One night toward the end of April the barrage lifted for a short time. Hundreds of people went out into the open for a breath of air and a smoke. It was pitch dark. The only light came from the few stars, and the occasional faint glow of a carefullyshielded cigarette. Suddenly the group of people around the tunnel entrance seemed to be struck by lightning. There was an awful glare and a mighty crash. A salvo of Japanese 240ram shells had landed in the midst of this group. Just that one salvo--no more. Fortunately it was dark and the survivors did not have to look on the scene around them. But it was four hours later before the hospital staff completed their amputations, transfusions, brain operations and other work. About midnight that night I went off duty in the radio shack in the Navy Tunnel, and I went out to the tunnel entrance where the tragedy occurred. There I found one of the nurses who had helped the doctors during the evening. She was crying her heart out on a sandbagged machine gun. I did not know whether she had suffered a personal loss, or whether our situation in general had become too much for her. She obviously had come out into the darkness to hide her emotions from the wounded, so I tiptoed away and did not disturb her. Lieutenant Colonel Mellnik: ------------------------------------ About the last week in April it became evident from the volume and distribution of enemy fire that a landing would be |