Personal Histories of World War II in the Marianas

Since our landing on Saipan, it had been apparent to the Japanese that Tinian would be the next objective. Our warships and planes had bombed it daily and aerial reconnaissance had been conducted over all parts of the island. It was no secret that we were getting ready to add Tinian to our list of Marianas bases. The enemy, therefore, had more than a month to strengthen and add to his defensive positions.

Jig-day was set for July 24, 1944. To the Fourth Division went the task of making the assault landing. The Second Division was to land on J plus 1, and the U.S. Army’s Twenty-seventh Division was to be held on Saipan in reserve. Marines will remember their surprise when the operation maps were first unfolded. The two beaches selected for the landing were but 65 and 130 yards wide. It seemed impossible that an entire division could be put ashore, against opposition, on these two tiny stretches of sand. Never in the course of the Pacific war had a unit of division strength tried to land on any beach smaller than twice the size of these two combined.

It was precisely this fact, that the landing seemed impossible, upon which the generals counted to fool the enemy. We expected them to devote their main effort to defending the larger and more accessible beach at Tinian Town, on the southern half of the island. We would, so to speak, sneak in the back door. Everything indicated that the Japanese believed the White Beaches on the northwestern side of the island to be too small to accommodate our heavy equipment, tanks, artillery, bulldozers, and trucks. With an estimated 9,000 troops to defend the island, which was approximately 25 square miles smaller than Saipan, the enemy would be forced to commit the main body of his troops at one or the other end of the island.

Aerial reconnaissance showed that the enemy was devoting most of his defensive preparations to the beaches at Tinian Town, working at night to construct numerous bunkers, pillboxes, and trenches. There was evidence that the beach was heavily mined. The streets of Tinian Town were fortified by an intricate system of bunkers which commanded all streets and intersections. We encouraged the defenders in their belief by concentrating most of our day-to-day bombardment on the town and its beaches. Landing undetected from rubber boats on the nights of July 10 and 11, scouts from the Fifth Amphibious Corps Reconnaissance Battalion found that Beaches White 1 and 2 were very lightly defended and that the rough coral ledges on each side of the sandy portion of the beaches could be surmounted by foot troops, thus extending the width of the landing areas one or two hundred yards.

To the naked eye, Tinian was truly an “island of mystery.” Lying just south of Saipan and separated from it by only three miles of water, it was under continuous aerial observation. Yet it might as well have been unpopulated, for our planes flew at treetop level without observing a single living thing. Even the thousands of civilians, joining in the enemy’s game of “hide and seek,” had literally moved underground. On our part, no effort was spared to destroy all known Japanese defenses. Beginning with the strike by Task Force 58 on June 11, the destruction rained on Tinian increased steadily. Japanese shore batteries replied, and on occasion several of our warships were damaged. At the end of the Battle for Saipan, as many as 13 battalions of 105mm and 155mm howitzer guns were set up on the southern shores of that island, and massed fire was brought to bear against targets on Tinian. Our planes, flying from Aslito Airfield, and warships of Task Force 58 systematically demolished Tinian’s two completed airfields and left its town a mass of smoking rubble. Napalm incendiary bombs were used for the first time with good effect. An official statement from G-3 of the Expeditionary Troops Report later declared, “The preparatory bombardment delivered on Tinian prior to the landings exceeded in duration and deliberate destructiveness any previous preparation of the Pacific War.”

The plan of the landing called for Regimental Combat Team Twenty-four to go ashore in a column of battalions on Beach White 1, the northernmost and smallest of the two beaches, while Regimental Combat Team Twenty-five was to land on White 2, some few hundred yards to the south. Regimental Combat Team Twenty-three, held in immediate reserve, was to come in on Jig-Day after the assault troops had established the beachhead. The Fourteenth Marines would also land on Jig-day, four battalions of 75mm howitzers having been pre-loaded in DUKWs (amphibian trucks). The Second Division was to conduct a diversionary demonstration off Tinian Town. To enable tanks and trucks to negotiate the rocky, steep beaches, pontoon causeways and special ramps built by Seabees during the Battle for Saipan were to be brought over in LVTs and LCVPs.

H-hour was at 0740. Long before, waves of LVTs had assembled behind the line of departure. The day promised to be bright and sunny after a night of rain in which troops, sleeping on the decks of the LSTs, had been soaked. Smoke from the bombardment completely obscured the beaches, and when the boats were waved over the line of departure, guide planes overhead led the way. Thirty LCI gunboats laid down a wall of rocket and automatic weapon fire. Never, perhaps, had there been more apprehension in the minds of the men making an assault landing. They remembered the heavy mortar and artillery fire that had greeted them on Saipan. They knew, too, that if the Japanese had not been fooled, if the enemy had anticipated our ruse and zeroed in artillery and mortars on the narrow beaches, the landing would be very difficult. It would be like walking into a trap.

Such, however, was not to be the case. Opposition was officially “light” on White 1 and “moderate” on White 2. Occasional rifle and machine gun fire and desultory mortar fire was the only opposition the two assault regiments encountered. The bulk of Colonel Ogata’s troops, excellently trained and well-equipped veterans of the Manchurian fighting, waited behind their defenses at Tinian Town while we walked ashore on the two “impossible” beaches far to the north. Against such light opposition, our troops moved in rapidly. Supplies, preloaded in AMTRAKs and DUKWs, were brought directly to inland dumps. Tanks, routed to White 1 because of mines on White 2, negotiated the sharp ledge by means of the cleverly constructed ramps and were soon supporting the infantry. Four battalions of 75mm howitzers were ashore and were firing by 1635. The whole Division had landed within nine hours.

At 1730 the order came to consolidate positions for the night and to prepare for the expected counterattack. A beachhead 4000 yards wide and 2000 yards deep had been seized. And the cost? Fifteen were killed and 150 wounded—an unbelievably small price to pay for the achievement. But what followed will probably live in the memory of Fourth Division Marines as a tougher fight than any single battle on Saipan. Indeed, the Japanese counterattack, for all practical purposes, was the Battle for Tinian. For when it ended, all the heavy fighting was over. Japan’s best troops had been decimated. This was no wild, unorganized attack, made in desperation, but a well-planned and carefully executed counterattack which had for its purpose the total destruction of our beachhead. Greener troops might have given way, but Marines of the Fourth Division were real veterans now and took in their stride the best the Japanese could offer.

The attack was directed at several points of our perimeter defense simultaneously. At 0330 on July 25, moving north along the main road leading from Tinian Town, clattered six Japanese tanks with infantry clustered on them, and more soldiers following on foot. Previously, Japanese artillery had opened up on our beachhead. Marines had been alerted for the attack; all along the line 37mm gun crews, with canisters and AP shells ready, lay in wait. Bazookamen were stationed at every likely tank approach. Suddenly, listening posts ahead of the Twenty-third’s lines heard the rumble of tanks and relayed their approximate location to our artillery. The tanks were 400 yards away when the artillery opened up. Still the tanks came on. Then our antitank guns went into action.

Lt. Jim G. Lucas, the Division’s Assistant Public Relations Officer who was with the Twenty-third that night, vividly described what followed: “The three lead tanks broke through our wall of fire. One began to glow blood red, turned crazily on its tracks, and careened into a ditch. A second, mortally wounded, turned its machine guns on its tormentors, firing into the ditches in a last desperate effort to fight its way free. One hundred yards more and it stopped dead in its tracks. The third tried frantically to turn and then retreat, but our men closed in, literally blasting it apart. Bazookas knocked out the fourth tank with a direct hit which killed the driver. The rest of the crew piled out of the turret, screaming. The fifth tank, completely surrounded, attempted to flee. Bazookas made short work of it. Another hit set it afire, and its crew was cremated.”

Despite the shattering of their spearhead, Japanese infantry kept coming and were soon fighting at close quarters with the Second Battalion, Twenty-third. Thirty-seven mm guns sprayed canister shot point blank at the incoming waves. Machine guns rattled incessantly at the wildly charging Japanese; bodies piled up by the dozen in every fire lane. But Marines took their share of punishment too. The Twenty-fifth, holding the center sector, was having its own fight. When the first indications of an attack were felt, two machine guns, manned by Private First Class Orville H. Showers and Corporal Alfred J. Daigle, were out in front and on the flank of their company. They saw a great number of troops moving toward them across a field. Showers and Daigle held their fire until the enemy was 100 yards away, then opened up with everything they had. The Japanese charged, screaming “Banzai!,” firing light machine guns and throwing hand grenades. It seemed impossible that the two Marines, far ahead of their own lines, could hold on. Yet they killed most of the charging enemy.

The second wave came in, more than 200 charging Japanese troops. Back on the main line of defense, Marines could hear the machine guns, their barrels red hot, blazing away. They knew that Showers and Daigle were taking the brunt of the attack. The two men could have withdrawn to their own lines, no one would have blamed them, but they chose to stick by their guns. Then the guns of Showers and Daigle stopped firing. The next morning Marines found the two men slumped over their weapons, dead. No less than 251 Japanese bodies were piled in front of them. For heroic action against the enemy, the Navy Cross was awarded posthumously to Corporal Daigle, and the Silver Star to PFC Showers. Stories like this, with variations, happened all along the line.

Daylight on July 26 revealed the extent of the Japanese carnage along the Division front: 1,241 bodies were counted, and an estimated 700 or 800 others had been retrieved by their comrades. The loss of at least one-fifth of the Japanese effective strength in one night broke the back of the defense of Tinian. From then on the remaining troops were capable of only the most dazed and weak resistance. Three airfields, a dozen prepared strongpoints, Tinian Town itself, fell with no more than token resistance. Airfield No. 1 was quickly repaired and used for landing ammunition and medical supplies from Saipan and evacuating wounded from Tinian. Planes based on Aslito Airfield continued to give close tactical support to the ground troops. The value of tanks was especially evident on Tinian, where flat fields and a good road system permitted them freedom to maneuver. Spearheading the infantry advance, they poured machine gun and cannon fire into cane fields, thickets, and buildings. One partially destroyed, innocent-looking farmhouse, blasted by our tanks, replied with machine gun fire. When troops finally closed in they found more than 40 Japanese soldiers. The “farmhouse” proved to be a carefully camouflaged blockhouse mounting 40mm guns.

The enemy retreated to the formidable cliff south of Tinian Town for a last-ditch stand. During the early morning hours of July 31, a tank-led counterattack of company strength hit the Twenty-fourth Regiment. It was quickly repulsed, but mortar fire continued all along the front. In a determined effort to seize the ridge, the Marine command decided to launch an all-out attack that morning. Two battleships, a heavy cruiser, 2 light cruisers, 14 destroyers, 112 planes, and 11 battalions of artillery unloaded everything they had on the ridge, from dawn until 0830. There was progressively stronger resistance. Caves, antitank guns, and mine fields were encountered in greater numbers than at any time since the landing. The cliff itself constituted a formidable obstacle, and the terrain was the most rugged on the island. Tanks could give little support. Added to this difficulty was the fact that nearly all of Tinian’s several thousand civilians had fled to this section.

Despite the opposition, U.S. troops succeeded in wiping out all pockets of resistance, and by August 1 had reached the plateau on the other side of the ridge. At 1855 on that same day, Tinian was officially declared secured. Officially, the battle had lasted nine days.

Actually, the last and most dramatic battle was yet to be fought—without the firing of a shot. It was fought against Japanese military fanaticism, to save civilians from a ghastly suicide “ceremony” planned by their own troops. Our weapon was a public address system mounted on a Jeep. From the plateau directed toward the 200-foot cliff, where scores of caves held thousands of civilians, Lt. Ralph Haas, Commanding Officer of the First Battalion, Twenty-third Marines, ordered the Jeep, with a protective screen of tanks, halftracks, and infantry, to advance to the edge of the plain. An interpreter told the unseen thousands that the battle was over, that American troops would give them food, water, and medical care.

A handful of civilians straggled out of the caves. They came out cautiously, saw our tanks, and wondered if it was a ruse. Most of them remained huddled together on the plain a few hundred yards away. A few broke off and wandered toward us. When they came in, we fed them and gave them water. One of them, who had been superintendent of the sugar refinery on Tinian, volunteered to address his fellow citizens. After he had spoken, his wife also made an appeal, telling them they would not be harmed. At this, many more streamed out of the caves and over to us.

Then it was noticed that several Japanese soldiers had joined the civilian group, attempting to dissuade it from surrendering. As Marines watched in amazement, one of the soldiers leaped off the cliff into the sea, a sheer drop of more than 100 feet. In a few minute another jumped. For half an hour the suicide leaps of the soldiers continued. In the caves overhead, the intermittent “poof” and gray smoke of hand grenades told of other Japanese who preferred that form of suicide. The drama was coming to its bizarre conclusion. Seven Japanese soldiers had succeeded in gathering a group of 35 to 40 civilians about them. Marines looked on helplessly as two of the soldiers tied the group together with a long rope. Suddenly, a puff of smoke from a grenade went up from among the tightly packed group. But this was only the beginning; the grenade had been used to detonate a larger charge of high explosives. A terrific blast shook the ground. The bodies of the victims were blown 25 feet in the air. Arms, legs, and hands were scattered across the plain. The remaining soldiers committed suicide with grenades. This seemingly broke the spell; hundreds of civilians now made for our lines.

(From “Tinian, Home of the Enola Gay,” Division History, the Fourth Marine Division Association, www.fightingfourth.com. Used by permission.)