It was seventy two degrees during the night in December. The guard duty section of Motor Transport the Third Marine Air Wing came in at 2200 at the end of their guard duty tour. The pier had been quiet except for the banging through the night. The eight men came in silently, grim looking . The few who went to their bunks collapsed in mental exhaustion.

After placing his Springfield rifle in the rack, one of them removed his steel helmet in disgust, slammed it to the concrete floor and bellywopped on his bunk with his crew-cut head buried in his arm. The others waiting walked their posts, eroded their control. They had argued and fought over it for the past two weeks and were at the end of their patience. All had volunteered to work extra time with the Sea Bees. Finally, they were told there was nothing more to be done and they would just guard the dockside perimeter.

Private first class Paulo Percini sat on his bunk staring into the void in front of his eyes, trying to erase the memories of this night. He had been a corporal before he was busted in Shanghai for fighting. He used a wooden post to fight three British marines with knives . He had broken one's arm and sent another to the hospital with a serious concussion....

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