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men,” Josh heard him say, “we’re going up and over. These bastards can’t stop us.”
    Before Josh could say a cautionary word, the lieutenant climbed up on the seawall and looked over his shoulder at his men. “Follow me!” he yelled just as a furious swath of bullets struck him. Spurts of blood leapt out of him and he fell backward onto the beach. His men dragged his lifeless body, his face shattered, his helmet still on backward, and placed him sitting up against the seawall. His head fell forward, as if he’d decided to take a siesta.
    â€œWhat outfit?” Josh asked in near despair.
    â€œWe’re none of us from the same one, sir,” a corporal answered.
    â€œAny gunnies around?”
    â€œNo, sir. Just us pissants.”
    A nearby Japanese machine gun opened up, and Josh had to raise his voice to be heard. “Anybody know where I can find a radio?” When no one responded, Josh said, “All right, listen up. The Japs are right over there. What you’ve got to do is start using your rifles. I know it’s hard to put your head above this seawall, but you either start shooting at them or you’re going to be overrun.”
    â€œSir, we ain’t never gonna take this island,” the corporal said. “Ain’t they gonna come and get us?”
    â€œYou boys keep asking me that,” Josh replied. “The answer is no. You’re either going to take this island or you’re going to die on it. Those are your choices. Now, you boys get to shooting. Throw a few grenades. Mix it up.That’s an order. I’m going to go find a radio and see if I can’t get us some help. Savvy?”
    The marines savvied and turned toward the seawall. A few of them bobbed up and fired, and there were angry Japanese screams as their bullets struck home. They also began throwing grenades, and a machine gun no more than ten yards away was silenced. A young marine grinned at him. “Like that, sir?” he asked.
    To Josh’s surprise, it was the young marine who’d drunk the water and gotten sick on the
Clayton.
‘Just like that,” Josh said, patting the boy on the back. “Keep up the good work, Randy. I know your mother would be proud of you.”
    Josh headed down the beach at a low crouch, the hot sun beating on him. When he heard the crunch of boots in the sand, he thought the young marine had decided to follow him, but when he turned, he discovered it was actually a small Japanese soldier chasing after him with a long, bayonet-tipped rifle.
    Josh was an expert at this kind of infighting and almost nonchalantly stepped aside, grabbed the rifle at its handgrip, pulled it forward until the young Japanese was off balance, and then buried his K-bar in the man’s innards, feeling a flood of hot blood around his hand. Twisting it, he pulled out the knife and let go of the rifle. The Japanese marine gave Josh a pitiful look, then quietly fell. Josh, surprised at the regret he felt for killing the young man, considered telling him he was brave—but then something hot hit Josh in the back of his neck. He slapped at it, thinking he’d been stung by a bee. It was, however, something hard that had lodged beneath his skin. He plucked out the thing, which proved to be a black and bloody bullet. It had struck him after being spent, possessing only enough energy to wound him. He considered for a moment putting it in his pocket as a good luck charm but decided there was nothing but bad luck to be found on this beach today. He flicked it into the sand, then went on, dodging past burning amtracs with marines hanging lifelessly from them. Everywhere in the lagoon were numerous floating men, their faces immersed in the rancid sea. Only a marine here and there had made it to the seawall, where they crouched, confused and spent, silently raising their faces in helpless supplication as Josh sprinted past.

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    Bosun Ready O’Neal slogged