Battle Cry - Leon Uris [200]
Landing craft moved for the pier with life-giving blood and death-dealing ammunition. They dumped their loads on the pier’s edge, five hundred yards into the lagoon. There was no call for volunteers as each man silently assigned himself to wade out and bring supplies in through the rattle of sniper fire from the pilings, and through the storm of bullets and shells that other desperate men, the Japanese, turned on them from the bunkers.
Sitting in water, with his back propped against the seawall, a newspaper correspondent squinted as he held his paper toward the moon’s light and wrote with a pencil stub: It is hard to believe what I see about me. As I write this story I do not know whether you will ever read it, for tomorrow morning will find me dead. I am on the island of Betio, on a coral atoll named Tarawa in the Gilbert Islands. Like the men around me, I await a counterattack. We all know we are going to die, yet there is no confusion, no shouting, no outward sign of nervous strain or of a crack in our mental armor. I didn’t realize that men could show such courage. Never have men, and boys, faced sacrifice so gallantly. Bunker Hill, Gettysburg, the Alamo, Belleau Wood…well, today we have a new name to add: TARAWA. For this is the hour of the Second Marine Division, the Silent Second.
An aide led a small, dark and grimy sailor into the operations room on the Maryland. The bleary-eyed, depressed commanders paid small notice as they waited desperately for word from Carpe.
“Sir,” the aide said to General Philips, “this man is a coxswain from the Haywood. He has a plan you might be able to use.”
Philips looked up at the pilot of the landing craft which had made fifteen runs to Blue Beach during the day. “What is it, son?”
“Sir,” the sailor said, “the supplies aren’t getting in.”
“We know that.”
“I have an idea that might be able to clear the snipers from under the pier and let us use it as protection.”
Tod Philips had long ago learned that wisdom and improvisation can often come from the lowest ranks. He invited the worn sailor to sit and asked his plan.
“I have found a spot in the barrier reef that is slightly lower than the rest of the reef. I think I can get a shallow draft boat over it if it is lightly loaded. The tide is up to the seawall and that will give an extra lift. If I had a crew of flamethrowers I could make a couple of quick passes right next to the pier, burn the snipers from under the pilings, and give the Marines a chance to move in.”
“They’ll rip your boat to pieces, sailor. How about an alligator?”
“An alligator would be too slow. If you have an old type Higgins’ boat or a skipper’s craft with just three or four men in it, sir, I’m sure I’d be able to get enough speed up. With a break we can make it.”
“It’s worth a try,” General Bryant said.
“The ammo and plasma aren’t getting in now. We can’t gun them from under the pier and they’re picking off the Marines as fast as they wade out for supplies,” the sailor argued.
“What about the Jap fire from land?” Philips asked.
“It’s wild, sir. They’re pouring it into the pier but if we have control of the pilings we’ll be able to get most of the stuff through underneath.”
“Snipes! Get the Eighteenth Marines. Have a flamethrower team stand by. Have an alternate team in ready in case something goes wrong with the first pass.”
The sailor arose and extended his hand. “Thanks for the opportunity, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“By the way,” Bryant said, “what is your name, sailor?