BATTLE NARRATIVE
Piling Them Up In Rows. Saipan: 7 July 1944
The Japanese military logic behind banzai attacks cannot be explained. These fanatical and suicidal thrusts always occur during hours of darkness and are generally directed frontally at a defensive position.[1]
“It was so obvious we'd be mowed down."
Sergeant Takeo Yamauchi was no suicidal fanatic. He was a student, a Russophile and reader of Marx with low opinions of a global war of conquest. The Imperial Army drafted him out of the classroom and into the ranks of the 136th Infantry Regiment, gave him a rifle and minimal training, and shipped him off to the central Pacific.
Yamauchi arrived on Saipan less than a month before the American landings, and after witnessing the sea and air power of his adversaries, resolved to surrender as soon as possible. However, he frequently found himself trapped between American guns and Japanese steel.
Early in the battle, Yamauchi’s squad occupied a trench line at the top of a rocky slope with American troops just eighty yards away. An unfamiliar officer – “a vice-commander from battalion headquarters” appeared and demanded a charge straight at the Americans. Yamauchi resisted, saying he hadn’t received orders from his platoon commander. The adjutant flew into a rage. “Everyone else has charged! I order you to charge!”
I gave directions to each man, then I ordered “Charge! Advance!” It was so obvious that we’d be mowed down. I burst forth from my hole and slid in amongst the small rocks in front of me. Next to me was Goto, a bachelor. PFC Tsukahara, the machine gunner, was on the other side. Nobody else. I was terrified. Bullets were ricocheting off the rocks in front of me.
I fired at an American soldier who seemed practically on top of me. I suddenly felt something hot on my neck. Blood. I’m hit, I thought. But it was just a graze. I was too petrified to move. I couldn’t even shoot anymore.
Yamauchi managed to survive this encounter, and spent the rest of the battle trying to avoid similar situations while looking for opportunities to surrender. In early July, he reached Paradise Valley and the western coast of Saipan. “I was fed up with the jungle,” he said. “I thought, it’s all right to die. I just wanted to stretch out on that wide beach.” He assembled a little group of like-minded men, and they hid in a dugout for a few days. Then Saitō’s order was passed among the survivors, and the attack force began to assemble.
On the night prior to the attack I told my two men that there was no point starving and dying here on Saipan, that Japan would lose in this war, that there would be better days ahead for us. I never brought up my Communist beliefs. But their only response was, “Squad Leader, you’re talking like a traitor. Behave like a military man!” I had been rebuked by my own subordinates, a farmer and a city man who’d only graduated from elementary school. They were unflinching.[2]
[Yoshida] said: “They knew at the outset they had no hope of succeeding. They simply felt that it was better to die that way and take some of the enemy with them than to be holed up in caves and be killed.” It is believed that the motivating spirit of the attack was the idea which the Japanese military seek to instill into their troops, namely, “dying gloriously for the Emperor.”[4]
Thus it was that hundreds of Japanese troops began to assemble in the depression called “Paradise Valley” by the Americans, and the “Valley of Death” by the Japanese. Everyone able to run, walk, stumble or crawl was ordered to join the attack; those who could not move were given grenades and instructed to die. Major Yoshida estimated that 500 men initially set out from Saitō’s headquarters, but many others soon joined the marching column and still more wandered in to Mankusha throughout 6 July. By nightfall, the numbers swelled to the thousands.
Uploaded to Flickr by The Showa Daily.
Soldiers, sailors, and civilians came armed with what they could find – a few light machine guns, rifles and pistols, swords and knives. Some tied bayonets to long sticks, others carried clubs or rocks, and some had only bare hands. They prayed and wept and cheered; some sipped sake to steel their nerves while others drank themselves insensible. The sound of their voices echoed across the Tanapag plain and up into the ridges where Marines and soldiers waited with baited breath for the attack.
“They didn't mind dying."
By now, most Americans on Saipan could tell when a banzai charge was imminent. Almost all front-line battalions had weathered at least one localized attack; some units in the 2nd Marine Division vividly recalled a massed tank-infantry charge from the opening days of the battle. The formula varied slightly with each attack, but followed the same general progression. There would be an increasing sound of movement somewhere in the darkness – equipment clinking, vehicle motors, or rusting in the underbrush. Voices would emerge, first low and conversational but getting louder as the Japanese psyched themselves up. Not infrequently, clinking bottles and smashing glass indicated a drunken send-off party; sometimes intoxicated laughter would rise above the murmuring voices. Chants and songs began. As they grew bolder, the Japanese would shout insults at their adversaries. Marine, you gonna die tonight. Japanese boy drink American blood.
Infiltrators relied on silence and stealth. The banzai preparation ritual was about intimidation – and it frequently unnerved the Americans. In ranking his most terrifying combat experiences, PFC Alva R. Perry Jr. listed artillery barrages first, followed by “waiting for a Jap counterattack that you knew was coming. You could hear the Japs talking and yelling as the moved up to attack your front line. The anxiety is overwhelming.”[5] PFC Howard M. Kerr concurred. “Nights were the worst because the Japanese were very good at getting through our lines. Even though we had [flares] up. We couldn’t see a thing, but as soon as the light went out you knew they were moving real fast. You could hear them coming, screaming and hollering. They were drunk, their officers would dope them up with sake, and of course they were fighting for their Emperor. They didn’t mind dying. They would just keep coming right on, one after the other.”[6]
“The Japs had a way of making a suicide charge early in the mornings,” wrote PFC John C. Pope. “Sometimes it would only be a handful of men but sometimes it would be an organized assault. A big question in everybody’s mind was how many? What are our chances of being overrun and killed with a bayonet or bullet?”
Once sufficiently fired up, the chanting shifted to cries of “Tenno haika! Banzai!” or “Totsugeki!” and the charge began. A rifleman of the 23rd Marines recalled being on the receiving end of an attack:
Suddenly there is what sounded like a thousand people screaming all at once, as a horde of “mad men” broke out of the darkness before us. Screams of “Banzai” fill the air, Japanese officers leading the “devils from hell,” their swords drawn and swishing in circles over their heads. Jap soldiers were following their leaders, firing their weapons at us and screaming “Banzai” as they charged toward us. Our weapons opened up, our mortars and machine guns fired continually.
No longer do they fire in bursts of three or five. Belt after belt of ammunition goes through that gun, the gunner swinging the barrel left and right. Even though Jap bodies build up in front of us, they still charged us, running over their comrades’ fallen bodies. The mortar tubes became so hot from the rapid fire, as did the machine gun barrels, that they could no longer be used.
Although each [attack] had taken its toll, still they came in droves. Haunting memories can still visualize the enemy only a few feet away, bayonet aimed at our body as we empty a clip into him. The momentum carries him into our foxhole, right on top of us. Then, pushing him off, we reload and repeat the procedure.
Bullets whiz around us, screams are deafening, the area reeks with death, and the smell of Japs and gunpowder permeate the air. Full of fear and hate, with the desire to kill…. [Our enemy seems to be] a savage animal, a beast, a devil, not a human at all, and the only thought is to kill, kill, kill…. Finally it ends.[7]
The above watercolor by Major Donald Dickson appears in Aimee Crane’s 1943 work Marines At War.
“This is an impression of what a night attack looks like to one man. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know where his friends are, nor his foes. To him the whole “global war” is a series of flashes a few yards from his foxhole. He is scared stiff. He has reason to be.”
“Once you make contact and the close in killing starts, you forget about being scared,” remembered Perry. “I become completely consumed by the action, firing my BAR in short bursts and reaching for a new magazine of ammo with my left hand as the BAR emptied out. I don’t believe that the Japs ever broke through the lines, but it was close at times.”[8] PFC Glenn Buzzard of Charlie Company had one such close call:
A banzai might last for minutes or for hours, depending on the number of attackers and whether they charged in waves or in a single mass. The end result, however, was almost always the same: a few casualties for the Americans, and annihilation of the Japanese. “When attacked, we shot first and fast at anything or anyone that moved,” said Pope. “After it quieted down, they fell back again leaving their dead and wounded where they fell. It was now suicide time for their wounded. I do not recall ever seeing a Japanese soldier stopping to aid one of their wounded. The worst kind, and this was not at all unusual, some of them would lie down amid the wounded and dead and wait for a Marine to come close enough to kill before we could stop them.”
Some Marines even looked forward to these charges, because “when it was over, that sector was Jap free.”[10] Most Americans would trade a few hours of pure terror to several days of dragging the enemy out of caves and crevices. “It was better than us hitting those bunkers going man-to-man, going in those caves and everything,” commented Sergeant Mike Mervosh. “I’m happier than crap that we can kill them in the wide open. Of course a lot of us become casualties, but to me it was a field day. Heck, that’s terrific.”[11]
“Ours is not the publicized version of this frenzied, last ditch, and sake-influenced rush,” wrote 1Lt. Frederic A. Stott. “The feature story and the main power centered on the flat terrain to the north of Tanapag, which was held by some army units.” From their position on the high ground east of the 27th Division, BLT 1-24 could hear the chaos unfolding on the plains below as the Japanese slammed into the infantrymen. The onrushing Japanese quickly found a 500-yard gap between two Army battalions, and waves of humanity rushed to break through the weak point. “It reminded me of one of those old cattle stampede scenes of the movies,” said Major Edward McCarthy of the 105th. “The camera is in a hole in the ground, and you see the herd coming and then they leap up and over you and are gone. Only the Japs just kept coming and coming. I didn’t think they’d ever stop.”[13] Nearly 2,300 Japanese were gunned down, but the 105th lost more a third of their strength.[14]
With absolutely no help coming from their sister regiments, the 106th and 165th Infantry, the “Apple Knockers” of the 105th broke under the pressure of the Japanese wave. Behind the Army lines were the gunners of the 10th Marines, who fought the Japanese to a standstill with point-blank fire from their heavy artillery.
PFC Dwyer Duncan happened to be on a scouting mission that morning, and watched the attack from a cliff overlooking Tanapag.
Sergeant Michael Frihauf was instrumental in turning the tide, “skillfully reorganizing his platoon” to annihilate sixty Japanese soldiers. Not content to rest in place, Frihauf “quickly advanced his men in a relentless drive, yielding no quarter and routing the entire Japanese force in his company’s zone of action.” The former railroad brakeman from Rossford, Ohio, was recommended for the Silver Star Medal.
Fighting near Tanapag would continue through the day, culminating with a final, pathetic act of defiance. The able-bodied Japanese had been the first to die; the wounded had tried to follow along in their wake. “They came down the plain hobbling and limping, amputees, men on crutches, walking wounded supporting one another, men in bandages,” wrote author Robert Leckie. “Some had weapons, most brandished idiot sticks or swung bayonets, others were barehanded or carried grenades. Behind them some 300 of their comrades who had been unable to move had been put to death. And now these specters, these scarecrows, were coming down Tanapag Plain to die. They were requited.”[17] The sight of Tanapag Plain after the charge defied even the most eloquent writers. The sheer number of casualties, both Japanese and American, stunned those who witnessed the event.
With their sector quiet, BLT 1-24 counted noses and was delighted to find that their casualties amounted to only a handful of slight wounds. From their perspective, the banzai could not be more welcome. “It was the attack we desired to eliminate cave probing,” remarked Stott, “and we emerged with but four or five lightly wounded men, well pleased at the ratio and stimulated by our success. One hundred and fifty dead Nips was no cause for halting our perpetual motion.” The battalion moved out at 0930, continuing their advance along the western slope of the high ridge line. “By vigorous and sweaty movement we stretched our considerable lead in the ‘Marpi Point Marathon’ as far as the higher echelons thought advisable,” continued Stott, “then dug in to await flank support.”[18] Over-extension of the line caused a gap between BLT 1-24 and RCT-2; forward movement halted on order at 1430 and all companies aligned themselves on favorable defensive ground.
The banzai had indeed siphoned off almost all of the remaining Japanese troop strength in the area, and BLT 1-24 found civilians more willing to surrender. Eleven civilians passed into battalion custody during the day’s advance. That afternoon, Marines on a combat patrol heard crying women and children and “pleaded for a chance to go out and bring them back.” Permission was denied – “the memory of the ruse which killed Phil Wood and Ervin had not faded” – but the men, “fully realizing the possibilities of deception,” kept begging to go. At last the officers relented, and the civilians were carried in to safety.
[1] Clifton B. Cates, “Fourth Marine Division Operations Report, Saipan, 15 June to 9 July 1944,” (18 September 1944), 57. Hereafter “4MarDiv Ops Report.”
[2] All Yamauchi story from Yamauchi Takeo, “Honorable Death on Saipan,” in Japan At War: An Oral History edited and translated by Haruko Taya Cook and Theodore F. Cook (New York: The New Press, 1992) 284-289. Yamauchi did manage to avoid taking part in the charge, and successfully surrendered to American forces at the end of the battle.
[3] Carl W. Hoffman, Saipan: The Beginning of the End (Washington: Historical Division, US Marine Corps, 1950), 284-284.
[4] Headquarters, Northern Troops and Landing Force, Marianas Phase I (Saipan), Enclosure D, “G-2 Report” (12 August 1944), 57.
[5] Alva Perry, “The Men Of ‘A’ Company,” 2011.
[6] Howard M. Kerr, oral history interview conducted by Leslie Sheridan, Howard Matthew Kerr Collection (AFC/2001/001/65492), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[7] John C. Chapin, Breaching the Marianas: The Battle for Saipan (Washington: Marine Corps Historical Center, 1994), 31-33.
[8] Perry.
[9] Larry Smith, Iwo Jima (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2008), 84.
[10] John C. Pope, Angel On My Shoulder, Kindle eBook.
[11] Mike Mervosh, oral history interview conducted by The National World War II Museum, “Oral History Part 1,” March 19, 2008.
[12] Chapin, “Breaching the Marianas,” 35. Chapin puts the number of Japanese dead at 4,311.
[13] Hoffman, 223.
[14] According to Chapin, the 105th Infantry lost 918 men during the attack, nearly the strength of a full battalion
[15] Dwyer Duncan, “Military Career – Dwyer’s Memories.” Posted May 16, 2013; recorded 1995. Duncan had a particularly low opinion of the Army – he blamed their artillery for the death of his best friend – and he is likely being overly critical here. Duncan is correct, however, that elements of the 105th Infantry were pushed into the ocean, and that the 2nd Marine Division was selected to replace the 27th Division on the line following the attack.
[16] Frederic A. Stott, “Saipan Under Fire” (Andover: Frederic Stott, 1945), 17.
[17] Robert Leckie, Strong Men Armed, (New York: Random House, 1962), 351.
[18] Stott, 17.
[19] Stott, 18.
Battalion Daily Report
Casualties, Evacuations, Joinings & Transfers
KIA/DOW
WIA & EVAC*
SICK
JOINED
TRANSFERRED
STRENGTH
Out of an original landing strength of 888 officers and men.
* Does not include minor wounds not requiring evacuation from the line.
| Name | Company | Rank | Role | Change | Cause | Disposition |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Boyd, Kenneth Newman | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Sick | Unknown | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Brown, Ralph Whitney | Baker | Private | Ammo Carrier | Wounded In Action | Gunshot & compound fracture, right arm | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Cowell, Clifford Jay | Baker | PFC | BARman | Died Of Wounds | Land mine shrapnel (5 July) | To 4th Marine Division Cemetery |
| DeCelles, Charles Calvin | Baker | PFC | BARman | Sick | Unknown | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Lewis, Amos Franklin | Headquarters | Corporal | Field Phone Operator | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Magill, James Douglas | Baker | PFC | Fire Team Leader | Sick | Unknown | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| May, George Leroy | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Sick | Unknown | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Shamray, Walter Stanley | Baker | Sergeant | Guide, 1 Platoon | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
Pingback: “Wiconisco Marine killed on Saipan” – July 7, 1944 | Wynning History
My Father Robert G. Kennedy, 2Nd Marine Div. was wounded on Saipan. Incredibly I have a photo of him on Saipan sometime just before being wounded. I also have the original home town newspaper article describing his being “pistol shot” by a Japanese tank crewman.