The Japanese came back, and this time, as Gunny would say, “They wasn’t messin’ around.” They had roughly double the number of troops from the first attack. The landing barges came in waves, and hundreds of soldiers piled onto the beach. From our position on the ridge, we laid down a withering fire.

This time we had built our sandbag wall higher, stacking them in such a way that the barrel of the machine gun poked through them rather than having to sit on top. This allowed Gunny to focus his field of fire, and it kept us safer below the top of the emplacement. We also built in a small port for me to use the rifle. When the first belt emptied I aimed through the rifle port and fired. There was so much confusion on the beach I couldn’t tell if I hit anything. Japanese soldiers were falling like bowling pins.

The tanks and antiaircraft guns behind us thundered. One of them found its target as a Japanese Zero fighter plane exploded in the sky. I had to close my eyes to protect them from the fireball that lit up the night.

This attack was different from the last. The Japanese were gaining the advantage.

“We’re gonna have to fall back!” Gunny shouted. “Jamison, cool that barrel!” Jamison grabbed a can of water and poured it over the barrel of the .50 cal. It hissed with steam as the water streamed over it.

“Look!” I shouted.

Some of the men in our battalion’s defensive emplacements had fixed bayonets to their rifles and were charging the Japanese on the beach. The two lines collided, and their screams were nearly louder than the gunfire. The fighting was hand to hand, fierce and ferocious.

Gunny looked down to see three boxes of ammo left for the .50 cal. If he shot the big gun now, he risked hitting our own troops. Instead, he picked up his rifle and snapped on the bayonet. “Let’s go,” he said. Jamison grabbed his rifle and did the same, firing on the run. I snapped the strap tight on my helmet, scrambled over the sandbags, and followed Gunny and Jamison, running in a zigzag pattern.

Planes were still strafing the beach, and bullets danced along the sand as I ran, some of them missing me by mere inches. As we reached the battle line, Gunny and Jamison disappeared in the crush of bodies.

But I couldn’t follow them. A Japanese soldier crouched in front of me. I raised my rifle, pointed it at his chest, and pulled the trigger, but the gun did not fire. I had forgotten to rack a round into the chamber.

The man lurched forward and grabbed the rifle barrel as I tried desperately to work the bolt. We struggled and the gun slipped from my grasp, falling to the sand. The soldier grabbed my shirt and tried to throw me across his hip, but I was far too tall and he couldn’t get the right leverage. We grappled and I tried to pull my knife, but it must have fallen out of the scabbard. He was shouting over and over, his mouth right next to my ear, but for some reason I could not hear him.

I felt something collide with my legs and landed hard on my back on the ground. I looked around for the rifle, but it was nowhere to be found. The soldier was suddenly on top of me, but I bucked and threw him off. We both scrambled to our feet and faced each other. I had no weapon, but the soldier wielded a small sword. With a scream he charged forward and I froze. But to my surprise the soldier spun away. A red flower of blood appeared in the middle of his chest as he tumbled to the ground.

I spun around to see Jamison holding his pistol, smoke coming from the barrel. He had no doubt just saved my life. “Look alive, Tree!” he shouted. “Gunny’ll kill me if I let you die on my watch! Find a weapon! Stay right on my back.”

I glanced about and spotted a rifle lying in the sand. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or not, but right now it was finders, keepers. I picked it up and didn’t even think to see if it was loaded or not. Just holding it made me feel better. Another Japanese soldier charged at me, and I pulled the trigger only to hear the rifle click. It was empty. What was it with me and rifles? I swung the rifle like a club, and the man went down. Then I pulled a clip from my ammo belt and snapped it home.

The noise of gunfire grew louder through the haze inside my brain and I gazed up to see Japanese fighter planes strafing the beach again. But this time two US warplanes—P-40 Warhawks—were engaging the enemy in the sky. I had no idea where they’d come from. The American pilots were outnumbered and outgunned, but they plunged into the fight. One of the Warhawks’ machine guns ripped apart a Japanese Zero. The plane caught fire and plunged into the ocean. This brought a rousing cheer from our troops on the beach.

The fighting continued, hand to hand, and seemed to go on forever. Sometimes I felt like Jams was doing the fighting for both of us. I did what he said, sticking close to his side. He kept urging me on. “Heads up, Tree! Get in the fight! We’re gonna make it!” But even though he was standing right next to me most of the time, it felt like he was miles away.

Two more Warhawks arrived, and slowly the Japanese assault was beaten back. New explosions hit the beach as the tanks in the tree line fired. They had been held in reserve to save ammunition, but now they exacted a deadly toll on the Japanese forces.

“Fall back!” someone shouted. “Fall back!”

Fall back where? I wondered. Who was giving the order? There were still Japanese soldiers on the beach. As a bullet whizzed by my head, I stood frozen with indecision. Someone grabbed me by the neck, and I swung the rifle around only to find I’d just given Jamison a good thunk in the ribs.

“OW!” Jams yelled. “Move, Tree! Move! Move! You’re standin’ around like you wanna get shot. Follow me. Double-time it back to the ridge! Let’s go.”

I followed Jamison, who was running through and around the bodies and wreckage on the beach at full tilt. We wove our way across the sand and somehow found the machine gun nest. Jamison grabbed a box of ammo and thrust it into my arms.

“You’re gonna load,” he said.

“Where’s Gunny?” I asked.

“He’ll get here when he gets here. Now let’s go, Private!”

In a strange way, having a task to complete helped calm my nerves. I flipped open the lid on the metal box and pulled out the belt of machine gun bullets. Jamison was waiting. He slapped the belt across the magazine, snapped it shut, and swiveled the gun, firing in bursts whenever he found a target.

In the tree line the tanks were moving and firing, and it became clear we would repel this attack. Jamison swung the .50 cal back and forth, taking shot after shot. The belt ran out with a loud clang, signaling the gun was empty.

“Load!” Jamison shouted.

I grabbed the next belt and fed it into the gun, and Jamison resumed shooting. A few minutes later the gunfire died down. The Japanese planes had disappeared, and their landing barges had gone. Shouts of cease-fire came up and down the line. Jamison let go of the machine gun and turned, slumping against the sandbags. He ran his hands through his red hair. His face was covered in grime, and his white T-shirt was bloody where a cut on his chest was leaking.

“Jams, you’re hurt,” I said.

Jamison looked down at his chest and shrugged. “Just a scratch,” he said.

“Where’s Gunny?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Tree. In case you didn’t notice, it got a little bit nuts down there on the beach. Besides, it wasn’t my turn to babysit him,” Jamison said.

My face reddened. I lifted myself up to look over the emplacement, scanning the now darkened beach for any sign of Gunny. Jamison sighed.

“Look, kid. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just … ”

“I know,” I interrupted. “It’s all right. I only—”

“You only what?” Gunny said as he flopped over the emplacement and slid in next to Jamison. In the pale moonlight, it looked like Gunny’d been wrestling a tornado and lost. His blouse was torn to shreds. There was a bloody cut above his right eye. Like Jamison, his face was nearly black with dirt and sweat.

“Gunny!” Jams and I shouted at the same time.

“What? Y’all think I was dead or somethin’? Uh-uh. Ain’t no Imperial Japanese Army puke gonna kill Gunnery Sergeant Jack McAdams. I’m gonna live forever, boys, ’cause I’m just too dang handsome to get killed. Don’t you worry, the good Lord ain’t puttin’ no early end to one of his finest creations. The worst thing happened out there was I lost my cigar. It was my last one, and no longer havin’ it ain’t improved my opinion of our Japanese friends any.”

“What happened, Gunny?” Jamison said, offering him a cigarette.

The big man shrugged. “I don’t reckon I know, Jamison. Not for sure. The enemy forces currently opposin’ us did not invite me to their mornin’ briefin’. I expect they’ll try another attack some other place, seein’ as how we’re so well dug in here. But I do know we gotta hold this ground, because it’s one of the best landing spots on this miserable hunk a rock.” He took a puff on the cigarette and closed his eyes.

“You all right, Gunny?” I asked.

Gunny opened his eyes. “I’m fine. I dished out a lot more hurtin’ than I took, I’ll tell you that. But we got work to do. I got a feeling they’s moving their battleships over yonder to the south. We know them planes is gonna be back. So the two of y’all dig in here. Make this hole deeper and see if you can scrounge up some more sandbags.” He stood up, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Shouldn’t we keep moving?” I asked.

“Nah. This here spot has a natural depression and it’s a fine defensive position. We’ll keep it fer now. ’Sides they’s gonna be more worried about our tanks and howitzers than a machine gun. If we have to we’ll move it next time.” He stood up.

“What are you gonna do?” Jamison asked.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find somebody in charge. Right now ain’t nobody knows who’s in command. Then I’m gonna try’n rustle us up some more ammo and rations. See if them tanks got any supplies they can spare. Get yer entrenchin’ tools and make this emplacement at least three feet deeper. Once their ships start lobbin’ shells on this beach, it’ll make them bombers and fighter planes look like they was droppin’ marshmallows.”

He tossed the cigarette butt aside. “I’ll be back soon as I can. When you finish, try’n get some shut-eye. I reckon y’all are gonna need it.”

Gunny stood and removed a flashlight from his pack. He looked out over the beach and the ocean beyond. The hot breeze was back again, but the night was eerily quiet.

“It ain’t over yet, boys. Not by a long shot.”

He flipped on the flashlight and disappeared into the night. Jamison and I set to work.

“Well,” Jamison said. “The next few days oughta be mighty interestin’.”