In a Solomons' Gun Nest

From the Naval Hospital in San Diego came an unforgettable story of valor on a bloody night on jungled Guadalcanal. On an iron hospital cot lay Marine Private Albert A. Schmid, 23, husky son of a Philadelphia brewery worker, who, on a moonlight night last August, manned a machine gun that almost singlehandedly cut off an enemy advance.

With two others (John Rivers of Philadelphia and Lee Diamond of New York), Schmid was lying mouse-quiet in a machine-gun nest on the bank of a sluggish river dividing the American-held beachhead from Jap territory. The long-expected attack came early in the morning. Said Schmid:

"Suddenly a few scattered shots were fired from across the river. The Japs were trying to feel out our positions. Then, across the river from us a huge, dark, bobbing mass that looked like a herd of cattle scurried down into the stream. The Japs were starting to cross.

" 'No you don't. Not tonight,' I whispered.

"Johnny swept our gun to & fro and the wading Japs started crumpling down in the water. I was loading the gun. . . . Then Johnny got it in the face. I grabbed the gun and Lee laid Johnny aside as best as he could and started feeding it. ... The Japs kept sending groups of men, 35 to 50, charging down into the water while bullets whistled all around us. ... I could hear my teeth grind together as I swept my gunfire across group after group. . . . Diamond was working furiously when they got him in the arm. He fell across my legs. So I alternately loaded and fired."

Some Japs did get across; bullets rained down on Schmid from treetops. The water jacket on the machine gun was shot into a sieve; a grenade blew the gun into junk.

"My helmet was knocked off. Something struck me in the face. I put my hand to my face and eyes. I felt blood and raw flesh. . . . The Japs in the trees fired a steady downpour of bullets that chipped up dirt all around us and ripped through our sandbags. ... I strained my eyes for a, glimmer of light, but I couldn't see."

Rivers was dead. Schmid and Diamond lay there motionless. Once a lieutenant braved the bullet barrage to give them a hypodermic; once a hospital corpsman brought water. In the full light of morning, they were helped away.

The Marine Corps tally on Schmid's damage: 200 dead Japs. Said Private Schmid, who had given up a war-plant welder's job to enlist: "My outfit gave a good account of itself."

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