CHAPTER 13 – THE GLOVES ARE OFF
A Somali pirate ‘mother ship’ being sunk by naval gunfire.
09:12 (Washington Time)
Thursday, October 30, 1997 ‘C’
The Oval Office, The White House
Washington, D.C., U.S.A.
Ross Perot nearly growled in frustration as he threw down on his desk the daily intelligence situation report he had been reading.
‘’Another American cargo ship attacked off the coast of Somalia, with three of its crewmembers either killed or wounded? This is the fifth such incident to happen this month alone, and I don’t even count the commercial ships or private boats belonging to other nations which have been attacked and boarded by pirates in the same area. We do have warships patrolling in the Indian Ocean, no?’’
His national security advisor, Brent Scowcroft, who had brought him the report, looked a bit embarrassed as he answered Perot.
‘’Yes, we do, Mister President. However, there are too few of them to efficiently patrol such a vast expanse of water and they are also hampered by existing international laws, which oblige our crews to treat the pirates they catch with what I consider ‘kids’ gloves’.’’
‘’Well, screw international laws! I believe that it is high time to take the gloves off with those pirates. In the good old days, such pirates would have been hanged on the spot, no ifs or buts, while I believe that every nation on Earth considers high-seas piracy as a major crime.’’
‘’And what do you have in mind about that piracy problem, Mister President?’’
‘’Using a big stick!’’ replied Perot before grabbing the receiver of the encrypted telephone linking the White House with the Pentagon and composing a number. Scowcroft’s ear went up when he heard who Perot was calling.
‘’General Dows? This is the President! I suppose that you have heard about the Somali pirates’ attack on the EXXON TEXAS?... I am in mind of dealing decisively with that recurring problem. Could I hope that you have some kind of contingency plan already written concerning that piracy problem?... You do? Good! Grab that contingency plan and come and see me right away at the White House. I will be expecting you.’’
Perot then closed the line and made a mean smile while looking back at Scowcroft.
‘’Time to let our attack dogs loose, Brent.’’
15:28 (East Coast Time)
Friday, October 31, 1997 ‘C’
Parade and assembly hall of the 1st Battalion/6th Marine Regiment
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
‘’Good strike, Meachum! However, you had a chance to finish off your opponent while he was down but you didn’t take it. Remember one of the main principles of Krav Maga: to continue to strike your opponent until he or she is completely incapacitated. Both of you may now sit down. Calderon, Visby: you are next!’’ Corporal Greta Visby
Greta Visby jumped to her feet, both eager and excited, when her name was called up by their Krav Maga instructor, Zev Weiss, an ex-Israeli paratrooper who had emigrated to the United States years ago and who had been hired as a civilian martial arts instructor in order for him to teach his art to the marines of the 6th Marine Regiment. Martial arts training had now been compulsory for all American front line soldiers and combat aviators for over five years, on order from General Ingrid Dows, who had imposed a number of rules and directives meant to make American soldiers better, both physically and mentally, instead of being simply good shooters or technicians. On her part, Greta was a hundred percent for those rules and directives and she particularly loved her twice-weekly Krav Maga training sessions, both because she liked its blend of multiple martial arts into a combat technique that was both realistic for the battlefield and devastatingly effective and because, while athletic and strong for a woman, Greta accepted the fact that most male soldiers would be stronger physically than she could ever be. Krav Maga, with its emphasis on using all types of strikes and weapons available in order to win and survive, exactly fit the bill for Greta. Wearing her combat armored vest, helmet and ballistic protective glasses, like all the other marines practicing Krav Maga, both to protect against blows during practice fights and to accustom the marines to fight with the weight of their equipment on, Greta faced her opponent, Corporal Alphonso Calderon, while taking a combat stance. Calderon was actually slightly shorter than Greta, who stood a good 177 centimeters, but definitely had more muscle mass than her. He was also a nervous type with quick reflexes, making him a dangerous opponent in a hand-to-hand fight. However, things got spiced up when Zev Weiss threw to Calderon a short baton meant to imitate a knife.
‘’Corporal Visby, a man armed with a knife just jumped in front of you while you were in a city back alley. Defend yourself!’’
Greta did not have time to reflect on that added degree of difficulty before Calderon aggressively advanced on her while screaming, his short baton held at waist level and ready to strike. Then, another main principle of Krav Maga kicked in to help her: developing muscle memory for quick reactions in a fight. On top of assiduously practicing Krav Maga with her platoon twice a week when not out on a field exercise, she had been paying out of her own pocket for extra lessons and practice sessions during weekends at the Krav Maga club owned by Zev Weiss in Charleston, where he was teaching his art to civilians. She had not bragged about that to her marine companions, so Calderon could be in for a bit of a surprise today. Her left hand shot out in order to block Calderon’s right arm, while she simultaneously made a lightning-quick strike with her right hand. Her hand, bent upward, went to Calderon’s throat, hitting it with the palm of her hand. The Puerto Rican pedaled back while gurgling, his breath temporarily taken away. Greta did not give him a chance to recover and followed up her first attack with a kick to the groin, measuring her strength in order not to truly hurt her comrade. Despite wearing a jock strap, Calderon collapsed on his knees, pain visible on his face and still struggling for air. Greta then kicked him in the solar plexus with her left boot, again measuring her strength, sending the poor Puerto Rican on his back. With him flat on the ground and vulnerable, Greta then jumped with both feet over him in a classic ‘commando stomp’ meant to break his sternum, a mortal blow, but separated her feet at the last moment, with her boots instead landing on each side of his upper torso. Bending down and picking up the short baton dropped by Calderon, Greta then struck him with it in a vertical stabbing blow to his heart. Zev Weiss applauded enthusiastically as she stepped away from the hurting Calderon, still on his back.
‘’BRAVO, CORPORAL VISBY! MEN, THIS WAS A PERFECT DEMONSTRATION OF THE PRINCIPLES OF KRAV MAGA: SIMULTANEOUS ATTACK AND DEFENSE; PHYSICAL AGGRESSION; CONTINUING TO STRIKE YOUR OPPONENT UNTIL HE IS COMPLETELY INCAPACITATED; ATTACK PREEMPTIVELY OR COUNTER-ATTACK AS SOON AS POSSIBLE; USE ANY OBJECT AT HAND TO HIT YOUR OPPONENT; TARGET YOUR OPPONENT’S BODY’S MOST VULNERABLE POINTS; USE SIMPLE AND EASILY REPEATABLE STRIKES; MAINTAIN AWARENESS OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS; DEVELOP MUSCLE MEMORY FOR QUICK REACTIONS IN A FIGHT AND INSTINCTIVE RESPONSES UNDER STRESS. Visby, Calderon, you may now sit down.’’
Before going back to her previous place, Greta went to help Calderon get up. The Puerto Rican grimaced with pain as he slowly got back on his feet.
‘’Remind me never to attack you, Greta.’’
‘’Only after I will have knocked you down, Alphonso.’’ replied Greta while smiling.
Both of them sat back down and watched the next duel between two other marines of their platoon. At four in the afternoon, a bit less than half an hour later, Weiss declared the training session finished, with the platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Jeffrey Brown, then dismissing his marines for the weekend. However, before Greta could walk away to return to her mini-suite in her unit’s barrack building, Zev Weiss intercepted her and spoke to her in a low voice while smiling to her.
‘’That was a truly excellent fight you did, Greta. Consider yourself as having just graduated to a blue belt G2 level. I will hand you your new belt at your next private practice session in my Charleston’s club.’’
That made Greta break into a wide, happy grin as she shook hands with Zev.
‘’Thank you, Zev: you are a truly excellent instructor and teacher. You can be sure that I will continue my Krav Maga training assiduously. See you tomorrow at your club.’’
Greta then walked out of the battalion’s parade square and towards her barrack block, situated just across the street. The said barrack block, a modern building built only three years ago, was a world apart from the old barrack blocks in which past marines had lived in. The four-story building actually looked much more like an apartment block, with individual suites and balconies for the marines living in it. Entering the building with her platoon comrades, Greta climbed the stairs to the third floor, where her own suite was. That suite, similar to those of other marines with the rank of corporal or lower, included a small living room with a sofa-bed, TV stand, dresser, desk and chair and a small refrigerator, a large closet to store her field kit, spare uniforms and civilian clothes and a small bathroom with toilet, sink and shower stall. While small by civilian standards, her mini-apartment was enough for Greta’s personal needs. She was a quiet type and a bit of an introvert and liked to read and watch documentaries, being an autodidact as well. Some of her male comrades thought of her as being a bit dull and an intellectual type, having hoped that such a pretty young blonde would have been more of a party girl, but she didn’t care much about that opinion. She drank only occasionally and, while appreciating the occasional sex, only dated men infrequently. As for marrying, that was not part of her future prospects for the moment, as she wanted to consecrate her life to being the best marine she could be and to travel and live adventures as much as possible.
Greta had just finished taking a shower and was drying herself up when the P.A. system of the building started blaring.
‘’ATTENTION TO ALL THE MARINES OF THE 1ST BATTALION! ATTENTION TO ALL THE MARINES OF THE 1ST BATTALION! YOU ARE TO IMMEDIATELY ASSEMBLE IN THE BATTALION’S PARADE HALL FOR AN URGENT BRIEFING BY THE BATTALION COMMANDER. I SAY AGAIN…’’
‘’Oops! That sounds like another no-notice urgent deployment at sea.’’ said Greta to herself, remembering how her first deployment at sea, on the battle carrier NEPTUNE, had started. Quickly dressing back into a clean combat uniform, she then put on her field cap and, leaving her mini-suite, locked her door before running downstairs and across the street to the entrance of her battalion’s parade and assembly hall. There, she was quickly joined by the other single, living-in members of her unit. However, that left a third of the battalion members, who were married and lived in the PMQ area of the base, still absent. The battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Paul Wilkinson, seeing the gaping holes in the ranks of his unit, then took a quick decision and spoke into his microphone.
‘’MARINES OF THE 1ST BATTALION, SINCE WE ARE STILL WAITING FOR THE MARRIED MEMBERS LIVING OFF BARRACKS, I AM GOING TO TEMPORARILY DISMISS THOSE OF YOU ALREADY HERE, SO THAT YOU COULD RETURN IN YOUR BARRACKS AND PREPARE YOUR FIELD KIT FOR A DEPLOYMENT AT SEA IN THE INDIAN OCEAN. I WILL HOWEVER KEEP OUR ULTIMATE DESTINATION TO MYSELF UNTIL THE WHOLE BATTALION COULD ASSEMBLE HERE. BE BACK HERE WITH YOUR FULL FIELD KIT IN ONE HOUR. DISMISSED!’’
As Greta and her comrades ran out of the hall to return to their barrack buildings, one of the members of her fire time, Private Mike Hanley, the most junior member of the fire team she was leading, asked her a question while running alongside her.
‘’Corporal, do you have any idea of where we are going to go exactly? The colonel mentioned the Indian Ocean.’’
‘’The Indian Ocean is a big place, with lots of shitholes and trouble spots around it, Hanley. You better not hypothesize about our precise deployment. Concentrate instead on packing correctly your gear and think in terms of weeks and months, rather than in mere days.’’
‘’Uh, understood, Corporal!’’
With Hanley splitting away after entering the building, Greta ran up to her mini-apartment and took out of her closet her big field backpack. Apart from the sleeping bag pouch and small individual folding tent attached to it, it already contained two sets of spare combat uniforms, four sets of underwear, a spare pair of combat boots and a personal hygiene kit with towel, but Greta still added to it an extra khaki-colored bath towel, two more pairs of socks, a mosquito head net and a bottle of mosquito repellant. She also put a few energy bars as emergency rations in one pouch attached to her web gear. Next, she put all her empty rifle magazines inside their carrying cargo pouches fixed to her armored vest. Thinking to herself for a few seconds while reviewing her kit, she went to a locked steel box hidden in a corner of her closet and put it on her sofa/bed before unlocking and opening it, revealing a pair of automatic pistols and their spare magazines and ammunition boxes inside. The bigger pistol, a FN Five-seven, was her favorite sidearm, having an impressive twenty-round capacity magazine and high muzzle velocity, which gave it a longer effective range than other pistol calibers and also much more penetrating power against typical military armored vests. She had adapted a holographic sight on top of its slide, plus a laser dot sight under the muzzle, so she could use it in low light or night conditions. She filled five magazines for it, inserting one in her pistol but not cocking it, leaving the chamber empty for more safety, then placed her pistol and magazines in their belt holster and magazine holders and put two extra boxes of 5.7mm ammunition in her field pack. Next, she grabbed her subcompact, 9mm, ten-shot Glock 26 pistol and filled three magazines for it. One of those was inserted in her pistol, while the two others went in her ankle magazine holder, which also supported a short combat knife in its scabbard. As for her Glock 26, it went in the ankle holster she had bought for it. Fitting both ankle holsters in place, she then covered them with the leg bottoms of her combat trousers, just above the top of her combat boots. Lastly, she filled both of her water bottles with fresh tap water, then put on her armored vest, web gear and backpack before leaving her room and locking it.
Once in the battalion building, she was directed by a waiting NCO to go get her rifle at the unit’s armory, situated inside the building. There, she picked up her personal weapon, a Winchester M1985A2 .243 caliber assault rifle with integrated AGL-95 single-shot 60mm grenade launcher. She had already fought with her rifle and killed enemy soldiers with it during two military campaigns: the Caucasus War of 1996 and the Somalia Aircraft Hijacking Incident of the same year. She had even been able to destroy an enemy armored vehicle with her grenade launcher while in Armenia. As an experienced hunter who had lived her youth and teenage years in the forests of both Northern Sweden and of Alaska, she liked the high accuracy and long range of her assault rifle, with which she was able to consistently hit a man at distances of over 500 meters. When she entered the parade/assembly hall of her battalion, she found pallets of live ammunition and field rations waiting there. She was thus able to fill her rifle magazines and store boxes of bullets, four rifle grenades and two-days-worth of rations in her backpack and web gear. Now fully ready for her incoming deployment, she sat on her backpack and waited, placing her fire team members in line as they showed up.
Some forty minutes later, once all of the battalion members were present, Lieutenant Colonel Wilkinson returned behind his microphone and spoke in a strong voice.
‘’Marines of the 1st Battalion, we have been ordered on a new mission, a deployment at sea in the Indian Ocean. Contrary to when we deployed on the battle carrier NEPTUNE, we will not need to fly to our mother ship, as it is already docked at the Sunny Point Ocean Terminal. We will board the U.S.S. GUADALCANAL with our armored amphibians and our wheeled vehicles, then sail at best speed towards the Indian Ocean, where we will take a station off the eastern coast of Somalia. While the hymn of our glorious corps starts with the words ‘from the shores of Tripoli’, where we fought the Barbary Coast pirates nearly 200 years ago, we are now going to fight pirates again, this time in Somalia. This will not be a simple sea patrol job: it will imply for us to land in Somalia in order to clean up for good that nest of pirates.’’
All 1,275 marines present in the hall, including Greta, loudly cheered at those words.
06:03 (East Coast Time)
Saturday, November 01, 1997 ‘C’
AACV-8A armored amphibian of the 3rd Rifle Platoon/Bravo Company
On the docks of the Sunny Point Military Ocean Terminal
Greta, traveling with the marines of her rifle platoon aboard their assigned AACV-8A tracked amphibian vehicle, popped her head out of one of the roof hatches of the big armored vehicle as it started climbing a ro-ro ramp. It was still dark around but the lights around the docks of the military ocean terminal allowed her to see the ship they were about to roll into.
‘’Wow! Look at that big bugger! It is about the size of an aircraft carrier.’’
‘’Is it as big as the NEPTUNE?’’ asked PFC Joshua Stern from one of the seats lining the port inner side of the armored amphibian’s hull. Greta shook her head at that.
‘’No, not even close, but it is still a big ship and also an impressive one: I can see a total of four large caliber gun turrets just along its port side.’’
Her remark made more marines stick their heads out through the roof hatches, with them swooning about what they saw.
‘’Wow! These are twin five-inch gun turrets. You can imagine the kind of volume of fire they could pump out during a shore bombardment?’’
‘’Well, we were told that the U.S.S. GUADALCANAL was a tank landing ship, so a heavy gun battery would make sense for it in order to provide fire support for an amphibious landing. However, I just can’t picture such a big ship beaching itself in waters shallow enough to let out vehicles directly on the beach. Either this ship was mischaracterized, or it has something we don’t know about.’’
Greta and the other marines then kept looking outside of their vehicle as it followed other armored tracked amphibians inside a cavernous vehicle storage deck which apparently ran nearly the whole length of the ship and was over 200 meter-long and some twenty meters-wide.
‘’Gee! We nearly could play a game of football inside this place.’’ exclaimed Dan Weatherly, the assistant light machine gunner of Greta’s fire team.
‘’Well, we won’t have the excuse of too little space to exercise if we become out of shape during this deployment.’’ replied Greta.
‘’I wonder if they have a swimming pool aboard, like on the NEPTUNE.’’
‘’That would surprise me, Dan: this ship spells ‘combat operations’ all the way.’’
Guided by sailors to proper parking spots, the 28 AACV-8 armored amphibians and 41 wheeled vehicles of the battalion were soon parked and then solidly tied down by chains to the steel deck of the vehicle hangar. That still left plenty of deck space for more vehicles if need be, something that impressed Greta. Orders were then shouted out, making the marines leave their vehicles with their weapons and field kit, to line up in long files which were then led out of the vehicle hangar by designated sailor guides. The sailor guiding the file that included Greta, a chief petty officer, led the marines out and into the starboard side hull of the ship, which was of catamaran desogm, then went down one deck, using a wide ramp with a moderate inclination, and followed a long and wide passageway before stopping next to a steel door on the outer side of the passageway.
‘’Well, gentlemen…and lady. I am Chief Petty Officer George Willis and we are now at the entrance of the platoon quarters assigned to your sub-unit. I will now give you a quick tour of it and then let your lieutenant assign you to your respective cabins. Follow me!’’
Willis, followed in double file by the marines, then entered a fairly large empty space measuring some eight meters by twelve meters, with two corridors to the left which were lined with cabin doors. Willis then stopped at one end of the empty lounge, which actually had benches fixed to the walls around it, before speaking again.
‘’First, some ship history. The U.S.S. GUADALCANAL is the first ship of a new class of landing ships and is designated in military parlance as a LST-H, or Landing Ship Tank – Helicopter. It is a big ship, displacing 36,000 tons at full load and measuring 891 feet in length overall, while it has a maximum beam of 165 feet. Why so large, some would ask? Because the GUADALCANAL is a catamaran design, using two parallel hulls separated by a sponson section hanging over water. That kind of ship design provides lots more deck space than a conventional monohull design, something very useful for a LST and which allowed it to meet the recent new ship habitability standards of our navy, may God bless General Dows for them. Some may ask how such a huge ship could safely beach itself in order to let out ground vehicles by its bow ramp. The answer is by using the double bottom of the centerline sponson platform as an extra flotation device. Just before beaching, that section, which is waterproof and extensible, lowers itself down via hydraulic jacks to the level of the ship’s keels, adding the equivalent in buoyancy of over half of the volume of the ship’s twin hulls under the waterline. Thus, instead of its normal draught of twenty feet, the GUADALCANAL will then draw only ten feet of water, allowing it to lower its bow ramp in waters less than three feet deep.’’
A wave of soft exclamations went around the marines surrounding Willis before he continued speaking.
‘’Now, apart from being capable of letting out vehicles directly on an unprepared beach, this ship also has stern ramps which allows amphibian vehicles to roll down into the water and then swim to the shore for an amphibian assault. It has as well the option of airlifting up to one company of marines at a time with the help of the aircraft contained in its aviation hangar. Finally, to provide proper naval gunfire support to an amphibious operation, the GUADALCANAL is armed with a total of eight twin five-inch gun turrets, plus missiles and cannons for its self-defense. By the way, those five-inch guns are also of recent design and their barrels have a length of seventy calibers, compared to the earlier guns of 54 calibers, giving them a maximum range with normal shells of 24 miles. With special extended range shells, their range increases to 44 miles. To top all that, you will be able to swiftly get to your intended theatre of operations, as the GUADALCANAL can reach a top speed of 35 knots.’’
More exclamations greeted those words, making Willis smile with pride.
‘’Well, enough talking on my part. You are presently in your designated platoon assembly area, where your officer will be able to pass on orders and information and where you will also be able to gather in groups during your free time. To my right, you will see the entrance of two corridors. Those corridors are lined with numbered individual cabins of three categories: 38 marine enlisted cabins, five marine NCO cabins and one marine junior officer cabin. You will also find along the first corridor a shower room, a washroom with toilet stalls, urinals and sinks and a small laundry room with sets of washers and dryers. For the lone female corporal in your platoon, don’t worry: you will not have to shower with a bunch of guys around you, as there is a small, separate bathroom with shower stall reserved for the female personnel.’’
Willis grinned in amusement when the male marines present let out a loud collective sigh of disappointment, while Greta Visby showed visible relief.
‘’One last word. As you can see, this assembly area has four large armored windows giving a view of the ocean outside to its occupants. Those windows have in turn individual dark cover plates which are to be closed and locked in place when in a potential combat zone. Right now, and while we will be sailing away from the American coasts, those cover plates can be left open. However, the moment that the bridge will announce night curfew conditions, those cover plates will have to be closed. Captain Wainwright will be very severe about this, as it could attract hostile ships, aircraft and submarines to us. I will now go sit in that corner and will be ready to answer any question you will have while your officer assigns your cabins to each of you.’’
Quite happy with what he had just heard from Willis, Lieutenant Kenneth Gomer, the platoon commander, then explored quickly with his platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Vincent ‘The Mafioso’ Gambino, the cabins and rooms lining the corridors, checking of which category they belonged to and then discussing briefly with Gambino their assignations. Gomer then returned into the assembly area and addressed his marines.
‘’LISTEN UP, PEOPLE! I WILL NOW SEND YOU BY SQUAD TO YOUR CABINS. STAFF SERGEANT GAMBINO, WHO IS WAITING DOWN THE FIRST CORRIDOR, WILL THEN DISTRIBUTE CABINS TO THE MEMBERS OF THAT SQUAD. SERGEANT MILLER, YOUR SQUAD GOES FIRST!’’
Some three minutes later, the squad of Sergeant Jeffrey Brown, to which Greta belonged, was called to go down the corridor. Gambino smiled to Greta when it was her turn to get a cabin and knocked on a cabin door.
‘’Here is your cabin, Corporal Visby. The door next to your cabin, on its right, is the private bathroom reserved for women, so you won’t have to walk far in your underwear to take a shower free of peeping toms.’’
‘’Thank you for your consideration, sir. It is much appreciated.’’
With her big backpack still on and with her rifle in hand, Greta opened the sliding door of her assigned cabin and entered a small space measuring two and a half meters by two meters, while the ceiling stood two and a half meters above the floor. While small, that space was made to look much more spacious by the judicious arrangement of things inside it. The single bed actually lay at face-level, with a desk with bookshelf, a closet and a set of drawers built-in under it, similar to what she had seen on the battle carrier NEPTUNE, along with a steel mesh cage meant to lock up a rifle or machine gun. As well, a small flat-screen television set was attached to a wall tablet fixed to the wall opposite the bed. However, there was in addition to that a sink and medicine cabinet with mirror at the back end of the small space, facing the bed, something that made her even more satisfied. Taking off her big field backpack, she put it down under the bed, in a space that was designed to store field kit next to the desk and chair, and also took off her helmet, replacing it with her Marine-issued soft field cap. Her next move was to secure her assault rifle and FN Five-seven pistol, plus her grenades, in the weapons locker of her mini-cabin, putting one of her padlocks on it. She however kept on her the ankle holster holding her smaller pistol. Greta then took out of her backpack her hygiene kit, a set of underwear and one towel, distributing the lot in the drawers under her bed. With that done, Greta left her mini-cabin and went to the platoon assembly area, wanting to see what would happen next. She actually had time while she waited to look at the ocean terminal and the sea through one of the armored windows of the assembly area. After some five minutes, Lieutenant Gomer called for the platoon to assemble, then spoke to his marines.
‘’Well, it seems that the loading of our combat supplies and equipment will take at least another two more hours. Then, our ship will sail for the Indian Ocean, a trip that will take a good week. We will thus have plenty of time to get accustomed to this ship before we will arrive in our area of operations. I am now going to go see Colonel Wilkinson, in order to get his directives for the days to come. In the meantime, you will go up to the marines’ cafeteria, situated amidship and two decks up, and have breakfast while waiting for my return. Staff Sergeant Gambino will march you up to the cafeteria. Let’s move, people!’’
While Gomer left their quarters, the platoon sergeant quickly formed up the 41 marines in two parallel files, then ordered them on the march, walking out of their quarters and following the hallway outside before walking up the series of wide ramps connecting the various decks of the GUADALCANAL. When the platoon arrived at the marines’ cafeteria, they found a vast compartment measuring sixty meters by twenty meters and filled with long tables with fixed benches. Gambino however didn’t tell his marin