![]() And the never ending thunder of a thousand guns firing from our ships behind us and a thousand more from the enemy in front of us. A Marine colonel, waving a pistol, ordering them back. Black Army troops, their amphtracs destroyed running down the beach to hop on boats going out. Forward troops being shot by nervous fellow marines as they move back from the front in darkness. Rows of wounded on the beach being shot up with morphine by medics. There are bodies, parts of bodies, torn canvas, shattered foliage, wrecked vehicles. ![]() You squint through a haze of dust and flames and debris and smoke. You hear the screams and moans of men dying and some you recognize. You see the red flashes from their big guns in the hills and watch the shells coming. It's like all that pre-invasion bombardment didn't touch them. They're high above us, dug in caves, hidden behind ridges, tucked in thick foliage on hillsides, looking right down our throats with some of their spotters directing fire from trees almost above us. ![]() Shells explode all around us, all day, all night. We're only thirty yards in from the shore. It's twenty seven hours since they dumped us on this beach and we're burrowed deep in the sand as we can get. ![]()
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