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BATTLE NARRATIVE

A Helluva Price To Pay. Saipan: 16 June 1944

Nights, especially the first few, are terrifying mainly because of the unknown. Hence the morning light unaccompanied by a banzai charge furnishes the greatest relief.[1]

The first night on Saipan was chaos and confusion.

Frustrated by their failure to to destroy the invaders on the beach, the Japanese garrison attempted to push the Marines back into the sea. A coordinated attack in the right place might have done the trick – there were numerous weak points in the American line – but the defenders’ carefully laid communications net was disrupted or destroyed by the bombardment. “Local” attacks struck at several places with the largest, involving a battalion-sized group from the 135th Infantry, descending on the 2nd Marine Division. Japanese soldiers intent on zemmetsu (annihilation) charged with bugles blowing and flags waving, only to be riddled by the Marines’ defensive firepower and withdraw, leaving almost 700 dead on the field.[2]

The 4th Marine Division had its share of troubles, too. In a nightmarish scene illuminated by burning vehicles, exploding shells, muzzle blasts and naval flares, the lines of RCT-25 bent back nearly 400 yards but refused to break. RCT-23, while not as heavily engaged, faced the threat of infiltrators; they waged personal, vicious battles for individual foxholes with bayonets, knives, and fists. Only 200 Japanese soldiers managed to make it through the swamps of Lake Susupe into Charan Kanoa, where they caused some minor havoc before being hunted down. In the words of historian Carl Hoffman, it was “a noisy and restless night.”[3]

When dawn broke on D-plus-One, BLT 1-24 discovered that they had been lucky, relatively speaking, despite the shelling and the “moderate casualties” of the night before. Communications personnel faced a particular challenge during these nighttime attacks. Rifle companies relied on field phones to communicate with headquarters, and a severed wire might delay artillery support or medical assistance. Linemen were on constant alert for breaks or outages, and when one was reported they had to follow the wire to the source of the break. They never knew what the cause might be – a passing vehicle, a piece of shrapnel, or a Japanese soldier with wire cutters setting an ambush. Two BLT 1-24 linemen – PFC Paul E. Miller and Sergeant John Waytow, the section chief – set out to fix a break during the night and never returned. A few days later, the discovery of their bodies told a terrifying tale. Miller had been hit in the head by shrapnel, while Waytow had been bludgeoned to death by a rifle butt. Both Marines received posthumous Bronze Star Medals.[4]
Sergeant John Waytow
PFC Paul Edward Miller
Communications were fully established by daylight, and the command post was abuzz with activity. First Lieutenant Frederic A. Stott, a liaison officer assigned to battalion HQ, listened as the reports came in. “Morning found the elements of the battalion in good contact, satisfactory positions, with moderate casualties only, and uncertain of the location of the front,” he noted. “This last uncertainty is S.O.P. (standard operating procedure) in the early phases of all operations, and unknowingly some of the companies were a part of the front line.” This information was relayed back to Colonel Franklin Hart at the regimental CP, and soon “Old Rusty” was calling his battalion commanders for a conference. Anticipating a day’s worth of orders, Lt. Col. Maynard C. Schultz invited Stott and Captain Gene G. Mundy, the operations officer, to join him on a walk to the command post.[5]

Schultz was very much in his element this morning; he was a natural team leader. As a youth, he captained the varsity football team at Corvallis High School before taking his skills to the University of Oregon. In his sophomore year, the squad’s “Iron Men” dominated collegiate football in the northwest, and “Heinie” Schultz earned mentions in many a newspaper’s sports section. Schultz was also active in the school’s Scabbard and Blade military fraternity and was offered a Marine Corps commission upon graduation in 1936. His pre-war service included two tours in China; on the second trip he brought along his wife, the former Doris Davis of San Diego. Schultz was a company commander at Quantico’s Officer Candidate School when the war started, and presided over the training of future platoon leaders of the 24th Marines. He served as executive officer for two battalion commanders – Major John J. Dolan and Lt. Col. Aquilla J. Dyess – and took charge when Jimmie Dyess fell in action on Namur.

Thanks to his long tenure with the battalion, Schultz had the respect and admiration of his subordinates. Fred Stott called him “a fearless bull of a man, yet subtle in his powers of understanding.”[6] 1Lt. Philip E. Wood, Jr. of Able Company opined that “as good a man as Dyess was, ‘The Dutchman’ is much better – the best CO we’ve had yet. It’s hard to tell just what goes to make up a good commanding officer – thoughtfulness for his men, sense of humor, intelligence, willingness to work & fight the higher ups for breaks for his battalion. He’s got them all, though.”[7] Schultz’s qualities were not lost on the upper echelons, either; his efforts to rebuild the battalion in the spring of 1944 were considered worthy of the Legion of Merit.

“Heinie” Schultz had a lot of feathers under his cap, but still had big shoes to fill. His predecessor, “Big Red” Dyess, was a flamboyant Georgian who made a point of leading from the front – a trait that earned a Medal of Honor citation, but also led to his death. Commanding 900 men in camp was one thing; in combat it was quite another, and Saipan was already shaping up to be a much different battle than anything previously experienced. Bringing Stott and Mundy to the conference was a sound, practical move: what the junior officers lacked in experience, they made up for in intellect and intuition

Fred Stott had no aspirations towards a military career – he had his sights set on being a diplomat – but he was an intelligent and observant young man who missed little in his surroundings, military or otherwise. “Our walk back showed that in our sector we held a beachhead at least 1,000 yards deep,” he noted. “Several batteries of artillery were established, and we were definitely down in the flat… while the Japanese retained altitude, observation, and weapons.” Stott also recorded how “the first of the civilian population started trickling into our lines. They had suffered, were filthy, diseased, and wounded. Yet the faces of all save the children showed no expression or at most uncertainty; fear did not show.” The civilians – possibly a mixture of indigenous Chamorros, Okinawans, and Korean laborers – were on their way to a makeshift holding area near the beach to be doctored, fed, and interrogated by the Americans.

"Marines bringing in Japanese civilian prisoners. June 1944." Official USMC photo by Knight.

Colonel Hart’s command post was located in a large shell hole near a clump of trees. A growing constellation of dugouts and foxholes spread out around the nerve center as runners, orderlies, and officers bustled about. A battery of artillery was busily setting up its guns, and as Schultz and company approached, they saw a posse of tanks pull up and park a respectful distance away. Radio antennae waved above the whole affair. Stott was shocked at the flagrant visibility of the command post; RCT-24 might as well have erected a flashing neon sign for the Japanese observers on the high ground.[8]

Colonel Hart welcomed his guests – Schultz, Lt. Col. Richard Rothwell (BLT 2-24), Lt. Col. Alexander A. Vandegrift, Jr., (BLT 3-24) and Major Robert Neiman of the 4th Tank Battalion – and got down to business. Each officer was to attach his men to friendly combat teams already on the front lines. Rothwell’s battalion was responsible for security on the 4th Marine Division’s left flank; Vandegrift would link up with the battered 25th Marines; Schultz would fill the gap in the line between the RCT-23 and RCT-25. The tanks would lead the advance to a ridge several hundred yards to the southeast. Major Neiman took a dim view of the plan – “doomed,” he said, “because we were going into a heavily defended area with our infantry riding in the lightly armored amtracs with their open tops.”[9] If the infantry commanders shared his pessimism, they did not press the case to their boss.

Hart confirmed the plan and was issuing final orders when a shell exploded near the command post.

Colonel Hart at the RCT-24 CP, "300 yards from enemy lines," June 1944. Official USMC photo by Morejohn,
Japanese artillery zeroed in on the target-rich area, and “we were soon hugging the ground through a bombardment the equal of anything undergone the previous day or night,” recalled Lieutenant Stott. “Cover was scarce, several casualties were suffered.”[10] One of these was PFC Dwyer Duncan, still shaking off the effects of a long night in a trench full of dead Japanese soldiers. “Skinny pieces [of shrapnel] went through my leggings, trousers, and skin to slide along the bone,” he said. “I cut the shrapnel out, used iodine that I always carried, and rejoined my unit.”[11] Colonel Hart continued his conference, trusting in the cover of the clump of trees and the protection of his dugout. Schultz, however, obstinately perched on the edge of the shell hole, ignoring the rain of shells. The display of bravado cost him his life; as the briefing concluded, “Heinie” fell to the ground with fatal shrapnel wounds in his head and chest. “He died in a manner of seconds,” Stott wrote. “His death stripped the Battalion of its most-needed man, for good battalion commanders are practically indispensable. All three companies were well-led and well-officered, but the coordinating person was now gone.”[12]

The Japanese guns finally fell silent and the shaken officers departed to their respective commands. “This was not an auspicious beginning,” Neiman said.[13] Schultz’s death apparently created something of a leadership vacuum in BLT 1-24. Officially, command passed to the executive officer, Major Robert N. Fricke. The twenty-nine-year-old Fricke was a pre-war reservist and former hotel auditor; he led a company in combat at Roi-Namur and was known as “one of the best-dressed men in the division.”[14] However, Fred Stott rather pointedly claimed “the real job of running the battalion devolved upon Mundy, with what aid Captain [George D.] Webster (the intelligence officer) and I could furnish him. He responded magnificently and was the man chiefly responsible for knitting together the splendidly functioning companies with the staff and the succeeding commanding officers.”[15] While Fricke was nominally in charge, his staff ran the show.

Colonel Hart’s instructions to move out by 0900 proved overly ambitious. His battalions needed additional time to get into position, and Stott freely admitted that “disorganization delayed the advance.”[16] BLT 1-24 left their trench network and moved a few hundred yards to the east, lining up on a pair of roads they would follow to their objective – a series of foothills and a ridge running down from Mount Fina Susu, the best vantage point in the area. Necessary haste was tempered by caution, as any wrong move might draw the attention of Japanese spotters. By 1230, all was in readiness and the advance began.

Charan Kanoa as seen from the air. BLT 1-24 advanced along the road at upper right into the Fina Susu foothills.​

“We had a hard battle getting to the top."

Casualties were occurring constantly, and by the time this dominating ground was secured, a sizable portion of our original effectives had been lost. Delay is inevitable, but it is costly.[17]
Reaching the O-1 line was a slog; “a costly, tiresome struggle against a determined foe” with no spectacular breakthroughs.[18] As they advanced along their assigned road, BLT 1-24 struggled to maintain contact with the 23rd and 25th Marines on their flanks. As these units moved rapidly over level ground – or slowed up to navigate obstacles and fight enemy units – the battalion’s line flexed and bowed like an accordion. At first, only isolated outposts barred their way; scattered rifle or machine gun fire causing brief halts, quick tactical discussions, and violent responses. Natural terrain and Japanese tenacity grew more formidable as they entered the foothills near Crossroads 85, but the Marines were on a timetable.[19] “We had to come straight in and secure the high ground as soon as possible,” said PFC John C. Pope. “It was well fortified, and we had a hard battle getting to the top. We were under heavy rifle and machine gun fire, as well as mortar shells almost all the way up. It was pretty steep and wooded. We were making good progress up and we had to reach the top before dark.”
Aldo Passante

Pope and PFC Aldo Passante were struggling uphill when a mortar shell “knocked us goofy for a few seconds. I looked at Al and his right foot was gone. I rolled him over and grabbed the stump just below his knee and squeezed as hard as I could. Thank the Lord a corpsman was quick to get there.” The sailor twisted on a tourniquet, jabbed Passante with a syrette, and told Pope to wait for stretcher bearers. From his morphine cloud, Passante demanded cigarettes. “You don’t smoke, Al,” said Pope.

“Dammit, I said give me a cigarette!”

Pope lit up, took a drag, and held out the butt. Passante – a true non-smoker – gagged and spat out the cigarette. He looked sadly at what remained of his right leg. “This is a helluva price to pay for a Purple Heart,” he declared. Stretcher bearers finally arrived; Pope wished his buddy good luck and continued up the hill.

A few minutes later, Pope witnessed another tragedy. An American halftrack armed came trundling along, the driver coaxing the vehicle carefully up the 45-degree incline. The 75mm gun roared, and the vehicle reared up like a startled horse. It stood on its tail for a few sickening seconds, then almost in slow motion toppled over backwards. Some of the crew managed to leap free, but others were trapped and mangled beneath the falling vehicle. What in the world was that driver thinking? thought Pope. Surely his training would have taught him not to do something like that. He couldn’t help, so he kept moving.[20]
A unit of M3 Gun Motor Carriages – half-tracked anti-tank vehicles – loads ammo. John Pope saw a similar vehicle capsize on D+1. Department of Defense photo.

Able and Baker Companies reached their objective at 1700 hours. “The ridge now occupied was wooded on our western slope and open on the Japanese side,” explained Lieutenant Stott. “Thus, while on our side it was comparatively safe, save for air-burst shelling, penetration beyond the ridge drew immediate enemy fire.” The 23rd Marines, whose advance on the left had been subject to much heavier resistance, was not quite able to secure all of its high ground, and in response BLT 1-24 made “an abortive attempt to eliminate a harassing pillbox.” Nothing was gained; a few men were killed, and the approaching darkness meant the wounded could not be safely evacuated to the rear.[21] The battalion pulled back to the wooded western slope to dig in at 1730.

Charan Kanoa as seen from the ridge – note sugar factory smokestack in center distance. From here, Japanese observers had an unobstructed view of the Marine landings. USMC photo.

The Marines were fatigued and famished – and, most of all, thirsty. Finding reliable sources of water would prove to be a constant struggle on Saipan. First Lieutenant H. Francis Shattuck, the leader of Baker Company’s 1 Platoon, shared a brief visit with his buddy 1Lt. Philip E. Wood, Jr., Able Company’s mortar officer. “Like everyone else, [Phil] was dog-tired, just going on nervous energy and because you had to – there was no one else,” he wrote.

His face, neck & hands [were] thickly covered with the red volcanic dust from the island. We were digging in for the night. Being close by he had come over to say hello. He sat down beside me where I was cleaning my carbine. Occasional shells were dropping on the ridge, but we’d long since passed the stage of worrying about them much, despite their effectiveness. We talked briefly about how things were going – not too well: gaining steadily but paying heavily. I remember our asking each other for a slug from his canteen, and both of us were “all out.” Then a short argument about which stood up better, Luckies or Camels, against moisture and banging about, each sticking up for his own brand, which we smoked, being unable to drink.[22]

Shattuck was downplaying the danger; the “occasional shells” were causing casualties throughout the evening. PFC Edward J. Hackett, one of Lieutenant Wood’s mortarmen, “had just finished digging my foxhole and was getting ready to hole up in it for the night when a mortar fragment got me.”[23] A smashed shoulder was Hackett’s million-dollar wound, but he would have to wait for morning to be taken to a hospital.

John Pope felt reasonably secure in his night position. “We could see anything coming up the other side when they were outlined against the sky,” he noted. “There was a road up and over not far to the right of where we set up the machine gun, and we could cover it as part of our defense line.” Pope watched the last of the stretcher bearers hurrying to evacuate the wounded and heard the deep thwong of friendly 81mm mortars firing registering rounds overhead.[24]

Lieutenant Stott was less satisfied with the battalion’s arrangements. He thought the whole position had “an unsavory odor,” and worried about bypassed Japanese troops attacking from the rear. Enemy artillery had slackened considerably, but to Stott this only “indicated that we might expect the more silent but equally deadly variety of night activity – infiltration.” He also worried for the wounded Marines who would have to endure a night of pain and uncertainty at the aid station rather than a hospital. Even with extra troops for security – a platoon from Regimental Weapons Company set up a protected corridor between the front line and headquarters – Stott couldn’t shake the feeling that “our worst night was imminent” as darkness fell.[25]

Approximate movements of BLT 1-24 on 16 June 1944. Note steep elevation lines, and woods atop ridge at night position.
A Marine unit digs in on Saipan. Note mortar position at center. Official USMC photo by H. F. Williams.

“Our Worst Night."

There was really only one time that I was seriously concerned about my life. It was the second night on Saipan.[26]
Machine guns were the lynchpin of American nighttime defense. When a Marine company halted for the night, the first order of business was to stake out positions for the Brownings. The perfect location provided clear lines of sight, interlocking fields of fire, and enough cover to avoid enemy notice. In the advance, gun squads carried air-cooled M1919 .30 caliber Brownings; at night, they preferred the “heavies” – water-cooled M1917s – brought up by Jeeps or hand carts. The heavies were cumbersome to carry, but this didn’t matter in static defensive positions – especially since their water-cooled jackets let them burn through hundreds of rounds without overheating. They were ideal for use against banzai charges, especially when firing almost blind at night.[27] To ensure maximum coverage, crews worked in pairs – one gun fired “free” at approaching enemies, while the other fired “fixed” across the front of the defensive line, cutting down any attackers who managed to get through.
Front-line machine gunners on Saipan, June 1944. USMC photos by Sgt. John Fabian, 4th Marine Division.

For the night of D+1, Able Company had six machine guns guarding the O-1 line. PFC George A. Smith‘s gun was sited near a gap in the foliage that reminded him of a fire break. He was positioned slightly down the ridge on the instructions of his squad leader, Corporal Thomas M. Hurley. Up forward was another squad under Corporal Anthony A. Pramberger. Pramberger’s group were former Dog Company men, to whom operating the M1917 machine gun was second nature. The “heavy” crew were likely feeling salty about some of the day’s casualties; Al Passante had been one of their number.

Because the Marine defense relied on overwhelming firepower, machine guns were prime targets for infiltrators. They were forbidden to fire unless absolutely necessary; the sound and muzzle flash were beacons that drew enemy attention like a magnet. Japanese troops crept up close to scout the line in the last few moments of daylight, then returned after dark to throw grenades or jump into a gun pit with a knife. Marines armed with rifles and BARs helped counter this threat. On this particular night, PFC Robert Tierney remembered digging foxholes “in two rows, about 10 yards apart. The second row was about 15 yards behind us and offset in checkerboard style.” Like the machine gunners, “we never fired our rifles at night, unless attacked by a large group, as it would give our position away and there would be a danger to the other Marines on the line.”[28]

A typical 4th Marine Division defensive line integrating machine guns, riflemen, and a 37mm gun at lower right. USMC photo by Sgt. John Fabion.

This danger was graphically illustrated for Able Company. Sergeant Frank A. Tucker, one of the company’s bona-fide combat heroes and the acting platoon sergeant of 1 Platoon, decided to make an in-person report to Captain Irving Schechter. Tucker had previously served with the weapons platoon and obviously still felt some responsibility towards them; Schechter recalled that the sergeant “crawled over to where I was lying to give me a report on our light machine guns and 60mm mortars” even though it was not, strictly speaking, Tucker’s job to do so. Tucker started back to his platoon, but when challenged by a BARman he either forgot the password or thought he was close enough to be recognized. “It’s me,” he called, “it’s me.” The sentry immediately opened fire; Tucker went down hard and did not move again. His body was found the following morning. “After the death of Tucker, none of my men moved because our people were apt to fire if they heard even a snapping twig,” said Schechter.[29]

Shortly after dark, the Japanese began testing the battalion’s defenses in small groups. They came from in front and from behind; as Lieutenant Stott admitted, “we had yet to learn the necessity and importance of double-checking all caves. After dark they soon issued out and began wandering and circling in all directions.”[30] Distressingly, not all who wandered were armed, or even hostile.

Sergeant Frank A. Tucker

PFC Robert D. Price was “sitting kind of up on point,” resting his cheek against the stock of his Browning Automatic Rifle, squinting into the darkness. Around midnight, he heard strange voices coming up the ridge. A warship off the coast helpfully sent up a flare, and in the sudden bright light Price beheld “women and little kids. I could hear the kids crying and talking in Japanese. I could see the civilians kind of huddled together.” And then he noticed something that turned his blood cold.

Some of these women had a third leg. And I studied that for a couple minutes and I thought, oh my God, those aren’t women, those are Jap soldiers. They were slinging their rifles down and putting a kimono over themselves as they were trudging up this ridge line. The third leg is the rifle butt. And I immediately yelled to all my fellows, “Open fire, there are Japs all in this group.” And we did.[31]

The dormant Japanese artillery quickly fixed on the sound of the firing and began lobbing shells into the ridge. A shell or grenade landed amongst Corporal Pramberger’s men, killing PFC Alan M. Smith and wounding the rest of the crew. With the “heavy” out of action, a dangerous gap was now open in Able Company’s line. As a rifle squad hurried off to stem the breach, Corporal Hurley whacked “Gunga” Smith’s helmet. “Come on,” he said, “we’re gonna go up there, get the gun, and bring them back.” Smith let his assistant take over the Browning, grabbed his carbine and his pistol, and followed Hurley up the hill into the teeth of a barrage.

Smith knew enough about incoming fire to recognize the deadly traits of flat-trajectory artillery: the shells burst before the sound of the incoming round arrived.[32] He saw the first one hit and explode, blowing away PFC John L. Manson and Corporal Benjamin Duryea. The second landed even closer, bowling Smith and Hurley along the ground like rag dolls. Smith was physically unhurt, but the near miss – his second in two days – snapped something inside him; he started crying and was horrified to find he couldn’t stop. “It shook me a little goofy,” he said. “I couldn’t control my emotions. They had gotten to my nerves. We went back, we never got the gun or the men.”

A corpsman called “Ski” gave Smith a once-over. “What are you crying for?” he demanded. “I don’t know,” sniffed Smith, “this shell went off….” Ski rummaged in his bag and came up with a little bottle of medicinal brandy. “Try this,” he ordered, and hurried off to his next patient. Smith downed the brandy and felt a bit better.[33]

PFC Tierney had his eyes and attention fixed on the front when he heard a scuffling sound from a nearby foxhole. Two warning bells went off in his mind: his good friend PFC Frederick “Ivy” Iverson was in that hole – and Iverson was dug in behind Tierney. The commotion ended abruptly. “Okay, Ivy?” he called in a loud whisper. “Okay, Bob” came the reply. An hour later, the scenario repeated: scuffling, grunts, and then silence. “Okay, Ivy?” “Okay, Bob.”[34] Tierney pictured his buddy fighting shadowy enemies alone in the dark, but there was nothing he could do. If he fired, he might hit Ivy; if he went to help, he might be shot or stabbed by a Japanese soldier or a fellow Marine. The end result would be the same.

In Baker Company’s sector, the scene was even more chaotic. “The Japanese were raiding inside our lines,” recalled PFC Ed Curylo.

We couldn’t fire because we didn’t know if we were gonna shoot a Marine. So, we had to have hand to hand combat. Hand to hand is probably not the proper word – the rifle is your best friend. The butt of our rifle was the greatest weapon we ever had besides our Ka-Bar knife. I have choked Japanese with an oak stick, or some rope around their necks. The main part was to make sure they couldn’t scream.[35]

From his position near the road, PFC John Pope “heard the voices of women and other rackets indicating [that] a group of people were approaching our lines and would soon come into view on the skyline. We had never fought on an island where women and children lived so we hesitated to fire when they came among us. A terrible mistake on our part.” The civilians-as-shields ploy used against Able Company also worked on Baker. Suddenly, Japanese soldiers were in and among the foxholes with grenades, bayonets, and bare hands. “All of a sudden, we were in the middle of a terrible hand-to-hand, close up fight,” Pope continued. “We were in two-man foxholes, so we naturally watched each other’s back. It was a wild few minutes before a flare exploded overhead and we could see who was who.”

I remember catching a glimpse of Felix Nawodczynski – a big, 200-plus pound friend just to my left.[36] A small teenaged-looking kid [came up] behind and jumped astride his back with his arms locked around Felix’s neck. Felix was trying to reach over his shoulder to grab the kid, but a grenade exploded between them. The kid had the grenade under his shirt, pressed tightly between them. It blew Felix almost in half.[37]
Eventually, the surviving Japanese withdrew back over the ridge. In the sudden quiet, Pope heard someone sobbing in a nearby foxhole. “Are you all right, Joe?” he called. “I just killed Murphy,” cried the Marine. “I just killed Murphy.” His foxhole buddy and close friend, thought Pope.[38] “Fighting up close is always the worst kind, but it is really bad at night,” he concluded. “I do not remember how many men we lost in that little battle, but those of us who survived had a mindset that never again would we be taken in by such a terrible trick.”[39] There was no way to distinguish hostile enemies from frightened civilians. “We shot everything that moved,” said PFC Chester L. McCoy, “and I’m sure we shot some native people that shouldn’t have been shot.”[40]
Extremely close combat on Saipan. The momentum of this Japanese soldier's charge carried him within inches of this Marine. USMC photo by Cpl. Angus Robinson.

Some Japanese managed to threaten the battalion headquarters far to the rear, at one point flanking the security platoon from Regimental Weapons and pushing them back into the CP itself. The Marines fought fiercely to protect their vital aid station and communication center, which was sending and receiving traffic almost continually. “Communications are essential, and our men and equipment proved completely durable throughout” the fight, said Lieutenant Stott. “Our wire communication remained operative… thus preserving some measure of control and allowing a fair estimate of the situation.”

Finally, the Japanese melted back into the darkness. To the north, the Second Marine Division was catching hell; BLT 1-24 heard ammunition dumps exploding and sustained machine gun fire from 0430 until daybreak on D+2. For all they could do, that fight may as well have taken place on the moon. The usually resourceful Lieutenant Stott was, by this point, completely out of options. “We could do naught but listen to our own bursts of fire and occasional cries and wait for dawn and a chance to move out the wounded,” he wrote.[41]  For those who survived, the horrible night of D+2 would not soon fade from their memories. One of the wounded, PFC George W. Pelish, summed it up for them all: “The Marshalls show was tame compared to Saipan.”[42]

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Footnotes

[1] Frederic A. Stott, “Saipan Under Fire” (Andover: Frederic Stott, 1945), 4.
[2] Carl W. Hoffman, Saipan: The Beginning of the End (Washington: Historical Division, US Marine Corps, 1950), 72.
[3] Ibid. 71.
[4] “[On] the night of 15-16 June 1944. Unhesitatingly volunteering to lay a wire from an assault company to the battalion command post, Sergeant Waytow and a companion fearlessly advanced across an open area swept by withering, intense enemy small arms and artillery fire to establish vitally needed communications, but was mortally wounded while carrying out his perilous mission.” Bronze Star Medal citation, John Waytow Official Military Personnel File (OMPF), Records of the Office of the Quartermaster General, Washington National Records Center, Suitland, MD.
[5] Stott, 4.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Philip Emerson Wood, Jr., personal letter to Margretta & Gretchen Wood, 5 April 1944. Author’s collection.
[8] Stott, 4.
[9] Robert M. Neiman and Kenneth W. Estes, Tanks On The Beaches: A Marine Tanker in the Pacific War (College Station: University of Texas Press, 2003), 99.
[10] Stott, 4.
[11] Dwyer Duncan, “Military Career – Dwyer’s Memories.” Posted May 16, 2013; recorded 1995.
[12] Stott, 3.
[13] Neiman, 100.
[14] Jim G. Lucas, “Williamsburg Major Helps Repulse Japs,” The Daily Press (Newport News, VA), 24 July 1944.
[15] Stott does not mention Fricke at all in his retelling of the battle, and apparently regarded the major as a non-entity.
[16] Stott, 4.
[17] Ibid.
[18] Hoffman, 83.
[19] The battalion’s route of advance more or less follows the route of Saipan’s modern-day Route 32.
[20] John Pope, Angel On My Shoulder (Kindle Locations 924-926). John Pope. Kindle Edition, (2013-11-30).
[21] Stott, 5.
[22] Howard Francis Shattuck, letter to Margretta Wood, 26 July 1944. Author’s collection. The two friends would never meet again: Shattuck was seriously wounded the next day, and Wood was killed later in the battle.
[23] “Local Marine Recalls Fighting On Saipan,” The Lexington Herald-Ledger (Lexington, KY) 4 November 1944. “It was a pretty nice foxhole, too,” remarked Hackett
[24] Pope, Angel On My Shoulder.
[25] Stott, 5.
[26] Joe R. Griffin, oral history interview conducted by Mike Zambrano, Nimitz Education and Research Center, National Museum of the Pacific War, Fredericksburg, TX.
[27] The exchange of weapons was “present doctrine” in the 4th Marine Division, “to utilize the light machine gun primarily in the initial stages, with the water-cooled heavy gun in reserve. Thereafter, the heavy and light become interchangeable. This, in theory and practice, is sound provided the availability of the current inactive weapon is maintained.” Clifton B. Cates, “Fourth Marine Division Operations Report, Saipan, 15 June to 9 July 1944,” (18 September 1944), 112. Hereafter “4MarDiv Ops Report.”
[28]
Robert E. Tierney, “My Marine Corps Experience,” unpublished memoir shared to Ancestry.com 10 January 2013.
[29] Irving Schechter, quoted in Henry Berry, Semper Fi, Mac: Living Memories of the U.S. Marines in World War II (New York: Arbor House, 1982). 225. Schechter is careful to specify that “Tucker had definitely been killed by Japanese fire,” but this has since been contested by multiple accounts from other Able Company veterans, including Tommy Lynchard, Oscar Hanson, and another who wishes to remain anonymous. Officially, Tucker’s date of death is given as 17 June 1944, which likely indicates that his fate was confirmed the morning after the shooting.
[30] Stott, 5.
[31] Robert D. Price, oral history interview conducted by Thomas Swope, Robert D. Price Collection (AFC/2001/001/49660), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[32] In multiple interviews, Smith described the guns responsible for this shelling as “a pair of German 88’s.” The Japanese had a “Type 88” gun (a 75mm AA weapon) deployed in the Marianas; this may have been the one he saw.
[33] Smith identifies “Ski” as PhM3c Albert Zrimsek, but Zrimsek had transferred out of the battalion by this point in the war.
[34] Tierney, “My Marine Corps Expereince.”
[35] Edward Curylo, oral history interview conducted by Brian Louwers (4 December 2013), Edward Curylo Collection (AFC/2001/001/94115), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[36] Pope approximates this Marine’s complicated name as “Phil Nowengsky.”
[37] Pope, Angel On My Shoulder.
[38] Pope claims that during the entire night battle, neither he nor his buddy “Bobby” fired once for fear of hitting other Marines. “Murphy” is almost certainly PFC Joseph Terrence Murphy, a machine gunner with Baker Company. The identity of “Joe” is not known.
[39] Pope, Angel On My Shoulder.
[40] Chester L. McCoy, oral history interview conducted by Charles Lanier, Chester L. McCoy Collection (AFC/2001/001/87486), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[41] Stott, 5.
[42] “Oliver Marine Tells Of Unusual Experiences,” The Morning Herald (Uniontown, PA), 17 August 1944. Pelish was hit in the leg; while being hoisted aboard the USS Bellatrix, the cable on his stretcher snapped and dumped him into the water. He was hoisted aboard by his wrist, “a mighty damp fellow.”

Battalion Daily Report

Casualties, Evacuations, Joinings & Transfers
0

KIA/DOW

0

WIA & EVAC*

0

SICK

0

JOINED

0

TRANSFERRED

0

STRENGTH

Out of an original landing strength of 888 officers and men.
* Does not include minor wounds not requiring evacuation from the line.
NameCompanyRankRoleChangeCauseDisposition
Acklam, Jesse George Jr.AblePFCMessengerWounded In ActionCombat fatigueEvacuated, destination unknown
Allen, Connie HughesBakerPFCFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionLaceration, left armEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Arsenault, Roger NormanBakerPFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionShrapnel, right forearmEvacuated, destination unknown
Bechtol, Charles RaymondBakerFirst LieutenantLeader, 3 PlatoonWounded In ActionCompound fracture, left femurEvacuated to USS Pierce
Blevins, Winston ChurchillHeadquartersChief Pharmacist's MateCorpsmanWounded In ActionCombat fatigueEvacuated, destination unknown
Bowles, Aubrey WilliamCharliePFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionPsychoneurosisEvacuated to USS Pierce
Brandon, Daniel JosephBakerSergeantSquad LeaderWounded In ActionShrapnel, right forearmEvacuated to USS Leon
Breslin, Robert LeeBakerPFCBARmanKilled In ActionGunshot wounds"Remains unknown"
Buchanan, Warren JosephAbleSergeantGuide, 3 PlatoonWounded In ActionGunshot, both legs & compound fracture right tibiaEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Bulifant, Guy Roger Jr.BakerSergeantDuty NCOWounded In ActionLaceration, right chest & left axillaEvacuated to USS Pierce
Cable, Raymond SchedeBakerCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionCombat fatigueEvacuated to USS Electra
Campbell, Clarence AmbroCharliePFCBasicWounded In ActionBlast concussion & skull fractureEvacuated to USS Relief
Carter, Harold Everett Jr.AbleCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionGunshot, right wristEvacuated to USS Pierce
Chucci, NicholasCharliePFCAmmo CarrierKilled In ActionGunshot woundsRemoved for burial
Claar, George FranklinBakerPFCMortarmanMissing In ActionUnknownMissing
Colgan, John RobertCharliePFCBARmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, left forearmEvacuated to USS Leon
Cubero, Ernest MateoAbleCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionLaceration, upper left legEvacuated to USS Pierce
Czepiel, John JosephAblePFCMortarmanWounded In ActionPsychoneurosisEvacuated to USS Electra
DeVictoria, Joseph Lopez Jr.BakerPFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionIntracranial injuryEvacuated, destination unknown
Dore, William GeraldBakerPFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionCombat fatigueEvacuated, destination unknown
Duclos, Edward JosephBakerCorporalFire Team LeaderKilled In ActionGunshot, headRemoved for burial
Durante, Luca AnthonyAblePFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionGunshot, left legEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Duryea, Albert BenjaminAbleCorporalFire Team LeaderKilled In ActionShrapnel, headRemoved for burial
Edwards, John Owen Jr.BakerPFCMessengerWounded In ActionGunshot, right thighEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Ettinger, Julian LaurenceBakerPrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionGunshot, right shoulderEvacuated to USS Cambria
Fenger, Burnett PaulAblePFCRiflemanWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated to USS Harris
Ferrera, Alfonso JohnCharliePFCBarberKilled In ActionGunshot, chest & headRemoved for burial
Forthaus, Leonard JosephAblePFCBARmanWounded In ActionGunshot, right armEvacuated to USS Bellatrix
Garrett, Sperling GreenAblePFCBARmanKilled In ActionGunshot, headRemoved for burial
Gilbreath, Ardith WayneBakerPrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, right armEvacuated, destination unknown
Goode, Wilford MarvinAblePrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, both legsEvacuated to USS Storm King
Hackett, Edward JosephAblePFCMortarmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, right shoudler & fracutre right humerusEvacuated to USS Electra
Hager, Homer Jr.BakerPFCFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionGunshot, left legEvacuated, destination unknown
Harder, Frank AugustCharlieSergeantSquad LeaderWounded In ActionShrapnel, right elbowEvacuated to USS Callaway
Harville, Jess EarlBakerSergeantMG Section LeaderKilled In ActionPartial decapitationRemoved for burial
Hill, Lee CornellBakerPFCAmmo CarrierKilled In ActionArtillery shrapnel"Remains unknown"
Hill, Murdick StephonBakerCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionGunshot, left footEvacuated to USS Pierce
Hoff, Paul HaroldBakerCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionUnknown (slight)Not evacuated
Holt, Wallace MorganAblePFCRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, right legEvacuated, destination unknown
Iverson, Frederick DonaldAblePFCBARmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, left forearm & right buttockEvacuated to USS Monrovia
James, William Capers Jr.BakerSecond LieutenantLeader, MortarsWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated to USS Pierce
Jaster, Lawrence JosephAblePFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionGunshot, right ankleEvacuated to USS John Land
Johnson, Howard WesleyBakerPFCRiflemanWounded In ActionMultiple woundsNot evacuated
Klanke, John HenryHeadquartersPFCScoutWounded In ActionPuncture, left armEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Lownds, David EdwardBakerFirst LieutenantLeader, 2 PlatoonWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated, destination unknown
Lucien, Henry EdwardHeadquartersPFCDriverWounded In ActionCombat fatigueEvacuated, destination unknown
Manson, John LloydAblePFCBARmanKilled In ActionShrapnel, head & sideRemoved for burial
Markovich, PeterAbleSergeantBasicWounded In ActionUnknown (serious)Evacuated, destination unknown
McCormick, Jack DanBakerPFCRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, left legEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
McFarlin, Marion Amos Jr.BakerPrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, right forearmEvacuated to USS Cambria
Miller, Gilbert LincolnBakerPFCRiflemanWounded In ActionUnknown (slight)Not evacuated
Miller, Herschell OlinAblePFCBARmanWounded In ActionCompound fracture, right handEvacuated to USS Pierce
Miller, Paul EdwardHeadquartersPFCLinemanKilled In ActionShrapnel, head & chestRemoved for burial
Mohr, Jacob FrancisHeadquartersPFCDriverWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated to USS Electra
Mullis, Edwin EugeneBakerPrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, right hipEvacuated to USS Pierce
Murphy, Joseph TerrenceBakerPFCMachine GunnerKilled In ActionGunshot, headRemoved for burial
Muscatell, John Paul Jr.BakerPFCRiflemanKilled In ActionShrapnel, headRemoved for burial
Nawodczynski, Felix StanleyBakerCorporalMG Squad LeaderKilled In ActionMultiple woundsRemoved for burial
Newman, Herbert BowersBakerPFCBARmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, left arm & shoulderEvacuated to USS Storm King
Nichols, Emil AlbertBakerPFCBARmanWounded In ActionCompound fracture, left legEvacuated, destination unknown
Olkowski, EdwardBakerPFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionMultiple woundsEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Owings, Dale LeRoyAblePFCMortarmanWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated to USS Arthur Middleton
Passante, AldoAblePFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionAmputation, right footEvacuated to USS Bellatrix
Patton, Archie CampbellCharliePFCRiflemanKilled In ActionShrapnel, headRemoved for burial
Pelish, George WilliamAblePFCRiflemanWounded In ActionCompound fracture, right tibiaEvacuated to USS Bellatrix
Piccolomini, DominickAblePFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionPuncture, left armEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Pilkenton, Colon AlfredCharliePFCRiflemanWounded In Action (Fatal)Shrapnel, right arm & right legEvacuated to USS Brooks
Pittman, LoydBakerPFCBARmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, backEvacuated, destination unknown
Podolski, CharlesBakerPFCBARmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, left arm & shoulder)Evacuated, destination unknown
Poggioli, JohnBakerPFCBARmanWounded In ActionShrapnel, left ankleEvacuated, destination unknown
Pramberger, Anthony AndrewAbleCorporalMG Squad LeaderWounded In ActionCompound fracture, right tibiaEvacuated, destination unknown
Reynolds, William EugeneCharlieSecond LieutenantLeader, 2 PlatoonWounded In ActionShrapnel, left eyeEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Richard, Norman JosephCharlieFM1cField MusicKilled In ActionShrapnel woundsRemoved for burial
Ridings, John WilliamCharlieCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionMultiple woundsEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Root, Melvin GilmanCharliePFCRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, arms & right legEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Rozmus, JosephHeadquartersPFCDriverWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated to USS Bountiful
Savoy, William FrancesAblePFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionMultiple shrapnel wounds in faceEvacuated to USS James O'Hara
Schmidt, Richard Frederick Jr.BakerCorporalBARmanWounded In ActionGunshot, left chestEvacuated, destination unknown
Schultz, Maynard ConradHeadquartersLieutenant ColonelBattalion COKilled In ActionShrapnel, head & chestRemoved for burial
Schwarz, Otto William Jr.BakerPFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionGunshot, left thighEvacauted to USS Arthur Middleton
Setina, Thomas CharlesCharliePrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionShrapnel, right thighEvacuated to USS Storm King
Shemansky, Stanley PaulCharlieCorporalFire Team LeaderMissing In ActionUnknownMissing
Siranovich, John MichaelHeadquartersSergeantRadio TechnicianSickUnknownEvacuated to USS Calvert
Sivertson, Robert DuaneAblePrivateRiflemanWounded In ActionGunshot, right shoudlerEvacuated to USS Storm King
Smith, Alan MiltonAblePFCAmmo CarrierKilled In ActionGunshot woundsRemoved for burial
Smith, David EugeneAbleFirst LieutenantLeader, 3 PlatoonWounded In ActionShrapnel, right thighEvacuated, destination unknown
Smith, George AppleAblePFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionBlast concussionNot evacuated
Smith, Vernon EugeneAblePFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionGunshot, chestEvacuated to USS Cambria
Spohn, David WinkelmannAblePFCMachine GunnerWounded In ActionUnknown (slight)Not evacuated
Stiener, John RobertCharliePFCRiflemanWounded In ActionUnknown (serious)Evacuated, destination unknown
Susman, SamHeadquartersPhM3cCorpsmanWounded In ActionUnknown (serious)Evacuated, destination unknown
Swies, EdwardBakerPFCAmmo CarrierWounded In ActionBlast concussionEvacuated to USS Bountiful
Thomas, Fred EugeneAbleCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionGunshot, right arm & shoulderEvacuated to USS Pierce
Walsh, Eugene RobertAbleCorporalFire Team LeaderWounded In ActionShrapnel, left footEvacuated to USS LST-487
Watkins, Harry Joseph Jr.HeadquartersCorporalLinemanWounded In ActionGunshot, left armEvacuated to USS Pierce
Waytow, JohnHeadquartersSergeantWire Section ChiefKilled In ActionHead wounds, rifle buttRemoved for burial
Wise, Robert NealAblePFCMessengerWounded In ActionGunshot, scalp & right handEvacuated to USS Doyen
Wolfe, Glenn LawrenceBakerPFCBARmanWounded In Action (Fatal)Multiple shrapnel wounds in legsEvacuated to USS Arthur Middleton

Taps

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