Representing in effect an advance combat outpost on the contested ridge did not particularly bother the 19-year-old corporal. Day’s biggest concerns were letting other Marines know they were up there and replenishing their ammo and grenades. “Before dawn I went back down the hill. A couple of LVTs had been trying to deliver critical supplies to the folks who’d made the earlier penetration. Both had been knocked out just north of the hill. I was able to raid those disabled vehicles several times for grenades, ammo, and rations. We were fine.”
On 15 May, Day and his men watched another Marine assault develop from the northeast. Again there were Marines on the eastern crest of the hill, but fully exposed to raking fire from Half Moon and mortars from Horseshoe. Day’s Marines directed well-aimed rifle fire into a column of Japanese running towards Sugar Loaf from Horseshoe, “but we really needed a machine gun.” Good fortune provided a .30-caliber, air-cooled M1919A4 in the wake of the retreating Marines. But as soon as Day’s gunner placed the weapon in action on the forward parapet of the hole, a Japanese 47mm crew opened up from Horseshoe, killing the Marine and destroying the gun. Now there were just two riflemen on the ridgetop.
Tragedy also struck the 1st Battalion, 22d Marines, on the 15th. A withering Japanese bombardment caught the command group assembled at their observation post planning the next assault. Shellfire killed the commander, Major Thomas J. Myers, and wounded every company commander, as well as the CO and XO of the supporting tank company. Of the death of Major Myers, General Shepherd exclaimed, “It’s the greatest single loss the Division has sustained. Myers was an outstanding leader.” Major Earl J. Cook, battalion executive officer, took command and continued attack preparations. The division staff released this doleful warning that midnight: “Because of the commanding ground which he occupies the enemy is able to accurately locate our OPs and CPs. The dangerous practice of permitting unnecessary crowding and exposure in such areas has already had serious consequences.” The warning was meaningless. Commanders had to observe the action in order to command. Exposure to interdictive fire was the cost of doing business as an infantry battalion commander. The next afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel Jean W. Moreau, commanding 1/29, received a serious wound when a Japanese shell hit his observation post squarely. Major Robert P. Neuffer, Moreau’s exec, assumed command. Several hours later a Japanese shell wounded Major Malcolm “O” Donohoo, commanding 3/22. Major George B. Kantner, his exec, took over. The battle continued.
Tanks evacuate the wounded as men of the 29th Marines press the fight to capture Sugar Loaf. The casualties were rushed to aid stations behind the front lines.
Department of Defense Photo (USMC) 122421
The night of 15–16 seemed endless to Corporal Day and his surviving squadmate, Private First Class Dale Bertoli. “The Japs knew we were the only ones up there and gave us their full attention. We had plenty of grenades and ammo, but it got pretty hairy.” The south slope of Sugar Loaf is the steepest. The Japanese would emerge from their reverse-slope caves, but they faced a difficult ascent to get to the Marines on the military crest. Hearing them scramble up the rocks alerted Day and Bertoli to greet them with grenades. Those of the enemy who survived this mini-barrage would find themselves backlit by flares as they struggled over the crest. Day and Bertoli, back to back against the dark side of the crater, shot them readily.
US 10th Army positions
“The 16th was the day I thought Sugar Loaf would fall,” said Day. He and Bertoli hunkered down as Marine tanks, artillery, and mortars pounded the ridge and its supporting bastions. “We looked back and see the whole battle shaping up, a great panorama.” This was the turn of I/3/22, well supported by tanks. But Day could also see that the Japanese fires had not slackened at all. “The real danger at Sugar Loaf was not the hill itself, where we were, but in a 300-yard by 300-yard killing zone which the Marines had to cross to approach the hill from our lines to the north.... It was a dismal sight, men falling, tanks getting knocked out ... the division probably suffered 600 casualties that day.” In retrospect, the 6th Marine Division considered 16 May to be “the bitterest day of the entire campaign.”