 The story you are about to hear is a true story, a war story. It happened only fourteen 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. For no matter how huge and lethal our weapons become, our real strength lies in men. The men of Baton and Normandy, of the Argonne and Seol. 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. 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 Quajolaine, 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 raring 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. Ah, 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, lus. Sinatra's a kid nowadays. Well, I reckon Moish is right, lus. We've been out of the states too long. He's a whole new generation grew up since Pearl Harbor. Like these two booths. Can I help it if I was born later than you? No, something I wished I was born even later. Shorty, what are you going to do down in the canal to get a boat like Odie assigned to my squad? You shouldn't have let your squad get cut up so bad at the tenor room. Hey, look out what you're saying, Shorty. Lus is the best sergeant in the whole maraud. Now, Odie, just keep your coveralls on. I sit at the tenor room myself. I know all about how Lus got those rhythms. Yeah? You get a guava canal patch on your sleeve and you get too big for your britches. Well, listen to what's talking. The commander of Camp Lejeune. I wish I was listening to that record of Eddie's dog cart back in Allentown. I'm sick. Good? No. I was just thinking. Hey, Lus. Hey, ought I get them new platters like that in Tokyo? By a midget submarine, direct from Catalina Island. Oh, come on. I'm no kidding. How do they... What do you think Argentina stayed neutral for? Huh? Just so they could send the latest American zipe to Japan as our Tokyo Rose complained for it? Gee. You know, I never was able to understand that international politics. Well, boys, how did you like that one? Pistol pack and mama sung by Bing Crosby and the Andrews sisters. And this is your chin-up girl in Tokyo. Get her. Who writes her material? Shut up, girl. It's kind of cute, huh? Pistol pack and mama. Your mama in Tokyo is packing no pistols tonight. She's packing a heart 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. Oh, I went online. You guys aren't like that all the time. You get used to it. It's too bad, you boys. All of you couldn't be back home tonight where you're 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 awesome. You boys are waiting now for transports. You don't know yet where you're going, but I do. You will fail 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. I don't like that. How does she know where we're going? Ah, Moise, 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 one to ask. In case you boys waiting on the piers in Wellington think I was kidding. 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 exactly a quarter to eight. What? Moise? Huh? Think again into that window, will you? Yeah. Yeah, she's right. Made her hand support a quarter of eight. My watch says eight-five. There you see, boys. Don't ever doubt your Tokyo chin-up girl again. Chin's up. And bon voyage. 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 them send all the subs they've got left, you'll be ready for them because 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 herd you together for a chart talk. Man, there's been a lot of scuttled butt about where we're going. And it's 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. Ever heard of it? Tarawa is the principal atoll in the Gilbert Islands. The Gilbert Islands? I didn't know it took you a long time. 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. Tarawa, another force will attack Abba 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 hate to be back. The island of Badio. Badio. 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 see it a little before we shoot them? I won't guarantee that. Here a reconnaissance shows that they're strongly entrenched. The airstrip is surrounded with pill boxes and echelon. That'll take flamethrowers. You'll be supported by flamethrowers and light and heavy tanks. Brother, this is going to be easier than the 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? Huh, that's what you think. Oh man, 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. Nah, nah, nah, 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 Canarsie. What are you talking? I don't see no difference. There ain't two suns, is there? No, it's the same sun. Well done. 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 Diego once. You know, while I was at North Island. No, kid. Yeah. You ever know of Mr. Smith in New York? No. Oh, I never run into him. That's funny. Yeah, a friend of yours? No. Well, a Mexican girl, she was. What? A friend of mine. You cat, Casanova Greenberg. Huh? It was just you calling me odious on a dirty. Oh, not necessarily. Casanova was a guy who had her away with women. Oh. You notice that about me too, huh? Did I ever tell you about that Aussie girl I met in Sydney? She had false teeth, uppers and lows, full set. So you talked. You might think that. 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 when it 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. We continue with Suspense. Power was tough, starring Mr. John Lund. A tale well calculated to keep you in. Suspense. 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. 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 Moyship above you and Shorty below, studying that map of Tarawa. I sure wish we were going into beach yellow instead of beach red. Why? Well, 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. The brass has learned a lot since Guadalcanal. What is a canal tough, Shorty? Oh, that's never tells me much about it. Kid, it was tough, it was rugged, it was hell. This Tarawa thing 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 over? My back. Hey, Odie, don't sit up so sudden. How's the sunburn, Moyship? Terrible. My back is just killing me. Why'd you lie on your stomach? Oh, it's burned worse. Don't tell me I told you so. But I did. You wouldn't have listened. What did the captain say, Les? DJ is the 20th. Hey, Chower is 8.30 in the morning. Tonight's the 18th. And we go over day after tomorrow. We go over tomorrow night. And if you guys got any letters to write, now would be a good time to do it. You're ridding them out, Odie? 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 spring a boat station drill long about 400 hours. By the time that's over, you've 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 1A. 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 with Admiral, it wouldn't go and do anything like that without consulting you, Moish. 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 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 a 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 Gron as the LCPs, the landing craft personnel go into the water. From the forward and after decks, the winches sputter and choke, dropping the big LCMs landing craft mechanized over the side. Finally, they're all away and cruising astern in a loose turning circle. A board ship, the loudspeaker is squawking. Evisions 15 and 16. Hey, hey, 15 and 16. They ought to be calling us pretty soon now, huh? Call us when they call us. Relax. Well, you can't take that island all by yourself, Moish. You got to have some help. Oh, it ain't that. I want to get it over with so I can take this equipment off. He straps a motor in my sunbind. Oh, don't you worry about that. Japs will take a sunburn off you, man. 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 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 the sick bay hearing prayers. Well, thanks, Mike. You better hurry. He's got to land down that bank as long as a 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, kid. You're going to need it later. They're crouching in the landing bards now. 36 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 with 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 to shoppers. Now, Odie, mind what I told you. I'm going to 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. Oh, I should 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 done. 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-a-sparks. Hey, what was that? The Navy! Milet ships and cruisers off shore. You and I work for us. Brother, when they get through pounding that beach, there won't be a jack left to rig a booby trap. That, boys, is what it's known as. Softening up. Oh, I told you, this is gonna 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 Beijing. And then the sun bounces up out of the ocean off toward Hawaii in its 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 getting behind the horizon, roaring down in the Japanese gun positions, crumbling the pillboxes, pulverizing the concrete ramparts in the most intense of air bombardment in history. The you-crouching mouth that gave off shore in the LCP. It looks as though nothing could remain alive under that murderous fire. It's getting close to a shower 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 promise four and a half feet of water that 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 a shower. And no sound comes from Bejo. Not a single rifle barks a challenge to your coming. How you doing, kid? Okay. Look at that. Look at that. Not a peep out of them and only a couple of hundred yards to go. Yeah. 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. All right. This is as far as we go. All right, boys. Over you go. And keep those rifles out of the water. All right. 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 pill boxes. All up and down the beach, the men are pouring out the LCPs into a hot wall of death. This is Beach Red. The brass had to make up the code named it well for this day. The beach is red all right. And the surf breaking red upon it. Blood red. Getting off the reef, the landing barges are helpless. All except one. Finds a curving channel through the coral and pushes its front nose in shore to pick up the wounded. It's tough going waiting for water just pulling a gun over your head. The machine gun bullets kicking up rows of white splashes just in front of you. 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 your mighty glad less is right here beside you. Come on. Get to that beach. All right. Don't see free duck. They're shooting this way. There's another CP over there. There was Helandia Bay and Guadalcanal and Saipan and Iwo Jima, Okinawa and Awituck. But they were one and held by men. Even the final island of Honshu on which the two first adolescent bombs burst was finally one and held by men. The men of the armed forces of the United States. The men whom America honors. Which Mr. John Lohn starred in, Tarawa was tough. Written, produced and directed by William M. Robeson. Listen. Listen again next week when we bring you another tale well calculated to keep you in. Suspense. Supporting Mr. Lund in Tarawa, West Top where Ellen Morgan, Jack Krushen, Dick Crenna, Joe DeSantis, Robert Easton, John Daener, Larry Thor and Lou Krugman. Suspense has come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States. Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.