by Cpl. Robert L. Cook
Jan. 42~Sept. 45
The lights below decks
are dim and sometimes flicker.
I sit and lean against
the bulkhead
clutching my copy
of Leatherneck,
trying hard
to stay awake
in this early morning
nightmare.
Above my head
I hear the whine
of winch and cable
as boats are lowered
overside
in darkness.
I have never
understood the skill
of sailors
in that plight.
My pack is sitting
by my side,
abulge
with more
than I will need.
My rifle leans
against my
outstretched legs,
I stroke the smooth
hard wood that
is its stock,
not conscious
of my nervous
act.
I sense the absence
of a sound that
has been with us
for many days.
The engines
of the ship
have stopped
and we are adrift.
The whine and whirl
of winch and cable
carries on,
as boats are set
in sea.
I hear the "thunk"
of hulls bumping
the mother ship,
and know they
are tendered
'neath the nets
that are our
stairways
to the sea.
The muffled sound
of the PA system
calls to the troops:
"Platoons three and four,
Lay up to your stations!"
There is rustle of movement
as men gather and don
the gear of their profession.
Their sergeants urge them
into movement,
they file up the ladders
to the open deck above,
stumbling over the
cables and davits
on deck.
The rails bear evidence
of the cargo nets
hanging below them
to the open boats.
Jostling themselves
into position,
they begin their
descent to the
waiting craft.
The movement
of the ship, and
the bobbing of the
small boats,
lends no safety
to the descent.
Hands and feet
feel for the
squares of hemp.
A rifle slips
from a shoulder
and dangles loosely.
A curse from the man
below lets you know
a head has been
knocked!
Within minutes
a full boat is
loaded, and
is shoved off
from the mother ship
to join
its mates in the
rendezvous circle
some distance away.
The troops are
hunched down
in the boat
below its gunnels,
keeping their
heads down.
The ocean,
never still,
lifts the barks
and drops them
with each swell.
The diesel fumes
hover over them,
and every breath
produces a queasy gut.
Time passes
painfully slow,
nerves are
taut.
Some bow heads
in prayer,
others stare at
the forward ramp
from where they
will dash forward.
A cold wave
splashes over the
bow, soaking the
miserable troops,
who react with
a curse!
A sudden surge
of engines,
and a sudden change
of direction.
A star shell
high above
gives the signal:
"Away all boats!"
Second Marine Division on Betio Island,
Tarawa Atoll, 20-23 November, 1943"
