“What happened to you, Mac?”
“I’ve been wounded, you ignorant sonofabitch! And it’s ‘Lieutenant’!”
Fingers probed his face.
“That’s not bad,” the medic said, professionally. “Another half an inch and you would have lost your teeth, maybe worse. But you just got grazed. Is that all that’s wrong with you?”
“My leg, I’ve been wounded in the leg.”
Fingers probed his leg.
“That hurts, goddamn you!”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to get you ashore. Let go of that piling and wrap your arms around my neck.”
“Ashore?”
“Lieutenant, I’ve got badly wounded people ashore. Please don’t give me any trouble.”
“I’m badly wounded,” Macklin said indignantly.
“No, you’re not. Your leg ain’t broke. You got one of them half-million-dollar wounds. Some muscle damage. Keep you out of the war for maybe three months. In ten days you’ll be in the hospital in Melbourne, looking up nurses’ dresses. Now come on, put your arms around me and I’ll get you ashore, and somebody will be along in a while to take you back to the ship.”
Lieutenant Macklin did as he was told. The medic carried him on his back to the shore, and a few yards inland. Then he lowered him gently onto the sand, cut his trouser leg open, and applied a compress bandage.
“My leg,” Macklin said, with as much dignity as he could muster, “is beginning to cause me a great deal of pain.”
“Well, we have just the thing for that,” the medic said, taking out a morphine hypodermic. “Next stop, Cloud Nine.”
Macklin felt a prick in his buttocks, and then a sensation of cold.
“I gotta go,” the medic said, patting him comfortably on the shoulder. “You’re going to be all right, Lieutenant. Believe me.”
A warm sensation began to ooze through Macklin’s body.
I’m going to be all right, he thought. I’m going to live. They’re going to send me to the hospital in Melbourne. It will probably take longer than three months for my leg to heal. I will receive the Purple Heart. Two Purple Hearts, one for the leg and one for the face. There will probably be a small scar on my face. People will ask about that. “Lieutenant Macklin was wounded while attacking Gavutu—twice wounded when assaulting the beach at Gavutu with the first wave of the Para-Marines.”
I’ll be a captain for sure, now. And for the rest of my Marine Corps career, the scar on my face will be there to remind people of my combat service.
(Six)
Command Post, Tulagi Force
1530 Hours 8 August 1942
The headquarters of Brigadier General Lewis T. Harris, Commanding General of the Tulagi/Gavutu/Tanambogo Force, were now in the somewhat seedy white frame building that had before the war housed the Colonial Administrator of Tulagi, and was somewhat grandly known as “the Residence.”
Thirty minutes before, the building had been the forward command post of Lieutenant Colonel “Red Mike” Edson, commanding the 1st Raider Battalion. When the Commanding Officer, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, drove up to attend a commanders’ conference called by General Harris, the small detachment of Raiders charged with protecting the Raider command post were still in place, close to but not actually manning their weapons (rifles, BARs, and light .30-caliber machine guns).
Thirty minutes before, the island of Tulagi had been officially reported “secure.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before a sergeant called, “Atten-hut!” and saluted the 2nd Battalion Commander. For one thing, he was hatless, riding a captured Japanese motorcycle, and was carrying a rifle slung over his back, which was not the sort of thing the Raiders expected of a Marine major.
But the salute was enthusiastic and respectful. The reputation of the 2nd Battalion Commander had preceded him. It had been reliably reported that during the mopping-up phase of the invasion, the 2nd Battalion Commander had been seen standing in the open, shooting a particularly determined Japanese sniper who had until then been firing with impunity through a one-foot-square hole in his coral bunker. The Commanding Officer of the 2nd Battalion had fired at him twice; and when they pulled his body from the cave, they learned the sniper had taken two hits in the head.
The story had been of particular interest, and thus had quickly spread, both because that wasn’t usually the sort of thing majors and battalion commanders did personally, and also because he had done it with an M-1 Garand rifle. The Garand was supposed to be the new standard rifle, although none had yet been issued to the Marine Corps; and it was supposed to be a piece of shit, incapable of hitting a barn door at fifty yards.
But there was no denying the story. A dozen people had seen Major Jack NMI Stecker stand up, as calmly as if had been on the rifle range at Parris Island or ’Diego, and let off two shots and put both of them, so to speak, in the X-ring.
There was also scuttlebutt going around that Major Stecker had won the Big One, the Medal of Honor, as a buck sergeant in the First World War in France. No one could remember ever having seen a real, honest-to-Christ hero like that. And as Major Stecker walked up the shallow steps to the Residence, two dozen sets of eyes watched him with something close to awe.
General Harris was in his office, the Sergeant Major told Major Stecker, and he was to go right in.
There were no enlisted men in General Harris’s office, but only the other two commanding officers he had summoned to the commanders’ conference, Major Robert Williams of the 1st Parachute Battalion and Lieutenant Colonels Red Mike Edson and Sam Griffith, CO and Exec of the 1st Raider Battalion.
They were all holding canteens, presumably full of coffee. There were two cans of bore cleaner on the shelf of the field desk.
“Forgive me for saying so, Major,” General Harris greeted Major Stecker, “but aren’t you a little long in the tooth for a motorcycle?”
“With respect, General,” Major Stecker said, “I am not too old for a motorcycle. I am too old, and much too tired, to walk up here.”
“May I then offer you coffee, to restore your vitality? Or did you bring your own athlete’s-foot lotion?”
“I gave that to my company commanders,” Stecker said.
General Harris handed him a canteen cup.
“That’s the good news,” he said.
“Thank you, Sir,” Stecker said. “What’s the bad?”
“You’re about to go report to General Vandergrift,” Harris said.
“Why me?”
“You’re junior to these three,” Harris said.
“I couldn’t plead old age?” Stecker asked.
“No,” Harris said simply.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Stecker said. “Sir, before I go, I want to put in one of my officers for a Silver Star. I’d like to be able to tell General Vandergrift that you approve.”
“Who?”
“Captain Sutton, Sir.”
“What did he do?”
“We were having a hell of a time getting pockets of Nips out of their caves,” Lieutenant Colonel Griffith answered for him. “We couldn’t shoot them out, and when we threw grenades and explosives in, they just threw it right back out. Sutton—I saw this, and agree with Jack that he should be decorated—Sutton tied explosives to a piece of timber—”
“Where’d he get the timber?” Harris asked curiously.
“From the blown-up buildings on the beach,” Griffith went on. “As I was saying, he tied explosives to a plank, a board, and then under covering fire ran to the mouth of the cave—caves; I saw him do it half a dozen times—and put it inside.”
“Why didn’t the Japs just throw it back out?” Harris asked. “Am I missing something?”
“He hung on to the board, General,” Griffith said. “Wedged it against the inside of the cave until it blew.”
“Oh,” Harris said.
“If any of the Japs had figured out what was going on, they’d have come a little further toward the mouth of
the cave and shot him. He was really exposed, doing what he was doing, and he saved a lot of lives.”
“OK,” Harris said. “You can tell the General that I approve of the award of the Silver Star to your Captain Sutton, Jack.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Now that that’s decided,” Red Mike Edson said, laughing, “I will tell you something else Captain Sutton did.”
“Something funny?” Harris said, as he poured more bore cleaner in their canteen cups.
“He got carried away. He found some gasoline somewhere, and added a can of that to the explosives.”
“That didn’t work?”
“It worked. It blew his clothes off and damn near fried him.”
“Was he hurt?” Harris asked.
“No, not seriously. But he was down to his skivvy shorts, and they were singed, and there’s not a hair on his body.”
There were chuckles all around.
“And speaking of people who really exposed themselves,” Edson said, “I heard of an officer—and I think Sam saw this, too—who stood out in the open, really exposed, with a Mickey Mouse rifle he got somewhere, and put two rounds into the head of a Jap sniper at a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty yards. How about a medal for him?”
“No,” Jack Stecker said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“The motorcycle kid here?” General Harris asked.
“Sir, I did what any Marine private is supposed to do. Engage the enemy with accurate rifle fire. That’s all. Nobody should get a medal for doing his duty.”
“I’m not sure I can disagree with that,” Harris said, after a moment. “And what the hell, Red, Jack’s already got enough medals.”
“He sure inspired a lot of kids out there,” Edson said.
“I’m sure he did, but that’s something else we have to expect from a Marine officer,” Harris said, his tone of voice making it clear that he did not wish to entertain any further discussion of the matter.
“Before Jack goes over there, I want from each of you, starting with Jack as the junior commander, a one-word description of the Japanese we just fought.”
“What for?”
“I want it, and I want Jack to give it to General Vandergrift, something we’re thinking before the adrenaline goes away. Jack?”
“‘Courageous.’ Maybe ‘tenacious.’”
“One word.”
“Then ‘courageous,’” Stecker said.
General Harris wrote that down, then said, “Williams?”
“I’ll agree with ‘tenacious,’” Major Williams said after a moment’s thought.
“Griffith?”
“Fanatical,” Lieutenant Colonel Griffith said.
“Red?”
“I was going to say ‘fanatical,’” Edson said.
“Say something else, anything but ‘zealous,’” Harris said.
“OK. How about ‘suicidal’?” Edson said.
“If that’s what you think, fine,” Harris said, as he wrote it down.
“Just out of idle curiosity, why couldn’t I have said ‘zealous’?”
“Because that’s my word,” Harris said.
“‘Zealous’?” Edson asked incredulously. “As in ‘He was zealous in his pursuit of the busty virgin’?”
“The word comes from zealot,” Harris explained. “They were a band of Jews in biblical times who jumped off a mountain rather than surrender—after a hell of a fight—to the Romans.”
“I wonder how well versed General Vandergrift is in biblical lore?” Edson replied dryly.
“They’re not really small, bucktoothed people needing thick glasses, that we can whip with one hand tied behind us, are they?” Major Stecker asked softly.
“It doesn’t look that way, does it, Jack?” Harris replied, then added, “But so far things seem to be going pretty well on Guadalcanal.”
“I’ve been on the radio to the 5th Marines,” Stecker said. “That’s not the case. So far, all we have is a beach. We’re about to lose the equipment that’s still aboard the transports, including rations and ammunition; and we’re going to lose the Marines that are there, too. The Japanese have not yet counterattacked. They will, and I think they will in force. If not today or tomorrow, then soon. They want that airfield as much as we do, maybe more. And they’re in a much better position to reinforce than we are. That’s going to be a long and bloody fight, and I wouldn’t give odds who’s ultimately going to win it.”
“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Griffith protested. “When I was in England I heard the Germans shoot their officers out of hand for talking like that. They call it ‘defeatism.’ You’re a goddamned Marine. I don’t like hearing something like that from a Marine.”
“That’s enough, Sam!” General Harris flared. “I think Jack put the situation very succinctly.” He raised his voice, “Sergeant Major!”
When the Sergeant Major appeared at the door, General Harris said, “Find some wheels to drive Major Stecker to the beach. I don’t want him having an accident on his motorcycle between here and there.”
(Seven)
Eyes Only—The Secretary of the Navy
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAVY
Aboard USS McCawley
Off Guadalcanal
1430 Hours 9 August 1942
Dear Frank:
This is written rather in haste; and it will be brief because I know of the volume of radio traffic that’s being sent, most of it unnecessarily.
As far as I am concerned, the battle of Guadalcanal began on 31 July, when the first Army Air Corps B-17 raid was conducted. They have bombed steadily for a week. I mention this because I suspect the Navy might forget the bombing in their reports. They were MacA. ’s B-17s, and he supplied them willingly. That might be forgotten, too.
The same day, 31 July, the Amphibious Force left Koro in the Fijis, after the rehearsal. On 2 August, the long-awaited and desperately needed Marine Observation Squadron (VMO-251, sixteen F4F3 photo-recon versions of the Wildcat) landed on the new airbase at Espiritu Santo. Without the required wing tanks. They are essentially useless until they get wing tanks. A head should roll over that one.
The day before yesterday, Friday, 7 Aug., the invasion began. The Amphibious Force was off Savo Island on schedule at 0200.
The 1st Marine Raider Bn under Lt. Col. Red Mike Edson landed on Tulagi and have done well.
The 1st Parachute Bn (fighting as infantrymen) landed on Gavutu, a tiny island two miles away. So far they have been decimated and will almost certainly suffer worse losses than this before it’s over for them.
The 1st and 3rd Bns, 5th Marines, landed on the northern coast of Guadalcanal, west of Lunga Point, to not very much initial resistance. They were attacked at half past eleven by Japanese bombers from Rabaul, twenty-five to thirty twin-engine ones.
I can’t really tell you what happened the first afternoon and through the first night, except to say the Marines were on the beach and more were landing.
Just before eleven in the morning yesterday (8 Aug.), we were alerted (by the Coastwatcher on Buka, where Banning sent the radio) to a 45-bomber force launched from Kavieng, New Ireland (across the channel from Rabaul). They arrived just before noon and caused some damage. Our carriers of course sent fighters aloft to attack them, and some of our fighters were shot down.
At six o’clock last night, Admiral Fletcher radioed Ghormley that he had lost 21 of 99 planes, was low on fuel, and wants to leave.
I am so angry I don’t dare write what I would like to write. Let me say that in my humble opinion the Admiral’s estimates of his losses are overgenerous, and his estimates of his fuel supply rather miserly.
Ghormley, not knowing of this departure from the facts, gave him the necessary permission. General Vandergrift came aboard the McCawley a little before midnight last night and was informed by Admiral Fletcher that the Navy is turning chicken and pulling out.
This is before
—I want you to understand, in case this becomes a bit obfuscated in the official Navy reports—before we took such a whipping this morning at Savo Island. As I understand it, we lost two U.S. cruisers (Vincennes and Quincy) within an hour, and the Australian cruiser Canberra was set on fire. The Astoria was sunk about two hours ago, just after noon.
In thirty minutes, most of the invasion fleet is pulling out. Ten transports, four destroyers, and a cruiser are going to run first, and what’s left will be gone by 1830.
The ships are taking with them rations, food, ammunition, and Marines desperately needed on the beach at Guadalcanal. There is no telling what the Marines will use to fight with. And there’s not even a promise from Fletcher about a date when he will feel safe to resupply the Marines. If the decision to return is left up to Admiral Fletcher, I suppose that we can expect resupply by sometime in 1945 or 1950.
I say “we” because I find it impossible to sail off into the sunset on a Navy ship, leaving Marines stranded on the beach.
I remember what I said to you about the admirals when we first met. I was right, Frank.
Best Personal Regards,
Fleming Pickering, Captain, USNR
(Eight)
Headquarters, 1st
U.S. Marine Division
Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands
1705 Hours 9 August 1942
“I don’t believe I know you, Colonel, do I?” Major General A. A. Vandergrift, Commanding, said to the tall man in Marine utilities with silver eagles pinned to his collar. The Colonel was sitting on a sandbag in the command post.
“No, Sir,” the man said, rising to his feet and coming to attention. “I don’t have the privilege. And it’s ‘Captain,’ Sir. I borrowed the utilities.”
“Are you waiting to see me, Captain?”
“I’d hoped to, Sir. I’d hoped to make myself useful somehow.”
“You have about fifteen minutes to get to the beach in time to board your ship before they pull out, Captain.”
“With your permission, Sir, I’m staying.”
“We don’t really need the services of a Naval captain right now, Captain, but I appreciate the thought.”
Counterattack Page 55