The faint shine of a crescent moon washes over the quiet beaches of the island of Guadalcanal,
Solomon Islands on August 21st, 1942.
Hidden just within the tree line lie the men of the 1st Marine Division,
hidden in their camouflaged positions along the banks of Alligator Creek.
Inside one of several foxholes Gunner Johnny “The Indian” Rivers,
Loader Al Schmid, and ammo-bearer Corporal Leroy Diamond fend off exhaustion.
It’s a tense night, none of the men speaking much.
Command had gotten wind of an incoming Japanese force
and their unit is on the front line.
On the other side of the river a storm was brewing.
Over 900 men from the Japanese Imperial Army
under command of Colonel Kiyonao Ichiki stalk through the woods.
Further up the river Rifleman Whitney Jacobs keeps an eye out from his position.
He’s uneasy, he can hear things out there,
the ruffling of leaves and light sloshing of water.
He peeks into the creek and spots a Japanese soldier wading through,
without speaking a word
he lifts his rifle and fires
a single shot.
Back in the machine gun nest the crack of a gunshot jolts the tiredness from the three soldiers.
In a blur more gunshots tear through the forest and screams fill the night.
Dozens of Japanese soldiers burst out of the vegetation and charge across the creek screaming murder.
Johnny Rivers rushes for his weapon and opens fire.
The entire line comes alight at once,
unleashing all their might into the wave of charging men.
Tracers light up the air,
flying and ricocheting all over the place.
Rivers keeps his hands on the trigger,
dumping a never-ending barrage of .30 caliber bullets into the figures wading through the water.
The screams change, from incredible bravery to inexplicable pain.
The ammunition runs out
and Schmid jumps in to reload, a new box and belt at the ready.
Another wave soon appears through the foliage.
Rivers pulls the trigger the second they emerge,
and bodies fall into the murky water,
followed closely by their still-living comrades.
Ingeniously the Japanese throw coconuts into the river,
in the middle of the chaos the floating spheres perfectly mimic the heads of the swimming soldiers,
Johnny desperately fires at them all.
Bullets zip overhead, and a rain of dirt and woodchips falls upon the soldiers,
thrown into the air by the incessant barrage of bullets striking the earthworks.
Rivers can hardly see anything,
just shadows moving in the dark and muzzle flashes across the bank.
Then a bright light illuminates the battlefield.
A flare shines overhead, turning the darkness into daytime.
The battle all but stops,
frozen in time as men from both sides don’t dare move a muscle
without the shield of the night.
After what seems like an eternity the flare burns out,
and the tracers return.
Everything is chaos, Rivers sees a dark moving mass of men and opens fire,
the men fall in droves and survivors scatter into the woods.
Explosions rock the earth,
mortars, and grenades rain down on both sides.
Across the creek the Japanese take over an abandoned American LVT.
They set up a machine gun and take aim, their sights falling on River’s position.
In the blink of an eye a bullet strikes Johnny Rivers in the head
and “The Indian” of Pittsburgh is killed.
Without time to mourn,
Al Schmid pushes Rivers’ body off the weapon and takes his place,
swiftly resuming his fallen friend’s grim work.
He fires at the attacking shadows.
In the water.
In the trees.
On the beach.
They’re everywhere, he’s cutting down man after man
but more take their place.
A bullet strikes the machine gun’s water jacket
and it sprays all over the foxhole.
Schmid falls back,
quickly wiping away the boiling-hot liquid before returning to his post.
The weapon quickly overheats.
Schmid limits himself to short bursts,
holding back the instinct to dump the belt downrange.
He keeps it up,
holding the line while nursing his stricken weapon.
But then he hears something hitting the earth to his left,
and everything goes white.
A hand grenade has fallen right on top of them.
Schmid sees a flash followed by nothing at all,
while Diamond is struck on both his arms by shrapnel.
Schmid touches his face, he feels blood.
“They got me in the eyes,” he whispers to Diamond,
still having the presence of mind not to alert the enemy.
Diamond can’t answer, his mouth is clamped shut by the pain.
Completely blind, Schmid unholsters his .45 caliber pistol.
Clutching his bleeding arms Diamond mutters
“Don’t do it, Smitty. Don’t shoot yourself.”
Fueled by sheer will, Schmid replies,
“I’m not.
I’m going to get the first Japanese that tries to come in here,
just tell me where he’s coming from.”
They sit in position for a couple of eternal minutes,
silent, listening to the death around them,
wondering when their turn will come.
Schmid can’t bear to do nothing and gets back on the machine gun.
Still blind, he opens fire
and sprays several bursts downrange praying they’ll hit anything,
Diamond is shocked,
but he isn’t about to stop his friend.
He crawls up beside him and sees the carnage ahead.
The LVT that struck Rivers lays silent, the Japanese atop taken out by a mortar strike,
the fallen litter the scene
and down in the creek he spots an enemy soldier wading through the waters.
“Down left!” he shouts.
Schmid swings the weapon around;
he fires a handful of bursts in a general direction and the enemy is hit.
Diamond can barely believe his eyes;
he spots another group of Japanese moving across the riverbank.
“Front right!”
Schmid pulls the trigger, several fall, and the rest scatter into the night.
Then the gun clicks out of ammunition.
Schmid, by pure memory, reaches over for a new box, puts it in place, and reloads the machine gun.
He resumes firing, determined to fight to the bitter end.
Outside the foxhole Whitney Jacobs,
the man who fired the first shot, runs through the Japanese gunfire.
Checking the status of their machine guns
he peers into Schmid’s emplacement and witnesses the carnage.
He shouts at the pair,
“Don’t shoot, I’ll go for help!” before running off.
Jacobs returns to base and reports the situation to the lieutenant
who orders the two men to be relieved.
A new gun and crew is sent to replace them,
and a team of medics braves the lead to extract Schmid and Diamond, and Rivers’ body.
With bullets zipping overhead the medics drag all three of them into stretchers
and pull them to safety.
Schmid is zoning out, unaware of how long it’s been or how he got there,
but with his .45 still in his hand.
As they pass by the camp he hears the voice of the lieutenant
and holds out the gun and states “I guess I won’t need this anymore, Sir.”
The lieutenant takes the weapon and Schmid passes out.
The line successfully held against the Japanese onslaught
and the Marines would counter attack on the early morning of the following day,
wiping out the last of the Japanese forces with attack of light tanks.
With the American forces closing in,
Colonel Kiyonao Ichiki committed seppuku in the field.
The scene the following morning was one of utter devastation.
Piles of enemy littered the scene.
Of the force of 900 Japanese,
777 would never rise again.
200 of those casualties lay around Schmid’s and Rivers’ machine gun.
Al Schmid would be taken back to the United States in a hospital ship,
he endured several operations and regained partial eyesight in one eye.
All three Marines would be awarded the Navy Cross for extraordinary heroism.
Schmid would also be commended by President Franklin D. Roosevelt
and the Joint Chiefs of Staff for his actions.
His heroism would be talked about extensively,
a book was published and a film was made in 1945 called
“Pride of the Marines”.
Al Schmid would retire and spend the rest of his days with his wife and son,
visiting wounded veterans and becoming a skilled organ player, and fishing.
While Schmid was hailed a hero publicly,
Johnny “The Indian” Rivers faded into obscurity,
but among the Marines he was fondly remembered.
Retired Marine Robert Leckie would write:
“The other guy was a hero, make no mistake about it;
but some of us felt sad that the poor "Indian" got nothing.
The Japanese “supermen” put bullets into the breast of the "Indian",
but he fired more than 200 rounds at them.
How could the marines forget the "Indian"?”
We hope in some small way that this video highlights his story.
This video was inspired by the great book “Voices of the Pacific”
by Adam Makos.
We’re very grateful to all the help Adam has given the channel over the years.
And we definitely recommend getting a copy.
If you haven't yet, please subscribe to the channel and please watch more videos of ours.
Thank you.