The Old Breed

Chapter 23

The Blockhouse, Peleliu

September 17th, 1944

"Alright, boys. Up and at 'em. Stay low."

The lieutenant's voice was low, serious, the overall mood of the rest of the Marines. I picked myself up from my burrow, started gathering a few C-ration cans which had fallen through my pack as I'd dug through it in the darkness. I shut the pack, made sure it was closed tight, lifted it onto my shoulders. I picked up my rifle, held it close to my chest. Around me, other Marines were rising, Lanky besides me, trying to get out some of the sand that had gotten up in his dungarees. He reached into the back of his pants, pulled out a large chunk of coral.

"Jesus, Lanky, where the hell has that been? Throw that away," I said, Lanky laughing.

"Quiet," Nelson said, large bags under the sergeant's eyes, exhaustion, no sleep to be had from the night before, not for anyone. I yawned myself, used a hand to cover it. The yawn completed, I shook my head. "So damn tired," I muttered.

"Quit bitching," Nelson snapped, the lack of sleep and the battle before rubbing his nerves raw. "We're all stuck in this hell."

Both D-day and D+1 had gone by now, the 15th and 16th of September. D+1 hadn't been a good day for the Marines either, just like on landing. We had tried to move forward through rough coral terrain all day, the whizz of snipers and barking of machine guns a constant background noise. The day's progress had been measured in mere yards, the 1st Marine Regiment stalled dead in its tracks by the mess of ridges and hills ahead, what the maps called the Umurbrogol Pocket, what we called, "Bloody Nose Ridge." Already it was living up to its name. On D+1 alone, our battalion took nearly a hundred casualties. Coupled with the landing and the two other battalions, by two days in, the regiment's casualties were quickly rising up to nearly a thousand.

To my left, Bear started climbing out of the ditch, the sand not giving easy footing, his boot disappearing at one point. The big Marine used the large chunks of coral to pull himself up.

He stood up for a long moment, his head peeking over the ditch, staring forward. "Holy shit," he finally said. "You've gotta see this."

I started the climb myself, not too hard, the ditch only around seven feet high. I grabbed at the coral, hoisted myself up. I stared ahead at the scene that met me.

It was like a whole different world. The preliminary bombardment had down works on the small island. The vegetation had been wiped out, a few shredded trunks still standing like blackened, outstretched fingers. Any hint of green was gone now, crushed or burnt down in the savage force of the Navy's guns. The bombardment had also changed the landscape itself, what I presumed had been flatter ground now furrowed. The terrain was now a long sandy stretch filled with large chunks of coral, which stretched out in dips, low rises, craters, and gashes. A low cloud hung over the land, fog or smoke, likely both. The coral itself was a nightmare, large dark masses, pinnacles, crevasses, boulders. It looked like we had woken up on a different, hellish planet. One we were going to have to attack.

"Quit your staring, boys. Let's go." The voice was Parsons's, the lieutenant climbing past a few of the mesmerized Marines, pulling himself out of the ditch. He crouched low, turned back to his bloodied platoon. Around us, other platoons - companies? - were doing the same, getting ready for the day's inevitable orders to move forward. At one point, Captain Hayes came by, the stocky man somehow managing not to look too tired, and I wondered how the hell he'd been able to sleep. Or why he was sleeping. He gave only a few short orders, all things we'd heard before, was gone as quickly as he'd come.

Lieutenant Parsons led us forward, out of the ditch, careful steps on the coral, men crouching low, rifles scanning the mess of coral ahead. I looked at Bear, saw the BAR at his shoulder, swinging between different boulders.