Suspense.
Again, the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills,
the master of mystery and adventure, William N. Robeson.
The story you are about to hear is a true story, a war story.
It happened only 14 years ago, but already it seems a little dated, almost quaint,
in these days of an ever bigger and bigger bomb.
But it wasn't quaint to the men who lived through it or died during it,
no matter how huge and lethal our weapons become, our real strength lies in men.
The men of Bataan and Normandy, of the Aragon and Saôl.
The men who today stand constant guard upon our far-flung ramparts.
The men of the armed forces of the United States of America.
To them, this historical footnote is dedicated.
Tarawa was tough, starring Mr. John Lund.
Now, John Lund stars in, Tarawa was tough.
A tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
This is the way it was when they went island hopping.
This is the way it was at Tarawa.
But you can call it Kwajalein, or Macon, or Namur, or Los Negros.
This is how they fought a war where it's tomorrow, tonight.
The training's all over now.
You're ready to ship out.
You're tough and you're hard and you're rare and to go.
But wars move slowly, even the best of them.
And so you sit and wait, crowded into a shed on a pier in the harbor of Wellington, New Zealand.
You've been laying around this shed for 12 hours now, waiting to get aboard your transport.
And you'd go box-sock if it wasn't for the radio that the Red Cross fellow rigged up.
It's tuned to your favorite station, Radio Tokyo.
Hey, what a tune, huh? What a tune.
Can you imagine what Sinatra will do to that?
Sinatra would murder it.
Listen to Bing. Bing, Bing.
You're getting old, Les. Sinatra's a kid nowadays.
I reckon Moish is right, Les. We've been out of the States too long.
He's a whole new generation grew up since Pearl Harbor.
Like these two boots.
Can I have it if I was born later than you?
Or something I wished I was born even later.
Shorty, what did I ever do down in the canal to get a boot like Odie assigned to my squad?
You shouldn't have let your squad get cut up so bad in the tenor room.
Hey, look out what you're saying, Shorty. Les is the best sergeant in the whole Marine Corps.
Now, Odie, just keep your coveralls on. I was at the tenor room myself.
I know all about how Les got those rivets.
Yeah? You get a guano canal patch on your sleeve and you get too big for your britches.
Well, listen to what's talking. The command of Camp Lejeune.
I wish I was listening to that record of Eddie's dog cart back in Allen Town.
Homestuck? Good?
No.
I was just thinking.
Hey, Les. Hey, how'd they get them new platters like that in Tokyo?
By a midget submarine direct from Catalina Island.
Oh, come on. Now, no kidding. How do they?
What do you think Argentina stayed neutral for?
Huh?
Just so they could send the latest American jive to Japan so Tokyo Rose can play them for us?
Gee. You know, I never was able to understand that international politics.
Well, boys, how did you like that one?
Pistol-packing mama sung by Bing Crosby and the Andrews sisters.
And this is your chin-up girl in Tokyo.
Get her.
Yeah, I wonder who wracked her material.
Chin-up girl. It's kind of cute, huh?
Pistol-packing mama. Your mama in Tokyo's packing no pistols tonight.
She's packing a hut full of pity for you kids.
They're selling you down the river back home. Four more strikes were called today.
Doesn't look like you boys are going to get those planes and ships they promised you.
What a lie.
You know, I don't like that all the time. You get used to it.
Too bad, you boys. All of you couldn't be back home tonight where you really needed,
protecting those near and dear to you.
And now I have a special word for the brave marines down in New Zealand.
Hey, that's us, yeah.
You boys are waiting now for transports.
You don't know yet where you're going, but I do.
You will sail in the morning to attack the Gilbert Islands and the Central Pacific,
but you'll never get there.
We're waiting for you with hundreds of submarines.
I'm sorry for you boys. None of you will ever see land again.
And now a recording which seems appropriate to the occasion.
A sleep in the deep.
Oh, how do you like that?
Hey, how does she know where we're going?
Ah, Moish, you remind me of that tired old gag about the guy who reads a sign on the door that says,
keep out this means you, and he asks, how did they know I was coming?
Oh, very funny.
Sure, that's just a lucky guess. Nobody's going to ask.
In case you boys waiting on the piers in Wellington think I was kidding.
Huh? She means us.
In case you think I don't know what I'm talking about, the time is now five minutes after eight.
If you'll look out the window at the clock in the Customs House Tower down there in Wellington, New Zealand,
you'll discover that it stopped 20 minutes ago at exactly a quarter to eight.
What?
Moish, take a gander out of that window, will you?
Yeah.
Hey, hey, yeah, she's right. Eight and a quarter of eight.
My watch says eight five.
There you see boys. Don't ever dodge your Tokyo chin-up girl again.
Chin-up and bon voyage.
Oh well, you can't load 20 transports full of Marines and tanks and Jeeps and guns without somebody getting wise.
When you pull anchor early in the morning and meet your naval escort outside the harbor,
you forget all about that dizzy broad on the Tokyo radio.
Let him send all the subs they've got left. You'll be ready for him.
You've never seen so many carriers and cruisers and battle wagons in your life.
You know you're on your way to something big and they don't leave you in the dark about it.
New Zealand is just slipping under the horizon to the south when they heard you together for a chart talk.
Men, there's been a lot of scuttlebutt about where we're going.
In this time we give you the load down because all of us have got a lot of work to do before we get there.
Our job is to take Tarawa.
Yes.
What's that?
Never heard of it.
It's the principal atoll in the Gilbert Islands.
The Gilberts?
Why didn't I tell you Rose was right?
Ah, she was only guessing.
Part of the task force will attack Macon Island to the north.
I think some of you boys are pretty well acquainted with Macon.
Now, another force will attack Aba Mama in the south, but our job is to take Tarawa.
And we expect it to be plenty tough.
Now, take a good look at this map. Study it. Study it hard.
By the time we go over the side, I want you to know it as well as you know the drill ground at North Island.
Oh, I ain't gonna give you that.
Now, the island of Baydeo.
Baydeo, here on the extreme southeastern tip of the atoll, is where the Nips have their strongest fortifications.
Now, you men who are at Guadalcanal will find this a much different operation.
There's no jungle on Tarawa.
That's a break. You mean we'll be able to seed a little before we shoot them?
I won't guarantee that.
Air reconnaissance shows that they're strongly entrenched.
The airstrip is surrounded with pillboxes and echelon.
That'll take flamethrowers.
You'll be supported by flamethrowers, light and heavy tanks.
Brother, this is gonna be easier than a dry run in Paris Island.
Don't be too sure about that.
You'll have the strongest support any Marine force has ever had.
The island will be softened up for us by naval and air bombardment and all that.
But remember, you're going to have to take the island yourselves, on foot, with the weapons you can carry.
That's okay with me.
Now, the beaches will be designated red, yellow, and blue.
You men are assigned to beach red.
Hour after hour, you go over the maps and the charts and the air photographs,
printing each detail in your memory, cramming like a kid before a geography exam.
You only take time off to chow, to hit the sack, and to take your turn topside on the sunny deck.
Oh, man, what a way to fight a war, huh?
Can I get paid for laying out here, getting this lovely tan?
That's what you think.
Oh, man, you know, I hope I'll be able to keep tan like this until I get back to Brooklyn.
Moish, you better cover up. You look like a bad case of the Fourth of July.
No, no, I'm okay. I always get red like this here at first, but don't mean nothing.
Now listen, Moish, we're getting near the equator.
This sun is different than the sun in Kenosha.
What are you talking? I don't see no difference. There ain't two suns, is there?
No, it's the same sun.
Well, then?
You know what I'd like right now.
Huh? What?
A bottle of Mexican beer and a bowl of chili.
Hey, chili. Hey, did you ever know any Mexican girls, Shorty?
You know, if I try real hard, I can see a connection there.
Don't try.
I knew a Mexican girl in Dago once, you know, while I was at North Island.
No kidding.
Yeah.
Ever know a Mr. Smith in New York?
No. I never run into him.
That's funny.
Yeah? Friend of yours?
No.
Well, this Mexican girl, she was.
What?
Friend of mine.
Get Casanova Greenberg.
Huh? It was just you called me, oh, you son of a dirty.
Oh, not necessarily. Casanova was a guy who had a way with women.
Oh. You noticed that about me, too, huh?
Did I ever tell you about that Aussie girl I met in Sydney?
She had false teeth, uppers and lowers, full set.
So you talk. But just to talk.
Because nobody really listens.
You talk because you don't want to listen to the pounding of your own heart.
Racing against time.
Against the too soon time that may stop forever.
You talk or you just lie there and look out at the blue, blue water.
And you wonder, what are you doing here?
How did you get here?
And you wonder if Tokyo Rose was guessing or did she really have the word?
And you wonder most of all, if you ever will reach dry land again.
In a moment, we continue with suspense.
Now.
We continue with Terauer Westock starring Mr. John Lund.
A tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
There are 2,000 Marines aboard this transport.
And below decks, it isn't exactly a cruise ship.
The bunks are stacked four deep and there isn't any head room.
You have to slip in sideways.
Your gear hangs on the steel upright.
Your netting covered tin hats swing slowly with the motion of the ship.
It's hot down here and it stinks.
It stinks of the sweat and cigarette smoke of hundreds of men.
But you're not noticing any of this now.
You're lying on your bunk with moist up above you and shorty below, studying that map of Terauer.
I sure wish we were going into Beach Yellow instead of Beach Red.
Why?
Beach Red's next to that pier.
I bet the Japs will have guns all over it.
Kid, by the time we get ashore, that pier just won't naturally be there.
The bombardment will take years hit.
The brass has learned a lot since Guadalcanal.
Was the canal tough shorty?
The West never tells me much about it.
Kid, it was tough, it was rugged, it was hell.
Mr. Auer is going to be a breeze.
I hope you're right.
Oh boys, I just got the dope from the skipper.
What is it?
When do we go out?
My back.
Hey, Odie, don't sit up so sudden.
How's the sunburn, Moish?
Terrible.
My back is just killing me.
Why don't you lie on your stomach?
It's burned worse.
Look, don't tell me I told you so.
But I did.
You wouldn't have listened.
What did the captain say, Les?
D.J. is the 20th.
8th hour is 8.30 in the morning.
Tonight's the 18th.
And we go over day after tomorrow.
And if you guys got any letters to write, now would be a good time to do it.
You written your Maori?
No, not today.
You better do it, kid.
They're going to be pretty busy from now on.
But you can't write.
What can you say?
You got too much on your mind to write.
They sprang a boat station drill along about 400 hours.
By the time that's over, you got to line up for chow.
You spend the rest of the day checking over the maps and photographs.
And your equipment down to the last cartridge and grenade.
And as the day passes, you start to tighten up.
You can feel the other guys tightening up, too.
It's all over the ship.
Everything's the same, the placid blue sea with the sun sparkling across it.
The flung out lines of transports and carriers and battle wagons.
It's just like it has been for six days.
But inside you, inside every man on board, it's different.
It's hard to get your breath.
Your heart's pounding like a trip hammer.
Your nerves stretch tighter and tighter.
And by nightfall, you feel that something has got to snap inside you.
And then along about midnight, a loud speaker box.
All hands secure condition three.
Set condition one A.
Oh, man.
Come on, get your gear together.
Relax, kid.
That's for the Navy crew that's running this tub.
The hired help.
Yeah, you got plenty of time, Odie.
That's the most you got of anything in a war.
Time.
Yeah, but maybe they changed the plan and were going in earlier, huh?
Now, you know the Admiral wouldn't go and do anything like that without consulting you, Moesh.
Odie, did you write your mind tonight?
No, I've been too...
Well, I've been getting my gear together.
Listen, kid, you better write your mind now.
You've still got time.
I don't know what to tell her.
Tell her you're having a wonderful time.
Tell her about how pretty the palm trees look in the moonlight.
Tell her you hope she's getting enough to eat back home.
Tell her anything to keep her morale up.
While the Marines lay around on their bunks down below in the blue battle lights,
there's plenty doing topside.
From the boat deck davits, creek, and groan as the LCPs, the landing craft personnel, go into the water.
From the forward and after decks, the winches sputter and choke,
causing the big LCMs, landing craft mechanized, over the side.
Finally, they're all away, and cruising astern in a loose turning circle.
Aboard ship, the loudspeaker is squawking...
Divisions 15 and 16...
Hey, hey, 15 and 16. They ought to be calling up pretty soon now, huh?
They'll call us when they call us. Relax.
You can't take that island all by yourself, Moesh. You gotta have some help.
Oh, it ain't that. I want to get over with it so I can take this equipment off.
He strapped some mortar in my sunburn.
Oh, don't you worry about that. Japs will take the sunburn off your mind, won't they, Les?
Yeah.
How do you feel, Odie?
Okay.
Scared, kid?
Me, scared? Heck no.
Listen, brother, let me tell you something.
You look scared. You act scared. You're lying like a...
The only difference between you and Les is Les don't look or act scared.
Are you scared, Les?
Sure I am. Scared to death.
Les, I'm glad you said it because honestly I'm so scared I don't know if I'll ever be...
I know, kid, it's just natural.
Hey, you guys, where's the chaplain?
Well, he ain't there in the head.
I'm looking for him everywhere.
Last I saw him he was after in the sick bay hearing prayers.
Thanks, Mike.
You better hurry. He's got to land down that dank as long as the gene artery picture in Abilene on a Saturday night.
Divisions 17 and 18 report to the parking station.
Hey, 18, that's us. Come on, Les. Hurry up. Come on, Shorty.
You better save your strength here. You're going to need it later.
They're crouching in the landing bards now.
Thirty-six of them have come tumbling over the side and down the cargo net and now they huddle in the bottom of the LCP.
They don't look like the ads in the slick magazines back home.
They're just three dozen American kids of assorted sizes, creeds, and color of hair.
They aren't quite as slap-happy as a football team on its way to the Rose Bowl, but they aren't acting like they had a date with destiny either.
They're just a bunch of well-trained kids talking shoppers.
Now, Odie, mind what I told you? When we get a show you keep your butt down.
Yeah, that's important, Odie. You ain't got a tin hat on your tail.
Another thing, first time on the fire maybe you'll freeze.
Well, don't let that worry you. Just freeze. I'll be there to look after you.
Well, unless you treat me like a kid, I can take care of myself.
Now, you hear me. I'm looking after you, see?
Who's going to look after you, Sergeant York?
It's not yet dawn, and the boats are cruising around in a circle at the rendezvous point, a mile off the beach.
It's quiet except for the purring of the engines and the low talk of the men.
And then way off toward the horizon is the jack of all sparks.
Hey, what was that?
The Navy?
I don't see if the cruiser's offshore.
You and I work for us.
Brother, when they get through pounding that beach there won't be a chap left to rig a booby trap.
That, boys, is what it's known as.
Softening up. Oh, I told you this is going to be a push over.
It takes hours to organize and land an invasion force.
You don't rush off toward the beach at top speed yelling, gung ho.
You wait. You circle and wait while the big guns of the Navy pound the 800-yard wide island of Bejio.
And then the sun bounces up out of the ocean off toward Hawaii, and it's daylight and hot.
And still you wait, circling slowly.
And when the battle wagons leave off, the dive bombers take over,
swarming up from the flat decks of a dozen carriers hidden behind the horizon,
roaring down on the Japanese gun positions, crumbling the pillboxes,
pulverizing the concrete ramparts in the most intensive air bombardment in history.
The ewe crouching mouth that gave offshore in the LCP,
it looks as though nothing could remain alive under that murderous fire.
It's getting close to ase hour now, and you get the flash from the flagship,
and the circle breaks up and the boats fan out heading for beach red.
But you don't go in full throttle. You sweep in, slowly.
Feeling for a safe channel through the treacherous coral reefs.
Praying the high tide will hold its promised four and a half feet of water
till you can unload these kids on the page of a history book.
You peel your eyeballs, searching the coral formations beneath the rippling green water.
And then suddenly something's changed.
Something is not quite the same.
And then you get it. It's quiet.
The Navy guns have ceased firing.
The Navy planes have let up so the men can go in.
It's H hour.
And no sound comes from Bejo.
Not a single rifle barks a challenge till you're coming.
How you doing, kids?
Okay. Okay. Look at that. Look at that.
Not a peep out of them and only a couple of hundred yards to go.
Yeah.
What's that? What's that?
Did we run aground?
Yeah, you've run aground.
You can back away, all right, but you can't go forward.
Your bottom's crunching coral.
This is the end of the line.
Here we go.
Okay, boys, get on your overshoes. This is as far as we go.
How do you like that?
They might take a rate from Red Beach in return.
Got a something sniff food.
All right, boys, over you go.
And keep those rifles out of the water.
All right, guys. All right. Come on, let's go.
Too many Japs went to school in the States.
Too many Nips read American history.
They know about Bunker Hill and don't fire until you see the whites of the enemy's eyes.
And as soon as the boys drop into the water, they open fire up from a dozen hidden pillboxes.
Shut your heads when you see the splash coming your way.
Hey, stop it there.
Keep waiting, guys.
Hey, you little kids. Come on, Island. Come on, Island.
Hey, it's murder.
It's murder, all right.
All up and down the beach, the men are pouring out of the LCPs into a hot wall of death.
This is Beach Red.
The brass has to make up the code, named it well for this day.
The beach is red, all right, and the surf's breaking red upon it.
Blood red.
Standing off the reef, the landing barges are helpless.
All except one.
Finds a curving channel through the coral and pushes its blunt nose inshore to pick up the wounded.
It's tough going, waiting for water up to your chest, holding a gun over your head,
some machine gun bullets kicking up rows of white splashes just in front of you.
But you're not scared now.
You've only got one thing on your mind now. You've got to get to that beach.
No, you're not scared.
But you're mighty glad Les is right here beside you.
Come on, kids.
There's not much further. Tonight will be less.
Hey, who said this was going to be a pushover?
Hey, Les, Odin, where are you?
Hurry up, Shorty. We've got to get to that beach and dig in.
Where are you?
Les, Odin.
Les, look.
Shorty, he's way back out to sea looking for us.
This base is all shut up. Les, he's blind.
Don't look, kids. There's nothing we can do for him.
We've got to get to that beach.
Hey, we ain't going any place you were not careful.
What's the matter?
There's a sniper in that wrecked LCP duck.
They're shooting this way.
Get down on the gate.
Les! Les!
He stopped one.
He stopped one and had my name on it.
All right, there's an LCP over there picking up wounded.
We've got to get him out of here.
LCPs! Over this way!
Wounded man!
Hey, baby!
Bring that boat over here.
Hey, see this, Shorty. They're coming.
It's going to be okay, Les. I'll take care of him.
I'll get you back to the transport.
You're going to be okay, Les.
You're going to fit home well in this, kid.
You get back home to sea mom.
Get over here, man!
Is he hurt, man?
I don't know. He can't talk.
All right, give me a hand and bust him up, will you?
He's pretty heavy.
Okay.
I got his belt.
Hey, wait a minute.
What's the matter?
I can't take this, man. I'm only picking up wounded.
He's dead.
He's dead?
Yeah, I'm only taking the wounded.
Look, Sailor.
Look, he's my brother.
Your brother?
Yeah, you see, I can't leave him here.
Yeah.
Gee, that's tough.
You got to take him!
Yeah, yeah, well, uh...
Hey, look, give me a hand with him.
I guess I can report he died on the way out.
Thanks, Sailor.
Thanks a lot.
Hey, hey, that one guy can't hear.
You better climb it, too.
Let me.
I'm okay.
You take care of Les, will you?
Come on, boys. We got some jobs to kill.
Yes, Sarawa was cut.
So was Helandia Bay and Guadalcanal and Saipan
and Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and Iwiqaq.
But they were won and held by men.
Even the final island of Honshu,
on which the two first adolescent bombs burst,
was finally won and held by men.
The men of the armed forces of the United States.
The men whom America honors.
Suspense.
In which Mr. John Lund starred in
Tarawa Was Tough.
Written, produced, and directed by William N. Robeson.
Listen.
Listen again next week,
when we bring you another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Supporting Mr. Lund in Tarawa Was Tough were
Ellen Morgan, Jack Crouchon, Dick Krenna, Joe DeSantis,
Robert Easton, John Dana, Larry Thor, and Lou Krugman.
Suspense has come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.