Bougainville

It was time to get ready. We checked our equipment repeatedly. A few Marines threw up. Then the Navy bombardment began, deafening and reassuring. Suddenly it was the night of October 31, and the "hour of truth" was arriving. We knew we would be going in at dawn. Some Marines had cards and dice, and game playing stepped up with the nervous anxiety. Some acted eager to gamble everything away. Finally we crawled into our bunks and tried to sleep, which was difficult for many. Reveille seemed to come in no time, and we scrambled to get in line for breakfast. The Navy seemed to try harder to give us a memorable meal, and we wolfed it down.

Now it was time to go over the side. It was November 1, 1943. Back home they were enjoying autumn and thinking about football. But this was a different place on the planet, with a deadly serious situation facing us. We looked into each other's faces and tried to act reassuring, but we all had a tight gut. The thunderous sound of the bombardment began slowing down. Get ready. Don't goof up. Don't let anybody down. You can handle this. Yes, you can.

Over the side we went, down the nets with practiced moves, into the shifting, pitching landing craft. You jammed your way in among the other Marines, trying to secure a place in the moving mob. The coxswain opened the throttle and we were under way. The engine was roaring, but we seemed to be moving too slowly. Then we began hearing gunfire from the island.