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The Turning Point. Next morning before dawn a lone Jap plane came over, shied away as U.S. ships put up a terrific ack-ack barrage. Soon after the first light the 2nd Division's reserves made for shore. From the beachhead it was a sickening sight.
Even before they climbed out of their Higgins boats, the reserves were under machine-gun fire. Many were cut down as they waded in, others drowned. Men screamed and moaned. Of 24 in one boat only three reached shore.
Low tide that morning bared the bodies of many Marines, some hunched grotesquely, others with arms outstretched, all arrested while charging forward. At regimental headquarters, located 30 yards inland against a Jap log-and-steel-laced blockhouse, staff officers worked grimly. Colonel David Shoup, huge, bull-necked commander of the men ashore, reported: "We're in a mighty tight spot. . . . We've got to have more men." It was touch-&38;-go whether the Marines would all be killed, or, less likely, be pushed back into the sea.
The turning point came about 1 p.m. on the second day. Millions of bullets, hundreds of tons of explosive poured into the stubborn Japs. Strafing planes and dive-bombers raked the island. Light and medium tanks got ashore, rolled up to fire high explosive charges point-blank into the snipers' slots of enemy forts. Artillery got ashore, laid down a pattern over every yard of the Jap positions. Ceaseless naval gunfire became more accurate.
But the decisive factor was the fighting spirit of the U.S.
Marines. Not every Corpsman was a natural hero: some quivered and hugged the beach, but most—those who feared and those who disdained death—went forward into the Jap fire.
Lieut. William D. Hawkins, a Texan, led his platoon into the coconut palms. Though twice wounded, he refused to retire. He personally cleaned out six machine-gun nests, sometimes by standing on top of a half-track and firing at four or five Japs who fired back from blockhouses. One of Hawkins' men sobbed: "My buddy was shot in the throat. He was bleeding like hell and saying in a low voice, 'Help me, help me!' I had to turn my head.
We kept on advancing." At least two wounded company commanders, and probably half a dozen others, stayed at the front directing operations. The percentage of men who fought on despite injuries was very high.
The Victory Point. That afternoon Colonel Shoup wiped his red forehead with a grimy sleeve, said: "Well, I think we're winning, but the bastards have got a lot of bullets left. I think we'll clean up tomorrow." The Colonel was right. On the third day the Japs began to fall apart. The Marines advanced inland at a mounting pace, overran Betio's valuable airfield, bottled the Japs in the island's tail. U.S.
casualties fell off rapidly. Before noon it became evident that the Jap list of killed and wounded would be longer than the American. That was no consolation to the leathernecks who had seen their mates fall. But there was satisfaction in mopping up the snipers. One gang of 50 Marines fired rifles and carbines into one coconut tree at a trapped Jap. He returned the fire after he had been hit at least 50 times.