BATTLE NARRATIVE
Renewed Confidence. Saipan: 20 June 1944
BLT 1-24, “refreshed if not restored” by a day of relative inaction, prepared to resume their northward trek on D-plus-5. They held fast in their foxholes for ninety minutes delay as the 25th Marines (formerly the right flank unit) finished relieving the 23rd Marines (the left flank). The 24th Marines, which had been in the center, now found themselves on the right, with BLT 1-24 responsible for the extreme right of the entire American line. Captain Horace C. Parks’ Company C placed their flank on Magicienne Bay, while Captain Milton G. Cokin’s weakened Company B took the center. Captain Irving Schechter’s Company A was tasked with maintaining contact on the left with BLT 2-24. King Hour arrived, and at 1030 the Marines started forward.[1]
The battalion’s 81mm mortar platoon had a very busy morning, commencing with a fifteen-minute barrage that gradually walked forward into the objective (the O-4 line). PFC Robert E. Tierney probably watched closely as the shells fell in the wooded area ahead, repaying the Japanese machine gunners who killed two of his buddies the day before. Whether dead or driven off, the enemy offered no resistance and by 1217 all three companies were advancing abreast under a covering blanket of mortar fire. BLT 1-24 also received four tanks and LVT(A)s for support, and Able Company partnered up with a column of halftracks which blasted any potential strong points before the infantry closed in.[2]
Corporal Robert L. Williams watched with interest as a halftrack banged away at a house in the middle of a field.
Magicienne Bay was considered as a landing site during the lead up to Operation Forager, with a stretch of beach along the northern shore designated as “Purple 1” and “Purple 2.” These assault plans never came to fruition, but the Japanese prepared defenses just the same. Even though they were still several hundred yards from the beaches, the Marines began to discover numerous fortified caves and small bunkers along the coast on the right flank. “In conjunction with an engineer company, one of our platoons drew the unenviable task of mopping up the coastal caves and dugouts as we progressed,” wrote Stott. “Few of the enemy were discovered, but the terrain, consisting of sharp coral ledges and short, tough, vine-covered trees, was exceedingly difficult and tiring to cover…. luckily, most of the positions were deserted.”[6] Knowing that their coastal defenses were vulnerable to attack from the rear, the Japanese abandoned the fortifications in favor of new positions inland.
Whenever possible, these strongpoints were bypassed instead of attacked. Rather than hold up the pace of an advance – a potential waste of time and lives – the Marines simply went around difficult areas, enveloping them and cutting off support or retreat. While such “pockets” of resistance could provoke fierce fights, the defenders could be eliminated more or less at will – all without jeopardizing the pace of the attack. The average Marine hated “mopping up,” as it was slow and personally dangerous. Specially trained squads, often from engineering units or composed of demolition experts, were often given the job of rooting out individual enemies who, now cornered, would fight to the death.[7]
Sergeant Arthur “B.” Ervin, the second-in-command of Able Company’s mortar section, had the perfect temperament for this sort of task. A “tough, hard-bitten little guy” of twenty-two, Ervin was one of the company’s most remarkable characters – by turns a brig rat, a Raider, and a war hero over the course of his four-year career. In peacetime at Pearl Harbor he stole a car with an accomplice, but volunteered to dig unexploded bombs out of the ground on 7 December 1941. When committed to military prison and sentenced to a dishonorable discharge, he volunteered for overseas duty, then talked his way out of a garrison post and into the Third Raider Battalion. A bout of filariasis sent him back to the States, where he wound up in Able Company in charge of a machine gun squad. At five feet seven inches tall and 135 pounds dripping wet, Ervin could nevertheless exert a DI’s authority over his charges and was alternately feared, hated, or respected by his platoon. After a buddy crossed him and became a mortal enemy, he kept no close friends. Rumor had it that “MuMu” Ervin could piss ice water and didn’t know how to smile or laugh.[8] At Namur, he gained widespread notice for leading the company’s attack, assaulting a blockhouse virtually alone, and suffering three separate wounds. Even then, Ervin got into a fight with two of his superior officers who ordered him to seek medical treatment, and left the field in a storm of protest.
Ervin was tough, but he was far from heartless. He grew up with a succession of stepfathers, and was close with his two older brothers Harry and Harley. He had young wife, Odena – “the only one for me” – but fretted over suspicions of her infidelity. He felt at home with his company and “damn proud” of the Navy Cross he received after the battle of Namur – and admitted that he almost wept as Admiral Nimitz pinned the decoration to his chest. As he grew more comfortable, Ervin even began to lighten up a bit; one particular story about Namur even got him to laugh.[9] And he was devoted to his section and to his officer, 1Lt. Philip E. Wood, Jr. [10]
Duty with the mortars was not quite the close-in style of combat Ervin preferred, so he jumped at the chance to take on a bypassed strong point. A well-organized group of Japanese was causing trouble in the rear, so “MuMu” collected a patrol and set off to deal with the situation. “Sergeant Ervin fearlessly advanced upon the enemy and assaulted the strongly fortified position with determined aggressiveness, crushing all opposition,” reads the subsequent citation for his Bronze Star Medal.[11] Under Ervin’s leadership, not a single American was killed or wounded.
A communications failure during the afternoon caused some concern at Battalion HQ; runners and messengers were dispatched on foot to maintain contact with the companies, and it was an anxious two hours before comms were restored. To give an example, at 1340 Company A reported “physical contact – no casualties” and not until 1602 did the next report: “’A’ Co. moving towards RJ 268” arrive at the CP.[12] Fortunately, the poor state of communications did not reflect the success of the advance. By 1704, the battalion was digging in along the O-4 line.
The casualty rate for 20 June was the lowest experienced by BLT 1-24 thus far in the campaign. Three men suffered slight wounds not meriting evacuation, and Corporal Frank Schnell was evacuated with debilitating nerve pain.[13] PFC James T. Rainey, an 81mm mortarman, was more seriously hurt – much to the concern of his best buddy, PFC John C. Pope.
My heart stopped for a few seconds as I came to realize that I had until this moment never faced up to the reality that Jim could be killed at any time just like me. I was stunned.
After a while, I began to feel a sense of relief. Now maybe I could feel a degree of comfort in knowing he would be out of the war safely.[14]
As Rainey went to the rear, others were returning to duty. PFC Herbert B. Newman, a Baker Company BARman, took some shrapnel to the arm on 16 June – not a crippling wound, but a ticket to sick bay aboard a transport. Newman had no intentions of sitting out the battle aboard the USS Storm King – “I was pretty young and gung ho” – and after a day or two he volunteered for a working party on the beach. From there, he acquired a rifle and set off in search of his squad. After a lot of walking, asking questions, and peeping at the UNIS marks stenciled on uniforms, he reached the 4th Marine Division sector and finally caught up with Baker Company. “They released you from the hospital already?” asked a surprised Captain Cokin. “No sir, I deserted,” declared Newman. The young PFC worried about getting in trouble, but Cokin was more than happy to welcome Newman back. “When I rejoined, we only had about seventy-some people left out of two hundred.”[15]
All told, D-plus-5 was wildly successful for BLT 1-24, and the orders for the next day were to hold fast.
“We were never again to experience the concentrated pressure of those first four days,” recalled Fred Stott. “There were moments of equally great danger and overwhelming fatigue, but never again such a constant and intense strain. We advanced with renewed confidence and the certainty that the conquest of the island was no longer in doubt – only our physical stamina.”[16]
[1] “Action Report: First Battalion, 24th Marines Record of Events, 15 June – 9 July 1944″ (24 August 1944). Hereafter BLT 1-24 Report.
[2] Ibid. “1327: ‘A’ Co. has halftracks and are going to blast house.”
[3] Robert L. Williams, “In My Own Words,” interview conducted by Veteran Voices of Pittsburgh, March 12, 2014.
[4] Frederic A. Stott, “Saipan Under Fire” (Andover: Frederic Stott, 1945), 9.
[5] BLT 1-24 Report. This is the first time “no casualties” appears in the (admittedly spotty) narrative, which suggests that simply moving forward without difficulty was unusual.
[6] Stott, 10. Writing with the benefit of hindsight, Stott likened the defensive structures along Magicienne Bay to “the situation later encountered on Palau.”
[7] It was not at all unusual for these problems to fall to the rear echelon; there are several accounts of battalion HQ parties (who moved up behind the combat troops) running into these bypassed positions. Making the “flat rate bastards” deal with combat situations caused no small amount of satisfaction for the men of the line companies.
[8] George A. Smith, conversations with the author. Ervin’s nickname “MuMu” derived from a slang term for filariasis. He was so famously stone-faced that George, a former squad mate of Ervin’s, failed to recognize a photograph of MuMu smiling.
[9] Ervin had a close call on Namur, when a Japanese soldier popped out of a spider trap at his feet. The enemy bullet left a burn mark going up Ervin’s side but did not break the skin. Ervin killed the man but swallowed a mouthful of chewing tobacco in the process; he was more concerned about vomiting in front of his squad than his brush with death. Recounting this story, according to George Smith, was the only thing that got Ervin to laugh out loud.
[10] Ervin’s advancement over several senior candidates was due as much to Lt. Wood’s favor as anything else. It proved to be a good choice as the two made an excellent command pair and became close friends.
[11] Ervin was recommended for the Silver Star Medal, but the decoration was reduced after administrative review.
[12] BLT 1-24 Report.
[13] Schnell was diagnosed with sciatic neuritis and never returned to the battalion.
[14] John C. Pope, Angel On My Shoulder, Kindle eBook.
[15] Herbert Bowers Newman Collection (AFC/2001/001/08373), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[16] Stott, 10.
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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Kolar, Al Bernard | Charlie | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Naurot, James Bernard | Baker | PFC | Ammo Carrier | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right wrist | Not evacuated |
| Newman, Herbert Bowers | Baker | PFC | BARman | Returned To Duty | From hospital | To Baker Company |
| Paulini, Silvio Anthony | Charlie | Corporal | MG Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Rainey, James Thomas | Headquarters | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Schnell, Frank | Headquarters | Corporal | Lineman | Sick | Sciatic neuritis | Evacuated to USS Custer |
| Watkins, Robert Ernest | Baker | PFC | BARman | Returned To Duty | From hospital | To Baker Company |