Selecting a bivouac area in a large coconut grove near the trail that we would take the next morning, we went through our standard routine for setting up camp. Each company was assigned an area; the company commander assigned areas to his platoons; the platoon commanders assigned areas to their squads; the squad leaders assigned areas to their fire teams; and, finally, the fire team leaders assigned areas to their men. The early assignment of units to bivouac areas was always a first order of business in the jungle, it being vitally essential that each man have time to dig in, familiarize himself with the local terrain, and learn the positions of the Raiders to his right and left and of his team leader before dark. From much practice, we had become quite efficient in this procedure and could execute it quickly and quietly, leaving ample time for essential house-keeping details such as digging a one-day slit trench and a trash pit, and holding sick call.

Having recently spent many nights in the jungles of Espiritu Santo, we were accustomed to the natural jungle noises, but on Guadalcanal these would be accompanied by the sounds of battle: rifle and machine gun fire, mortars, artillery, and naval guns—ours as well as those of the Japanese. Although we were well trained for jungle operations, we knew that we had to be particularly careful on our first night, since our men would be more easily spooked than on any night afterwards, particularly after having heard so many horror stories about the wily Japanese on Guadalcanal.

For a few minutes before turning in for the night, Barney Green and I discussed the situation and our pending move to Binu. We had expected to land at Aola and be part of the security forces for two or three days, perhaps patrolling inland and providing security for survey teams or the like, but having always near at hand a source of resupply. Now we were miles from nowhere, and all we had was what we wore and carried with us. That amounted to the one set of dungarees we had on, one day’s rations (one C-ration plus six "food" socks of rice, raisins, tea, and fatback for use on the trail), one unit of fire, one spare razor blade, 10 feet of quarter-inch rope, and two packages of cigarettes for the smokers. All of this, except the ammunition, was stowed in the pack, to which was attached a blanket roll made up of a shelter half (half of a pup tent), a poncho, and a blanket.

Our only other individual equipment was the web belt, or cartridge belt, each of us wore, and on which we carried a Raider knife, canteen and canteen cup, first aid packet, ammunition pouches, and, for those so armed, a pistol. Having come dressed and equipped for a two or three-day stay at Aola, the diversion to Tasimboko and orders to strike out through the wilderness for Binu, several miles to the southwest, led Barney and me to the obvious conclusion that the battalion’s mission had been radically changed.

Aside from occasional bursts of small arms fire several hundred yards away and the rumble of distant artillery, the night was quiet and peaceful. At daybreak, everybody was up and stirring about, heating C-rations, making coffee, and cleaning weapons. The sun came up bright, and soon the coconut grove was steaming, foretokening a hot, humid day. The radiomen checked their radios and at the appointed time checked into the company command net. Henceforth, radio silence as well as silence on the trail for all hands would be maintained until there was firing. At the appointed time, we fell in by the side of the trail to wait for Company "F" to move to the head of the column, then followed in their trace.

The column had progressed only a few hundred yards, however, when the point fire team was fired upon as it passed from the coconut grove into the jungle. Almost immediately 10 or so automatic and semi-automatic weapons rang out in response, and then all was quiet again. Listening in on the company’s command net, we learned that one of its native guides had been shot in the leg by a Japanese rifleman who, along with two others, was killed in the exchange of fire.

Rather than hold up the entire column while the wounded man was being treated, I moved Company "B" up to the point and instructed Company "F" to fall in at the rear after its guide had been treated. Since a company in single file stretched out along the trail for more than half a mile, the company doctor and his corpsmen would have plenty of time to patch up the guide’s flesh wound, On the move again, we quickly fell into a pace of two or three miles per hour, with a 10-minute break every 50 minutes or so.

The wounding of the guide was the direct result of a deviation from standing operating procedures. A cardinal rule for the employment of natives in any role required that they be given the same security as our doctors and corpsmen, radio operators, and command post personnel, and under no circumstances was a native to be used as the point man in the lead fire team. We expected that the natives would leave us if they were employed to flush out the enemy or if they were exposed to enemy fire more than our own men. Now that a guide had been wounded while on the point, I began to worry about the effect this might have on the others.

Apparently my concern was unfounded, for there was no discernible change in the attitude of George and Jemine, the guides assigned to Company "B." Nevertheless, I became even more solicitous about their security and usually kept them near me. When the column had to halt at uncertain trail junctions, Jemine and I moved up to the point to lend a hand in picking the correct trail, while George remained with the command post group, usually immediately to the rear of the lead platoon. This arrangement obviously irked Barney Green, the lead platoon commander, who wanted a native guide forward and near his lead fire team so there would be no unnecessary delays at trail junctions.

Barney had a good point, but to me, the well-being of our guides was more important than any time we might gain. "Furthermore," I argued, "if another native guide gets shot, it will be difficult to justify it to Carlson unless a company commander gets shot at the same time." Nevertheless, since a squad stretched out on the trail slightly less than 100 yards, a distance greater than the effective range of small-arms fire in the jungle, I compromised and moved forward in the column with Jemine and my radio operator to the rear of the fire team behind Barney.

At midmorning, we came to a fairly large stream which, from our aerial photographs, we took to be the Berande River. It had rained fairly hard during the night, and the river was running more than five feet deep in some places; hence fording it was time-consuming and risky. Although we strung a lifeline between the banks, the shorter men still had to struggle to keep their footing, and a few even had to tie their toggle ropes around their waists and toss the ends to Raiders on the bank for an assist out of the stream. Crossing the river, however, was not all bad. The running water cooled our bodies, washed the sweat and stench from our clothes, and made fresh men of us—at least for a few minutes.

After the entire column was across, I gave Barney’s platoon a break from point duties, moved Lieutenant Bill Does’s 2d Platoon into the lead, and continued on toward our destination. In less than an hour’s march, we reached the Balasuna River and, although it was running just as full as the Berande, crossed it without difficulty, undoubtedly having profited from recent experience. The rest of the trek was fairly easy, our route lying through fairly open terrain along the west bank of the Balasuna, and we arrived in Binu about midafternoon.

Leaving Barney to supervise the occupation of our company’s assigned position in the battalion perimeter, I walked over to the command post to report to Carlson and brief him and the others on our day’s activities. As I finished my very brief account of the wounding of the guide, I braced myself for an outburst from Carlson. Much to my surprise, however, he only nodded, and never said anything more of the incident. It was not until I heard about the guide who had been even more seriously wounded while on the point of the patrol headed by Carlson himself that I understood his silence.

After my report, Carlson gave us a run-down on the situation, our new mission, and his concept of operations. That morning a patrol had contacted the 2d Battalion, 7th Marines, and confirmed that an enemy force of 1,000 to 1,500 men was boxed in on the coast near Metapona. This patrol was now on its way back to camp, having detoured to the east to Tetere to meet the supply boat from Aola.

Next Carlson reviewed the battalion’s mission to conduct aggressive patrols on the division perimeter, adding that he did not know how far or for how long we would be out. Operating on an ad hoc basis, he reported by radio to the 1st Marine Division nightly the results of that day’s operations and his recommendations for the next day. From a tactical viewpoint, Carlson believed that we should patrol all the way around the division perimeter so General Vandegrift would be able to give an accurate and detailed enemy situation report to the Army commander when he took over in December.

"If we do patrol all the way around the perimeter," he added, "we might meet strong opposition farther to the west near Mombula Mountain, or Mount Austen as it is also called, and from there on back into the division perimeter, since that area is where most of the Japanese reinforcements have landed."

"My plan of operation is to fan out strong combat patrols to search for the enemy, each patrol reporting to the battalion CP by radio every two hours. Once contact is made, I will concentrate the patrols as needed to destroy the enemy. As the enemy is cleared from our front, I plan to move the base forward and repeat the tactical cycle. One company will be retained at the base to provide security."

"This plan has been approved by the commanding general, and I have already requested that our company remaining at Espiritu Santo be directed to join us. Do you have any questions or comments on my plan of operations?"

My knowledge of the overall picture on Guadalcanal was, I felt, somewhat meager; nevertheless, I gave my views. The 1st Marine Division had thus far been severely hampered by a shortage of manpower. Even with the arrival of the 8th Marines on November 2 the division could not afford to send even a battalion-sized task force outside the perimeter for any length of time. For that reason, if our battalion got into serious trouble, the division would be unable to provide any significant assistance. If, however, the division was to be relieved by the Army in December, now was the best possible time to complete the patrol, particularly if Company "A" joined us from Espiritu Santo.

Captain Plumley, now the battalion logistics officer, and Captain Davis, the operations officer, both agreed that the patrols could be conducted. Each, however, added a proviso: it could be done if we did not let ourselves become involved in a static, face-to-face battle and bog down on a fixed line for a protracted period. I knew that they were thinking about the Makin raid, when that very thing had happened with almost disastrous consequences.

I returned to my command post and met Barney, who informed me that our troops were in their assigned areas and were getting squared away. Barney and I then took a quick tour through the platoon areas. During our training, I had sometimes found it necessary to make minor adjustments to squad and platoon positions—moving one machine gun here and another there—but at this stage of our preparedness that was no longer necessary. Now I usually spent the time talking with and listening to the platoon commanders, platoon sergeants, and the corpsmen, taking mental inventory of the state of our affairs and making certain that little problems did not become big ones. More important perhaps, I considered these tours through the area to be good for morale, and no matter how tired I was at the end of the day, I always felt that this walk-around was a must.

On the way back to my command post area, I suddenly scented the aroma of cooking meat and, looking in the direction my nose pointed, spotted several Raiders from another company gathered around a log fire, apparently cooking large pieces of meat over the hot coals. As the fumes from the cook fire wafted the marvelous, unmistakable aroma of pit-cooked barbecue to my nose, my curiosity was quickly whetted, not to mention my appetite. "What," I asked Barney, "is going on over there?"

"Oh," he queried, "you haven’t heard about the pig?" then went on to relate the details of the Company "C" shootout in Reko. "The Japs’ pig," Barney concluded, "is what they’re cooking—insides and outsides; hide, hair, hooves, and all."

I remarked to Barney that, although we had trained to live off the land and expected to do so, I never dreamed that it would start so soon. At that moment, we were down to the last of our rations, and I myself was beginning to consider sending out foraging parties.

Back at my command post, I summoned the other platoon commanders, Lieutenants Does and Durant, Doctor MacCracken, and my company gunnery sergeant, Gunnery Sergeant Samuel C. Cone, to brief them on the current situation and the battalion operation plan for the next day. We would remain behind as base security, while four strong, company-sized patrols fanned out to search for the enemy. Company "C" would patrol to the west toward Asamana on the Metapona River, where natives had reported seeing a small group of the enemy. Company "E" would move north about a mile and a half, then west and reconnoiter a trail recently cut by native scouts. Company "D" would patrol to the west, parallel to and about a mile north of Company "E," and make contact with the 164th Infantry. Company "F" would move north to Tetere and patrol from there to the Balasuna River.

In our role as base security, each of my rifle platoons, reinforced by a machine-gun section from Weapons Platoon, would be responsible for the security of two company areas. As each of the companies returned from patrol and relieved the security platoon, it would return to the same position in our area that it had occupied the night before. In addition to base security, however, we were also required to maintain one of the reinforced rifle platoons ready to move out on short notice to the assistance of either of the patrols. In that event, the remaining platoon, augmented by such headquarters personnel as was available, would assume responsibility for base security.

After finishing my briefing, I invited questions and comments from all present. There were few questions or comments regarding the next day’s operation because base security was by now a matter of routine; however, Sam Cone had some most welcome comments regarding rations, of which our original two days’ supply was now being stretched into the third day.

Sam reported that the Tetere patrol, with about 50 native carriers equipped with "yoho" poles (strong poles on which they balanced their loads) returned to base about an hour after we arrived—.dirty, their clothes soaking wet with sweat, and dog-tired—but with the rations. In short order, the supplies were issued out to the companies, each receiving four days’ rations per man. Once again our food socks were filled with rice, fatback, raisins, and tea or coffee, and each of us received a supplementary issue of four packages of cigarettes and four D-rations—a thick chocolate bar that supposedly could sustain a man for a day when there was no time to cook.

The distribution of the rations was barely completed, however, before a lively commodities exchange had begun. In a striking example of the spontaneous regulation of trade by the working of Adam Smith’s "invisible hand," individuals began bartering their lower valued items for those they valued higher: rice for raisins, D-bars for fatback, tea for coffee, or otherwise. The non-smokers enjoyed a significant economic advantage in this market, for cigarettes were always in short supply and commanded a high price in food. Sam, an old China hand with a particular fondness for rice and tea, had swapped almost everything he received for those two commodities and had almost cornered the market in tea. Concluding his briefing at this point, he looked at me with a grin and added: "Now, Captain, maybe I can get some sleep."

During our field training on Espiritu Santo, Sam had discovered that I was a loud and persistent snorer (or so he claimed), and nightly he would fill my canteen cup with tea in an attempt to keep me awake until he could fall asleep. Although he made the tea stronger and stronger each passing night and used up much of his supply of tea on me, I continued to fall asleep quickly and, according to him, to snore loudly. Physical exhaustion from our daily exertions was a far stronger soporific than Sam’s tea was a stimulant. Nevertheless, he was still trying.

Preparing the evening meal in the field was always something of a social event and a culinary ritual, jungle style. Several of the men would pool their rations and select one of their number to serve as chef-of-the-day. At first this chore had been rotated among the members of the group; however, as time wore on and culinary talent, or the lack thereof, became apparent, the process of natural selection within the group led to the most talented (or most imaginative) becoming permanent cook by acclamation or, as the case may have been, by default. Eventually the groups developed a certain feeling of pride in their cooks, and in time this led to a culinary rivalry among them, with each trying to outdo the others in creativity.

Although rice was a common ingredient in all their dishes, these Raiders-cum-chefs showed great ingenuity in the "rice-and-" combinations they attempted. Venturing well beyond the mundane rice-and-raisins, they experimented with rice-and-fatback, rice-and-chocolate, rice-and-coffee, and rice-and-tea. Some of the more daring souls even tried rice-and-whatever, the "whatever" being various locally procured ingredients whose exotic appearance usually discouraged requests for identification but encouraged the bolting of one’s food.

The evening meal on our first night in Binu was special, even festive, because it was November 10, the 167th anniversary of our Corps, and our "gourmet chefs" really put themselves out in their culinary endeavors. That night, along with some very imaginative cooking, we were treated to reminiscences of birthdays past by Cone, Lawson, Potter, and any others who wished to share their memories.

There seems to be something about sitting within the golden circle of a campfire that tends to draw humans closer together and to encourage them to share. Perhaps it is a primordial racial memory of a time when the only barrier between our distant ancestors and "things that go ‘bump’ in the night" was a campfire, but whatever that something, it was particularly evident on this night. Even Sergeant Lawson, usually a man of very few words, opened up and was almost loquacious as he cooked his "rice-and-" of the day. He recalled that exactly one year ago, while serving in the 2nd Marines, he had eaten what he thought to be the best meal of his life: turkey and dressing, ham, mashed potatoes swimming in giblet gravy, cranberry sauce, hot rolls and real butter, olives and pickles, fruitcake and ice cream, and a big slice of the birthday cake.

"Then I was all spit-shined and decked out in my dress blues, but just look at me now," he invited. "Tonight, I’m dirty, ragged, unshaven, stink like a billygoat, and don’t have a single one of all those goodies I had a year ago, but tonight I’m fixin’ to enjoy the best meal ever. You want to know why? Because it’s being cooked by living, breathing Sergeant Frank Joe Lawson, the best damn platoon sergeant and camp cook in the whole Pacific and the best rice-and-raisins chef in the entire Corps, in the finest combination cookpot and washbasin the Corps provides—my steel helmet. I hope you enjoy your meal, gents."

And we did—to the last grain of rice and scrap of whatever. That night, aside from the almost constant roar of weapons far to the west on the division perimeter and to the northwest near Metapona, some sporadic firing by nervous sentries in the company on our right, and the continual buzzing of mosquitoes, several of which were trapped inside my mosquito net, everything was quiet.

Early in the morning of November 11, Companies "C," "D," "E," and "F" departed on their assigned patrol routes to begin routinely what turned out to be the busiest day yet for our Raiders. As base security for the day, Company "B" relieved the others’ outposts well before the patrols departed and was now prepared to move to their assistance if required. Knowing the planned route of each patrol, we would know when we heard firing which of them had made contact and could estimate the size of the contact from the volume of fire. Additionally, our outposts on the perimeter of our base would report the direction and estimated range of any firing and thereby provide us with a fix on the general location of the engagement. Fortunately the day was clear and windless, and the sound of small arms could be heard several miles.

The patrols were hardly out of sight of our base, however, when my outpost on the trail to Asamana fired a burst of several rounds. I and Private, first class, Thomas J. Needham, my radio operator, quickly made our way to the outpost and there, lying dead on the ground near the man who had shot him, saw the biggest Japanese either of us had ever seen. Judging from his strong and healthy appearance and the condition of his uniform, he was a newcomer to Guadalcanal.

Since the Company "C" patrol had just gone out on the same trail, it seemed quite likely that the enemy soldier had heard the patrol coming and slipped off the trail into the jungle, letting the Raiders pass before continuing on his mission. When he came upon our outpost, he was trotting at a pretty fast pace as if headed for some place in particular, perhaps carrying an urgent message.

As was standard practice in such cases, we searched the body for identification, stripped it of personal effects, and buried it nearby. If he was carrying a message, it must have been in his head; it sure wasn’t on his person. The personal effects were sent back to the battalion intelligence section, where Gung and Ho, our interpreters-translators, processed them for whatever intelligence they might provide for our own use and for Carlson’s daily report to 1st Division headquarters.

While I was talking with the men on the outpost, we suddenly heard the explosions of mortar shells from the direction of the Company "E" patrol area and then the sounds of several automatic weapons, American and Japanese, from the direction of Asamana, near the estimated location of the Company "C" patrol. Hoping to find a vantage point from which I could see what was going on, I decided to move about 200 yards down the jungle trail to a point where it skirted the edge of a large, flat, kunai grass field. Before setting out, however, I checked with the squad leader responsible for that sector to find out if any of his men were posted farther down the trail, and he told me unequivocally that there were none.

I had moved only a few yards down the trail, when a slight movement in the grass barely five yards to the right made me whip my shotgun in that direction. Certain that it was another Japanese, I had squeezed the trigger to within a hairsbreadth of the point of no return, when to my horror I saw that it was one of my own men, Private, first class, Cyrill Matelski. The expression on Matelski’s face was that of the sheer terror a man experiences when staring at certain death, and he screamed at me as though he already were shot. Fortunately I was able to ease off on the trigger in the nick of time to interrupt the mechano-chemical process that would have launched nine pellets of double-aught buckshot on their destructive way.

This incident shook me up so badly that it was at least an hour before I fully regained my composure. It also taught me a lesson: henceforth, I would never move out in front of one of my fire teams without a member of that fire team leading the way. In this almost tragic case, the squad leader had not known that, when the shooting began in the direction of Asamana, the fire team leader at that position had sent two men farther down the trail as additional security.

At the edge of the clearing, I climbed a tree, hoping to see what was going on, but a thorough search of the area to the west through field glasses revealed only the occasional explosions of Japanese mortar shells. As the volume of fire was steadily increasing, I concluded that before long I would be ordered to send out my ready platoon, so I shinnied down the tree and headed for the battalion command post where Carlson would be controlling the operation.

Around 1000, just minutes before I arrived at the command post, Company "E" had radioed that they had received some mortar fire not long after leaving base but had suffered no casualties and were now on the Metapona River. They also reported having made contact with an element of the 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, who told them that a sizeable group of the enemy had escaped the trap the night before and moved south along Gavaga Creek, which flowed parallel to and about a mile east of the river.

About 10 minutes later Company "C" radioed that it was pinned down by an enemy force estimated to be a reinforced company armed with rifles, automatic rifles, machine guns, mortars, and 20-millimeter guns. This accounted for the ever-increasing volume of fire we were hearing from the direction of Asamana and told me, if no one else, that Hal Throneson’s Raiders probably had encountered the "sizeable group" that had escaped the trap.

In the meantime, Company "E" was still on the radio, and Captain Dick Washburn, the company commander, reported that he was in contact with the Company "D" patrol and could relay a message to them. At this time, according to his after-action report, Carlson ordered Company "E" to move south along the west bank of the Metapona River, cross at Asamana, and attack the enemy force from the west. (Colonel Cleland E. Early, then a lieutenant commanding the 2nd Platoon of Company "F," recalls that Captain Washburn made the decision to advance south along the west bank after consulting his platoon commanders.) Company "D" was to move south along the east bank of the river and hit the enemy from the northwest. Company "F" was ordered to return to Binu as quickly as possible, I was ordered immediately to send Barney Green’s alert platoon to reinforce Company "C," and Throneson was ordered to maintain contact with the enemy. By 1100 everyone was on the way.

At around 1130, Company "E" radioed that it had encountered about two enemy companies in the act of crossing the river from east to west near Asamana and was attacking. For the next couple of hours, heavy firing could be heard in the Company "E" area, and beginning at around 1230 even heavier firing, mostly mortars, could be heard from the Company "D" area. As only an occasional message came into the battalion command post, our picture of the overall situation was vague, as it usually is in the heat of battle. Sensing the battlefield noises, however, it sounded as though Company "D" was receiving the worst of it and was being pounded heavily by enemy mortars.

In the meantime, about midday a flight of Japanese dive-bombers and fighters appeared over the coast near Lunga Point. From Binu we could see shells from our shore- and sea-based antiaircraft guns bursting near the dive-bombers and the Marine and Japanese fighters in dog fights. To me, it all seemed unreal—like a spectacular movie of Spads and Fokkers in a World War I-vintage dogfight, except here our antiaircraft guns were also in the act. We could see hits and near hits on the Japanese bombers and saw one of them fall from the sky. Fighter aircraft were falling too, but I couldn’t tell whether they were our Wildcat fighters or Japanese Zeros, although some of the Raiders claimed they could tell the difference. The final count, however, was 11 Japanese bombers and fighters lost, while we lost seven planes and five pilots.

About two hours later, we watched what looked almost like a rerun of the same movie. This time, however, the Zeros were escorting twin-engine Mitsubishi bombers, instead of the dive bombers we had seen earlier. Later we learned that the targets of these air attacks were three of our transports, the Betelgeuse, Libra, and Zeilin, which were unloading cargo. The ZeiIin was heavily damaged in the attacks and had to be

shepherded back to Espiritu Santo by a destroyer.

In the past, so much enemy air activity usually presaged the landing of more Japanese troops, and we wondered now what would follow these. latest daylight air raids. But come what may, to me it was far better to be in the jungle where we had freedom of movement and could take the fight to the enemy than to be tied down in the fixed defenses of the Lunga beachhead, waiting for the enemy to attack us.

At around 1300, in the interval between the two air attacks, Company "F" had arrived at Binu after making a forced march from near Tetere on the coast. After hearing Schwerin’s report, Carlson briefed him on the situation and ordered him to feed and rest his men in preparation for moving to the scene of the Company "C" engagement. At this point, according to his after-action report, Carlson estimated, "from reports coming from ‘E’ Company, that it could take care of itself. . . The stronger enemy force, judging from reports from ‘C’ Company, was in the woods. I decided to concentrate on this force first…" Nothing was said as to why he deemed the estimated reinforced company opposing Throneson to be stronger than the estimated two companies opposing Washburn.

About two hours later, Captain McAuliffe, the Company "D" commander, and nine of his men unexpectedly returned to the base. I met them at our outpost and was amazed at how haggard and battle weary they looked. To a man, they reminded me of the Raiders we had picked up at the mouth of the lagoon on the second night of the Makin Raid. I accompanied Mac to the battalion command post and listened as he reported to Carlson that, as far as he knew and except for the men who were with him, his company had been annihilated.

The company had been moving to the assistance of Company "C" and came under heavy enemy fire as it approached the battle site from the northwest. McAuliffe was moving with his point squad and was pinned down with them and cut off from the rest of his company. Only after several hours of fighting was he able to extricate the point at the cost of two men killed (Privates, first class, Leroy I. Faslow and Frank S. Mercado) and one wounded and return to the base. Since he had neither seen nor heard anything from the rest of his company after the firing started, he could only conclude that they had been wiped out.

Although Carlson usually did not let his feelings show, now his face flushed, and I could see that he was angry. However, he calmly asked Mac for the last known location of the company and, turning to me, directed that I take a platoon to that area and search for survivors. I quickly returned to my company area, briefed Lieutenant Bill Does and his platoon on our mission, and started out on the trail. We had gone only a few yards past our outpost, however, when we met Gunnery Sergeant George Schrier, the Company "D" gunnery sergeant, and the rest of the company headed toward the base.

After Captain McAuliffe and the point had been pinned down and cut off, Schrier had gathered up the company, including several wounded and the two dead, and held a muster to determine who was missing. Piecing his information together with mine, we determined that the entire company was accounted for and continued on to the base. When we reached the battalion command post, Captain McAuliffe had already departed, but Captains Schwerin and Griffith of Company "F" were there. When Schrier completed his report, Carlson turned to Schwerin and ordered him to get his company ready to accompany him to the Company "C" position.

After Carlson and Company "F" (minus Captain Joe Blocker Griffith) departed at around 1530, Joe told me that Carlson had just given him command of Company "D." Joe had been one of the original members of Company "B," and we had been close. He had commanded the 2nd Platoon of Company "B" on the Makin raid, but had been moved to Company "F" after his promotion to captain. Now he had his own company, and I was happy for him. He was getting a small, streamlined organization that still had the cream of its original members, including noncommissioned officers such as Gunnery Sergeant Schrier and Platoon Sergeant Magnus D. Schone and fine privates such as Edward T. Hammer and Howard M. Snyder and many others.

Although happy to see Joe finally get command of a company, I was sorry that it had to come as a result of another’s misfortune. Captain McAuliffe had been a good company commander, and it seems to me that his only mistake that morning was not unlike that made by many brave, young officers, who, having been "shot in the ass with the glory gun" in officers school, find themselves in responsible command positions before they yet have learned, or have been taught, the subtle differences between the responsibilities of command and those of leadership. By choosing to lead his company from the point instead of commanding from farther back, Mac placed himself in the position where he was most likely to lose control—and did.

That notwithstanding, his mistake would seem not to have been of such severity as to warrant summary relief from command, an indictment for "total ineptitude for leadership in battle," as Carlson hyperbolically phrased it in his after-action report, and the commensurate destruction of a promising career before it really got started. If that were so, many Marine officers who survived to go on to flag rank would have ended their careers as lieutenants or captains because of the same or similar mistakes. In my opinion, Carlson acted in the heat of his anger before he had all of the facts and later, even after hearing Schrier’s report, was too stubborn or too egoistic to admit that he was wrong.

Let there be no doubt, however, that Captain McAuliffe was indeed "badly shaken by [his] experience." again quoting Carlson’s report, but only the most callous, uncaring martinet would not have been shaken by such an experience. Even Carlson, a 25-year veteran, was shaken enough by his ordeal at Makin as to offer to surrender his command to a force that no longer existed. How then could he have expected a young officer, who in his very first battle had suffered the loss of his entire command (or so he mistakenly believed), not to be shaken?

A more perspicacious commander, after determining all the facts in the case, probably would have resolved the matter by giving Mac a good. instructive"chewing out" and sending him back to his company, a sadder but far wiser officer. Carlson, however, seems to have had far more than a fair share of that unyielding "foolish consistency" which Emerson saw as "the hobgoblin of little minds," and, having once made up his mind, was not about to let such mundane things as facts change it.

At around 1630 Carlson arrived at the Company "C" position where, according to his after-action report, "[He] found ‘C’ Company in a state of disorganization. The Company Commander appeared to be in a daze." "Disorganization" and "daze" notwithstanding, Captain Throneson appears to have provided his battalion commander with a very detailed and lucid description of the engagement as he accompanied him on a tour of the battlefield.

The company had been crossing a 700-yard-wide field of kunai grass when the point entered the woods on the far side and surprised an enemy force in bivouac. Assaulting immediately, the point had killed about 25 of the enemy before they could react. The Japanese soldiers, however, quickly recovered from their initial surprise and, manning previously prepared positions, opened up on the Raiders with a hail of fire from rifles, automatic rifles, machine guns, mortars, and 20mm guns. The point was driven back, losing five killed (Corporal John D. Bennett, Privates, first class, Joseph H. Harrison, Charles H. Myers, and Lawrence P. Spillman. Jr., and Private Owen M. Barber) and three wounded. The rest of the company, except the mortar section at the very rear of the column, was forced to seek cover from the withering fire in the open field.

As Captain Throneson, who had been at the head of the main body and also was pinned down, sought to extricate his company. Lieutenant Charlie Lamb, the "Noah" of the Makin raid and once again back in Company "C" as commander of the 2d Platoon, on his own initiative deployed the company’s 60-millimeter mortars and, notwithstanding heavy enemy counterfire, delivered round after round on the strip of jungle that concealed the enemy. It was also Lamb who radioed the contact report to the battalion command post and informed Carlson that the enemy force was estimated to be a reinforced company.

Because of the heavy volume of enemy fire, it was not until around 1300 that Company "C" completed its withdrawal to the cover of. the woods; however, because of enemy machine-gun and sniper fire from the woods to their west and northwest, they had not resumed the advance, even after the arrival of Captain Barney Green’s reinforcing platoon.

After reconnoitering the area, Carlson decided to attack, sending Company "F" through a finger of woods that flanked the enemy position from the northeast to fix the enemy and support the advance of Barney Green’s platoon across the open field. Company "C" was placed in reserve, and Company "E," according to Carlson’s after-action report, was directed to break off the engagement at Asamana," … move to the south of the woods harboring the enemy and make contact with Company ‘D’ [sic]." (Apparently by the time he composed his report, Carlson had forgotten that Company "D" was long since hors de combat.)

The attack kicked off at 1715, and by 1730 Captain Schwerin reported that Company "F" had swept through the woods, encountering only a few snipers. In the meantime, Carlson had requested air support, and at 1815 two dive bombers arrived and bombed the woods occupied by the enemy. After the bombers departed, Carlson ordered Barney Green to send a squad across the field to check the enemy position in the woods for occupancy. After a few minutes the squad returned to report that the position was deserted, the enemy apparently having slipped away to the south. As it was now dark, Carlson decided to leave Company "F" and Barney Green’s platoon in position and return to Binu with Company "C." They arrived at the base around at 2200.

Not long after Carlson returned, Captain Washburn, commander of Company, "E" walked into the command post, and I listened as he made his report, almost none of which made it into Carlson’s after-action report, even though the Company "E" action was the most significant of the day, possibly of the entire campaign. Washburn reported that after crossing to the west bank of the Metapona, his company moved quickly upstream and was fortunate to catch two companies of Japanese in the process of crossing the Metapona River. When his scouts first spotted them, they had formed a human chain across the river and were passing supplies from one bank to the other. A few Japanese were in banyan trees, and Nambu light machine guns were positioned to cover the crossing. All were in position to engage in a fire fight very quickly, except those already in the river.

Captain Washburn’s leading unit, the 1st Platoon, commanded by Lieutenant Evans C. Carlson, our battalion commander’s son, was able to reach a position where the river made a right-angle turn, giving them an unobstructed view of the crossing site and the swimmers and an ideal position from which to fire upon them. The Raiders’ opening volley caught the Japanese completely by surprise, and for several seconds pandemonium reigned as the few survivors of those in the water floundered for the shore and those on the shore dashed for cover. After several seconds of almost unanswered firing by Lieutenant Carlson’s platoon, the Japanese finally began to recover from their surprise and reply in kind. Soon the Raiders began to receive heavy fire from a light machine gun positioned several feet off the ground in a banyan tree, and the platoon was forced to withdraw after having inflicted a heavy toll on the Japanese, particularly those in the water.

After a short lull, during which he reorganized and issued necessary orders, Washburn sent his 2nd Platoon, under the command of 1st Lieutenant Cleland F. Early, to knock out the machine gun. During the lull, the Japanese resumed their river-crossing activity, apparently taking the lull to be the end of the fire fight, and Early and his men were able to knock out the machine gun and inflict further casualties on the enemy crossing the river.

In the meantime, the Japanese had set up several machine guns and mortars on the far bank and moved an infantry company to one flank of Washburn’s company. As a sharp fire fight began to develop, Washburn judged that his best course of action would be to withdraw his company to the north before it got involved in more than it was prepared to handle. Night was rapidly approaching and his men were not prepared to fight a night engagement. They had been fighting in the searing heat and high humidity for almost seven hours and were near exhaustion, out of food and water, and running dangerously low on ammunition. After repeated but unsuccessful attempts to contact Carlson by radio, Captain Washburn made the decision on his own to withdraw to the north and return to base.

However, the disengagement, which was covered by Lieutenant Early’s platoon, was far from easy. Two men from Early’s platoon, Privates, first class, Lorenzo D. Anderson and Gerald B. Miller, were killed while covering the disengagement and withdrawal, and a machine gunner from Weapons Platoon, Private Joseph W. Auman, was wounded and died on the following day, November 12. After withdrawing his company a few hundred yards to the north, Captain Washburn turned eastward and crossed the Metapona, then turned to the southeast and returned to base without further incident, arriving after dark.

The battle noises in our area died down after nightfall, and I figured to get a few winks of sleep; however, not long after I had dropped off, my snoring (if Sam Cone was to be believed) was interrupted by a radio message from Carlson, who had returned to the battle site, directing me to move the rest of Company "B" over the Asamana trail to the site of the Company "C" battle.

It was only a matter of a few short minutes before Gunny Cone had everyone saddled up and ready to march, and we moved out et around 0330. It was hard, pitch-black dark, and soon rain began pouring down. The initial leg of our trip was only two and one-half miles, but it was all through jungle. The trail was a fairly good one, but like most jungle trails, it twisted and turned around banyan trees, banyan roots, jungle vines, and briars, making movement arduous and slow Just at daybreak, after almost two hours enroute, the trail led us out of the jungle to the edge of a clearing, then back into the edge of the jungle to a slight depression where Carlson had his command post. I halted my men on the trail and gave them a break while I went to see Carlson for additional instructions. Barney Green’s platoon was still with Company "F" and was deployed around the command post, providing 360-degree security for the area. When I arrived, Barney brought his canteen cup filled with coffee and shared it with me while we and the other commanders waited for Carlson to issue his orders. They were simple: Peatross’s Company "B" was to accompany him to Asamana; Schwerin’s Company "F" was to return to Binu; Washburn’s Company "E" was to move from Binu and follow "B" into Asamana.

After a 30-minute break, I started my company on the trail to Asamana. Since our trail crossed the Metapona River right at the village of Asamana, during our final break before reaching the river, I gave instructions for both the river-crossing and the occupation of the village. The leading squad, reinforced by all four of our machine guns, would deploy on the near bank to the right and left of the trail and observe the crossing site for a few minutes. Once assured that all was clear, the remainder of the lead platoon would cross, one squad at a time, and take up positions to cover the crossing of the rest of the company. Once the lead platoon was established on the far bank, the company command group would cross, then the rest of the company. According to our native guides, the river would be between three and four feet deep and there would be no need to use special fording techniques.

Upon reaching the river about mid-afternoon, the lead squad moved into position and was observing for enemy activity as the machine guns were being set up. Suddenly, about 300 yards to our left, they sighted a native boat crewed by three Japanese coming downstream toward our position. Two of the Japanese were paddling, while the third sat in the bow with a rifle across his lap. The unexpected appearance of the boat placed us in something of a dilemma. None of the platoon had crossed the river, and firing would surely alert any Japanese that might be in the village. But to lie low and let them row their boat gently down the stream went against the grain.

The ever practical Sergeant Lawson, however, had an immediate solution. He ordered the squad leader to let the boat float to a point just in front of them and when it got there to send the center fire team in after the crew. He gave very explicit instructions to shoot the man in the bow if tried to use his rifle, but to grab the other two. Only the day before, this very same squad had shot a Japanese under circumstances that suggested to me that the man could have been captured. Sergeant Lawson had reached the same conclusion and already had blistered the culprits, guaranteeing them even rougher treatment if it happened again.

Copyright:  ReView Publications