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SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2006
Continued from page 17.
through his hands and arms - a
mechanical rhythm that became as
natural to a machine gunner as his
heartbeat.
Someone was tapping his shoulder. It
was one of his men and he was
shouting something and pointing, but
in the infernal din of battle, Basilone
could not make out fully what the
Marine was saying. But he did hear
the word “overrun.”
Basilone rose quickly from his gun pit
and ran to his other gun section.
In the pit, he found five of his men
dead and the other two wounded.
One of the machine guns had been
smashed by a mortar round, the other
machine gun was inoperable. When
the Japanese had overrun the position,
they had tried to use it on a nearby gun
crew, but the gun had jammed - the
Japanese had then dodged into the
jungle.
Coming back to his gun pit, Basilone
grabbed a machine gun and, signaling
to two of his men, he headed back -
the machine gun on his left shoulder, a
.45 pistol in his right hand.
As they headed along the muddy
ground, eight Japanese breached the
defense line; in mid-stride, they were
all killed.
In the gun pit, while two men loaded
and began firing the weapon that he
had carried, Basilone took hold of the
jammed machine gun and began to
take it apart.
A mortar shell crashed nearby. The
men ducked, and shrapnel rained
down on them.
In the dark, Basilone moved his
fingers over the machine gun parts.
His fingers stopped, and then slowly
moved over a single part - he had
located the problem.
At this moment, his men moved the
machine gun they had been operating
to re-direct its fire. The enemy was
close to infiltrating the line again.
Basilone finished reassembling the
gun and lifted it onto the tripod. Then
feeding an ammo belt into the gun’s
breech, he opened fire. With both
machine guns firing they stopped a
further breaching of the line.
By 3:30 that morning, there had been
six major assaults. With thousands of
rounds fired, the Marines now were
low on ammunition, and some rifle
barrels and other weapon parts were
showing signs of deterioration.
The Marines also were low on water.
The machine guns were water-cooled
and because of their almost constant
use that night, the water in some of
the machine guns was boiling and
their barrels were beginning to glow
pink. That problem was solved in a
simple way: the Marines urinated in
the cooling jackets.
The most pressing need was ammo,
but getting more would again have to
be put off. The Japanese could be
heard deploying; within moments,
there would be another attack.
Basilone quickly took off his boots –
which, in the rain and mud, had begun
to fall apart. Making sure his pistol
was fully loaded – some Japanese had
gotten around their position – he raced
barefoot to the battalion supply dump,
some 300 feet in back of the line.
Reaching the dump, Basilone took six
ammo belts, 22 pounds each, and
strapped them across his shoulders.
Carrying the 132 pounds of ammo, he
PAGE 18
started back, and as he went, firing at
prowling Japanese.
Reaching the front line moments
before the Japanese launched their
next attack, he distributed the ammo
belts to his gunners.
For the rest of the night, the machine
guns kept up a murderous fire.
When morning came, it revealed a
scene of carnage that riveted even the
most battle-hardened Marine. On the
ground, Japanese bodies were stacked
two and three high, and on the barbed
wire, the mound of corpses was three
and four deep – in the last charges, the
Japanese had used the bodies of their
comrades as bridges over the wire.
Already flies, in thick bunches, had
descended on the corpses.
Later that morning, the attacks started
again. And again, the weary and
hungry Marines manned their guns.
(Some had dozed occasionally
between attacks, and hurriedly
chewed biscuits from their K rations.)
The Japanese had changed their
pattern of attacks. Before, most of the
units had simply charged as soon as
they reached the cleared area in front
of the Marine line – a strategy that
had dismally failed. Now Japanese
commanders were trying to coordinate
the efforts of assaulting units. It
meant the attacks came less frequently
but with greater impact along the
whole line.
Army reserve units were brought up.
The perimeter held.
By nightfall, the Americans were
exhausted. But the Japanese didn’t let
up; neither did Sgt. Basilone.
To be continued in the
November/December 2006
Newsletter.