11 miles south of Dili, November 4, 1942 Pork, that was all that he could smell. If he ignored the reality, he could almost remember his childhood fascination with the smoke houses that lined the tobacco fields of his coastal Carolina home. The infantryman walked carefully forward, past the bodies of a trio combat engineers who had failed in the first attempt to break this complex. The satchel charge they were carrying was lying a few feet away from the left leg of the last man. Flame throwers, 155 millimeter artillery and a platoon of tanks supported the second attack of the day and the thirteenth attack of the campaign against this complex. It was the last attack. Liquid fire poured into the holes created by corps level artillery firing over open sights between the attacking platoons. First one, and then another strong point went silent as the screamers faded to silence or were shredded by grenades or shot by assault sections. As the interlocking defensive positions fell, the National Guardsmen advance quickened. Half of the assault force was still walking once the ridge line was secured. They immediately started to dig in as the almost inevitable counter-attack never came. Down in the valley, a steady stream of tanks and trucks carrying a new battalion of American infantry slowly moved forward even as dozens of ambulances were dangerously overloaded as they headed to the rear.