To our left where the 9th Marines had landed, however, there looked to be at least 50 broached landing craft of all types, not one of which had been hit by enemy fire. The vicious surf had claimed them all. Knowing of the serious shortage of landing craft in the Pacific Ocean area, I found this to be a very depressing sight. Even more depressing was the realization that this now seemed to be an unnecessary waste. Exit from the beaches assigned to the 9th Marines, except the one on the extreme left, was blocked by an extensive mangrove swamp, and everything—the transports at sea and the troops and supplies already on the beaches—had to be shifted to the right. How could our planners possibly not have known of this major obstacle? Grateful that we too would not have to make a major lateral movement, we left the beach feeling good about our defenses there.

When we returned to our command post, Lieutenant McHenry reported that we had telephone and radio communications with all our units, including Company "M" on the road block, and Lieutenant Schrier, our headquarters defense coordinator, reported that the headquarters defenses were all in. Schrier was a real expediter who could explain what he wanted done more precisely and quickly than anybody I had ever known and, what is more, get it done in the same fashion. His extensive experience in the jungle, particularly his recent sojourn with Coastwatcher Kennedy on New Georgia, had made him the most jungle-wise military man on Bougainville---maybe in the whole Pacific.

George, the finest leader of Marines I have ever know, bar none, had enlisted in the Marine Corps in the late thirties and became a sergeant as quickly as one could. As a drill instructor at the Recruit Depot in San Diego, he had consistently turned out honor recruit platoons and had the reputation of being the best drill instructor of them all. Then had come the war, volunteering for the 2nd Raiders, promotion to platoon sergeant, action at Midway with Company "D," and a decoration for heroic achievement and outstanding leadership in that campaign. For his combat leadership on Guadalcanal he received a field commission as a second lieutenant and was awarded the Legion of Merit for his reconnaissance on New Georgia with Coastwatcher Kennedy. At the time, he was the most junior officer in the Corps to have received this award.

Just before dark, Schrier assembled all the section chiefs in our bivouac area, assigned sectors for them to defend, gave them the password, and simple instructions on when to fire and when not to fire. He gave more details than he ordinarily would have, because this was D-day night and most of our headquarters personnel had never before been in the jungle under combat conditions. Furthermore, our communications platoon, which alone was as large as the rest of the headquarters, was an unknown quantity and was in the field with us for the first time.

Schrier explained about the noise makers they would be hearing during the night: the pigeons, lizards, crickets, and other creatures. He instructed each man to get into his foxhole just before dark and familiarize himself with all stationary forms that he would be seeing during the night. Otherwise, he pointed out, upon hearing the exotic jungle noises and seeing unfamiliar shapes in the semidarkness of the tropical night, his mind would distort every sensation and turn the jungle into hordes of attacking Japanese. He concluded his comments with a caution against any movement outside the foxholes during the night To Schrier’s credit, not a shot was fired in our headquarters during the night.

Gathered around a small pit of hot coals near the center of the command post, smoking, drinking coffee, and slapping mosquitoes, members of the staff spent about an hour discussing the events of the day and speculating on what we might expect during the next few days. The first topic that came up for discussion, albeit reluctantly, was our losses for the day. Charlie Lamb, our personnel officer, had just finished compiling the periodic personnel summary and had the latest casualty figures, which he now passed on to us.

D-day operations so far had cost the lives of 15 Raiders. From the 2nd Battalion, besides Lieutenant Colonel McCaffery who had died of his wounds aboard the Clymer, we had lost Corporal Emmett P Wiseman, Pharmacist’s Mate, third class, John G Howard, Private, first class, John W Studer, and Private James Riegel, all of Company "F." From the 3rd Raiders, besides the seven killed on Puruata Island, Corporal James F Wheeler and Private Joseph B Siler, Jr., of Company "L" were killed on Cape Torokina and Private, first class, Walter Kafut of Company "M" was killed on the trail to the roadblock. After Charley finished reading the names of the dead Raiders, there was total silence for several seconds as each of us in his own way mourned the loss of these brave comrades.

My personal grief for these dead Raiders was intensified by a feeling that some, if not most, of these deaths could have been averted had the pro-landing naval bombardment been more effective. From what I had seen, instead of "moving the beaches back into the foothills and the foothills back into the mountains," naval gunfire had accomplished little or nothing. The two bunkers and supporting trenches behind Beach Green-2 were untouched and had to be blasted apart by the Raiders, on the beaches to our right, the enemy defenses were largely unscathed, and the same was true of Puruata Island. Some valuable lessons in naval gunfire support—what it could and could not do—were learned at Bougainville; unfortunately, however, they were too late to help the Marines of the 2nd Division who would soon be landing at Tarawa.

Notwithstanding the lackluster performance of naval gunfire, the colossal pileup on the 9th Marines’ beaches, and the delays occasioned by Japanese air raids, the landing force was by now well established ashore and ready to handle whatever the enemy was capable of throwing at us. Jake Jacobson, our intelligence officer, Charlie Lamb, George Schrier, and I generally agreed that this could take the form of piecemeal attacks through the jungle by small units in about three days and a shore-to-shore counterlanding by significantly larger forces at any time. In addition, we expected to be bombed nightly until we had our own airfield and our own planes operating from Bougainville and to be shelled by enemy ships each night until the inevitable naval battle decided who would control the seas around Bougainville.

Nevertheless, the night passed quietly on our front, except on the roadblock, where Cunningham’s Company "M" intermittently fired on scattered Japanese attempting to infiltrate the Raider lines. Undoubtedly much of the credit for the quiet and feeling of security we enjoyed that first night on Bougainville goes to the dogs of Clyde Henderson’s 1st War Dog Platoon. Already the Raiders were discovering the value of the dogs as sentries, and as the word spread the Raiders would compete to dig foxholes for the handlers in order to get the handlers and their dog to bunk with them.

The dog platoon had landed about an hour after H-hour, and when Company "M" headed up the Mission Trail to its roadblock position it was accompanied by Andy, a Doberman Pinscher, and his handlers, Privates, first class, Robert E. Lansley and John Mahoney. Ranging about 25 yards ahead of the point, Andy led the column to its destination. Three times on the march Andy had alerted, giving the Raiders opportunity to take cover and eliminate enemy positions, including one machine gun nest.

Also accompanying Company "M" were Caesar, a German Shepherd messenger dog, and one of his handlers, Private, first class, Rufus Mayo. Private, first class, John Kleeman, Caesar’s second handler, remained behind at the command post to provide the second terminus of the messenger route. After the company set up the roadblock and until a telephone line could be laid, Caesar was the only means of communication between Company "M" and our command post in the beachhead area.

As anticipated, the Japanese reacted quickly to our landing and began moving a surface strike force from Truk to Rabaul. But as these ships (four cruisers and six destroyers under Rear Admiral S Omori, IJN) assembled near Rabaul and during daylight headed toward Bougainville, they were observed and reported by our coastwatchers and returning aircraft. Based on these reports, it was estimated that the enemy ships could be in position to threaten our beachhead by around midnight. The only force available to counter this enemy riposte was Rear Admiral Aaron S Merrill’s 12-ship Task Force 39, comprising light cruisers Montpelier, CleveIand, Columbia, and Denver and destroyers Charles Ausburne, Claxton, Converse, Dyson, Foote, Spence, Stanley, and Thatcher.

Earlier, Task Force 39 had successfully bombarded installations on Buka and in the Shortlands in support of our landing at Cape Torokina, then had moved to a position north of Vella Lavella to screen the retirement of the transports. After refueling, the task force headed toward Empress Augusta Bay to interpose itself between the beachhead and the approaching enemy force. Shortly after midnight Task Force 39 had its first radar contact with the enemy ships, and Admiral Merrill ordered a torpedo attack by his destroyers. At around 0230, the destroyers engaged the northernmost of the three groups of enemy ships about 45 miles from Cape Torokina, while simultaneously the cruisers opened fire on the other two groups at ranges of 16,000 to 20,000 yards.

Merrill’s ships, enjoying the advantage of radar fire control, scored hits immediately, whereas the enemy’s return salvos, directed solely by optical fire-control instruments, were largely ineffective. For the next hour or so the antagonists dashed hither and yon over a broad expanse of the Solomon Sea, probing for one another with torpedoes and gunfire. Admiral Omori employed star shells and aircraft-dropped flares to illuminate his enemy, while Admiral Merrill countered by laying smoke screens to cover his forces and thereby deny the enemy the use of his optics. Finally, when the last of Omori’s star shells and parachute flares had flickered out and the last wisps of Merrill’s smoke had drifted away, there was no question as to who was the winner.

In Admiral Merrill’s task force damage was relatively light, the Foote taking a torpedo hit in the stern and the Spence and Denver suffering minor damage from shell fire. Japanese losses were light cruiser Sendai, and destroyer Hatsukaze sunk and heavy cruisers Haguro and .Myoko and destroyer Shiratsuyu damaged. Having recognized the superiority of the fire-control system of the American ships and unsure of their number and location but certain that if he hung around to find out American aircraft would attack his surviving ships at first light, Omori ordered his force to disengage and return to Rabaul.

The fact that our beachhead was not shelled that first night was due in no small measure to the technical advantage our ships had in their radar-directed fire control system. Denying the Japanese visibility denied them effective use of their optically directed weapons, whereas Merrill’s weapons were effective even under conditions of no visibility. As the out-gunned and badly battered enemy force hightailed it for Rabaul, we could take satisfaction in the realization that after almost two years of playing catchup ball, our Navy had taken the lead, never to relinquish it.

At Pearl Harbor, our Pacific Fleet was smashed and in quick succession lost advanced bases in the Philippines, on Guam, and on Wake Island. In the Battle of the Coral Sea it lost ships and the battle but gained a strategic victory by preventing the Japanese for the first time from going where they had planned to go. In the Battle of Midway our Navy had given the Japanese fleet a thorough beating from which it never recovered, but we lost ships and many planes and their crews because of technically inferior weapons systems.

On Guadalcanal, from August through October,1942, Vandegrift’s Marines of the 1st and 2nd Divisions and his "Cactus Air Force," a jerry-built force of Army, Navy, and Marine planes, pilots, and ground crews, had conducted a shoestring operation against the Emperor’s best. Only at a great cost in men and materiel--- ships, aircraft, guns, munitions—and with the invaluable assistance of a handful of coastswatchers, we held Guadalcanal and saved Samoa, New Zealand, and Australia. Now at last, a significant technical superiority in weapons systems had made a difference. This was truly another splendid day, we had climbed one more hill.

Although our beachead was not physically disturbed by the enemy ships, the distant thunder of explosions and the illumination high over the area of the sea battle made for us a tense and anxious night. Daylight, however, brought reassurance as the four transports that had not finished unloading on D-day returned to their stations, and the USS Sioux, a salvage tug, resumed operations to salvage landing craft, a task that kept it fully occupied throughout the day.

Around noon on D-plus 1, Colonel Shapley and I boated over to Puruata Island to visit the 3rd Raiders and talk with Beans and his executive officer, my friend and military classmate, Captain Arthur Haake. As we walked through the rear services area, I could tell by Colonel Shapley’s smile that he was very pleased to see the galley already serving hot chow. Likewise, it was gratifying to see that a detachment of a 90mm antiaircraft battery of the 3rd Defense Battalion was ashore and well on the way to being fully operational. After giving us a tour of his position and a quick rundown on what had happened and what was planned for the day, Beans led us back to his command post, where we had coffee and heard a more detailed account of the operation.

During their first night ashore on Puruata Island, the 3rd Raiders were harassed by intermittent sniper fire and by enemy riflemen attempting unsuccessfully to infiltrate the lines. Although the Raiders fired several rounds in response to the enemy probes and lost considerable sleep, there were no confirmed kills nor were there any Raider casualties. Early in the morning of November 2, those Raiders who were awake had witnessed, as had we on the mainland, the lightning-like flashes and low thunder of naval guns as Task Force 39 and the Japanese strike force slugged it out 40 or 50 miles to the west.

Shortly after 0800 on the second, Beans had sent out patrols to the southeast and northwest to make a thorough sweep of the island and eliminate any remaining pockets of resistance. Returning to their starting point around 1200, the patrols reported the island to be clear of enemy troops, except on the northwest end, where at least two very elusive snipers continued to evade our patrols. One Raider from Headquarters Company was wounded by a sniper during the sweep; however, notwithstanding the continued presence of snipers, the island was declared secured in the midafternoon.

Moving on to less weighty matters after his operational briefing, Colonel Beans related an anecdote in which his intelligence officer, First Lieutenant Robert C "Bob" McMaster, had played the leading role. With tongue in cheek, Beans told how on D-day, shortly after the battalion command group had landed, a Japanese rifleman had run out of the jungle and down the beach right in front of Bob. Quickly raising and aiming his carbine, careful to lead his target, Bob extended his forefinger to push the safety off. But instead of the safety, he pressed the magazine release and heard an embarrassing, dull thud as the loaded magazine plopped into the sand. As the Japanese rifleman disappeared into the jungle, everybody in the vicinity had a big laugh at Bob’s expense.

To Bob, an experienced quail hunter front Winnsboro, South Carolina, the incident obviously was not the least bit funny, and be would have preferred that Beans not dwell on it. He just was not the type to whom such a thing should have happened; furthermore, as the battalion intelligence officer, and a good one too, such a blunder did not fit the image of infallibility that he felt he should present. As a quail hunter my self, I could empathize with Bob, but this still did not keep me from laughing at his discomfiture along with the rest as Beans concluded his story of the quail that got away.

Shapley and I returned to our command post late in the afternoon, and I used the remaining daylight to update my self on the operational situation in the beachhead. During the day, the 2nd Raider Battalion had moved inland to the O-2 line, about 1,200 yards from the beach, and consolidated its new position. No organized resistance was encountered, but local security patrols killed several stray Japanese. These patrol clashes cost the lives of two Raiders: Private, first class, Lester C Behnisch of Company "F" and Private William A Rogers of Headquarters Company. Almost certainly, however, there would have been several other casualties had not Otto, a Doberman Pinscher scout dog with one patrol, alerted on a well-camouflaged machine gun position in time for the patrol to take cover.

There had been no enemy activity at the roadblock; however, infiltrators cut the telephone line to our command post, and once again Caesar had distinguished himself carrying messages. Elsewhere in the area, enemy contact also had been negligible, permitting the 9th Marines, less its 3rd Battalion, to commence its move to the right of the beachhead.

Although the night of November 2-3 began quietly enough, at around 0200 a flight of enemy bombers swooped down on the beachhead from the north, dropping several bombs on the mainland and on Puruata Island and disturbing everyone’s rest. One bomb made a near-direct hit on the 90mm antiaircraft gun position on Puruata Island, wounding and killing several Marines of the 3rd Defense Battalion and killing two Company "K" Raiders, Pharmacist’s Mate, second class, Cecil "L" Mangum and Private, first class, Robert E Heffner.

Elsewhere that night, the Japanese intensified efforts to infiltrate the roadblock, and twice the infiltrators were discovered by Caesar, the messenger dog. The first time, he awakened his handler just before a grenade landed in their foxhole. Acting reflexively, Mayo grabbed up the grenade and hurled it well beyond his position. Later, just before dawn, Caesar again awakened Mayo as an infiltrator attempted to sneak up on their foxhole. When the dog charged out of the foxhole toward the enemy soldier, Mayo immediately ordered him back, since he was not trained to attack. As the faithful dog turned to obey, the Japanese shot him twice. Although painfully wounded, Caesar returned under his own power to the battalion command post, where his wounds were dressed, and he was evacuated by stretcher to the regimental aid station.

In the log which he kept on each of his dogs, Clyde Henderson wrote: "Caesar made nine runs, carrying messages, overlays, and captured documents. On at least two of these runs, he went through sniper fire.

Unquestionably a superior performance by this four-legged Raider.

As the repositioning of forces continued on November 3, the 3rd Raider Battalion headquarters, Headquarters Company, and Company "I" moved to the mainland in the morning and were placed in Corps reserve. Company "K" remained on Puruata Island as a temporary garrison, while Company "M," replaced on the roadblock by Company "E," 2nd Raider Battalion (Captain Robert T. Neal), reverted to battalion control.

After the battalion left Puruata, Company "K" shifted to a new position near the center of the island and set about cleaning up Torokina Island, from which snipers had been harassing Marines on Cape Torokina since D-day. Following a 15-minute artillery preparation from the mainland, Captain Page sent one platoon to sweep the island and eliminate this constant irritant. The platoon quickly swept across the tiny island but found no live Japanese; only 10 freshly dug graves. After the sweep, the machine gun section of Weapons Platoon, under Second Lieutenant Archibald D "Archie" Rackerby, was left on the island as a security force, remaining there until November 9, when Company "K" rejoined the battalion.

On November 4 at 1300, the 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines (Lieutenant Colonel Robert Cushman, Jr.) relieved the 2nd Raider Battalion on the line. In preparation for the relief, Lieutenant Schrier and I had met Cushman and members of his battalion and guided them over part of the front lines and then to Major Washburn’s command post. Cushman did not like the area he was to occupy because it was too wet and otherwise unsuitable for long term occupancy. I agreed with him and pointed out that we had asked permission to move forward, but had been told by 3rd Division headquarters: "…make no move forward or backward until directed to do so."

This, of course, was the correct short-run response to such a request, because any thing might happen unexpectedly, and the division had to know the exact location of each unit’s front lines in order to provide timely naval gunfire, aircraft, or other support. Otherwise, it might not have sufficient time to determine the location of front lines and provide this information to external supporting agencies. Nevertheless, with advance notice of the new position and a precise time to move, I failed to see how advancing the lines 200 or so yards could possibly jeopardize or delay support operations, especially when it could make a big difference in the lives of the men on the front lines—the difference between being soaking wet and dry.

The Raiders’ metier was patrolling, whose freedom of action they preferred many times over standing in swamps all day. Thus, when Corps orders came to send two lieutenants to headquarters for briefing on a patrol to be conducted November 5, they were greeted with enthusiasm. After no small amount of lobbying for selection among the available lieutenants, First Lieutenants Lawrence S Bangser and Chester S Devore of Company "E," 2nd Raider Battalion, made the cut and were selected for the mission. At Corps headquarters, Lieutenant Colonels Coleman and Snedeker, the Corps intelligence and operations officers, respectively, briefed them on the details of an amphibious reconnaissance of an area outside our beachhead.

The reconnaissance plan called for two PT boats, each to embark a Raider reconnaissance team of one officer and nine men and one rubber boat, transport them to the objective area, and put them ashore. The PT boats would then withdraw, later to return to the area to pick up the reconnaissance teams at a designated time and place. As planned, just after dark on the fifth, the PT boats embarked the teams and headed for the objective area, a beach at the mouth of the Jaba River, near the midpoint of the bight forming Empress Augusta Bay. At the objective, Bangser’s patrol landed on the left end of the beach and Devore’s patrol on the right; each team to reconnoiter to the center of the beach and offshore to about 200 yards, then rendezvous with the PT boats near the center of the zone.

Lieutenant Bangser’s team completed its reconnaissance and was re-embarking when a Japanese barge was sighted close by, approaching the area. Bangser’s team hastily scrambled aboard its PT boat, and both boats headed out of the area at high speed. Lieutenant Devore and his team, then approaching their transport, watched in disbelief as it sped off into the darkness without them. This undoubtedly evoked some very unflattering comments on the manhood of PT boat sailors, but soon the reason for their precipitate departure became obvious as the roar of the PT boat engines was replaced by the distinctive sound of a barge engine. Hastily Devore’s team reversed course and headed toward the beach. Heaving to just short of the breakers, the Raiders floated silently until the barge passed out of sight and hearing, then paddled towards the open sea.

When the two PT boats returned to base without Lieutenant Devore’s team, quite a fuss was raised at IMAC headquarters over the hasty departure of both boats. A three-hour search ending just before day break failed to locate the missing Raiders, and tensions at IMAC rose even more. Shortly before 1000, a PT boat was sent to conduct an extended daylight search of the area, but it was only a few miles from base, when it received word of the rescue of Devore’s team. While the search for them was going on near shore, Devore’s team was paddling out to sea and by 1000, when it was sighted and picked up by a destroyer, had covered 14 miles. Devore and his team seemed none the worse for their ordeal, but the rest of us were completely exhausted after a sleepless night of worrying about their well-being, but the news of their rescue gave new life to us all.

A second patrol on November 5 also gave us considerable cause for concern before it finally returned to our lines. Captain Joe Griffith’s Company "G" departed at first light to escort an engineer survey party to reconnoiter a possible site for a bomber strip on the west bank of the Piva River about two and one-half miles inland. Inasmuch as there was fairly reliable intelligence of a Japanese infantry regiment approaching that area, the patrol had orders to go in, conduct the survey, and get out as quickly as possible. That notwithstanding, nothing was heard from the patrol until late afternoon, when the survey party, escorted by only a squad of Raiders, returned with an initial report.

The patrol had reached the objective area without incident, and Captain Griffith quickly established a defensive perimeter and sent out security patrols to check the surrounding area for traces of the enemy. When he instructed the radio operator to report their location to battalion headquarters, however, he was told that the TBX was inoperable but would soon be repaired. In the meantime, the patrols returned to report finding no sign of enemy troops, and Griffith. feeling that it was safe to continue with the survey, sent the engineers out with a platoon of Raiders to conduct their survey.

In a relatively short time, the survey party returned to the perimeter to report that they had found an excellent site for a bomber strip, and Griffith, having in the meantime decided to remain in his present position, started the engineers back with an escort and a recommendation to Major Washburn that the battalion move forward to his position the next day. When the survey party departed the Company "G" position, the TBX radio had not been repaired and presumably still was inoperable, since all attempts to contact the company had failed.

It was too late to consider sending out a relief force, and all we could do was wait and hope that Company "G" had not tangled with more than it could handle. As the night wore on with no word from the missing company, our concern grew, and when we heard that Devore’s patrol also was missing, we began to wonder if the 2nd Raider Battalion was jinxed. Fortunately we had to endure this double burden of worry for only a few hours, as shortly after dawn we were informed that Company "G" had returned. Joe Griffith’s patrol report, which I read later in the day, made fascinating reading.

Shortly after the engineer party had departed, a Raider on the perimeter shot and killed two Japanese as they walked along the trail leading to his position. One of the two was an officer who, although he carried no documents or other identifying materials, appeared to be healthy and well fed, was clean shaven, and wore a new, clean uniform. Obviously, these two had not been in the jungle very long, and it was concluded from their appearance that they were newcomers, probably from the regiment believed to be moving into the area. A squad-sized patrol led by Platoon Sergeant Howard "Buck" Stidham was sent out immediately after the contact but found no trace of other enemy soldiers. Nevertheless, the presence of even these two and what it implied put an entirely new complexion on the situation.

Griffith’s initial impulse had been to remain where he was, at least until the radio was repaired and he could get more definitive orders from battalion, however, as he and his command group discussed the pros and cons of this course of action, a loud scream terminating in a gurgle suddenly shattered the late afternoon somnolence of the jungle. Almost simultaneously with the scream came a fusillade of shots that sent everyone scurrying for cover. For the next 10 or I5 minutes a vicious firefight raged, then stopped just as suddenly as it had begun, and there were several moments of absolute silence. Then came the murmured expletives of men who marveled at the miracle of their continued existence, the urgent cries for a corpsman somewhere on the perimeter, and then, little by little, the men resumed speaking in normal tones.

There was no count of the enemy dead and wounded, however, the short skirmish had cost the Raiders one dead and three or four wounded, one seriously. Dead was Second Lieutenant Walter D Hatt, whose scream had alerted the Raiders to the presence of the enemy. Apparently, Lieutenant Hatt had been checking the perimeter when he encountered the Japanese attempting to infiltrate between two of the positions and was bayoneted in an attempt to keep him from giving the alarm. Private William R Morell, seriously wounded in the left chest and thigh by a burst of machine-gun fire, died of his wounds on November 9.

Although it went against Joe Griffith’s grain to give up defensible terrain, to remain would have been suicidal. As First Sergeant Ned E McNussen pointed out, it would soon be dark and, without communications with the battalion, they had no assurance that reinforcements would be arriving the next day. The enemy now knew of their location and probably had a good idea of their defensive capabilities, which were extremely limited. Moreover, the enemy main body, possibly an entire infantry regiment, undoubtedly was not far behind the patrol just encountered. Added to all the tactical factors suggesting withdrawal, was the welfare of the badly wounded Private Morell who, if he were have any chance for survival, had to have medical attention soon.

Joe had a lot of confidence in McNussen’s judgment, the two of them having been together for a long time, and concurred in his recommendation to pull out. All things considered, his decision undoubtedly was the correct one: "Saddle up and prepare to move out."

The return trip was made without enemy interference, which is not to say that it was a piece of cake. The moonlight worked its tricks on already overwrought imaginations, and a Japanese soldier was seen lurking behind every bush. An accidental discharge by an overly tense point man sent everyone scurrying for cover, and it took a maximum effort by cooler heads to forestall a firefight with shadows. Carrying the wounded Morell along the narrow trail was a back-breaking effort and required frequent relief of the litter bearers. When it had begun to seem that they had been on the trail for an eternity, the Raiders finally broke out of the jungle and saw before them, gleaming like a black satin ribbon in the moonlight, the stream they had crossed that morning, not long after they headed up the trail.

Having made short work of the stream crossing, the column continued on until it reached a position about 100 yards from friendly lines. Not wishing to risk being fired on by our troops, the company halted there and bivouacked in the tall grass until dawn, when it re-entered friendly lines to complete another routine patrol. Unbeknownst to them, the Raiders of Company "G" had engaged elements of the Japanese 23rd lnfantry in the opening skirmish of a series of battles that would continue until November 26 and eventually involve almost every unit of the 3d Marine Division and the 2nd Raider Regiment.

Although our patrols on November 4, 5, and 6 penetrated deeper and deeper inland, they had very little contact with the enemy. Only 13 Japanese were confirmed killed during the three days, and most of those were by Bob Neal’s Company "E" on the roadblock. At 2200 on November 5, and again at 2330, the roadblock was hit by an enemy force of undetermined size, and some of the Japanese successfully infiltrated our lines. The enemy dead in these attacks, like the two killed by Company G" earlier in the day, were better equipped and in better condition than those previously seen and later were identified as belonging to the Japanese 23rd Infantry. Presumably the enemy unit with which Company "G" had clashed earlier in the day had been security for the regiment, then moving west toward an assembly area near Piva Number 1.

The morning of November7, however, was an entirely different story from the three preceding days of relative calm. Somehow the Japanese sneaked through our screening forces at sea and sailed four destroyers loaded with almost 500 troops from Rabaul to Atsina Bay, Bougainville, arriving at 0550. Debarking into 21 landing craft, the enemy force assembled offshore just outside our beach perimeter, then drove for the beach at full throttle. Although the enemy boats were widely dispersed in the landing, two of them carrying a total of 40 or 50 troops grounded only 400 yards from positions occupied by reinforcing elements of the 3rd Battalion 9th Marines. Without waiting for the rest of the landing force to assemble., these Japanese attacked immediately and were soon driven back into the swamp.

We could track the progress of the battle from its noises as they grew in volume and intensity: first rifles, then machine guns and mortars, and a few minutes later artillery. At first we had no idea what was going on, but from the volume and variety of battle sounds it was clear that the biggest land battle of the campaign so far was taking place. By noon the enemy managed to concentrate 200-300 troops and, taking advantage of foxholes dug by the 9th Marines on D-day, were frustrating all efforts to oust them.

At around 1300, the 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, relieved the 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines, and continued the attack against determined resistance. By nightfall, with the support of tanks and intense artillery and mortar fire, the 1st Battalion. had pushed the enemy well beyond the lines of the D-day perimeter. The next morning, the 1st Battalion, 21st Marines, which had arrived on Bougainville on the sixth, took over the attack but met no resistance, the enemy force having been shattered by the pre-assault artillery preparation. Marine losses in the engagement were 17 killed and 30 wounded, 377 Japanese bodies were left on the field.

Meanwhile in our own area, the shuffle of units had continued. The 3rd Raiders (minus Companies "K," "L," and "M") had reverted to regimental control on November 4 and moved into our headquarters area. The 2nd Raider Battalion (with Companies "L" and "M" attached) was located in a reserve area about 1500 yards behind the road block, for which it still had responsibility. .At 1130 on November 6, First Lieutenant Nelson C Dale’s Company "F., 2nd Raiders, had replaced Company "E" on the road block, and at 1300 on the seventh Captain R W Burnette’s Company "H" replaced Company "F". With the continued expansion of the perimeter, the roadblock now lay only 600 yards forward of the front lines of Cushman’s 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines.

At 1430, as Burnette’s Raiders were still settling into their new position, an enemy force estimated to be at least a rifle company attacked the roadblock, apparently in support of the battle then raging on the western edge of the beachhead. According to Major Washburn’s account of the action, when the attack began, the 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines, was requested to provide 81mm mortar support. These mortars were already in place and easily could have supported the road block; however, Cushman inexplicably demurred, saying that he had to save the little ammunition he had. Needless to say, his demurral didn’t win him any friends among the 2nd Raiders.

Copyright:  ReView Publications