Personal Histories of World War II in the Marianas

This series is presented by the CNMI Museum of History and Culture for the 60th Anniversary Commemoration of the Battles for Saipan and Tinian.

A SEABEE’S STORY

Nearly sixty years have passed. Memories have dimmed. An old Seabee who was there vividly recalls some details of a great battle, fought on the island of Saipan.

It began in the early hours of June 15, 1944, when the U.S. Fifth Fleet under Admiral Spruance converged on the island during the night. He was a smart, no-nonsense officer, an admiral’s admiral with only one straight-back visitor’s chair in his office and a great dislike for publicity. He held a personal vengeance against Admiral Nagumo, Commander of the Japanese Central Pacific Fleet stationed at Saipan. It was Nagumo who personally directed the air raids on the U.S. Navy ships at Pearl Harbor and Midway. On the day following the raid on Pearl Harbor, Spruance steamed into the harbor only to find the entire Pacific battleship group wiped out and his friends on these ships dead.

About four o’clock in the morning, the speakers in the crowded quarters below decks of each LST (Landing Ship Tank) in the invasion fleet called for muster. It was the alarm for the approaching battle; no one had slept. Both the Marines and Seabees aboard had been looking for this long day. Breakfast was served in winding, hot lines in the galley where somber Navy cooks scooped scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, some fruit, toast, and pieces of ham touched with an occasional sheen of green on a metal tray. The air in the quarters and on the tank deck was electrified with anxiety. No small talk, no jokes. The troops made last-minute checks—adjusting the canvas back pack with its important trenching shovel, checking rifles, picking up extra ammunition and C-rations, filling canteens, receiving the last word on the landing, and lowering the assault boats. This day smiled on those who survived the assault, and frowned on others.

On the top deck in the moonlight, the eye could pick out an occasional flash showing silhouettes of battleships firing salvo after salvo into the coastline ahead. For two days prior to the invasion, some 2,400 16-inch shells had “softened up” the enemy. At sunrise our massive fleet became visible, extending as far as the eye could see. Someone said there were 600 ships. The record would show that Admiral Spruance had amassed 14 battleships, 25 carriers and carrier escorts, 26 cruisers, 144 destroyers, and countless transports, truly a fleet that meant business.

When the Japanese officers, including Admiral Nagumo, looked through their binoculars, they must have firmly believed the American ghosts of Pearl Harbor had returned to haunt them. And they had. With this fleet came the prowess of the American industrial giant. Perhaps an excellent example of a war secret was the thousands of Admiral Morell’s magic pontoon boxes. The Seabees devised a steel cell (5 X 5 X 7 ft.) which could be bolted at the corners to form unsinkable barges, piers, or other invasion units by simply rearranging the magic cells. These had a 1.5-ft. draft, sufficient to clear the reef lying 3 feet below the water around Saipan. The Japanese knew their boats could not clear this reef, and with coastal guns in place, they felt safe.

The Japanese defense strategy was simple: destroy the Marine landing force at the beachhead. The Mariana islands of Saipan, Tinian, and Guam were indispensable bastions in the defense of the Japanese homeland, and Admiral Nagumo admitted this just the day before the Marines landed to execute “Operation Forager.” As the large Japanese Mobile Fleet steamed out of the Philippines to save Saipan, it was spotted on June 16 by our submarine, the Flying Fish. Admiral Toyoda issued his famous battle order, “The fate of the empire rests on this one battle. Every man is expected to do his utmost.”

The Marines on the beaches had plenty of war on their hands. Aboard the LST I was on, which was longer than a football field, Marines (2nd Bn., 8th Reg., 2nd Div.) and the Seabees (302 NCB) crowded toward the spacious tank deck to debark. The Marines were to take and hold the beachhead. One of the primary missions for the Seabees was to get food and ammunition onto the beach (where I worked during the battle), and another, under the direction of the 18th and 121 NCBs, was to build the bomber airstrip and bunkers. In the past, Seabees had been attached to Marine units and wore their uniform, so this arrangement was not unusual. The Seabees gained the respect of the Marines with their “can do” attitude. They built whatever the Marines needed—roads, water supplies, barracks, fuel storage, piers, airfields, and much more.

The large bay of our LST contained assault amphibian tractors, called AMTRAKs, to carry troops, and special amphibian tanks, which had a turret for holding a 75-mm cannon and a heavy machine gun, to blast pillboxes. Four pontoon barges (22 X 40 ft.), like large cigar boxes, were chained to our top deck and used to haul ammunition. Other LSTs carried long pontoon sections strapped to their sides, which were made into a floating pier, allowing for landing craft to unload.

Admiral Turner, rough tongued, astute, and experienced in Marine assaults, was in charge, and he knew it. At 05:42 (Navy time) his order came: “Land the landing force.” Thirty-four LSTs moved into line. Two huge doors on the bow of each ship opened, and dropped their ramps into the water. Then, out of the front of these LSTs, one by one, the AMTRAKs loaded with toughened Marines clanked down the ramps and into the ocean. A total of 719 AMTRAKs separated into special circles at the line of departure, some 4,000 yards from the beach. Before the Marines moved onto the beach, 24 light gun boats made the first sweep of the beach firing 4.5-in. rockets and 40-mm cannon. Turner had 7 fighters strafe and 12 bombers hit the area with 1,200 one-hundred-pound bombs. All this strafing and heavy shelling from naval gunfire did not silence the dug-in enemy. But this action did destroy vital communication with their commanders. Later, Japanese intelligence reports showed the enemy believed the Marines would attack at the village of Chalan Kanoa, near a large sugar mill. The beaches and a limited opening through the reef made it preferable for an amphibious assault. A large Japanese force was ready, and we did not disappoint them. While the AMTRAKs circled for position, the Americans played another card to reduce the enemy fire power at the beachhead. They decoyed landing craft with some battleships to Tanapag harbor in the north. The feint worked. A Japanese regiment was left at this spot during critical hours of the southern invasion.

There were 4 miles of beaches attacked by the 2nd and 4th Marine Divisions. This assault was well planned. It had to be, since they faced 22,702 Japanese Army troops and 6,690 naval forces. Our men at the beach on ‘D’ Day were clearly outnumbered, but we had the best leadership, weapons, guts, and determination. On ‘D+1’ the soldiers of the 27th Army Division were committed to the front line, when there was elbow room to fight. They too had their Medal of Honor winners, and they too had country boys who fought.

The run from line of departure to the beach was estimated to be 27 minutes. The first wave, comprising amphibian tanks, began firing heavy weapons as it closed with the beach; AMTRAKs followed in waves carrying the troops. The lagoon between the reef and shore was showered with exploding mortar and artillery rounds. The enemy had cleverly placed sighting flags to better the accuracy of their gunners. The Army and Navy drivers were very good at maneuvering, losing only 14 units—98 percent made it to shore—not a bad driving record. Within 20 minutes 8,000 Marines were under fire on the beach, but by nightfall 20,000 Marines were dug in.

With this assault came a strange irony. On the ends of the long assault line were stationed two old battleships, the California and the Tennessee. Fire power from these battleships was directed by the landing party on various trouble spots. Admiral Nagumo’s planes had destroyed these ships at Pearl Harbor. There, the California lost 98 and the Tennessee lost 5 sailors. On these ships, both the living and the ghosts of the dead had come to even an old score with the admiral hiding in his bunker.

When the assault waves crossed the shore, many AMTRAKs bogged down and unloaded the troops some 200 yards from the beach. Some 65 amphibian tanks and 139 AMTRAKs were disabled, which limited quick expansion of the beachhead. The Marines were concentrated on the beach and pounded by Japanese gunners. Battalion commanders became casualties along with their men. At the end of the day, the count was 2,000 casualties, about one tenth of the entire Marine force on the beach. By noon the Marines, tired of being hammered, moved out toward their objectives. There were no major attacks by the enemy; fire fights were with small units.

In the afternoon, heavy tanks for land warfare arrived by landing craft, and they were sent immediately into action. By sunset the two Marine divisions held a pocket some 1,500 yards wide and 10,000 yards along the beach. As darkness fell on ‘D’ Day, the Marines were dug in, expecting more trouble. In the early hours, around 03:00, a Japanese bugler sounded ‘Charge.’ With loud screams the enemy came. Star shells from the destroyers illuminated the battlefield. It was something like the Fourth of July. The Marines kept firing. Their guns were hot. Some Marine positions were forced back. But mostly the 6th Marines, who suffered the most casualties, held their ground. They were supported by 5 tanks from Company B and some artillery, which made the difference. Not to be left out of this fight was none other than the battleship California. When the Marines were in trouble, they called for fire from the ships. The California and its ghosts gladly responded. With salvo after salvo, its batteries rained hell and death on the attackers. Daylight was welcome.

Seabees on the assault LSTs were held back from supplying the Marines, until enemy fire on the beaches could be silenced. Waiting patiently, how did the war appear from the deck on my LST? The entire coastline was enveloped in a cloud of dust. After the white water trails of the AMTRAKs disappeared into the cloud, the word came that there was a lot of shelling on the beach. In the distance, only Mt. Tapotchau stood out in this menagerie of war. High up on this mountain were bunkers for General Saito, Japanese Army Commander, and his naval counterpart, Admiral Nagumo. But unknown to the American side, our big naval guns had cut communications with their units to pieces, so much so that the Japanese could not mount a large-scale counterattack that day. They depended upon the Japanese fleet with its air power to save the island. Admiral Spruance had other ideas. During this time, which would be remembered as the “Marianas Turkey Shoot,” his fleet destroyed 424 Japanese planes, and with them, the Japanese commanders’ hope for survival.

Our barge finally moved to the beach. As it approached the shore, those on the barge could see AMTRAKs and amphibian tanks scattered at random where they had been hit. In the water several dead Marines were still floating, some in their white undershirts. There was fighting, and the dead must wait their turn with burial detail. Boxes of ammunition and C-rations cluttered the sandy beach line. The leaves on battered trees and underbrush were covered with a fine, gray dust. This whole scene gave an eerie feeling of war. Unloading our barge took an hour. Half of the crew of four were free of duty. With rifles in hand we took a walk into Chalan Kanoa. Most of the houses were destroyed. Tables, pots, and other household items were scattered about the streets. On the far side of the village was a baseball diamond, and here was something startling. At home plate were sand bags, a machine gun, and three dead Japanese soldiers.

On June 18 Army troops, the 165th Infantry, and some Marine units overran the Aslito airfield. Then the 2nd and 4th Marine Divisions, together with the 27th Army Division, began a broad sweep northward to clear out the Japanese soldiers in their bunkers. It was small-unit fighting, very personal and very hard. Upon claiming the airfield, the 121 NCB Seabees set to work filling bomb craters and laying steel mat on the runways. Fighter planes landed on June 20; this airfield was used by fighters in mopping-up operations.

The final major battle occurred on the night of July 6-7. The Japanese had been pushed into a small pocket in the northernmost part of Saipan. General Smith cautioned that a “banzai” attack would likely occur this night, and he was right. The remaining Japanese units assembled at Marpi Point, Paradise Valley, and Harakiri Gulch. At 04:45 the bugles sounded, and about 3,000 Japanese armed with rifles, spears, or nothing, charged, yelling as they came. The sheer numbers overwhelmed the American front. The enemy came down the valleys and onto the narrow coastal plain. The Japanese may have been disorganized, but Marine Major Hoffman remarked, “Here was a determination which was seldom if ever matched by fighting men of any other country.” Army positions were forced back to their command post. The Marine units at Tanapag were forced into a pocket and had to be evacuated by AMTRAKs. But the American lines held; the Japanese had met their match. The fighting was so intense that Army gunners had to move around the stacked dead to better their fields of fire. The enemy wave came to the artillery positions, which fired point blank into the Japanese masses. When the musters were taken for the 1st and 2nd Army Battalions and the Marine Battalions, there were 406 American dead. The body count in the combat areas was 4,311 enemy dead.

General Saito had ordered the banzai attack. In his bunker during the evening of July 6, he drew blood with his sword, which is a Japanese custom for the defeated commander, and then, the adjutant shot the general. This same fate was dealt the hand of Admiral Nagumo nearby.

What was the appearance of this event from a barge at the beachhead? Early in the morning the sky was filled with star shells lighting the battlefield. Late in the morning the word was passed that a serious enemy attack had been foiled. Then the wounded on stretchers began to pile up on the pier for transportation to hospital ships. A visit to the front on the second day after this attack revealed an area resembling a gulch, perhaps the width of a football field. Here and there were piles of Japanese dead where they had fallen. A careful inspection was gruesome. An impression might suffice; looking into a foxhole exposed an American helmet with a hole in one side, a packet, a rifle, some spent casings, and a small pocket Bible half covered with dirt. It had been one hell of a fight. Death seemed to have been everywhere.

(From “The Battle of Saipan—The Final Curtain,” by David Moore, Cdr. USN (ret.), www.battleofsaipan.com, © 2002 David Moore, P.E. Used by permission.)