Dark Sunrise Ww Ii

By Louis Arthur Cavagnaro

This is the story of a United States Marine Corps 12 man Rifle Squad plus the Squad Leader. It places the reader in landing craft racing toward a hostile beach being pounded by enemy gunfire, viewing the beaches as they are engulfed in a maelstrom of steel and fire. They are joined aboard troop ships, and on land in craters created by naval gunfire. The squad's liberty in Honolulu, Hawaii is hilarious.

Each island introduces its own unique horror, Guadalcanal with its malaria infested jungles and being heavily outnumbered by the enemy. Tarawa and marines wading in waist deep water into murderous machine gun fire. Also Saipan with one thousand five hundred Japanese soldiers in a suicidal Banzai Charge and the desperate hand to hand combat that takes place. Tinian's calculated gamble on the landing beaches. Iwo Jima's caves leading to the two flags raised on Mount Suribachi is an introduction into hell. Finally, the Japanese decision to defend Okinawa not on the beaches but in depth with heavily fortified positions taking a very heavy toll in men and equipment.

Thirteen men whose friendship is forged in steel and tempered in blood.

The spirit of comradeship is not killed in combat, but the individual members of the original squad are. The squad takes it losses and in the process reveals their innermost thoughts.

In one of the final chapters, Sgt. Louis Rossi leads a patrol into the atom-bombed city of Nagasaki. In another at Sasebo he meets the lovely Geisha, 'Keiko.' With tears in her eyes she tells him 'My mother, father and two brothers died in the firestorms your bombers caused. Yet I cannot hate you. I wish you only peace and happiness.'

Finally the return home to try healing shattered bodies, tortured minds and frayed nerves. However, some could no longer return to the society and family they had left behind. Intolerance and demons of war came into their rooms each night to haunt them.

The decision to reenlist was made with difficulty and for different reasons; however, in the final analysis the thoughts were similar. The Marine Corps understands me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 19, 2000
• ISBN: 9781468591712

Louis Arthur Cavagnaro

Born and raised in the 'Red Hook' area of Brooklyn, New York, Louis A. Cavagnaro was reared in a rather tough neighborhood. With the onset of World War II he enlisted, ultimately becoming a professional marine and served during World War II, Korea and Vietnam. In 1975 he received his discharge from the United States Marine Corps. The only position Louis qualified for was in Law Enforcement. Because he was unwilling to carry a gun he became a security guard in a mall (with no firearm). A Marine Major whom he knew, convinced him to apply for a position as a Federal Police Officer. After attending the Federal Law Enforcement Academy at Glynco, Georgia, he was assigned to the San Francisco Field Office and a year later transferred to the Los Angeles Field Office. There, under special assignment he became part of the 'Special Operations Response Team' (SORT) and rendezvoused at Fort Smith Arkansas. In most unusual circumstances he was also sworn in as a Deputy United States Marshal and Immigration Officers as members of the Cuban-Haitian Task Force. This was in response to a concentration of criminal elements mixed with law abiding Cuban refugees arriving at our shores. The criminal elements were brought under control. Upon receiving several citations for his work, Louis approached the United States Secret Service. Several months later and following an intense investigation he attended training at Beltsville, Maryland. Successfully completing that program, he was sworn in as a Special Officer/Security Agent. During the performance of his duties with the Secret Service, Mr. Cavagnaro participated in the protection of several presidents and former presidents along with various heads of state for foreign governments. He retired from the Secret Service in February 1992. It was in the Secret Service while consulting with Doctor John Long, the suggestion was made that Louis should start writing Dark Sunrise WW II (The Islands).

Book preview

Copyright © 1999 by Louis Arthur Cavagnaro

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN 1-58500-611-4

ISBN 978-1-4685-9171-2 (ebook)

CONTENTS

ABOUT THE BOOK

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE BOOK

This is the story of a United States Marine Corps 12 man Rifle Squad plus the Squad Leader. It places the reader in landing craft racing toward a hostile beach being pounded by enemy gunfire, viewing the beaches as they are engulfed in a maelstrom of steel and fire. They are joined aboard troop ships, and on land in craters created by naval gunfire. The squad’s liberty in Honolulu, Hawaii is hilarious.

Each island introduces its own unique horror, Guadalcanal with its malaria infested jungles and being heavily outnumbered by the enemy. Tarawa and marines wading in waist deep water into murderous machine gun fire. Also Saipan with one thousand five hundred Japanese soldiers in a suicidal Banzai Charge and the desperate hand to hand combat that takes place. Tinian’s calculated gamble on the landing beaches. Iwo Jima’s caves leading to the two flags raised on Mount Suribachi is an introduction into hell. Finally, the Japanese decision to defend Okinawa not on the beaches but in depth with heavily fortified positions taking a very heavy toll in men and equipment.

Thirteen men whose friendship is forged in steel and tempered in blood.

The spirit of comradeship is not killed in combat, but the individual members of the original squad are. The squad takes it losses and in the process reveals their innermost thoughts.

In one of the final chapters, Sgt. Louis Rossi leads a patrol into the atom-bombed city of Nagasaki. In another at Sasebo he meets the lovely Geisha, Keiko. With tears in her eyes she tells him My mother, father and two brothers died in the firestorms your bombers caused. Yet I cannot hate you. I wish you only peace and happiness.

Finally the return home to try healing shattered bodies, tortured minds and frayed nerves. However, some could no longer return to the society and family they had left behind. Intolerance and demons of war came into their rooms each nightto haunt them.

The decision to reenlist was made with difficulty and for different reasons; however, in the final analysis the thoughts were similar. The Marine Corps understands me.

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIENDS WHO DIED IN WORLD WAR II KOREA AND VIETNAM AND TO THE UNITED STATES MARINES PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE SEMPER FIDELIS

CHAPTER ONE

WORLD WAR II

Corporal Louis Rossi sighted down the barrel of his rifle at the long, hazy line in front of him. Sweat dripped from his brows into his eyes, down his nose onto the rifle stock, burning his eyes. Still he never took his eyes off the blur in front of him. The tropical sun seared down on the line of Marines dug into a hasty defensive position. Heat waves made the vague line in front of them writhe like a snake. In the background, the sounds of heavy naval and artillery gunfire rattled on. The rapid chatter of a Japanese light machine gun suddenly joined the cacophony. Soon the deep-throated chugging of a Browning automatic rifle answered back, silencing it.

The voice of Sergeant Robert Posey reached him. Easy men, don’t fire until you get the command. Range three hundred yards. Wind drift from nine o’clock at about five knots. Range two hundred and fifty yards. Wait for my command to fire. We’re low on ammo so we’re going to have to finish the job with steel. On my command, fix bayonets … fix bayonets! The click of bayonets locking on rifles erupted like an explosion.

Corporal Bruce Humphrey jolted them as he reprimanded Private Moses. The Sergeant said fix bayonets. You’re going to need it. Get the bayonet on your rifle. Be sure your weapon is ready to fire. Moses hastily obeyed.

Again the voice of Sergeant Posey broke through the din, cool and calm. Remember, men, save one round. If your bayonet goes into bone and you cannot withdraw, squeeze the trigger, and blow the bastard off.

Slowly the line began to take shape. The sound of voices reached the line of Marines. What are those bastards saying? Rossi thought.

The sound of Banzai now shrieked through the long and weaving hazy line and 1500 Japanese troops materialized in a suicidal charge.

Range two hundred yards. Sergeant Posey looked over his men.

With no bath and little rest, and barely enough drinking water, the men stank from four weeks of constant fighting. The youngest was eighteen, and the oldest, Corporal Humphrey, twenty-three, a veteran of Guadalcanal and Tarawa. Some of them were already veterans. Men were shuffled throughout the Second Marine Division to bring commands up to strength. These men were going up against seasoned Japanese veterans.

Corporal Louis Rossi had brown hair and blue eyes, Catholic, born in Brooklyn, New York, and enlisted in the United States Marine Corps on his seventeenth birthday. He quit school at sixteen to try and earn extra money for the family. He enjoyed reading and classical music. His secret ambition was to learn to play the piano. The interest for classical music was awakened while at school when, during assembly, one of the teachers played MacDowell’s Woodland Scenes. It was beautiful and tranquil. From there his desire for the classics expanded.

Public School 29 was a tough school in a tough neighborhood. The simple act of going to school and returning home intact was a triumph. Throughout his young life, Rossi could remember the Depression, with his father, mother, brother and himself sitting around a pot belly stove with one can of creamed corn and dried apricots for dinner. Seeing the despair in the faces of the two young boys, his father once said, Boys, we’re not so bad off. Remember, you must believe in yourselves, your family and your country. You must be good for your word. If you can, help the less fortunate.

It was 1943; World War II was in full fury. Mom, I want to join the Marines, he said. You have to sign the papers. I’ll send you an allotment each month. I won’t need any clothes, the Marines will issue me that. The recruiting sergeant says that the pay is fifty dollars a month.

You might get hurt, Rose Rossi said. "Go talk to your father; he was in World War One. The Germans shot him with a machine gun at Chateau Thierry and he lay in a shell hole all day before some American soldiers found him. That’s why his health is so bad. The recruiting sergeant made a lot of promises to him

that the government didn’t keep. Go talk to him."

Son, there’s nothing glamorous about war. Don’t believe what they show you in the movies. Cold, snow, rain, mud. You get tired, and there is a lot of heartache. Poor food, poison gas, gun fire, tanks, and the bayonet charge. Can’t think of anything more horrible than a bayonet attack. First, there’s the artillery barrage. Then you go into machine gun fields of fire. And then, if you’re still alive when you reach the trenches, you look a man in the eye as you bayonet him, if he don’t get you first. Fighting on and on. Never ceases. Losing friends. That’s really hard, when you lose a buddy. I beg God, son, that you never have to go through that.

In desperation, Louis said that he felt he was trapped, with no education, no future. He told them they must give him this chance.

After days of begging, Tom Rossi agreed. We have to let the boy go, he said to his wife. We can’t hold him back forever. I’m going to sign the papers.

Mrs. Rossi’s tears blurred the signatures on the enlistment papers.

Rushing to the recruiting sergeant, Louis said he wanted to enlist.

You won’t be sorry, the sergeant said. This is a good career. Good pay, free medical and dental care, excellent retirement pay, commissary privileges, club privileges, travel, adventure, respect, and the gratitude of your country who won’t forget you.

Your country needs you. You leave for boot camp in one week.

After ten weeks of boot camp and one week leave, Rossi rode a troop train across country. At every stop, the women old, middle-aged, and young rushed out to meet the train, handing out coffee, pies, cakes, cookies, kissing the boys and wishing them Godspeed. The troop ship at San Diego took them to the Second Marine Division at Wellington, New Zealand, where they reported to their assignments. His squad included Sergeant Posey, Corporal Humphrey, and Privates Jim Owens, Bob Gibbons, Andrew Jackson Croy, Raymond Quinn, Clarence

Moses, Allen Rosenbaum, Patrick Kelly, Joseph Guido, Delbert Lester and Gilbert Alarcon. Lieutenant Paul Drake was the platoon leader.

There were the forced marches with full pack until one felt that his feet were made of lead. Finally, a troop transport with an unknown destination picked them up. Rumors were rife that they were to retake Wake Island.

After several days out, some of the men in Headquarters’ platoon were beginning to bring in bits of information. They were going to take an atoll in some place called the Gilbert Islands.

The atoll was Tarawa. That name was to go down in history as one of the bloodiest battles of the Pacific war.

The troop ship was peaceful. Men talked of home, and the women who waited for them, sharpened bayonets and combat knives, checked equipment, wrote letters, played pinochle and shot craps. Tokyo Rose played the latest and best music in the Pacific.

Then critical information began to be distributed: landing craft assignments, landing vehicle tanks (LVT), landing craft vehicle personnel (LCVP), beach code assignments and locations.

Rossi’s beach was Red Beach Two. He thought they should never name any landing beach red. There were objective assignments, wave assignments and reserve assignments. It was to be a mass naval bombardment. Then close air support would come in to finish the job, paving the way for a landing. After that, the landing vehicles were to go to the beaches loaded with Marines. Some of the Marines would have to wade in chest-high water to get to shore.

The Japanese plan for defense of the island was to destroy any landing force at the water’s edge. They had installed a series of integrated bunkers, pillboxes, shore batteries, submerged barbed wire, tank traps and hundreds of sand bag emplacements. The gun emplacements in bunkers and at ground level defied naval gunfire. Tarawa was presumably to be wrested from the Japanese starting at 03:20 am on November 20.

The bombardment took place on schedule, and soon the

island was covered by smoke from burning buildings. Landing areas were obscured. Close air support and continued naval bombardment was no longer practical, as there was a risk of shelling and strafing Marines who were late in landing.

Supporting fire lifted, and the landing vehicles went to the beaches, straight into an inferno of machine gun and rifle fire. The Marines were pinned to a small strip of sand between the water’s edge and the retaining wall. After one hour of intense machine gun and rifle fire, only 2,000 Marines had landed on the beach. All along the landing zones Marines were pinned down to the beaches. Ground taken was measured in inches and feet. Squads, platoons, and companies were cut to ribbons. Lt. Drake was killed the moment they landed on the beach. The LVT was knocked out by a land mine and the men were shot as they attempted to jump over the sides. Dead Marines covered the beach. Sergeant Posey was directing fire on an enemy machine gun position.

Names like Quinn, Gibbons, Croy, Moses, Rosenbaum, Sergeant Posey, Corporal Humphrey began to have meaning. They were now an intimate part of each other’s lives. A bond of respect and closeness that Rossi never had before began to form. Of the thirteen man squad that had landed on Red Beach Two, four were killed in two minutes.

While huddled behind the retaining wall, Rossi’s helmet was ripped from his head, and he could feel blood trickling down his forehead and into the corner of his eye. Picking up the helmet, he saw where a bullet had entered the right side and been deflected, grazing his temple. Turning, he saw another Marine drop. He yelled to Sergeant Posey. There’s a fucking Jap sniper behind us under the pier. If we don’t get that bastard he’s going to pick us all off.

Posey reached for the field phone and called the company commander reporting they were taking sniper fire from under the pier. The sound of small arms fire was continuous, with a hail of steel flowing from the Japanese positions.

Posey crawled over to Rossi. Let me get a compress on that wound. You’ll be okay.

Enemy machine gun fire cut a giant swath through the ranks

of Marines wading in chest deep water as they struggled to get over the submerged barbed wire and reach the beaches.

Posey yelled at his squad. We have to take some of those machine gun positions or no one is going to reach the beach alive. Rossi, Quinn, Moses, Rosenbaum inch forward to where you are in a position to rush the machine gun position in front of us. Owens, Croy and Gibbons, Corporal Humphrey and I will give you covering fire. Move it!

They crawled out into a barrage of small arms fire. Gibbons climbed back on the LVT and fired a light fifty caliber machine gun. The clatter of enemy fire bouncing off the armor plate in front of the machine gun was deafening. Gibbons was forcing the enemy machine gun position to concentrate on him. As they crawled forward they came across another Marine who was pinned down.

Who the hell are you? Rossi said.

Name’s Trace. If you’re going to try and take out those machine guns, I’m with you.

Tossing grenades and inching forward, they began taking out three machine gun positions. Rossi saw Quinn and Moses dropped by machine gun fire.

If we can make it to that trench, Rosenbaum said, we can get out of the line of fire and work our way to that pillbox on our flank.

What was to be a haven turned out to be a trench with thirty enemy huddled down in two feet of salt water, blood, and bloated corpses.

Rossi, Trace and Rosenbaum immediately emptied their weapons, dropping the enemy all around them, but soon ran out of ammunition. The fighting was so close that Rossi was using his rifle as a club.

Rossi yelled to Trace. Back to back, we can cover Rosenbaum.

The fighting was too close. Rossi dropped his rifle and drew his dad’s trench knife. Parrying a Japanese bayonet thrust, he jammed the knife into the enemy’s lower jaw, feeling the blade go up through the roof of the mouth, through the brain and then to the top of the skull. His eyes glazed over, riveted on Rossi’s

face. Trace and Rosenbaum were taking on a half dozen enemy with their knives. Just when Rossi thought they were going to be overwhelmed, Sergeant Posey, Humphrey, Croy, and Owens jumped into the trench and joined the struggle. Croy used a double-edged dagger, and Humphrey used a knife and entrenching tool that had been sharpened to a razor edge. Rosenbaum and Croy went down, but the trench finally fell to the Marines.

Let’s get our wind and get the hell out of here, Humphrey said. We don’t want to be in this shit all night.

Crouched in the trench with dead bodies all around them, Posey’s squad tried to get its wind.

Where did you land? Rossi said to Trace.

Red Beach Three. My outfit was pretty well wiped out. Where did you land?

Red Beach Two. Guess we were on each other’s flank.

Sergeant Posey checked to see how much ammunition they had. They were almost out.

Okay, everybody with ammunition, give it to Owens and Corporal Humphrey.

They had six clips about 48 rounds.

Trace, you’re staying with this squad. We picked up two block charges of TNT on the way to the trench. These can knock out those pillboxes. Rossi, you and Trace rush the pillboxes. Place the charges through the firing slots. Eagle, Humphrey and I will give you covering fire.

At that moment Gibbons jumped into the trench. Look what I got, Sarge. A Goddamn flame thrower.

"Fine, Gibbons. Join Rossi and Trace in taking out those pillboxes. Men, those pillboxes have everything in their field of fire pinned down. When we take it, not only will we be able to get ammo from the beach, it will free those units that are pinned down.

Okay, who do we have left? Kelly, Guido, and Alarcon are dead. Quinn, Moses, Rosenbaum and Croy are wounded. Corporal Humphrey, Rossi, Gibbons, Owens and Trace can fight. We have a job to do. Let’s go at it.

How are Quinn and Moses? Rossi said.

They’re okay. A corpsman slid in under the fire, treated them and dragged their asses to the beach. Let’s get Rosenbaum and Croy out of this shit. Lay them on top of the Jap bodies. Corporal, you can wrap their wounds. Looks like they’ll be okay.

Machine gun fire was still coming from the pillbox like a hail storm.

Rossi, Trace, Gibbons, we only have six clips of ammo, Posey said. Corporal Humphrey and Eagle are going to throw it all at the Japs’ firing slots. That should give you a few seconds to make it to the base. Move fast, keep low. On my command, move out … Go!

Rossi, Trace and Gibbons half crawled, half ran toward the pillbox. The machine gun fire over their heads sounded like a saw mill. Humphrey and Owens lay down precision fire through the enemy firing slots. Gibbons reached the pillbox first. Firing from the trench ceased. Humphrey and Owens were out of ammunition. Moving rapidly, Gibbons stood up and gave a short burst of flame. The ground around him was churned by enemy supporting fire. His helmet was blown off. Thrusting the nozzle of the flame thrower into the firing slots, he released the full capacity of the flame thrower. Agonized cries came from inside the pillbox, then silence.

We still have the block TNT charges, Rossi said. We may be able to take the other two pillboxes. What do you say?

Let’s get the lead out of our ass, Trace said.

The three raced through a wall of rifle and machine gun fire. Trace was knocked down, but got up immediately. Reaching the second pillbox, Trace rammed the charge through its firing slot, and the earth shook as it exploded.

Both heels had been shot off of Trace’s combat boots.

Gibbons had taken a round in the buttocks. It don’t hurt that bad, but this one is going to be hard to explain.

Marines from other positions laid down cover fire near the third pillbox. The three raced to it. Trace and Gibbons tripped over bodies. Rossi reached the firing slots of the pillbox and tossed in the explosive. Machine gun fire ricochetted off the pillbox and churned the ground around him. Two rounds tore

into his pack, hurling him to the ground. Then there was another earth shattering explosion and screaming from inside the pillbox.

The back steel door opened and a crazed Japanese soldier rushed out and headed straight for Rossi. Fire from the Marines on the beaches cut him down. Rossi, Trace,and Gibbons huddled at the base of the pillbox. Units that were pinned down assumed assault positions to continue the attack throughout the morning.

Word passed that the Japanese were going to launch a counterattack. Communication lines were set up and supplies and equipment were landed on the beaches. Units reorganized and the wounded were evacuated.

What made you two come with me? Rossi said. We’re all out of ammo and all you got are the K Bars.

We was too fucking scared to stay out there, Gibbons said.

Sergeant Posey moved up with Corporal Humphrey and Owens. Nice going, men. I’m writing all three of you up for citations. The word has gone out for us to hold these positions.

They moved into the bunker.

Humphrey, see what you can do for Gibbons until a medic gets to him, Posey said.

Drop your pants. You got a million dollar wound, Humphrey said to Gibbons.

Dig four foxholes, Posey said. We’ll set up our defense here and use the pillbox as an anchor. We’ll be able to get fire support from the units on our flanks. Dig in, then we can have something to eat. Eagle, go to the beach and get us some ammunition. The Japs probably will counterattack tonight. Move fast, keep low.

Enemy fire was still pouring into the Marine positions, but Rosenbaum and Croy were evacuated to the beach. Darkness started to close in as Owens returned with four bandoleers of ammo for each man.

Nice going, Eagle, Humphrey said. There’s enough ammo here to do the job. Chow down, let’s eat.

We’ll go with two-man watches relieved every hour, Posey said. "Stay awake or you’ll have your throats slit. Be alert for Jap patrols trying to probe our positions. I’ll take the first watch

with Gibbons. Eagle and Corporal Humphrey are next, then Rossi and Trace."

Exhaustion was overtaking all of them. The bodies of the dead hadn’t been buried yet. The living settled down for the night. What was left of the squad was trying to regain its composure.

Rossi thought of a Bible quotation: The road to glory leads to death. This is what Dad was telling me about, he thought. My God, how can people do this to each other?

The four fell asleep almost immediately. Rossi and Trace’s turn for watch came up fast. An occasional flare lit up the night for a while, then darkness took over again. Shadows played tricks on the imagination. The longer the wait, the more horrible the thoughts.

Rossi whispered to Trace, Keep on your toes. I don’t want to get my frigging throat slit.

Bitter silence.

CHAPTER TWO

Rossi strained to listen for every sound and tried to place it in its proper perspective. This is a dance of death, he thought. They should have played Saint Saen’s Danse Macabre. From that point on, Rossi related military operations with classical music.

A flare lit up the area. As it slowly fell to earth, Rossi’s eyes strained. He noticed the bodies of the Japanese killed earlier.

Funny … I didn’t think there were that many directly to our front, he whispered.

The flare died out and darkness enveloped the island again. It would be time to call Sergeant Posey soon.

Sure will be glad to get off this watch, Rossi thought. Another flare lit up the sky. Rossi saw the enemy less than twenty feet away. He and Trace opened fire at the same time as the patrol rushed them. A grenade landed at Trace’s feet. Picking it up, he tossed it back. The explosion set off firing from almost every position on the beach. Posey and Humphrey came out of the bunker as Owens and Gibbons started firing. The heavy fire died down as the fighting got close and went hand to hand. Rossi parried a bayonet thrust and smashed the soldier’s head with the butt of his rifle. Owens thrust his bayonet deep into another’s chest and he squeezed the trigger, blowing him off the bayonet. Flare after flare lit up the sky as the patrol was wiped out.

Everyone okay? Sergeant Posey said.

All here, Sarge, Humphrey said.

Sergeant Posey turned to Gibbons. Come daylight you report back to the field hospital at the beach. Check the Japs, make sure they’re not playing possum.

These Japs have had it, Sarge, Humphrey said.

Okay, Corporal. This patrol probed for a weak spot to hit with the counterattack. We all go on the line at sunrise. Should be soon.

The firing from other units subsided. Once again, everyone settled down with his thoughts, Rossi with a gnawing feeling of fear in his stomach. A faint blush of light appeared on the horizon and began to get brighter. Soon the sun began to shed its light on a cloudless sky and basked the island of Tarawa in its rays. Daylight disclosed a scene that Rossi had not imagined in his wildest nightmare. Bloated bodies were scattered about, their grotesque positions locked rigidly in death. Marine bodies floated in the water, even in death trying to make it to the beach.

During the night some Japanese Marines had infiltrated the Marine positions, once again getting under the pier and boarding some of the disabled LVTS. Snipers fired into the Marines from the rear. A series of fire fights