With the 1st Marine Division on Peleliu:

[thedrifter]

With the 1st Marine Division on Peleliu:
The First Day


by Richard Bruce Watkins


Attacking a heavily defended hostile shore thousands of miles from home is a terrifying experience. In this ‘Sting of Battle’ entry, see the assault on the island of Peleliu through the eyes of an infantry platoon commander.

At Peleliu I was the commander of 1st Platoon, Company E, 2d Battalion, 1st Marines. On the morning of 15 September 1944, word came down to saddle up and load on the amtracs. The ship’s hold was full of gas fumes, even with the bow doors open, as we filed aboard our designated craft. The platoon guide renewed his prediction that the ramp on the back of the amtrac would stick and we would be forced to vault over the sides under fire, as had happened in rehearsals.


Hunched closely together as our amtrac rumbled forward, we could see the steep angle of the bow ramp and held our breath as we hit the water. It seemed we would surely submerge, but we soon righted ourselves and headed for the line of departure. Here we circled for a short time until the wave commander gave the signal. We straightened out in a line parallel to the beach and headed for the reef at top speed.


It is hard to describe the feeling of knowing that you will be first to set foot on a hostile shore. It is not unlike the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner” before a football game. You stand there waiting for the first whistle, desperately wanting to urinate, although you just have, and wanting the first hit to dispel that nervous state.


Although predictions were for a fast 2- or 3-day battle, like typical infantry, we didn’t believe it. We lurched and bobbed as we hit the reef. While still 500 yards from the beach, we passed a line of landing craft pouring rocket fire ahead of us. Although it was most impressive, we found that it could not reach the enemy in their well-dug fortifications. We all ducked behind the protective wall of our vehicle, thinking our last thoughts before the onslaught.


Lurching and groaning, our amtrac reached the beach and ran inland approximately 75 feet to the first line of battered trees and brush. The ramp did stick for one everlasting moment, and then we poured out both sides. We formed a line along the edge of the undergrowth, making contact with 3d Platoon on our right, and started forward. Behind us, amtracs in later waves were burning and mortars started to fall around us. The Japanese had survived the pounding and were up and firing.


Casualties from mortar fragments were plentiful, and 1st Platoon lost about six men in the first 100 yards. Still, we hadn’t seen an enemy soldier. At this point we came to a rise in the ground of about 10 feet on the southwest edge of the airfield. Looking over the embankment, I could see what appeared to be a line of trenches about 100 feet forward. We had now formed a reasonably organized front, and I waved to our platoon sergeant pointing out those trenches as our next objective.


Sprinting across this flat, open stretch, we received heavy machinegun fire from our left flank, the bullets whistling and ricocheting off the coral deck. We dived into the trenches and again consolidated a frontline. It was then that one of my Marines, a private first class, called me, “Lieutenant, help me—I can’t move.” Acting on instinct, I told the platoon sergeant to take charge, and I sprinted back to where the young Marine lay in the open stretch. He was shot through the thumb and thigh, his leg broken, hugging the ground as best he could. Scooping him up, I ran the last 50 feet to the embankment, sliding down in an awkward fashion. There I found our platoon guide on his back, holding his stomach, with blood all over himself. He asked me to check and see how bad it was. A bullet had torn through the flesh and muscle clear across at hip height, and it looked really bad. I told him it looked worse that it was, counting on his toughness to keep him going. I saw them both onto stretchers ready to be evacuated.


The run back to the platoon across the fire-swept 100 feet was accomplished at top speed. I’ve often wondered how many times the 100-yard dash record was broken that day. Our platoon sergeant had things under control, and we tied in with 3d Platoon who had just lost their lieutenant. Typically out in front of his men, he refused help when hit, knowing he was dying and not wanting to risk his men in a futile rescue attempt.

About 1300 word came to shift left along the wooded western border of the airfield. This was accomplished without further casualties. What was to be one of the strangest battles of the whole war began at approximately 1600. We were well dug in by then. Mostly we piled rocks and logs in front of us as there was no digging possible in the hard coral.


Out from the northern end of the airfield came a line of enemy tanks. It seemed to us that there were at least 40; however, later reports showed there were actually 13. They were light tanks, not heavily armored, each with a 37mm cannon and machineguns. Be that as it may, from the infantryman’s point of view, they were frightening. Some of the tanks carried soldiers on their backs. They concentrated their attack on our battalion front and that of 1st Battalion, 5th Marines on our right.


My first thought was of the new bazookas we had been issued (one per platoon). I called the Marine who had ours to come see me for instructions. The ammo carrier had been killed, and at this critical point there were just three bazooka rounds left. He proceeded to fire all three rapidly, scoring no hits. By this time, one tank had run through the 2d Platoon position, running over a Marine and straddling him and his flamethrower. However, he rose up behind it and was mainly responsible for its destruction by hitting it square on with flame as it stalled in the mud.


Another tank had reached a point approximately 60 feet in front of my 1st Platoon. I called for antitank rifle grenades, and the Marine who had them ran up to me—but instead of firing, he handed me his weapon. (Perhaps he felt the instructor could do better than the pupil). There was no time for discussion, and remembering our practice in Pavuvu with weak blank propellants, I aimed high. It formed a nice arc over the top of the tank. Adjusting on the next try, however, I was able to hit the right tread, stalling the tank. The platoon then poured everything we had at pointblank range, killing the occupants as they tried to exit the turret.


We watched, as if we were in a stadium, as other tanks were eliminated one by one, including several knocked out by our own Shermans—four of which had just come up to support the 5th Marines.


One instance in this battle will always stand out in our minds. Near the end, there was a general milling around at the far end of the airfield with our Shermans trying to zero in on the last three Japanese tanks. One of their tanks got behind one of ours and was blazing away at the back of the Sherman. I remember screaming at our tank to look back (of course, there was no way for him to hear), when suddenly the Sherman’s turret swiveled 180 degrees and let loose a 75mm round that blew the turret right off the Japanese tank. It continued to run for a ways like a beheaded chicken.


We spent the hours of darkness crouching against the occasional mortar bursts and expecting any moment to have to fend off a major attack by infantry. We ate the one K-ration issued and tried to make the water in the last of our two canteens last until dawn. Communications had been severely damaged, and we knew little of what was going on in other units. Dawn would soon reveal new problems.

>Mr. Watkins commanded a platoon on Peleliu and a rifle company on Okinawa. He is currently in the furniture repair business in Manchester, CT.


>>This “Sting of Battle” entry was taken from a self-memoir submitted to the Oral History Unit, History Division, Marine Corps University, and was provided to MCG by Maj Fred Allison, USMC(Ret).

http://www.mca-marines.org/Gazette/sting.html


Ellie

[Lock-n-Load]

Ellie...Kudos to you...Marine General Officers from the Joints Chiefs of Staff, Pentagon and the Commandants who resided at Quantico...all rate Pfc Gene Sledge's book: "With The Old Breed"...as the greatest rendition of combat ever written about the island-hopping campaigns during WW2 in the Pacific...Marine Corps historian Colonel, Joe Alexander, often seen on History Channel also agrees...Sledge's unique style of prose has never been surpassed...Sledge went on to the North China campaign [1945-1947] as a grunt in the 1st Marine Div FMF where firefights were often vs Chinese Communists in that mountainous sector...he was encouraged by his Marine comrades to write a book about the North China occupation...he did, and it's entitled, "China Marine"...Pfc Sledge's books can be purchased from the 1st Marine Division Assoc PX for $34.50 [each]. Semper Fi