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Every officer knew it. The past few months had been spent clearing rotting coconuts and dragging buckets of crushed coral to make roads and paths. More work remained. The battle against the rats and crabs was being lost. In the meantime, everybody knew that the service troops on the islands nearby (Banika and Guadalcanal) were eating and drinking much better than the combat marines. Fresh meat appeared on the mess tables once a week on Pavuvu and beer was limited to only a few cans a week.

Shifty could not change the conditions on Pavuvu. Speeches about life as a POW in Cabanatuan, he knew, would not help. They had either heard about his story or had read it in
Life
magazine. When at last he stood in front of his battalion, he made sure his marines understood that he "had a score to settle with the Japanese."

ON THE AFTERNOON OF JULY 10, JOHN BASILONE AND HIS TWO GROOMSMEN--THE sergeants in charge of his machine-gun sections (Clint and Rinaldo)--donned their Class A dress green uniforms with the 5th Division's Spearhead patch on the shoulder.
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John had chosen Clinton Watters, the old D Company man, as his best man. Lena's maids, also all marines, wore their white dress uniforms, except for Mary Lambert, her maid of honor.
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Lena arrived late to the church, visibly frustrated, wearing a wedding gown of eggshell taffeta. John's other machine-gun section leader, Ed Johnston, met her. He was going to give her away.
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Lena walked up the aisle with Ed, thinking, "I always wanted a long aisle. Now I wish it wasn't so long.
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As she reached the altar John gave her a big smile. Her tears dried. They said their vows looking straight into one another's eyes. "Until death do us part." John got the nod from the father and kissed his bride.
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Afterward they held their reception at the Carlsbad Hotel. Lena explained that her ride to the church, a cabbie with whom she had made a deal, had forgotten her. Her frantic attempts to get in touch with her cabbie seemed funny now in the warm glow of their reception. A lot of their friends left after a turn on the dance floor and a drink or two--the Carlsbad charged a lot for a drink. The wedding party stayed for dinner and the couple spent the night. The next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Basilone left early to catch the train for Salem, Oregon.
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She wanted to introduce him to her brothers.

LIEUTENANT MICHEEL SPENT THE AFTERNOON OF JULY 10 ON A BOMBING MISSION over the island of Rota in the Marianas, as part of the preparation for the marine invasion of nearby Guam. The preparations had begun on July 1 when, following a short rest at the fleet anchorage, Clark's task group had gone back to the Bonin Islands for several days. Intent upon cutting off Guam from the empire just as they had with Saipan, the wolves had spent a few days destroying the repaired airfield and the new airplanes on Iwo Jima. They attacked the ships and the radar station on Chichi Jima. Enemy AA guns had been a big problem, especially over the latter island. The bombing run on Chichi Jima had cost Lieutenant Micheel his wingman. Along with losing men to AA fire, the wolves had also lost a couple of pilots because they had attempted to perform a "victory roll" and had spun into the sea. Commander Campbell had issued an edict: no more victory rolls. The problems had subsided with their return to Guam and Rota a few days earlier. The enemy AA fire here was not too heavy.

On this afternoon with a few cumulus clouds dotting the sky above Rota, Mike led his division against the island's sugar mill. They scored a few hits and began the short eighty-mile trip back to
Hornet
. Ensign William Doherty called him on the radio to report trouble with his SB2C. He could not control his ailerons.
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Like a good pilot, Ensign Doherty had investigated the situation. With both ailerons locked in the up position he could maintain a level flight path. The rudder allowed him to turn the aircraft without ailerons, although not very effectively. Doherty slowed his plane down to see how it performed at landing speed. As he slowed down to 100 knots, Doherty radioed Lieutenant Micheel that the SB2C became "very sluggish and definitely not safe" because of the drag above each wing. When he put his wheels down, he had to increase his speed to 120 knots to remain aloft. A carrier landing at 120 knots was out of the question, so Mike directed Doherty to make a landing at the airstrip on nearby Saipan. Enough of Saipan had been secured by this time that its airfield, Isley Field, had been designated as an emergency strip. The length of Isley's airstrip allowed a high-speed landing. Even with that, though, Doherty still did not trust the Beast with the wheels down, so he kept them up and slid it in on its belly.