At a point 3,000 yards off Cape Torokina, the transports would turn to port and open fire with their three-inch guns on the beachline. Passing abeam of Puruata Island, they would fire on it with their 20mm guns and continue on to their assigned locations in the transport area. At 0645, as scheduled, the lead transport, the USS Hunter Liggett, opened fire, and the other transports followed suit. At about the same time, the four support destroyers also commenced their prearranged fires, which were scheduled to continue until H minus 15 minutes. This would be followed by 12 minutes of bombing and strafing of the landing beaches by aircraft from Marine Air Group-14, flying from New Georgia.

After the shelling had begun, Shapley joined us where we stood watching the effects of the explosions on the beach: sheets of water blown into the air, tree limbs knocked off, and dirt and other debris blown about. This spectacle impressed all of us, but especially Shapley and McCaffery. Shapley had served a tour as commander of the Marine detachment aboard the battleship Arizona, and this had left him with a high opinion of the efficacy of naval gunfire. McCaffery, also a fan of naval gunfire, had needed and prayed for naval gunfire support only a few months before on New Georgia but never got it. Now as he watched the spectacular looking show on the beach, he remarked to my assistant, Lieutenant George Schrier: "George, we sure as hell could have used some of this at Bairoko".

Although everybody had been happy with the planned amount of naval gunfire, the latest photographs showing enemy installations on our landing beaches now raised doubts as to its adequacy. Captain Jacobson, regimental intelligence officer, opined that the beaches on which the fortifications were being constructed should be saturated with naval gunfire much heavier than planned and bombed more intensively by low living aircraft. But even then there would be survivors, and a single Japanese with an automatic weapon could still inflict a heavy toll on the initial landing waves.

Captain Barney Green, the commander of Company "F", which would land in the first wave on the right of Company "E," considered the planned naval gunfire to be adequate. "But," he said, "there should be a method of testing the results before landing. The destroyers are located too far from the beaches for them to hit point targets or to observe the results of their fire, and the transports, even when making their pass, will get no closer than 3,000 yards. Although the airborne naval gunfire spotter can make coarse adjustments, thus assuring general coverage of the beach, he will be unable to see through the jungle canopy, nor will he see much on the beach itself after the gunfire commenced and the air became saturated with dust and debris."

Barney thought it would be best, after the dust raised by the bombardment had settled, to send several heavily armed landing craft, at least one for each landing beach, shoreward to about 200 yards from the beach to test the results of the naval gunfire. They would be prepared to return fire on anything that survived the bombardment, but if there were no enemy reaction to their presence, they would take up stations 500 yards from the beach and deliver fire on possible enemy positions until the assault waves passed.

Some opposed Barney’s idea, arguing that it would cause the loss of momentum and shock effect; that the lull would permit the surviving defenders to recover from their initial shock, thereby downgrading the effectiveness of the bombardment. Although I was a believer in the ability of naval gunfire to do fantastic damage to ships and other vertical targets, I didn’t go along with what one of the "true believers" said: "The planned bombardment will move the beaches back into the foothills and the foothills back into the mountains."

Upon hearing this declaration of faith, George Schrier, apparently a doubting Thomas also, snorted and wryly observed that anybody who was that much of a believer in naval gunfire ought to be landing in the assault waves.

At this late hour in our schedule, however, our talk about naval gunfire was purely academic, for no action could, or would, be taken to change it. The assault waves were already debarking; fully loaded troops going down the cargo nets—five on each side of the ship—and follow-on boat teams were being summoned to their debarkation stations. As each boat team was called away, farewells and good luck wishes were exchanged with those departing. When McCaffery’s boat team was called away, I wished him good luck and asked him to take care of Clint Eastment, his operations officer, who was about to see his first combat. Over the past few weeks, in the often hectic days of loading, unloading, and reloading, writing plans, and rehearsing, McCaffery, Eastment and I had grown close to one another. When they left, I had a funny feeling that I should be landing with them.

After wishing "Joe" (McCaffery) well, Shapley went to pay his respects to the captain of the ship and to thank him for the many things he and his crew had done for us. The Raiders had got along unbelievably well with the crew, but not because we had left them alone and made no requests for their support. Indeed, there had been many such requests, to all of which the ship’s company had responded with enthusiasm. Only a few days before they had remade all the boat paddles (boards marked with the boat and wave number and nailed to a long stick), making them twice as large as those used in the rehearsals. In the critique, the wave commander, wave guides, and the crews of the control boats had all complained about not being able to see the markings on the paddles fabricated exactly as specified in the orders.

This had been a seemingly minor thing at the time, but now that we were landing, it seemed most important, particularly since enemy action might add to the confusion that normally prevailed in a ship-to-shore landing. As McCaffery’s boat moved off to its wave-rendezvous area, his boat number could be seen clearly all the way. Changing to the larger signs was another of the pesky, last-minute details that now seemed to gain in importance, as I began mentally to check off the list of things that could go wrong with the 200 boats and landing craft carrying the eight assault battalions.

When Shapley’s boat team number was called, I put on my pack and moved with the others to our debarkation station. While waiting for the two boat teams ahead of us to debark, I chatted with Doctor Ware, one of the 2nd Raider Battalion surgeons, who along with Dick Washburn, McCaffery’s executive officer, was boated with the second half of the battalion command group. Doctor Ware, a Texan, was talking about Texan college football teams and how much he missed the football season. Pointing to the aircraft flying overhead, he observed, that the greatest aerial show on earth could be seen every Saturday in any football stadium in Texas.

George Shrier, not one to let Doctor Ware get too carried away with his panegyric on the greatness of Texas, quickly pointed out to him that the greatest aerial show, and perhaps the greatest show of any kind, that he would ever see would be right here on Bougainville. This observation apparently had distracted the doctor’s thoughts from Texas and football to Bougainvillian trivia, as he asked, "George. did you know the biggest snake ever brought to captivity was captured by Frank Buck right here on Bougainville?"

George’s immediate response was a perfect squelch: "Doctor, how could that snake swim all the way from Texas to Bougainville?" Before Doctor Ware could come up with a suitable reply, however, his boat team began debarking.

A few minutes later, our boat team was mustered, and as each responded to his name, it occurred to me that about half of the remaining original officers of the 2nd Raider Battalion were boated in this one boat. These were Doctor Stigler, Captain Jacobson, and I, plus two who had been commissioned from the ranks, Lieutenants Lamb and Schrier. I marveled at how fast things had changed: of the five doctors in the original 2d Raiders, only Doctor Stigler was still around. The same was true of other officer categories as well, although a strong leavening of plank owners, officer and enlisted, remained in the 2nd Raider Battalion.

Our boat moved to its rendezvous area and from there, in its turn, up behind the line of departure. While waiting our turn to move in between the control boats that marked the ends of the line of departure and controlled the dispatch of the waves to the landing beach, the naval gunfire bombardment of the beach ceased, and the Marine aircraft commenced their bombing and strafing runs. After 10 minutes the aircraft finished their work, and for two minutes, although it seemed more like 10 times two, there was deathly quiet. Soon, however, the battle noises started up again and quickly picked up tempo.

Automatic and semi-automatic weapons could be clearly heard firing on Puruata Island, and white star parachute flares were bursting above all the beaches to signal that the assault waves had landed. An artillery piece also could be heard firing, but we figured it was Japanese, since we knew our artillery was not scheduled to land this early. Later we learned that this was, indeed, a Japanese 75mm artillery piece that had survived the naval and aerial bombardment. Now, from its covered position on Cape Torokina it was raising hell with the boats carrying the 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines and causing other boats to shy away to the left.

After a short wait, the control boat gave our wave the signal to land, the coxswains advanced their throttles to "ahead three-fourths," and soon we were passing Puruata Island off our starboard side. There the noises of a battle in full swing could be heard, and from the rhythm, it was apparent that Lieutenant Colonel Fred Beans and his Companies "I" and "K" of the 3rd Raider Battalion were busy, busy, busy, but already had the situation well in hand. As we approached our landing beaches, Green-2 and Yellow-I, the sound of fighting was heavy to our front where the 2d Raiders were engaged and even heavier to our right front in the direction of Cape Torokina, where Major Leonard M Mason’s 1st Battalion, 3d Marines, had landed.

When our landing craft grounded on Beach Green-2 and the ramp dropped, we dashed across the beach, over the berm and into the edge of the jungle, where we stopped and set up a temporary command post (CP). We had hardly caught our breath, when Dick Washburn, the executive officer of the 2nd Raiders, radioed us that Joe McCaffery had been hit several times by machine gun fire and had been evacuated to the Clymer, in critical condition. Shapley was visibly shaken by this news; nevertheless, he lost no time in heading for the 2nd Raiders’ command post, which we found about 100 yards to the left down Beach Green- 2.

Washburn, who had assumed command of the battalion, gave Shapley a rundown on what had happened to McCaffery. After landing, McCaffery spent several minutes rallying the Marines on the beach and heading them inland then leaped into a Japanese communications trench and headed inland himself. But he had gone only about 20 yards when a Nambu machine gun at the inland end of the trench cut him down. Aside from the tragic loss of its commander, the battalion was in good shape. having lost only 12 other Raiders, killed and wounded.

Because of a mangrove swamp located just a few yards inland from the beach, the advance had been limited to less than 50 yards. The lead Raiders had whacked their way through a solid mass of vines only to find themselves in water over their shoetops. A narrow, single-passage trail led inland from the site of the battalion command post, but the few Raiders who ventured up this way had advanced only about 100 yards inland. As a consequence of this delay in expanding the beachhead inland, troops and equipment were piling up on top of one another with the landing of each additional wave. Now, as sporadic enemy rifle fire began to hit among the troops, confusion also began piling up.

While Shapley and Washburn talked, Clint Eastment took me over to the trench where McCaffery had been wounded. I asked Clint if Corporal Leo G. "Leaky" Lamers, McCaffery’s driver, messenger, body guard, and constant companion, who had been at his side since he had joined the battalion, had been hit too. Clint told me he had not but had come about as close as one could without being hit. At the moment, he was on his way to the Clyrner With McCaffery.

Clint and I made our way along the beach to the left of the battalion’s position. On the way, he extolled McCaffery’s action on the beach, relating how he was constantly on the move, encouraging his Raiders to get off the beach, from the minute he landed until he was hit. While encouraging one group to move on inland, he shouted: "Come on Raiders, let’s move" to which one member of the group replied, "Colonel, we ain’t Raiders." Thinking then that they had to be members of Company "B," 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, McCaffery changed his exhortation: "OK B Company, let’s move!" To this, the same Marine replied: "Colonel, we ain’t in B Company either. We’re in A Company." At this McCaffery had shouted louder than ever: "OK Marines, let’s move!" which, he said, was what he should have been shouting all along.

The landing plan called for the 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, to land on Beach Blue-1 on Cape Torokina with Companies "B," "C," and "A" abreast, left to right. Although most of the Marines in the 2nd Raiders’ immediate area were from Company "B," the presence of members of Company "A" among them certainly meant there had been a change. We assumed that Major Mason had made a change in his landing plan since the rehearsal and we had not been informed, otherwise it did not seem possible that Company "A," scheduled to land on the right flank of Beach Blue-1 several hundred yards to our right, could have landed on our beach. It seemed even stranger in light of the emphasis placed on maintaining contact.

As it turned out, the 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, was not the only unit whose assault elements landed in the wrong place. The boats carrying the assault wave of McCaffery’s Raiders, apparently shying to the left to avoid fire from the Japanese artillery piece, beached several hundred yards to the left of their designated site. Although the Raiders quickly moved down the beach to secure their initial objective (the Buretoni Mission), they were too late to prevent the tragic death of their battalion commander. As a result of the displacement of the first wave, when McCaffery and his staff landed with the second wave, there was nothing between them and the enemy.

On the way back we bumped into Chaplain McCorkle who was bleeding profusely from the left ear. From his explanation for the blood, it was obvious that he had come as close to being fatally wounded as one can and still be walking around. A bullet had struck his helmet in the front, just a shade off center, gone through the helmet, ricocheted down the inside to the rear, around the rear, and out the left side, breaking skin on his left ear in passing. Heretofore the chaplain had often urged us to come to his service with the words: "Come on brother and see the light, before it is too late." Now, as Clint and I looked at one another, pondering what to say, Chaplain McCorkle apparently mistook our silence as the prelude to some facetious remark and, turning to me, said: "Peat, you devil you, don’t say a word. Yes, I saw the light."

When Clint and I returned to the command post, Shapley and Washburn were discussing the next step to take. The colonel was not one to daIly around when it came to making decisions, and, because of the troops piling up on the beach, a decision was badly needed at the moment. Consequently, he ordered Washburn to push his battalion on inland and up the narrow trail 1,000 yards to our initial objective, the 0-1 Line. Once there, he was to contact the 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, and commence digging in and preparing defenses for the night.

In the meantime, Captain Francis O "Ham" Cunningham’s Company "M," 3rd Raiders, under regimental control, had landed and, passing through the 2nd Battalion, now headed up the trail. Cunningham’s mission was to advance up the trail about 1500 yards and establish a roadblock across the enemy’s most likely avenue of approach. After Company "M" had passed on through, Colonel Shapley and I returned along the beach to our command post, where Lieutenant George McHenry already had his radios operating, with three of them monitoring the command radio nets of the 3rd and 9th Marines and the 3rd Division. In this way, we hoped to keep abreast of what was happening in other areas.

We soon learned that our 3rd Raiders, not surprisingly, were doing all right on Puruata Island. Beans had landed at around 0740 on Beach Green-1 on the north coast of the island with Companies "I" (Captain William J Barnatt) and "K" (Captain Robert N Page) abreast, "K" on the right. Resistance to the landing had been light; nevertheless, a sniper firing from a coconut tree at the very edge of the landing beach wounded two Company "I" Raiders while they were still in the landing craft. After moving quickly across the beach and into the jungle, both companies were soon fully engaged and taking casualties from grenades and sniper fire. Apparently, the Japanese at first had been positioned to defend along the west and northwest coast of the island but had quickly redeployed upon recognizing their error.

Summing up the 3rd Raider Battalion’s dispositions: a detachment of about 130 men from Headquarters Company was aboard the Fuller as its unloading detail, Company "L" (Captain Joseph T McFadden) was aboard the Fuller as reserve, Company "M" was now on its way up Mission Trail, and Companies "I" and "K" were advancing on Puruata Island. Beans had his command post set up and operating just a few yards inland from the beach, his more serious casualties had been evacuated to the Fuller, and the situation, indeed, was well in hand.

So much could not be said for the unit on our right. The 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, judging from the little information we had been able to gather, was having considerable difficulty, and it sounded as if things might get worse. The Japanese 75mm gun, firing point blank from a bunker on Cape Torokina, had hit several boats of the assault wave, predominantly the distinctive Higgins boats carrying boat group commanders. Although only four boats sank, there had been immediate confusion among all, and the assault units were landed wherever possible, usually out of position. This explained why McCaffery had mistaken Marines of Company "A" for Raiders, then for members of Company "B." Now we heard, the executive officer of the 3rd Marines, Lieutenant Colonel George 0 Van Orden was coming ashore somewhere in the area to assist in the reorganization of the 1st Battalion.

Then came the blow of blows. We learned that the transports were pulling out of the area because of the approach of a large flight of Japanese aircraft. The first thought that came to mind was: "Here we go, Guadalcanal all over again." Not only was the Navy leaving us, it was taking a sizeable number of our troops in the process. In addition to Company’ "L" which was still on the Fuller, working parties of about 130-150 men, one each from the 2nd and 3rd Raider Battalions, remained on the Clymer and Fuller. Most of these men had been scheduled to come ashore on the second and subsequent trips of the landing craft, but now we didn’t know when we would get them back. Fortunately the transports returned after about two hours and resumed unloading operations.

Although the first flight of about 30 enemy aircraft was intercepted and badly mauled by a New Zealand fighter squadron, a few of the enemy planes broke through to dive-bomb the wildly maneuvering transports and strafe the beaches. About 10 minutes later another flight of enemy bombers and fighters attacked the area but were driven off by Marine fighters from VMF-215 and VMF-221, aided by very effective antiaircraft fire from the destroyer screen. No ships were lost in the attacks, but the destroyer Wadsworth suffered some casualties from a near miss. First Sergeant Jerome J. C "Jerry" Beau, the first sergeant of Company "K," 3rd Raiders, watched the air action from Puruata Island:

…each time a Jap plane strafed there usually was an F4U [Corsair] on his tail

…we could see the puffs from the F4U machine guns as it fired on the Jap plane. I remember at least two of the Jap planes smoking as they pulled up and attempted to shake of the F4U’s….

Shortly after 0900, Shapley, his radio operator, and I went down the beach beyond our right flank and into the 1st Battalion area, looking for the battalion command post and someone body who could inform us as to the situation in the battalion. After we had progressed a hundred yards or so, we noticed that the tempo of firing from both sides was increasing. Although the fire was not yet intense, an occasional shot cracking overhead was close enough to encourage us to walk and trot stooped over, and a couple of times shots were close enough to make us hit the deck and remain motionless (and breathless) for a minute or two before continuing onward. After 10 minutes or so of such scrambling, we came to a partially destroyed bunker that had Marines deployed on both sides and somebody inside firing toward the enemy.

Through the partially collapsed front wall of the former enemy emplacement, we saw Lieutenant Colonel George D Van Orden, executive officer of the 3rd Marines, blazing away in the direction of the enemy with his pistol left---handed. Van Orden, a distinguished marksman with the pistol and rifle, had instructed me and thousands of others on the finer points of marksmanship back in Quantico before the war began. His ambidexterity with the 45-caliber service pistol had amazed us all. Once after a spectacular demonstration of pistoling, one of the candidates asked him if he could also fire the rifle left-handed. Van Orden’s immediate response was to dress down the candidate for daring even to suggest that left-handed shooters might be tolerated in the Corps, all the while brandishing his pistol in his left hand.

After emptying a magazine at the invisible (at least to me) target, Van Orden stepped back from the rear wall of the bunker, cleared, reloaded, and holstered his pistol and, with a self-satisfied grin on his face as if he had just completed a successful string of rapid fire at the Camp Perry National Matches, walked over to where Shapley and I waited. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Van Orden gave us a rundown on the situation in the 3rd Marines’ area, concentrating on the 1st Battalion. We were greatly relieved to learn that the situation on our right was not as gloomy as we had been led to believe and, indeed, had improved immensely.

Because of the confusion created by the enemy anti boat gun, when Major Leonard M. Mason, commander of the 1st Battalion, landed on Beach Blue-1 on Cape Torokina, he found only about 100 Marines available. That notwithstanding, he immediately began to push the attack against the 200 or more Japanese and 22 bunkers that made up the enemy defensive position on the cape. Although wounded by machine-gun fire soon after landing, Major Mason had remained in command, spurning advice to wait for reinforcements and exhorting his men to "Get the hell in there and fight."

Surprised at the extent of the Japanese defenses, Mason’s Marines nevertheless responded to the encouragement of their commander, and the intensive training they had undergone began to pay dividends. Soon small assault groups were forming up under the leadership of anyone who assumed the responsibility of command, and the enemy defensive position began to crack under their attacks. Shortly after 0830, barely one hour after the first troops had splashed ashore, a message was flashed from Beach Blue-1 reporting the situation to be well in hand.

After finishing his situation briefing, Van Orden asked Shapley what he thought of the feasibility of using an unengaged Raider company to reinforce Mason’s men on Cape Torokina. Since the 2nd Raiders were already engaged in the middle of the 3rd Marines’ line, Companies "I" and "K," 3rd Raiders, were on Puruata, and Company "M" was manning a road block on the mainland, the only Raider company that could be considered "available" was Company "L" which was still aboard ship and technically still attached to the 9th Marines. Shapley voiced the opinion that the division probably would direct the release of this company if the 3rd Marines requested it, and Van Orden indicated that he would recommend such to Colonel McHenry. Soon afterward, we took our leave and returned to our own command post to prepare it to displace forward.

Although it was not exactly according to the book, we moved the regimental command post to a site immediately behind the rifle companies on the 0-1 Line, about a hundred yards or so inland from Washburn’s command post. Ordinarily, the battalion command posts are closer to the front line than the regimental, but this certainly was an exceptional case and ours the best solution, albeit an unorthodox one. Since Washburn’s 2nd Raiders were responsible for the defense of the beach on D-day and that night, and the shore party commander, Warrant Officer Everett W."Bud" Davis, and all the men in the shore party were Washburn’s, it made little difference whether the battalion command post was closer to the rifle companies on the 0-1 Line or the men on the beach.

Furthermore, since the beachhead line would advance another 1,000 yards inland the next day and the 2nd Raiders would no longer be responsible for beach security, Washburn would have to move his command post farther inland anyway. On the other hand, at its new position, the regimental command post would be far enough inland to leave it unmoved for a day or two. Generally speaking, the fewer moves that headquarters personnel have to make in a combat situation the better; people need to get over their D-day jitters and become accustomed to the location of things; the slit trench, for example This helps prevent accidents and indiscriminate firing at imaginary targets—at night sounds and shadows---as often happens when a command post moves to a new location.

By a few minutes past 1100, The assault companies of the 2nd Raiders had reached the 0-1 Line and were digging in and preparing night defensive positions. By noon the troops of the regimental headquarters also were digging in, most amid mangrove roots and in standing water, but a lucky few near the Mission Trail found six or so inches of dry earth in which to dig their holes. Notwithstanding the water, all of us dug emplacements at least deep enough to lie in and receive some protection (undoubtedly more psychological than physical) from Japanese small arms fire and the random shell fragments that fly about the battlefield.

After our individual positions were dug, we heated C-rations and boiled water for coffee or tea, as the individual preferred, and took a break. There is something about taking a break---shucking off the pack, sitting down on a dry log, stretching the legs, and savoring the aroma of freshly brewed coffee—that warms the cockles of one’s heart. This pleasant, restful, and calming experience seems totally to gratify all of the senses. I have often tried to explain this phenomenon to those who have never known it but have never been able to do it justice. George Schrier probably came as close as anybody could with his "Rest up and eat up men The good Lord is giving you a break so you can recharge yourself for another day and another hill." This expression obviously appealed to the operations section, for they began calling a C-ration break a "recharging break."

Because I was still filling in for our yet-to-be-assigned executive officer, I also handled the functions of that office, not the least of which is staff coordination. Consequently, copies of all out-going and incoming messages, whether dealing with personnel, intelligence, operations, or logistic matters, were delivered to me by the message center or the staff section involved for review or assignment of action. So far, however, voice radio was our primary means of communication, and we had received no messages requiring a response.

We had, however, originated several messages to the 3rd Marines, reporting the locations of our front lines and command post, the loss of Lieutenant Colonel McCaffery, the establishment of our shore party ashore, and similar matters. We also were monitoring radio traffic between the 3rd Raider Battalion and the 9th Marines, which kept us informed of their activities but required no action on our part. Among the first such messages was that from the 9th Marines informing the 3rd Raiders that, effective at 1150, Company "L," 3rd Raiders, was attached to the 3rd Marines and would be landed on Beach BIue-1 to assist the 1st Battalion. This attachment presumably was the outcome of the earlier conversation between Van Orden and ShapIey.

On Puruata Island, the 3rd Raiders had continued their advance against light-to-moderate opposition until, about 200 yards inland, Company "K" suddenly encountered a well organized Japanese strong point. The initial burst of fire from well-camouflaged riflemen and light machine guns inflicted several casualties in the ranks of Company "K," and the advance ground to a stop. At first the Raiders instinctively sought cover from the withering fire, but soon the battlefield skills instilled by long and arduous training began to assert themselves, and almost automatically units reorganized and adjusted to compensate for their losses. Simultaneously, individuals responded to the crisis and, stepping into now-vacant leadership positions, got the attack under way again.

On the right flank of the company, Private, first class, Osborn Cammack, a platoon scout, was wounded in the left leg and both ankles by the initial burst of lire, but nevertheless managed to locate the enemy machine gun that was holding up the advance of his platoon. Disregarding his painful wounds and ignoring the withering fire from machine guns and "knee mortars" (grenade launchers), Cammack dragged himself to a vantage point near the enemy position and with a well-aimed hand grenade destroyed the machine gun and its crew of three. Inspired by Cammack’s heroic action, his platoon resolutely pressed home the attack, destroying the enemy position and precipitating the collapse of organized resistance. For his extraordinary heroism in this action, Cammack was awarded the Navy Cross.

Meanwhile, on the left flank, Company "I" advanced quickly through sniper fire and grenade barrages to the native village and then on to the beach, taking some casualties but driving the enemy before them into the jungle. After the assault elements pulled back to the village, it was discovered that Gunnery Sergeant John R Leyden was missing, he presumably having been hit and inadvertently left behind. One of the corpsmen, Pharmacist’s Mate, third class, Melvin L Sommers, volunteered to go back and search for Leyden.

He soon found the critically wounded gunnery sergeant about halfway between the village and the beach, barely alive but still alert. While dressing Leyden’s wounds, however, Sommers himself was shot in the upper right leg by a sniper and suffered a compound fracture of the femur. Now unable to walk, he could only huddle with his patient in the bush and hope that help came before the enemy.

Back at the village, after several minutes had passed with no word from the corpsman, Father Robert J. Cronin, the battalion chaplain, and Private Oliver L. "Red" Howard, Jr., volunteered to go look for the two missing Raiders. When they finally found the wounded men, Leyden was near death but stilt looking around through his binoculars, trying to locate the sniper who had shot the corpsman. As Father Cronin ministered to the dying Leyden, Howard and the wounded corpsman kept a sharp lookout for the enemy. Suddenly they heard a party of Japanese approaching their position, and as the four Raiders huddled in the bush, a group of about a dozen enemy soldiers approached, heading toward the village.

Waiting until the enemy soldiers had passed, Red Howard quietly slipped from his hiding place and in quick succession threw all of his grenades at the enemy. Then he charged the surviving Japanese, firing his rifle on the run, and drove them into the jungle. Soon after this flurry of action, Leyden died, and Father Cronin and Howard headed back to the village, carrying the corpsman between them.

As they cautiously made their way through the thick jungle, a sudden rattle of fire in the direction of the village, unmistakably from Japanese rifles and light machine guns, sent them scrambling for cover. Before they had a chance to become too concerned for the welfare of their comrades, however, the noise of the enemy fire was overwhelmed and soon silenced by the heavier roar of American weapons. A small group of Japanese, apparently the survivors of the party Red Howard had engaged plus a few others, had launched a last, desperate banzai against the Raider position in the village and were slaughtered to a man. For his efforts to rescue Gunnery Sergeant Leyden and other heroic acts, Father Cronin was awarded the Silver Star medal. Unfortunatley, Pharmacist’s Mate, third class, Sommers died of complications from his wound on March 28,1944.

In the middle of the afternoon, after visiting both companies and debriefing his company commanders, Beans concluded that the back of the enemy resistance had been broken and ordered both companies to withdraw to the 0-1 Line and dig in for the night. He also established an observation post near the southeast end of the island and moved his command post to a site near the center of the island, about a 100 yards inland from the beach.

The day’s action had cost Beans seven Raiders killed in action and 22 wounded. Killed were Private Alfred Tsosie, a Navajo code talker of Headquarters Company, Gunnery Sergeant Leyden and Private first class, Raymond T Scanlon of Company "I," and Privates, first class Bobby E Brewer, George A Hudson, William C McCombe and Carleton Russell of Company "K." Private, first class, Saverio Sciancalapore of Company "I" died of wounds on November 4. Most of the wounded had been evacuated to the Fuller before dark, although some of the less serious cases were held at the battalion aid station or remained with their units. One of the latter, Captain Page, the Company "K" commander, had been painfully wounded in the left side and arm by grenade fragments before noon but had refused evacuation and remained at his post.

On Bougainville just after mid-afternoon lightning bolts flashed suddenly across the sky, seemingly Just a few feet overhead, and were followed almost immediately by deafening claps of thunder. Then came a heavy downpour that lasted about 40 minutes and ended just as abruptly as it had begun. The sun came out again, as bright and hot as ever, and as its rays beat down, piercing through the jungle canopy here and there, they created a ghostly scene: vapor boiled from the ,jungle floor as if the rain had fallen on a giant, hot stove and been instantly converted into steam that slowly rose through the canopy into the sky to form new clouds in preparation for the next down pour. We had read about these Texas-sized, gosling-drowners but hadn’t believed it; now we did.

The rising steam soon flushed out all the winged insects in the jungle, and they flew around in the dense vapor as if it played a role in their life cycles. Mosquitoes were out in dense swarms, as if this formation were necessary to penetrate the steam and get at us intruders. All of us had rubbed on our hands and faces a lemon-scented insect repellant having an oily base to give it greater endurance. Enduring it was, repellant it wasn’t, and the mosquitoes were soon alighting on it as if rushing to savor a new gourmet treat that had just been introduced into their jungle.

Copyright:  ReView Publications