forward
"There she was. All 16 feet 6 inches of monster. She was, compared to heavier tanks which looked like fighting machines, well, different; this one had final drive sprockets, boggy wheels, spare track sections, boxes, cables, and two bars attached to the hull disguising the similar outline of sister tanks which carried 75mm cannons with destructive power. A pipe frame shaped like an A lay back over the body of the tank and gave her an outline that would attract Japanese gunners who probably thought her a special weapon they didn't want to face.
"What gave her a bit less overall grace to the outline was an 81mm mortar mounted up front, just ahead of the stationary turret. The mortar pointed upward, and along with two machine guns she had a semblance, not of dignity, but of weird appearance. There was, however, the dignity of belonging to a real Marine tank unit. No tank unit would or could be without her or one just like her.
"We kept the name someone had already given: The Almighty. We were not being disrespectful or blasphemous. We were just sure we had the best tank retriever in the Marine Corps and we could do anything anyone asked of us. It was said they gave her the name because she contained the strength to care for the other tanks in her charge.
"I had been sent to a line company to learn how to fire a mortar. I got fairly good at it. Good enough for the platform factory-built on The Almighty; if the Japanese defending any of our final objectives decided to shoot at us from some hidden position while we were rescuing other tanks in distress, well, I could answer them with some firepower of our own.
"The Almighty did not have a cannon. Under the welded-in-place turret, where the gun would ordinarily be, was a cable hatch and on the sides were long stemmed arms that extended out so we could snag onto a disabled tank and haul it back to base to be repaired.
"Tanks come in all sizes and varieties. I started out in a basic vehicle without radio or communication gear. We waved flags at one another.
"But, with The Almighty, I was miles from that old stuff. And we were determined to do our duty. Do it right. And come home safely.
"Lora was waiting for me. I had to get home safely."
* * * * * *
This is the story of a Marine who lived through all the battles, including Iwo Jima. The story is told through the eyes of Lyle Radeleff. It omits the traditional epic of boot camp and how Marines are treated. We all know the serio-comic traditions of mistreating and then recovering, somehow, -- truth be known, by pixie dust and magic peanut butter -- the souls of men who were beaten into submission.
Boot Camp.
It is not the same anywhere else except the Marine Corps. Yes, some army?s are meaner and actually maim or disfigure the men they are charged to train. But no one does it better than the Marine Corps who take in a 200 pound blowhard and turn him into a 170 pound confident young man; or, a 150 pound naive youngster and turn him into a 180 pound fighting machine. No one does it better.
No one.
Given the above, this story of and by Lyle Radeleff continues with a brief stop in New Zealand, Guadalcanal, Bouganville, Guam, and eventually the final destination of many fine young sons of America.
Iwo Jima, Volcano I., as National Geographic names it.
Lyle Radeleff assures that there is little left to the imagination, so the words and music are an opera of confusion as well as organization. And most of all, manhood at its finest.
As Admiral Yamamoto said shortly after informed of the results of the attack on Pearl Harbor, "I fear we have...wakened a sleeping giant and filled it with a terrible resolve."
Lyle Radeleff was a young man when he started this epic, but soon he was to become a hardened veteran, only a few years older, of the Pacific campaign. His actions were directed by the men about him. He was only a small part of the war effort, however. There were millions like him who spent their years as the body of the sleeping giant being filled with that terrible resolve.
And Lyle found those with power of life and death over the men they commanded were not always clad in starched khaki, stiff herringbone green utilities, or other flag rank finery. These men with stars on their collars were, at the most private of times, wore uniforms of open flying bathrobes with green skivvies over unlaced flapping boondockers. They often looked just like the rest of the Marines, except for the robe, peeing in a bamboo piss tube and crapping through a hole in a plank. The toilet paper was the same for enlisted as well as officers; and, even flag rank officers had to use toilet paper.
Lyle Radeleff never knew a Marine who wore a robe except for a general officer.
PFC Radeleff thought it a nice touch in the middle of the jungle in the dark of the pre-dawn when nature called.
The story Lyle Radeleff tells has nothing to do with strategic plans, manpower development, supplies, or war materials. It is, however, the story of one man and his experience in war; and the way it affected him on a level far below that of general officers and admirals who guided the military machine to final victory.
So, everything they decided made his life revolve around defeat of an enemy Lyle never knew before and survival from a life he certainly didn?t want to know again.
He never disagreed with the orders he was given. Like some child who trusts Dad, Lyle expected those above him to be sure he was safe. And he never regretted the decision to listen to the orders. Unlike the Japanese who were issued orders and died at the hands of the Americans because of the code of Bushido, Lyle Radeleff lived because, from the Company Commander all the way to CinCPac, those charged with his safe passage believed it was better to fight and live than to fight just to die.
Lyle Radeleff is the hero of this story. He lives and tells everything he knows about surviving. Mortar rounds that sprayed sand over his girl friend's picture while he huddled under the tank for safety or as he was doing a bowel movement in the face of vicious Japanese mortar attacks. He survived a Japanese Kamikaze airplane attack and lived through a mortar barrage while he bathed naked in a freshwater pool on Bouganville. He saw the big meatball as the Japanese Kamikaze slammed into the LST 477 on the way to Iwo and scrambled ashore where every inch of the beach was charted by Japanese gunners.
Every word of this has authenticity on its side. The things Lyle Radeleff says are virtually exactly as he said them over fifty years ago. The words of others are as clear as he can remember them. And, as seen by the action reports and pictures, he recalls in vivid detail the events as they occurred.
Lyle Radeleff is guileless. He says things and he doesn't equivocate. That is not to say he remembers every detail exactly, but it does say that he never once tells you something just to invent.
The story is pure tanker. You may have heard words from ground pounders who have tales of hell and fury.
But this story is of a man who experienced war from a different perspective. He wasn't a plan maker nor was he involved in the broader spectrum.
Radeleff just did his job and did it well. If there are others who did theirs better, well that is where Lyle Radeleff sends his praises. He does not believe he is a hero, nor does he believe he deserves more than he received. He does believe in his cause and you will know he is a patriot and one who served his country well.
The Marine tank and tank retrievers are described in the story. But the Japanese tanks were there too.
The Japanese army had three different tanks. The light tank was of Mitsubishi design and manufacture. It carried a 37mm gun with two 7.7mm machine guns. The Type 97 traveled at a maximum of 28 miles per hour and had 12mm density armor plating. The Type 97 was only 14'4" and the most widely used tank type vehicle the Americans encountered.
The medium tank was a Type 89. This Mitusbishi product was first introduced in 1929 and served throughout the war. Though it was maneuverable it had only 17mm density armor plating -- about 3/4 of an inch. The main battle gun was 57mm and since the device could not fire AP projectiles it was virtually useless after the China campaign.
A Type 97 tank was designed and hurriedly built to meet the challenge of the Sherman M4A2. The Japanese mounted a 76mm cannon on the Type 97, but with only 30mm protection -- about an inch and 1/8th -- it still was not equal to anything the Americans used as far as crew safety was concerned.
The heavy tank was introduced in 1933. The monster was 18 tons and had a 70mm cannon. The protective armor was still only 15mm and later increased to 20mm. Though it served in the war it was not widely used and when hit it died virtually in its tracks.
The replacement was a Type 91 with a 70mm cannon backed by a 37mm "cannon" and 7.7mm machine gun. The armor plate was only 15mm thick and could not repel a .50 caliber machine gun projectile. The engine was a huge 290 horsepower diesel which pushed the 26 tons at a top speed of 28 miles per hour.
Every tank the Japanese offered up was inferior to the American Sherman in one way or another: fire power or armorment. The Sherman was the workhorse of all of the American military and served with distinction throughout the war in every theater of operations.
Outgunned in many ways the Sherman was, however, stalwart and sturdy. No Marine had to apologize for their Sherman.
The Marines thought the Sherman was their type of vehicle; it was light, extremely mobile, and well gunned for the type of mission they were called upon to perform.
The Marines asked for no other tank until they bogged down in Korea and there were no replacement parts for the old War Horse. But that's another story for another time.
FROM DELANO TO IWO
(There is music for a riot)
by
Lyle Radeleff
as told to Olin Thompson
He left for the final battle of his war with the Japanese. The island was far away. Some 380 miles from Guam aboard the LST 477.
That was February 16, 1945. Four days and nearly 400 miles later the LST 477 arrived on sight of one of the most furious battles in the war.
The military records of Lyle Radeleff merely state:
Embarked aboard the L.S.T. #477 at Guam,
Marianas I., on 12Feb45 and sailed therefrom
on Feb 16 45. Arrived at Iwo Jima, Vocano I.,
on Feb 20 1945, disembarked and participated in
the invasion against Japanese forces on Feb 24 45
/s/ Norton E. Curry
NORTON E. CURRY,
lstLt., USMCR
That tells little or nothing about the actions of Lyle Radeleff during the fateful days.
Before that, however, there had been a trek which began in the central valley of California. Delano. There the wind blows and when it isn't blowing it's gusting. Where sand scours cars; and, windshields have a sparkle to them from pits made by tiny grains of sand which hammer away at the glass. Where the sun shines and shines and shines. Delano is the center of the vegetable and fruit capital of, perhaps, the whole world.
When one wakes in Delano they find a peaceful scene of sublime nature surrounding each home. The people have a sort of purity there. And simplicity. And life is not complicated by world affairs or politics outside of finding enough water to irrigate the crops.
Lyle Radeleff was just another boy from Delano. It goes without saying that Lyle never fought anything except play-ground wars and combat in the street over a football or misshapen soft ball. His bike was not rusty because there is little rain to ruin the paint. His life is as simple as it gets for a 17 year old in the local high school where he imagines his future to be somewhere in the sky.
But, to tell Lyle's story, that the battle for Iwo was a majestic fight to secure enemy land and provide a haven for wounded airplanes and injured men inside them, is merely to state an urgent dream. This does little to describe the indomitable courage that men displayed for all those days while they fought a determined and desperate foe.
During these insane times the American people disparaged the Japanese soldier with caricatures which displayed the enemy as sniveling and sinister. It was said the buck toothed demon of the Pacific could be conquered in an easy war of only a few months. Later that was changed to a year. And at the end many Americans were dismayed at the ferocity and determination of the Japanese soldier.
With later "wars" or conflicts, the Americans would be able to train, plan, and prepare for the coming events using computers to perfect the operations. But, for the island campaign there was no time to train, run through, or set up computer demonstrations of "what if."
The war was carried on analogous to a chess table with predetermined strategy and limited time. The White chessmen moved inexorably toward the Black chessmen's end and check mate.
When Lyle Radeleff was a Senior in his High School in December of 1941, as he recalls, "Hatred for the Japanese was intense in Delano, with rumors of all kinds rampant all around town. The Japanese had also attacked the Philipine Islands and there being hundreds of Philipino farm workers in our area, they were out to cut the throats of all Japanese. Rumors spread of secret Japanese messages mowed or plowed into Japanese farm land. Even rumors that arrows were cut into Japanese gardens pointing the way for Japanese airplanes to military installations was spread around."
Of course these claims turned out to be nonsense and nothing ever came of the false reports. However, Lyle knew too well, even at his age, this hysteria was nothing one could merely sneer at and turn away from.
He tells, "News traveled slow in 1941. It was about three day's before the full news of Pearl Harbor casualties came out and with that, sentiments against the Japanese grew all the more."
And, even as war was declared on December 8, he remembers hearing the sounds of military aircraft flying overhead. The roar of their motors is as real in his ears today as it was then.
In actuality, while Lyle Radeleff listened to the planes fly north toward San Francisco, the Japanese offensive had begun against the Philipines.
Japanese airplanes attacked north of Luzon on a small outpost of men at a place called Bataan Island. A landing force of Japanese followed by engineers soon overran the lightly defended garrison and shortly the invaders began to construct an airfield.
The new-comers made quick work of the outpost and put the Philipines in great risk. The ground fog and bad weather dissipated over Formosa, so the Japanese began an air assault on the Philipine mainland. Over 200 land based and more than 20 carrier based airplanes attacked the airfields which the Americans used to defend the Philipine Islands.
The reports tell of all but seventeen B-17 aircraft and less than a hundred fighter planes remained after the first wave of victory minded Japanese.
On that same day a landing force of Japanese left the island of Palau to invade the Philipines.
General MacArthur has 130,000 men to defend his position -- approximately 10 divisions. 20,000 of these are Americans and the others from the Phillipino army.
And even with the war just on the horizon for many years these men are still poorly equipped and lightly armed. No blame can be placed for the lack of preparation, but let it be said the Philipines were no priority in a frugal minded American Congress. The few tanks the Philipine Army had, and the U. S. Army as well, were mostly old Lee and Grant types, years out of date and almost useless in the jungle terrain.
Still, on the date the Japanese raised the war's ante with the assault on the Philipines, President Roosevelt decried the treachery and the infamy.
Without a properly disposed army, there was no way either MacArthur or General Wainwright's Northern Luzon Force -- or General Parker's smaller Southern Luzon Force -- could stall a major Japanese offensive.
Lyle Radeleff listened to the President without any idea of what was going on at the distant land called, on classroom maps, The Philipine Islands.
Lyle went home after school and contemplated his choices.
And at virtually that same time Japanese planners mounted a consequential action against a small island which dominates a tiny spot in the middle of the Japanese planned Area of Cooperation.
Wake.
There is no harsher story of the urgency of the Japanese cause than the attack on this small Pacific Ocean outpost manned by a few underarmed and outnumbered Marines. The airplanes they flew were old and meaningless in the scheme of things. The U.S. Navy' Hellcat was obsolete and first generation -- light armor and hand operated landing gear.
With the departure of the Pan Am flight on that fateful day the doom of the island and the men there was sealed. Only three men on the island were reported to have the newest M-1 rifle. Everyone else used the old Springfield O-3.
Lyle Radeleff would know none of that, but still he wanted to meet the Japanese.
Hong Kong was the next to fall to the spirit of Bushido. The 38th Division attacked at the go-to-work hour and since the commanding general of the British garrison had hardly a regiment plus a few there was little he could do to defend the mainland post. Less than thirty field artillery pieces formed what was not lovingly known as The Gin-drinkers Line. However, the men held off the determined Japanese divisions for two whole days. Hardly time enough to grab the last case of Gilbeys or Bombay and run for shelter.
And then there was Shanghai and all the stories are true. Even the invented ones.
Lyle Radeleff knew of none of this. Yet. And his fervor to join up and fight remained high.
"The Greyhound Bus Line one night had a slide travel show at the high school auditorium. A program showing all the places that you could travel to on their bus line," he said. The bus line, at that time, was nearly as important as airlines are two generations later.
"Mother, Dad, and I went to the program which was free and they handed out numbered tickets when you entered. The presenter used a cricket," a small snapping noise device, "everytime the man wanted the projectionist to change the slide." After the show there was a drawing for 500 free miles of travel. The trick was that it was one way, non-refundable, and mileage couldn't be saved.
Lyle Radeleff won, but that presented a bit of a problem; Lyle didn't want to use up all the miles. He had already decided to go to Bakersfield to see the Marine recruiter at the Post Office.
"I want to enlist," he told the Sergeant.
Later he confessed, "I knew that I'd thrown away 470 miles of Greyhound bus travel on the one way ticket."
Marine recruiter Staff Sergeant Arthur R. Hendricks completed all the preliminary information and then advised Lyle, "Finish high school and graduate. Then come see me after that."
"I took a few moments to digest the information, decided I could wait, and agreed. Besides," Lyle said with a wry smile, "I was two months too young to enlist anyhow."
It wasn't as if Lyle Radeleff was in a hurry to die; but he did feel he ought to fight. His patriotism told him he had to go to war.
There was nothing he could tell his mother. She wouldn't understand him any better than other mothers would understand their boys. Every mother since the beginning of time has wrestled with the idea that they might lose their sons in battle. It would be no different for Lyle's mother.
"Charley," she said to her husband through the back screen door after Lyle committed to the Marines, "do you know what this crazy kid did?"
Lyle recalled, "Dad didn't say anything. He'd just come home from his blacksmith shop and had finished cleaning himself up. The thoughts were heavy, though, as anyone could plainly see."
"He just joined the Marines," Lyle's mother announced without hesitating long enough for his father to reply.
Lyle said, "Well, I don't have to go until the day after I graduate." He hoped that would hold them.
But he wasn't sure it was good enough for his Mom.
On December 9, the Japanese landed on the tiny island Kota Bhura, in oil rich Sumatra and coordinated that with landings on the coast at Singora, and Pattani on the Malaysian peninsula of Siam (Thailand). There the Japanese overwhelmed the defenders of Bankok and occupied the major buildings and ousted the government.
The next two days were particularly eventful and filled the history books with firsts.
A Japanese submarine reported the location of the two British capital ships Prince of Wales and Repulse. Instantly the Commanding Officers both request air cover, however the ships are too far north to receive the assistance and when Admiral Philips discovers that, well, it was too late.
In the early morning of December 10, 1941 a swarm of Japanese planes descend on the two vessels and after fierce action the ships are sunk.
Aviation is the deciding factor.
It took less time than a long lunch at a white napkin table setting in the Officers' Ward Room of either of the behemoths for the Japanese to dispatch these ships.
And, worst of all, it left the whole South China Sea, and the Pacific in general, without a single battlewagon.
Lyle must have read the news reports, but they were to come late; not like today with instant news from media in the trenches with the men.
At the time it must have seemed as if the world were coming apart and Lyle Radeleff was a part of that disintigration. He didn't know what it was, but he felt something was terribly wrong. He hoped that when he graduated from high school the Marines would still be able to use him.
"Every day someone would come up to me with a comment about me jumping into the war too quickly," Lyle said. "Mr. Drennen, my drafting teacher, approached me one day and reminded me how strict the Marines were and then made a remark about me chewing my fingernails."
Drennen said, in what sounded like a serious tone, "Lyle, they don't like you to bite your fingernails. They might not accept you in Los Angeles if they see it."
"I didn't want biting my nails to prevent me from signing my final papers. I stopped the habit at that very moment." The high school student meant it. Lyle quite right then with some pride.
As if by call from Lyle that he was ready, the Japanese sent four divisions over a thousand miles through the jungles of Malaysia, through infested swamps and disease ridden trackless forests -- places no man had ever seen -- and through what must have been every difficulty known to man. The Japanese soldiers walked while they pulled, carried, and pushed their rations, field guns, and war materials with them. And then they walked some more.
When the Japanese finally knocked on the back door of Singapore -- with its guns pointed seaward -- the British saw they had no hope to survive the assault, so, they gave in.
"Yes, like all the rest I joined the Marine Corps with a noble purpose in mind. I cannot tell you exactly what that purpose was except the Japanese had done, according to the news accounts, some very bad things to ordinary and unsuspecting people. These people were much like you and me as they ate their breakfast and prepared to go to work, church, or just out to a picnic with their families."
At least that's the story the radio broadcast.
"I was in high school and wondered. I wondered hard and long about what I should do. I knew I was not old enough to defend my country. But I wanted to. I was told, by that handsome Marine in blue trousers with a red stripe up the side, to wait a couple of months. At least until I graduated from high school.
"That seemed reasonable to me," Lyle Radeleff thought aloud in his quiet and simple way.
The days ran away from Lyle Radeleff as he finished school, made final plans, and joined the Marine Corps; he felt his life whirl about him.
"I was not scared, but I was anxious," he recalls. Other things happened to make the year memorable. The school cancelled the Junior-Senior Prom and Lyle's yearbook was signed by friends who stressed the fun they had had in the past. He looked at the names and they were all kids he had gone to school with since the first grade. There was a finality about the ritual of signing the pictures in the yearbook.
"We practiced for the graduation ceremonial march and I found out that two girls were trying to march onto and off the stage with me. The fuss made me feel great." He smiled at the memory. "If there is anything to make a boy feel great it's havin' two girls fuss over who'd walk with you."
Sergeant Hendricks, the Marine Recruiting Sergeant, stopped by the house several times to see how Lyle was doing.
Lyle said, "I realized then that I'd likely never see some of my close friends who I had gone through school with."
Lyle never seemed to recognize that Hendricks was securing the recruit to the Marine Corps and wasn't about to let the boy change his mind and move to the Army or Navy. Not if Hendricks had anything to say about it. He needed the recruits to fill a quota and Lyle Radeleff was a part of that quota.
But neither did Lyle appear to be afraid of the future.
And on June 3, 1942 Lyle Radeleff graduated, told his pals goodbye, and walked to the bus for Bakersfield.
The Midway Invasion Group headed by Admiral Yamamoto and his heavy task force, loaded for bear and hunting, was discovered by a flying boat recon. B-17s from the tiny garrison at Midway were unsuccessful in their excursion to find the fleet and destroy it.
The next day, June 4, 1942, a fateful Friday, the Japanese launched 108 planes to attack Midway. The island defenders sent a group of their airplanes to meet the invasion fleet.
The Americans were dispatched easily by faster and more maneuverable Japanese aircraft. But, according to Japanese Naval History, the attack on Midway failed to produce any significant damage to the island, its infrastructure, or the military plant itself.
Admiral Nagumo and his huge aircraft carrier fleet continued to steer for Midway and a second strike. Then, suddenly, confusion on the decks cost the Japanese dearly when the American aircraft carriers appeared as if out of nowhere and destroyed the main Japanese battle force and deflected the invasion of Midway.
History is replete with stories of heroism and sacrifice by determined and selfless American Naval fliers.
The Japanese too must have had their heroes, but this story is about another, an American Marine, a warrior named Lyle Radeleff.
Lyle arrived at San Diego Marine Corps Recruit Depot at 0230 on June 5, 1942.
He went through all the seriousness the Marine Corps demands of raw recruits, reshaping them into men who will fight and hopefully not die at a command, cut will if necessary.
And while learning how to fight and die, Radeleff also learned quickly about receiving cookies from Momma.
He never asked for them again.
The time didn't pass quickly enough, but after 58 days the men of Platoon 456 were sent to basic Infantry Training Regiment and taught more about how to fight -- and die -- for their country.
September 1, 1942 Private Radeleff and a cluster of other young Marines gathered at the MCRD flag pole. They had been assigned to the Casual Company and had swept the Commanding General's "sandy areas" clean so there were no foot prints for the general's lady to see.
"At least that was what I heard we were there for," Lyle said with that sly grin he has become famous for.
"I did mess duty too, but sweeping the sandy areas around the CG's quarters probably saved me from being sent to some distant war zone as a replacement," he added. He clearly thought the first fire fight was a not a place he wanted to be.
Little did he know, however.
At the flag pole a master sergeant stood on a platform and read off the units to which the men could be assigned.
"If you're interested in any of these outfits, report to...," the Top said, told the number and location of the buildings where the men would be further assigned, and Top pointed in the general direction for the young men.
"Well, I was really interested in Aerial Gunnery so I just stood there until he called out Radio Gunner. I didn't want radio so I let it pass. He called out Amphibious Tractors and I didn't like the sound of that. I still stood there as the crowd of men dwindled to only a few," he remembered it all with a sort of scowl on his face. He still seemed to ponder if he made the correct decision by waiting and not choosing one of those units. "What now?" he wondered in 1942.
The master sergeant finally said, "Well, the rest of you are going to tanks."
Lyle Radeleff almost jumped in fright. "Tanks!?" He very nearly said aloud as he was dumbfounded.
"I don't know why, now, I didn't go ahead and take Radio Gunner." He shook his head.
But, he made no other effort to inquire about Radio Gunner and went to tanks as he was ordered.
September 1, 1942 Lyle Radeleff was absorbed by his own private dilemmas.
But, the Japanese were not standing still waiting for Private Radeleff to make a decision.
The politics of war were rampant in Japan. Many of the former civilian offices were taken over by the military, particularly the army.
General Kawaguchi and 1200 reinforcements arrived on Guadalcanal to consolidate the island as a bastion within the Area of Cooperation.
None of this information came to Lyle Radeleff and there was nothing he could do about it in any case. He was not informed, but he would know soon enough, that there were many other forces alive in the world that would cause his own personal sphere of influence to come to a bright tight focus.
The Foreign Minister of Japan, Togo, resigned and General of the Army and Prime Minister Tojo assumed the office until a properly indoctrinated mandarin bureaucrat could be found.
And another tightening of the reins of AOC by the Japanese comes when a regiment of reinforcements arrive at Ba?un from Rabal off New Guinea; the Japanese were working their way south toward Australia only 350 miles away.
Reinforcements by the Japanese army continued to build on Guadalcanal. On September 4, another group equal to a Reinforced Regiment arrive. And two old four-stacker U.S. Navy destroyers used as transports are sunk by swift and modern Japanese destroyers.
Jacques Farm -- nothing like Old MacDonald's Farm -- is in the boondocks of San Diego where Lyle meets his new tank, an M2A4.
That same area is now a booming middle class housing project filled with families and cars and theaters and shopping malls and schools and hospitals. The scene might be a mini-city in every sense of the word. It is the epitome of Suburbia.
But, back then, the area was barren and raw, filled only with wildlife: rabbits, coyotes, scrub deer, skunks, and a multitude of birds.
"'May the good lord help me,' where my first words when I saw the place," Radeleff said. "I found myself in 2d Scout Company, 2d Tank Battalion, 2d Marine Division."
There are no tanker schools yet. The Commanding Officer tells the men where the gas pedal is, where the brakes are, and how to double clutch to shift.
Private Lyle Radeleff, tanker, is warned, "Drive it, but don't wreck it." He will hear this a hundred times before he reaches Iwo.
Outdoor toilets and outdoor showers prepare Lyle for the harsher environment he will soon enter; however the desert terrain -- low growing bush, chaparral, greasewood, and no vegetation taller than perhaps two feet -- gives a gaunt and stark appearance to the land and nothing like the jungle verdance he will encounter when he arrives in the Solomon Islands.
On September 16, he transferrs to 3d Scout Co., 3d Bn., 3d Marine Division.
Captain G. K. Hooker is the Commanding Officer.
Private Radeleff and his tank with a full crew were on maneuvers when they drove on a narrow winding dirt road up a hillside full of hairpin turns.
"The tank began to crush the edge of the roadbed on the right. There were two alternatives which, as acting Tank Commander, I could have ordered. One would have been to steer left," he said and he closed his eyes and blinked as he remembered the near tragedy, "but the hillside would have been so close the right rear of the tread would likely have fallen away and I instantly figured we'd tumble and everyone might have been killed. But this was a tank. Off the road it was capable of many things. I kicked the driver, hard, on the right shoulder and he turned into the crumbling road bed and we had a roller coaster ride to the bottom. About two hundred feet."
Lyle Radeleff sighed at the retelling as he must have sighed at the end of the rough clanking rattling ride.
"What happened? What's going on?" Captain Hooker inquired as he walked up to the men slapping at dust on their utility uniforms.
Private Radeleff told the details and Captain Hooker nodded all through the telling.
"Good work, men," Hooker said. "Good job getting down safely," he added walking away shaking his head; and, the tankers felt relieved that they had done the right thing. No one was injured. No one was even slightly hurt.
The crew blew away the dust, whipped at their clothing to get dirt off, snorted a few times, one man sneezed, and then they went back to driving since they hadn't broken anything.
But no sooner was Lyle Radeleff acquainted with Captain Hooker's style and way of doing business, the unit was split and many of the men were sent to Co. D, 3d Tank Bn., 3d Marine Division. Now Captain Arthur Parker commanded this outfit. New man, new rules, new style.
Camp Pendleton is the soon to be location for this group. A mile from the ocean and the nearby Pacific Coast Highway.
In 1942, the PCH was a narrow two lane road that would back up, or so it seemed, when someone in Del Mar, thirty miles south, hic-upped. Now the strand of concrete runs from the border with Mexico north to Washington state. There are eight lanes and millions of cars a year travel the stretch that used to be known as Bloody Alley.
An M2A4 tank crew is made up of four men: the Tank Commander who is usually a sergeant, a Driver who most often is a private first class, an Assistant Driver, and Gunner. When possible the jobs are interchanged during training.
Lyle Radeleff is made an Assistant Driver and mans the machine gun. He's termed The Nose Gunner in his Military Occupation Specialty -- MOS -- number.
The tank school consists of very basic training. The men are reminded over and over, "This is a tank. Drive it and don't break it."
The M2A4 light tank is also known as a recon tank. The fire power comes from a 37mm gun with a coaxial .30 caliber machine gun in the turret. Another .30 caliber machine gun sits on top of the turret. Another .30 caliber machine gun is mounted in a ball firing forward. That's where Pvt. Radeleff operates.
Since the early M2A4 tanks had no radios the Company Commander signaled to the Platoon Commanders who relayed to the Tank Commanders to go this way and that by flag and hand signs. Directions to the driver of the beast were much more painful.
Captain Parker would send a signal to the Platoon Leaders, usually lieutenants, and hopefully all would see the flags and do the correct maneuver.
"To me it was rather silly since the Tank Commanders, Platoon Leaders, and Company Commanders would have to be half out of the turret to see any signals," Radeleff says and shakes his head as he disbelieves the early days. "They mighta been killed by a sharp shootin' Japanese soldier."
The steel shell on the front of this tank is 51mm, about half as thick as a 101 millimeter longer cigarette. The tank can withstand a direct hit from a rifle or machine gun up to .50 caliber; but, not from anything more powerful. There is 37mm thick steel in other places and that means damage control is non-existent -- 37mm is about as thick as the length of a well smoked cigarette about to be stomped out; or, in the case of a Marine,
about to be field stripped.
The Continental engine has to be hand cranked to get the oil up into the cylinders -- much as a radial aircraft engine. If The Almighty's crew doesn't start it exactly as proscribed there can be a large explosion which will disable the tank. Disable? Destroy the tank.
And 12 gauge shotgun shells are used to crank the engine after the oil is lifted from the sump. On cold days there could be as many as three shells used to start the engine. A distinctive cloud of white smoke could be seen for miles and would advertise to any enemy that there would be American tanks in the area.
"Oh, Lord save me," Lyle whispered the prayer often in those early days.
The driver takes most of the punishment in the tank. Not because he is in danger from the enemy so much as from his own Tank Commander who directs the driver with kicks: left shoulder and then right shoulder and then center spine to go straight ahead. To stop, the TC puts pressure in the center of the neck. To go faster the TC kicks harder and harder in the center of the driver's back.
"On February 22, 1943 we drive our tank to the docks in San Diego. Some civilian parked a car in the direct line the tanks had to go so they could be lifted aboard the ship. 15 tons of tank do a lot of damage to a car."
Then Radeleff's grin returns. "I don't know whatever happened to the civilian's car. I bet he was mad," Lyle says as he understates the issue. ?The tank, however, was lifted and settled on the ship.?
And then it starts.
The Americans are on the move. On the day that the Marine tanks are loaded aboard the ship other Americans in operation Clean slate take a piece of the Solomon Islands back from the Japanese with little or no resistance.
Banika and Pavuvu in the Russells are liberated and 9,000 soldiers under General Hester are in control before February 28, 1943. The American force is only 22 miles from Guadalcanal.
The Japanese are not, however, prepared to give up their possessions quite so easily in the near future. They claim without guile, that the lost islands were less than important to the Area of Coopperation.
Private Radeleff surveys his new floating home. It's the Bloemfontein, a Dutch merchantman whose name translates Flower of the Sea.
The U.S. Navy calls it a scow, however. But still it's good enough for the Marines; which shows what the navy thinks of the Marines.
They will travel with a Javanese crew and U.S. Navy armed guards who manned the 4.5" "rifle" as well as the 40mm and .50 caliber anti-aircraft guns.
The Marines have to live together for quite some time and then will end up Someplace. No one seems to know where Someplace is; and fewer still will guess.
Pvt. Radeleff lives below-decks in a crowded steamy place filled with other Marines who, he thinks, smell pretty rank by the time the arrive at the Someplace.
2
Someplace. The ship's Captain knew where someplace would be. The Battaion Commander knew. But no one told the men until the scow/ship arrived in Auckland Harbor, New Zealand.
When any ship arrived in New Zealand there is a commotion of the citizens wondering who is coming now. No different a hundred years ago, fifty years ago, or today.
Private Lyle Radeleff settled in and was assigned to the Marine camp near fifty miles north of Auckland.
"Training was rigorous with thirty and sixty mile marches. Sometimes the nearby Raider Battalion would invade our campsites and steal things. They called it training, but we thought it was outright thievery," Radeleff said as he recalled the sneaky bunch of overly bold Marines.
Other training included running tanks up and down roads. All the while the 15 ton monsters chewed up the pavement.
"We quickly abandoned that sort of destruction."
In April, 1943, D Co., 3d Tank Bn., 3d Marine Division was disbanded and the men assigned to Division Headquarters for a further reorganization.
"I was assigned to Military Police Company, Special Troops Battalion, 3d Marine Division," Radeleff remembers. "There was little to do and a big corporal taught me the best way to handle situations was to diffuse them rather than do battle; particularly if you have to do battle with a drunk who would be unpredictable. We had no radios or other method of communicating with our Sergeant of the Guard.
"My partner and I walked Queen Street every night. As we passed a pub the bartender rushed out and called to us. We turned and asked if there was any trouble."
"Some of your sailors are causing a bit of trouble. They look like they're gonna start a fight," he warned in his low key and what Lyle Radeleff thought was "measured reserve."
Private Radeleff and his partner go inside and there were probably eight sailors, five or so were sitting in booths and three sat at the bar.
"Now this could have been real trouble. The three at the bar were the obvious trouble makers. The one in the middle had his head low almost against the counter top. He was clearly drunk and sounded nasty. Being careful how I approached the three I quietly told the other two to take their mate back to the ship.
"The sailors in the booths were watching our every move as I walked over to them. I knew we would not get out of there without being beat senseless -- or worse -- by the sailors.
"Ah, the U. S. Navy," Radeleff sighed remembering the details. "If I didn't handle this quickly we'd be bloody meat soon enough."
He paused. Radeleff told of his new sidekick and how the training went with this man.
"My partner was new on the job and here I was teaching him after only four weeks on the job myself. So, I sauntered up to the Americans and said as evenly as I could with a wide smile on my face, 'Have a good time and don't cause any problems.' They answered, 'We're okay.'"
That seemed to do it.
For some reason, Marine MPs were always in a sort of confrontation with sailors as Radeleff recalls his time on the beat.
"I learned what to do from this big corporal who has been on duty for some time. One night he took me to a bar that resembled a dungeon," Radeleff says with memories filling his eyes. "Inside this place we could see nothing since the smoke from cigarettes, pipes, and cigars was thick enough to cut. I considered, by the way, quitting my own bad habit of smoking. When the corporal and I were backed up against a wall I surveyed the scene and found men from almost every country I could imagine and then some. They stared at us with evil intent in their eyes. Many were drunk and could have, if they wanted, devoured us in a second. I mean, they could have hurt us bad and just as easily have killed us with little remorse." Radeleff recalls all this and more. He still harbors a sense of relief that he escaped from that place. "We walked around the den, but with our backs to the wall. Just in case. When we got outside I decided to forget where this joint was and would not return. It would not be a pleasant place to be if a fight broke out."
Radeleff said that he thought of that when he was crouched under cover on Iwo nearly two years later. He seemed to wonder if MP duty in New Zealand wouldn't be a better choice.
But then Radeleff also recalled the good times. "One of the bartenders I met at a considerably more decent pub asked me home to meet his wife and daughter. On the way we talked with another fellow on the streetcar," Radeleff related.
"You sure you can trust him?" the fellow asked the bartender, a glint of suspicion in his eye.
The bartender turned to me, "Don't let him bother you. We all don't feel that way."
Even though fried liver, boiled carrots, and potatoes were not on Lyle's list of most likely items to order, he chowed down. "I ate them as if I hadn't eaten in six months," Radeleff admitted. "Their talk was a sing song of accent that enchanted me for years after."
Radeleff also recalls an event that shows MPs can be less than mere enforcers, "After several more weeks of patrol duty my partner and I were assigned to watch an amusement park on Queen St. There were several girls and Marines. Two of the Marines and their girls kept watching us out of the corners of their eyes," as Radeleff tells the story. "I could see these Marines pouch pockets of their dress blouses were bulging rather heavy with something like wine bottles. I walked up to the men and tapped my night stick against the bottles."
The Marines stopped dead in their tracks.
"You better dump these or drink 'em as quick as you can. You're out of uniform and I suggest you go to the Head and do it there." Radeleff then pointed his night stick to the Men's Toilet.
Both Marines acknowledged the order with, "Yessir." And then they went to get rid of the wine.
That likely reminds many Marines of the story of Chesty Puller and "Stinky" Davis who was staggering back to camp from liberty in Nicaragua in the early '37. It seems Chesty found "Stinky" had a bottle under his blouse and asked, "What's that 'Stinky'?" The young Marine looked at the legend and wide eyed him. "Well?" Chesty asked. When "Stinky" didn't reply Chesty took his leather covered Swagger Stick and smacked the bulge; liquid cascaded down "Stinky's" blouse, pants, and into his shoes. "You better get back to base and clean up," Chesty said and roared off in a cloud of dust.
Radeleff remembered a story about thinking he knew most of the bugle calls. Especially he knew Reveille and Chow Call. He was in the Head one sunny morning just before noon when the bugle began to sound off.
He had no idea what this particular call was for. As he buttoned his pants and tucked his shirt he ran toward the Company Headquarters to find out what that was all about.
Perhaps a Japanese invasion. Even an air raid. He had no idea.
The Company Clerk said that every available man had to assemble for an emergency Riot Call.
No wonder Private Radefleff couldn't recognize the bugle's notes. He never knew until that very moment that there is music for a riot.
As it turned out, two Marines in a pub were holding off a group of New Zealand native Maoris. The Marines were backed into a corner and wrapped around their hands were their dress leather belts with the big heavy brass buckles extended.
A brass buckle like that could do a lot of damage if it hit someone.
The "riot" was diffused and the men, both Maoris and Marines, left the tavern in uninjured condition.
But, there Is music for a riot.
Later, after more days of police patrols and peacekeeping among far from home Marine Lyle had news.
"I'd got orders for Guadalcanal. I had a gut wrenching feelings. I'd heard about the 'canal. It was a blood bath. And though it's over by that time, the Japanese are being mopped up, there is a ghostly feeling about the place," Radeleff recalls.
"The night before our departure my buddy, Fred Bartells, and I went to Queen St. with .45s hung low on our hips. We felt like cowboys fresh off the range. But, I bet we looked stupid. We ate, for the last time in Auckland, what the people call, Styke end Ay-ggs.
"I left New Zealand with memories of General Turnage saying, 'Good morning, son,' when we would meet early in the day. General officers of all services would gather for whatever reason. I knew, of course, it was plans for the next phase of the war, but I had no way to know what would be the following destination.
"And the 'canal, on August 3, 1943, was very nearly pacified. The most important job for an MP in rear of the battle zone was to be sure the big shots were safe.
"One night Washing Machine Charley flew over and I experienced the menace of the fellow. Not from him, exactly, but from the anti-aircraft fire and the shrapnel from the exploding shells which came to earth and cut through the tent fabric and buried fragments all over the floors of the tents. I think I dodged more friendly fire metal than Japanese bullets and bombs.
"And then when American transport aircraft landed, some just after old Washing Machine Charlie, the Marines would open up AA fire at these planes.
"I'm sure many RD-3 transports landed with friendly fire holes in their fuselages.
"Chesty Puller, man was that guy an imposing sight, took a daily walk on the beach as if it were Southern California and not a Japanese soldier in 5,000 miles.
"I saluted all the legends of the war as they came to headquarters where I stood guard. Admirals Halsey, Nimitz, and Spruance. Marines were there too, particularly General Holland M. Smith. The men called him 'Howlin' Mad' Smith. He was too.
"Fred Bartells and I bunked in a tent together and he asked if I'd like to write a girl he got a letter from. I guess he was busy with a bunch of others for himself. Two weeks after I wrote I got a letter.
"Once more that eerie feeling came over me and I wonder why. Well, more than 50 years later I guess I still have that feeling about her.
"I never thought I was wrong in my decision to write the girl. I never looked back one time and wondered. The wonder is that she's put up with me so long."
Lyle Radeleff, as suddenly as that, committed to a girl he never knew, never saw before, and wouldn't for more than a year.
And while Private Radeleff was writing this newly found pen-pal the Fifth Air Force was sneaking up on the Japanese garrison at Rabaul. The American planes did away with the defenders easily and then the bombers came. They dropped 350 tons of high explosives on the startled Japanese.
Radeleff was exposed to warfare just then as well. He boarded the transport Hunter Liggett. Before the ship left harbor the Japanese tried to counterattack the New Guinea coast at Finshafen near Cape Cretin. They failed -- one is tempted to say, "miserably." The Japanese army never recovered from the loss at the hands of the determined Australians. And when the Japanese tried again two days later they were once again repulsed with many wounded and dead who could not be replaced.
The Americans send the 24th Brigade to Finshafen to reinforce the Australians who keep the now merely pesky Japanese at bay.
And on October 24, 1943 the Marines on the Hunter Liggett disembark in Noumea, New Caledonia in preparation for practice landings. Landings to be, once again, Someplace.
And on that day the Japanese take losses once more in Rabaul where one of their irreplaceable destroyers is sunk in the harbor. And five supply and troop carrying ships are dispatched at the same time.
The Japanese must know by now these disasters are precursors to what must surely come. That sleeping giant their admiral warned about has only yawned and stretched his arms. Once he gets fully awake the Japanese are in for a stuffing.
And as if someone knows it at Japan's central command post, they order a withdrawal of their forces from Finshafen and head for Sattelburg.
The Marine's practice landings on Noumea are important for two reasons. They impart practical information about spending the night in a foxhole filled with rain water. Not that Private Radeleff was stupid enough to dig a hole and let it fill with water, but the rains come -- often -- and he wakes soaked to the skin in a foxhole full of water. When he finds the creepy crawly land crabs invade his clothing, face, neck, ears, eyes, and more, he is sure this is nothing he wants to do. But, with the enthusiasm a Marine is supposed to have, he goes about his job. Once more, aboard the Hunter Liggett, he was at sea. But, they kept the destination secret so that the Marines would not throw notes over the side to Japanese submarines or, perhaps, invade the radio room, disable the radioman there, and with deft fingers send out a sensitive message which would divulge top secret information to Tokyo Rose.
During the trip, however, the Marines finally discover the destination.
Empress Augusta Bay, Bouganville.
The men were informed that this was another of the stepping stones leading in one direction. Guadalcanal had been taken, though with some difficulty, and 350 miles from there was a Japanese stronghold and airfields the Marines would need for their advances. Guam. With a few other stops along the way, to name only a few: New Georgia, Tarawa, Truk, Palau and other man-grinders.
The Japanese garrison information, including estimated positions, strengths, and maps were given to the Marines.
There was scuttlebutt the Japanese would send a fleet from Rabaul, some 270 miles north.
This new thing in Private Radeleff's life was a true threat. He wondered about the unknown.
"Was I really prepared to face the constant wet or the thick jungle where the trees turn the day into night? And seeing or never really seeing an enemy in that dense stuff?" he asked as he asked then, more than fifty years before.
The tone in his voice was not one of finality nor was it one of seeing his future as limited to the next few days. He never once questioned his mortality and seemed satisfied that he could manage almost anything -- except the wet and thick jungles.
"Fred and I went topside our transport just to see what was going on. It was still dark and clouds filled the horizon. The salt air was refreshing after the thick smell of sweat below. Some of it must have been fear too, but I didn't have that concern. Not yet, I didn't," he added with a quick little smile. "Steak and eggs. It was what they served when we went into battle. Not only did the navy figure we'd fight on a full stomach, but there were plenty of calories to sustain us for some time. And everyone loves steak and eggs. All of the men on death row want steak and eggs, don't they?" Now he really grinned.
Lyle and Fred went back topside. They were more than curious. What they saw belied the idea this was a war. The verdant island gave it a peaceful and tranquil appearance. There was nothing sinister about the place. The water was bluer than blue. The air smelled clean and crisp.
"Warm too, even at that hour," he recalled the 0500 wake up call and 0600 chow. "This would be the biggest landing of the war so far. I had a ringside seat. The Hunter Liggett was in the lead to Empress Agusta Bay. We passed Puruara Island which guarded the bay.
"A navy torpedo plane flew over low and slow as it attacked the beach. I could see the gunner in the bottom turret as the plane flew past. The 3" guns on the transports all fired at the beach. There were Marine aviators up there strafing the shore as well.
"It was some display of power, I thought at the time. If I'd been a Japanese soldier I'd have second thoughts about hanging around an unsafe place like that," Radeleff related.
But the Japanese didn't have second thoughts, it appeared, and stayed to fight.
"I was ready to climb down the rope net into the landing craft. Japanese shells hit near several of our boats and I noted other landing craft had actually been hit. I didn't get to the rope ladder, however."
The Japanese had artillery positions on Puruara Island and were shelling the invasion force.
"I looked up just then and noted about thirty Japanese airplanes headed directly at me. I was sure they searched for me personally," he said with a more than serious tone. "All hell broke loose. Aircraft were going in every direction. Japanese were trying to bomb and sink the ships and American planes were trying to shoot the Japanese down. It seemed close. Too close. And all around me."
He thought about trying to dig a hole in the bottom of the transport and crawling in, but realized that crazy idea would not work. He decided to just stand at the rail of the Hunter Liggett as it turned and headed for sea.
Lyle Radeleff noted many small landing craft in the bay were full of troops and circling. His only thought was there would be a lot of sea-sick Marines aboard them.
This picture, to Private Radeleff, was like a giant painting displayed before him: Japanese aircraft attacked the landing zones; the destroyers made fierce anti-aircraft fire and picked up speed to protect the transports; a destroyer with its bow virtually out of the water surged past the Hunter Liggett and seemed to focus on a Japanese airplane attempted to clear out of the area by running low -- just above the water; the destroyer fired shell after shell at the plane; the white water explosions indicated the splash of cannon fire as the rounds struck the ocean.
"And I still see that determined destroyer chasing that Japanese airplane across the bay," Lyle said shaking his head at the futility of them both.
The Japanese plane escaped, while the American ship chased it away.
But Marines landed and men were killed -- one by a broken flying cable from a tow vehicle -- and maimed. Guns were fired by excited Marines at real or imagined foes. And others grasped for sleep in the dark damp jungle all the while being strafed by Japanese aircraft.
Lyle recalls during quiet times that he and Fred would undress on an isolated beach and walk into the water. They thought they were invisible, Lyle said, while they took a bath in the beach water. They cavorted and washed off the sweat, the stench of war, and the crud that built up from fighting from, eating at the edge of, and sleeping in the same foxhole for hour upon hour and day after day.
The roar was almost sudden. Lyle thought he noted it first as he yelled at Fred Bartells
"Get outta the water!"
A Japanese mortar shell flew over and landed with a huge cascade of of white spume. The aimer on the mortar must have made some corrections as the next shell landed closer.
Lyle ran, naked as a jay-bird, toward the beach with Fred only shortly behind. The next explosion came closer as they reached the sand. Lyle looked around and saw the Jap aiming the mortar made accurate corrections and the water spouts made a straight line at the two bathers.
They scrambled onto the white sandy beach and jumped into the nearest hole under a fallen tree, hugging their wet clothing to their bodies.
The Japanese stopped the attack for some reason. The two Marines thanked whomever they could for their luck. Once more Lyle muttered the words, "Thank the Lord."
They dressed, grabbed their weapons, and went back to work. Lyle decided this was a true blue-collar war, even though he didn't express it quite that way.
"Workin' day and night, and eating the lousy damned chow meant only the beginning of a long march to the north," he said. "Ah yes, and the rain. The damned rain. And then more rain. It seemed to rain most of the time. If not for the rain, however, we would never have had a bath except the saltwater ones while Japanese mortars tried to hit us."
(Lyle came from a part of the planet where the rain in one day on Bouganville would equal the rain the whole year in Delano.)
There was small consolation that the Marines and army were winning the battle for Bouganville. Lyle, and just as likely Fred too, had needed that damn bath and the Jap gunner didn't want to let Lyle and Fred have it.
Portable air raid sirens screamed when the Japanese threatened the earty-bound Marines. But the Japs were probably wary of the American Marine?s fighter planes; one at a time the Japanese planes made a fast and furious pass then they disappeared.
"I had been conditioned to the air raid sirens when I was on the 'canal. It was no surprise when I heard the first ones. I did have new fears, however, since these pilots were not flying Washing Machine Charley," Lyle said with wide eyes and nodding head that indicated he had been somewhat frightened by the new developments.
"The night of November 1, the Japanese fleet came out of Rabaul. That's what we heard. The MP Company was sent to Blue Beach south of Cape Torokina. We were supposed to set up a defensive line to counter any possible Japanese landing."
He dug his foxhole in the sand half way between the tree line and the surf. He had searched for a good free field of fire and this looked like an okay place to defense.
Fred dug in beside Lyle.
The two men mumbled back and forth about the possibility of the Jap fleet getting this far and shelling the beach.
"We hoped they would think that we were in the tree line and over-shoot us," Lyle recalled. He asked the Platoon Sergeant, "Should we ask the Japs for their landing cards?"
The Sergeant didn't reply and didn't seem amused by the question.
Lyle wasn't sure how much damage or how much of a delay they could offer, because all of their weapons were carbines, Thompson sub-machine guns, and, he added, "Lots of .45s."
But later that night, when yawns were the order of the day, or rather the night, the men watched what turned out to be quite a display. They learned later that the Japanese fleet had been intercepted by the American navy.
The story was told that twenty miles away, just over the horizon, a brilliant night show emerged. Glow after glow and thunderous explosion after explosion indicated a serious battle was taking place. Finally the sound and light faded away. The Marines slept the night through without even knowing what the results were. If the Japanese won the battle they'd be landing soon. If the Americans won then the Japanese would be gone and nothing would happen. Sleep was the order of the day now.
Some days later they learned the Japs had turned away. "It must have been some battle," Lyle said in his understated manner.
The men returned to their old positions and guarded the mountains of equipment stacked high on the small beach. Lyle and his group were pulled out to establish security for the Division Command Post.
Fred and Lyle dug out a foxhole and made it their home for several days after that.
And it rained. It rained hard. It rained often. Writing paper and, worst of all, toilet paper was soaked.
Then the rain stopped.
That was almost worse, however, since the mosquitos came out. They were an eternal torment.
"Huge clouds of the beasts. Humming and humming and driving me crazy," Lyle Radeleff said and looked as if he wanted to slap at a real or imagined creature; he would likely have scratched that spot shortly after the real or imagined creature had been dispatched; the memory was that real.
He and Fred used the two-man shelter to hide from the critters and the Top brought around an "insect bomb" which he gleefully tossed into that tent. It made the sound, and left the appearance of, a Japanese grenade, a hissing smoky thing.
"We scrambled out the far end of our tent only to look back and see the Top laughing like hell at our discomfort as we wet our pants."
November 1, came and went.
"We had one man in our company of Polish descent from New York and he became easily excited.
"One morning I was awakened by the unmistakable sound of a Japanese rifle firing and soon the response of a Thompson; it was a long burst of automatic fire."
The men around the area were fleeing from the noise and heading for cover with pants flapping and helmets askew. Lyle grabbed his carbine and looked back as two men disarmed the Polish fellow. They were telling him something. Lyle went closer and heard them say to the man that he was endangering everyone by firing wildly like that.
"The Polish guy was so excited he didn't even aim the Thompson. He just sprayed it around. He didn't even know where the sniper was. Some people under a sergeant took care of the sniper and left him hanging in the tree. It would be sometime later before anyone had enough courage to climb the tree and cut the man down."
Lyle Radeleff and Fred Bartells stayed together on Bouganville.
"Our job on the island was pretty simple. We guarded the Seabees. And since they ate like kings we got to eat with them and ate like kings as well."
The two Marines then lived in a little better condition than a foxhole covered by two shelter halves. They moved into a Japanese bunker and hunkered down. They slept better than they had "out doors" and enjoyed the quarters as it protected them from the rain and provided some relief from mosquitos.
Rifle fire from snipers was constant. As Fred and Lyle walked the road on patrol they were shot at by a tree tied Japanese sniper. The hard coral road puffed dust between their legs.
A Seabee truck came along with an old World War I Lewis gun on a turret mount above the cab. The Seabees fired into the dense tree as Lyle and Fred pinged away with their carbines.
The Seabee in charge said, "Let's get that sonofabitch!"
So Lyle and Fred went charging up the road to where they thought the bad man might be hiding.
As the two Marines and several Seabees worked their way into the overgrown jungle they couldn't locate anything or anyone.
There was no more firing and the men wondered if they'd gotten their man. But no one ever found anything or anyone; no more shots were fired at the Marines or the Sea Bees in that area either.
That night as Fred and Lyle agreed to sleep in shifts on the single bed the Japanese had built in their bunker, Lyle forgot to put his carbine on SAFE. He watched through the bunker slit while Fred snored in the background.
Lyle was sure there were hundreds of Japanese out there ready to rush the platoon and his own bunker in particular; the shadows and movement seemed too real to ignore. He fingered the trigger absentmindedly and the sudden sound of the carbine going off was enough to excite everyone in the six bunkers around.
"What the hell was that!?" yelled the Platoon Sergeant who had clearly been suddenly aroused from his sleep; and, probably a deep sound sleep at that. "What's goin' on? Who fired?"
Lyle admitted it was accidental and scrunched down waiting for the wrath of the Sarge. None came, but Lyle did hear the Sergeant cursing to himself.
When Lyle recovered, however, he found that his rifle had come apart when it fired. Pieces littered the sandy soil under his feet. Some pieces he was unable to ever locate.
But he still had to remain alert as Fred went back to sleep. Lyle's brother Howard had made an eight inch long knife in the father's blacksmith shop. It was strong, made out of a wagon spring, and sharp. Lyle stood guard with the knife in his hand the rest of the night.
In the morning Fred and Lyle went to the armorer and he repaired the carbine while Lyle explained the problem to their Sergeant who was clearly not very happy.
As the men transitioned from combat to clean-up and mop-up duty they were given what would be described as garden picks to clear an area for fox holes nearby their bunkers and tents.
Lyle swung his pick for the first hole and dug up a suddenly smoking grenade. He thought he was transfixed there as he stared at the thing that might kill him.
"Grenade!" he screamed and dived behind a fallen log. He landed on Fred who uttered a gushing grunt.
The sound of the explosion followed only shortly after; though not counting one-two-three, it seemed as if it were not even a second after Lyle landed on Fred that the grenade boomed.
Lyle is still amazed at how fast some usually slow people can move, however, when that close to danger.
They never learned if it was a Japanese infiltrator, a "left behind," or a booby trap. Nor did Lyle have any interest in looking for a manufacturer or logo -- like Mitsubishi or Toyota.
The Japanese were determined to keep the Americans off their feed with rounds from field guns hammering away. Lyle was concerned that a careless shooter might shoot him. So, all the while the field gun cranked out fire power he hugged what he called, "Mother earth."
The MP Company remained on Alert while the Japanese offered up counter-attacks during the remaining pacification of the island. A fuel dump burned for several hours and some ships were hit by a Japanese air assault. Lyle had heard someone say there had been casualties, but he wasn't sure.
One of the divisions the Japanese had stationed on the island was the 17th and reputed to be involved in the Rape of Naking. No one learned to understand the Japs. The Marines were filled with hatred.
And it was said that the Japanese cried out, "Marine you Die!" then stabbed wounded Marines.
Lyle never saw any of it, but the word got around and he was sure that if even a fraction of the rumors were true, then some bad things had actually happened.
Assigned to control traffic at a specific spot Lyle was told, no, ordered, to detour trucks across the Piva River and toward the Division CP; the noise of trucks and vehicles had apparently disturbed a shave-tail gold bar and he must have figured it also disturbed the staff. If it disturbed the staff, then, the second lieutenant must have surmised, it probably also distrubed the CG. The orders were given to detour the trucks, jeeps, tanks, and anything that moved.
"Walking only may pass this way," the lieutenant told Lyle.
Lyle shrugged and obeyed. As he stood traffic control on a small log bridge two Marines with two Japanese prisoners approached. Lyle asked about the prisoners and was told they were for Regiment to question them.
They passed over the bridge and after a few moments the crack of two shots from a Garand came to Lyle. And too soon afterward the two Marines sauntered back toward the front lines, walking as if unconcerned across that small log bridge.
"Later that day an amphibious tractor came toward me and didn't follow my hand instructions to detour. He told me he was taking wounded to the aid station and he'd run over me," Lyle explained. Then he told the driver it was the long way over the bridge, but the man seemed not to care. He started the am-trak and moved toward Lyle who backed up, moved aside, and watched as the vehicle went it's merry way.
"I shook my head, but what else could I do?" he wondered.
He wrote letters, but the conditions were terrible. The paper was wet and the pencil did not make much of a mark. He wrote to his parents and his new pen-pal Lora Bridges; but, he felt a big lift when he wrote her. He looked forward to getting letters from her; he decided she'd given him a new experience.
"I gave her the nickname of Gizmo for lack of anything intelligent.
"The censor did not clear my mail until after November 23, 1943 because the officer was too busy during the first two weeks on Bouganville."
3
Betio Island in the Tarawa Atoll was said to be strategic to the future operations of the Americans. Some wonder still if it was all that strategic that it couldn't be bypassed.
There is, by November 22, 1943, no doubt of the outcome of the battle for Tarawa. The original landing on November 20, 1943 was deadly and in some doubt. 4,800 Japanese are only giving ground an inch at a time and sometimes not at all.
Through all the battle, massive bombardments hit the Japanese strength and make little impression. The sand, it appeared, absorbed most of the explosions and naval gunfire was nearly ineffectual.
The orders to the Japanese commander must have been to die before surrender, Lyle Radeleff thought when he heard the news from Tarawa.
Now his eyes filled with memories that some of the men who were killed there were friends or acquaintances of his.
"God awful," he mumbles as he remembers the news. "Three thousand American casualties with almost a thousand dead." There is a sigh. "The Japanese are wiped out. There were only, I think, 17 prisoners. Geez."
And while this was a massive defeat for the Japanese it was an important lesson for the Americans.
1. Improve your equipment.
2. Bomb more precisely.
3. Work out timetables so they are not upset by
precarious tides
Lyle Radeleff heard rumors and more rumors, but he was concerned with his own survival. And the next campaign.
The Japanese used the Arisaka 39 rifle. It was a bolt action 6.5mm cartridge rifle. The barrel was long and the weight was more than it should have been -- up near 11 pounds.
The Japanese copied the Mauser action and added a shield over the chamber ostensibly to reduce debris, dirt, and contaminates from entering the weapon.
However, the great original drawback was the fact that it was bolt action and made a lot of noise when moving the action. Later the metallurgy of the manufacturer deteriorated so badly that the rifle was almost useless; it became unreliable. The American losses on all of the islands and particularly Iwo and later Okinawa could have been several times more than they actually were if the rifles had merely been standard. As it was they were so substandard that the volume of fire had to be the reason so many Marines were killed or wounded. The ratio was, however, in some cases, 50:1 for the Marines.
The Marines had gotten the new M-1 Garands just after the Wake Island action. No one was saddled with the not-so-efficient Springfield O-3. Though the Springfield was an excellent firing weapon, the M-1 Garand could fire eight rounds in the time it took the Springfield to shoot 5 times.
Some people claimed the M-1 was actually "manually operated, bean fed, gas powered, shoulder weapon." This was often heard lovingly of the 9+ pound monster which lasted through WWII and even into the 60s. The M-14 replaced that and the M-16 came even later. No one doubted the M-1 was the one weapon which counted the most when it came to defeating the enemy in the Pacific.
But first, before the final battles, came a few days of respite.
Something curious about Lyle Radeleff. He has a feeling that he can cope. He can handle the way life comes at him. His early years were full of self-confidence and what must have been knowledge that he had the power over his own life and he clearly decided that was very important in the scheme of things.
Lyle does have some concern about things, but his major attitude is that men much more intelligent and of higher rank are not taking his life casually or without good reason. He obeys his orders, does his job, and figures he'll go home all right.
These are some personal things about Lyle that penetrate. He knows what it means to be afraid, but only afraid of things he can control. If he can't control the situation then there is nothing to be afraid of since he can't do anything about it in any case.
In February, 1944, Fred left to become a cook. Lyle was assigned, once again, to tanks. The two separated and Lyle thought it might be the last time they would see one another.
Bouganville was a stenching stinking hell hole. The place was almost devoid of any other human being except Japanese and Allies -- mostly Americans. The local natives were few and far between; no one seemed to know anything about them and Lyle had no interest in becoming friends with any of them in any case.
He put lots of powder on the cracks between his toes after scrubbing the lesions with Naptha soap. He changed socks and shoes sometimes three times a day; even before one of the others dried in some cases.
The food was lousy even though there was plenty of it. Lyle recalled the best was canned mixed fruit, canned peaches, and canned apricots. There were packages from home too. Cookies arrived with popcorn packed around them; however, often the popcorn tasted better than the cookies.
From home, Mom sent supplies were welcome changes, and sometimes they were the same the Marines already had. Favorites from Mom were canned pork and beans, no matter the sometime discomfort and following gas.
Often the lucky ones were those who got stew in their C rations. The others could trade for stew. Lyle traded hashbrowns for stew and felt he got the better of the deal. The other man thought he'd landed the coup. Since both men survived the trade it was considered good.
In the C rations trade business, however, the luckiest were those who got the eggs. Eggs and bacon. The eggs were better than no eggs and though the bacon was greasy it tasted, much of the time, somewhat like being at home.
Men spent lots of time scrubbing their clothes. They would find an old 55 gallon drum, put a fire under it, fill it with water, and shave "hand soap" into the water. Then they'd boil their clothes and scrub them with stiff brushes. Particularly brushes with rigid bristles the men used on their skivvies.
"My ears were plugged. I could hardly hear anything. Even when tanks passed by I heard only a dull roar. I went to an aid station and a Doc looked in my ears. He said my ears were full of fungus," Lyle recalls. "Likely story, I thought."
The Corpsman washed Lyle's ears with a solution of hydrogen peroxide; the fizzing noise and bubbles tickled. But, Lyle remembers, he could hear again.
When his ears cleared up after the peroxide treatment Lyle thought he'd returned to the living. He used peroxide even when he didn't need to just to keep his hearing clear. And he used it on skin rashes also since it worked so well on his ears. Sometime it worked and sometimes it didn't. He never claimed he was a doctor. He only wanted to clear up the itches and bad spots.
Spots on his legs never seemed to heal. Jungle vines with sharp spines pierced through the clothing and scratched his skin. He was covered with scabs and poured sulfa powder on them. But even then it was months before the scabs dropped off and the skin never grew over the area. Even today his legs a mottled with splotches of tenderness that are white and lifeless looking.
Life was so damn miserable, Lyle complained, on Bouganville. The live volcano was always a threat; swamps were everywhere and filled with every imaginable micro-organism; constant rain made every move an effort. Water, fresh water, was too precious to use for shaving; everyone looked years older than they actually were.
"Many of the men had malaria. Probably half the men came down with some strain or other. The damn mosquitos," he said and trailed off at the memory.
"We moved back toward the beach. There was a small clearing we requisitioned from no one in particular. Possession was the law. Not nine-tenths of the law, but all of the law. We were near a road. A road was a road because a jeep could drive there. Otherwise, I think, it was a swamp or a jungle. Roads, jungles, swamps. And mosquitos."
He and Fred dug in making a foxhole, covering it with a poncho to keep out the rain, and waited for the occasional sun shine to bring some cheer.
"One morning we were eating our breakfast sitting on the edge of the foxhole when a Jap plane snuck in low across the mountains. It would dive and pull out above us. We would panic for cover. This time my mess-gear, full of eggs and spam and bread, Fred had brought, went all over me," he related with that enigmatic smile. "Two other guys dropped on top of me. It's a good thing the Jap didn't strafe us since someone could have gotten hurt. The guy was so close I could see him in the cockpit then the red meatball as clear as if it were right here," he said and held out his hand.
"Several times they came over like that, but not so close. Once a plane dropped a bomb; it landed three feet from this guy's foxhole. The thing must have been a dud since it didn't go off. The guy nearly collapsed when he saw the thing stuck in the ground right beside him."
The bomb was only ten paces from Lyle as well.
Sometimes the Japanese aircraft did succeed in making a mess of things in the supply dumps on the beach. Several columns of smoke would rise from the supply area after a raid. But obviously the Japanese losses finally made them stop that bombing.
New Zealanders flew the older Curtis P-40 Warhawks. The Kiwis were crazy pilots.
A radio call from one of them came one day, "I'm all out of fuel and ammo and have a Zero on my tail."
The air controller replied, "Lead him over the bay so the guns can get him."
The Kiwi came screaming down with the P-40 as fast as it could go. The Zero was right behind. The gunfire shot the wrong plane down, however. The New Zealander bailed out safely, though, and landed in Empress Augusta Bay. The Zero was last seen unscathed on its way home.
"I wrote Lora," Lyle recalls. "It was the second time since being on Bouganville."
Fred talked of this girl named Betty and of course Lyle talked of Lora. He said he looked forward to her letters and was always anxious to write back. One letter he apologized for the hard to read and wet letter he'd written.
"But, writing to her made me feel good and I was more and more interested in her and who she was."
The conditions never improved and writing was still somewhat difficult. Bouganville was a miserable place to fight a war and writing letters was even harder under a poncho to keep the rain out.
On Bouganville is Mt. Blabi. It is an active volcano. One night Lyle woke to a tremendous noise. The ground shook, trees were heard to fall, then the ground made waves like in the ocean, foxholes caved in on the men inside them, and the noise continued. Lyle was sure it was the volcano.
"Now this was a real good earthquake and I wondered if nature was siding with the Japanese," he mused.
He remembered a terrifying experience that had unusual results. He and a bunch of other men had to take land mines up a treacherous trail to a ridge. It was a dangerous and difficult climb. They dropped off the load and talked with the men there for a few moments. Just idle war chatter. Then they took a different trail back and at the bottom they discovered one of the cooks boiling doughnuts. He said he thought the Japs would surrender if they got a whiff of the freshly cooked doughnuts.
General Noble, the Assistant Division Commander, insisted on fresh and hot food for the men and doughnuts seemed a perfect solution.
"As a Methodist I attended church services when I could. Fred and I went to his Catholic services sometimes.
"Often I'd see Solomon Island natives in headdress, bones, and native cloth at the services. They were an odd assortment of big and mean fellows who didn't look Catholic, but apparently had become converted and attended whenever the Chaplain had Mass," Lyle said of his religious activities.
"Seabees were great sign painters," he said. One sign read:
SO WHEN WE REACH THE ISLE OF JAPAN WITH
OUR CAPS AT A JAUNTY TILT. WE'LL FIND THE
CITY OF TOKYO ON THE ROADS THE SEABEES BUILT
This was signed by the 3rd Marine Division and 3rd Raider Battalion.
On the other side of the road was posted a sign:
TO OUR VERY GOOD FRIENDS, THE FIGHTING MARINES
That was signed by 53rd NCB, lstMAC.
Seabees and Marines had a mutual admiration society.
The 37th Division of the U. S. Army came ashore to consolidate the island and finish off the Japanese. It was said that General Hodges of the army did not like the signs and wanted them removed.
The Marines objected and the 3rd Raider Battalion posted guards on the signs.
But then Marines left.
"I wonder what happened to the signs?" Lyle asked himself rather rhetorically.
Turkey on Thanksgiving was a blessing and a curse. So many men ate too much turkey and others had been eating field rations so long that they up-chucked their dinners.
"Then we left shortly after Christmas with complaints by the army that we didn't have the right lanes of fire, there were too few mines, and all sorts of whiney army stuff," Lyle remembered with a grin. "But we beat their asses on Bouganville and the Japs never recovered from that. The doggies like it their way, though, I guess."
He told how, "We boarded the USS President Hays and man was I glad to get off Bouganville and away from those air raids."
When he bunked in at Guadalcanal the men had two weeks of time to recover from the battle field stress. Fred and Lyle captured a huge lizard and tied him to the entry to their tent. And they searched for another.
"They kept down the flies and mosquitos," he reported.
Soon the two separated as Lyle began to look into the possibility of getting back into the Tank Battalion. And since Fred wanted to go do something else, he liked being a cook -- he seemed to like working at the officer's mess -- when he left the tent that ended their discussions about their girl friends.
Guam.
After Guadalcanal there were necessary steps to take. Among other heavy names of battles during this massive world war there was a long list. Included in this list are Bouganville, Palau and the meat grinder of Pelelieu, Tarawa in the Gilberts, and then forward looking to Guam. After that the list is no more nor no less renowned, but the Stevedore Operation signaled the final bell for round 13 of the 15 round heavyweight fight of the war.
The Allies, the United States suppling the major fighting, felt that after the Battle of the Coral Sea -- a fairly minor but telling body blow -- the Japanese had suffered significantly.
In a war the major first thrust is by the best of the best, the main well trained and finest troops. Following this is the second team. They are well trained, but they are lacking somewhere in their commitment or even spiritual connections -- that is not to say this was a religious war. The third line is somewhat like the football team that looses both the first string quarterback and backup; there is little to be said for these men. They may be dedicated, but they are not the winners the first team was.
After minor losses in their aviation the Japanese still had fine pilots. Then they ran into the American pilots from three carriers at Midway. There was an irreplaceable loss. The Japanese never recovered. The airmen after that loss were merely shells of the former aces. The Japanese never regained air superiority after that. And in June, 1944 at the Mariana's Turkey Shoot the American aviators from the carriers shot down 240 Japanese airplanes headed for airfields in Guam. The Americans lost 20. Later, during and after the Saipan and Tinian actions the total United States losses in aircraft were 72. But, out of gas and landing in the dark the carriers lit up the decks to save as many as possible. Of the 72 aircraft only 16 pilots were lost and 33 of the aircrew.
Of the Japanese, however, the airmen were irreplaceable and there was no effort to save them. No search and rescue was attempted. No life saving efforts were extended. And there was no way that these pilots could be replaced.
240 aircraft and all their crews. It was the major blow. A right cross to the chin of the Japanese high command. They never recovered. They fought on and made Americans suffer, but the Japanese were unable to recover no matter what efforts they made. At the time the Japanese seemed to believe the Americans would rethink the war based on attrition.
The Americans rethinking was based on how badly the Japanese war machine was hurt. The rethinking led to other punishment at Saipan, Tinian, and Guam. Then the big ones at Iwo and ?Oki?.
The line of land warriors suffered an equally depressing deflation. The men sent to Indonesia and all over the Pacific were depleted by the first wave of Allies. The Allies replenished their own losses by young fighters who were able to maintain an intensity which finally turned the war around.
July, 1944 the ships sailed from Eniwetok Islands. Guadalcanal, where the men had gone for rest and recuperation, was left far behind. Green beer and plentiful food had replaced C and K rations. But that too reversed itself shortly.
When Lyle returned to the Tank Battalion, he found the men had changed but the life hadn't. They still packed the compartments inside the turret with their private goodies. Toilet paper was stored in large quantities since when one runs out of TP there is only "paper" or leaves as alternatives.
The men put toilet paper inside their helmets as well.
The Marines spent quite a lot of their rest time repairing tanks, getting their gear together, and then once again they reviewed their coming battle while aboard ship.
Deep in the holds of transports men tinkered with tank engines to make sure they worked perfectly for the landing.
"Our ship was the Libra," he recalled. "One tank diesel engine after another sputtered, ground, and roared to life with a smoky belch filling the ship with sickening black stench."
Aboard the ship with Lyle's tank, sailors complained each time the run-up was made; their ship was full of black smoke. And other Marines were also not charitable about their fellow Marine tankers as they complained of the smell and smoke. All of the ships must have had the same activities and gripes.
The fateful day for many brave Marines began with a breakfast at 0200. July 21, 1944 dawned bright and clear. The Marines were given steak and eggs. Some of the men commented they would not eat since they were concerned about stomach wounds. Others, however, didn't look forward to K rations on the beach to satisfy their hunger for good food; they filled themselves with the navy chow.
Lyle Radeleff and the rest of the crew of the Almighty went to their tank and stowed their gear. Then they made sure the tank would start, once again filling the hold with black smoke. Two stayed with the tank, Sergeant Campden and Willie Clinebel -- the driver.
"Anderson, Cariker -- Arky -- and I returned topside to wait for the tank to be hoisted," Lyle said as if he could see the event in his mind.
It appeared the ship's cooks worked overtime after breakfast making other meals. Bag after bag of steak sandwiches were passed out to the Marines.
Naval gunfire lit the darkness of the horizon. Then as the dawn began to blaze the edge of the sea with that special orange glow the barrage lightened. Smoke of the shells which had exploded on shore almost obliterated the landfall.
"I stood in place in awe by the great number of ships. There were hundreds. There were all sizes of ships spread over the Pacific Ocean as far as the eye could see," Lyle remembered.
"It was almost like hell on earth. I never did understand how the Japanese, or anyone else for that matter, could have lived through all that heavy shell fire," Lyle said. "I saw Stanton, the Quartermaster, for the last time as we shook hands and he wished me luck."
Later Lyle rooted out information from the long aged records that there had been, on sight for weeks: 6 battleships, 9 cruisers, 24 destroyers, and a multitude of other ships.
"I found out later that the number of ships that had bombarded Guam the previous three months joined with the others to total: 11 battlships, 25 aircraft carriers of several types, 24 cruisers, and 152 destroyers. And perhaps a hundred transports as well."
Lyle was right, the ships spread across the vast ocean in numbers almost uncalculated.
The tanks weighed 35 tons and would make the Libra list about five degrees -- sometimes more -- with each crane full of tank. The crane operators lifted and gently laid the tanks on the LCMs. The men from the tank battalions would then scramble down rope ladders.
"Sea swells were high so it was a bit rough. But, we got down without killing ourselves," Lyle said with a laugh. "The bosun pulled away from the Libra and we headed for our part of the beach, some 5,000 yards away. It didn't seem possible the driver of that LCM could find the beach with all that smoke and those explosions."
But, as if by magic, the boat found Blue Beach; it was 2,500 yards wide from the flank at Assan Point to Adelup Point. The beach was about ten yards deep and there was very little sand.
"There was a reef 500 yards from shore and we had to watch out for shell holes in the surf; we didn't want to drop into one of those depressions and drown," Lyle said and laughed once more, but there was not much humor.
"We reached the beach and the boat ramp dropped," he recalled. "All of a sudden I have a feeling someone is trying to kill us. Mortar shells are coming down all over the reef. We are still out in three feet of water with almost 500 yards to go. Finally the Bosun ran the LCM with the Almighty on board up on the edge of the reef and everyone, all the other LCMs, paused -- most likely to reorganize -- and Captain Stone gets the report we are all accounted for and ready for the next move."
A destroyer came in against the beach attempting to give that close, that direct, support fire. As the ship came nearer the reef it began to receive heavy fire from the Japanese inshore. Water spouts from Japanese gunfire landed closer and closer to the destroyer. The destroyer made up for it, however, as it went right up to the shore with all guns firing.
"What a sight to see," Lyle said. "The destroyer Captain had a lot of courage to put his ship so near the reef to give direct fire support to the men on the beach."
The engine on Almighty stopped and wouldn't restart. Clinebell worked at it over and over. The Almighty was stuck in the LCM and fire came from the Japanese mortars and small mountain howitzers. The accuracy was lacking, but with one lucky shot..., well, the Almight and all her crew might be done for.
Knee deep in salt water and a long sea cruise wasn't doing the Almighty any favors. Colonel Withers arrived and over the noises of gunfire, cranking of the engine, whirring of other motors, he shouted at the Marine tankers wondering what was taking so long and why the tank hadn't moved. He didn't appear angry, but he did seem upset.
"I would have been too," Lyle said. "I'd wonder what the hell was going on."
"Look out!" Someone shouted and a mortar round went kaploosh only ten feet from the front of the tank. Everyone was in the coral reef water. Flat.
"I saw it in slow motion. It seemed to turn over. Flipping end to end until it splashed in the water and lay on it's side," Lyle said and concern over the memory flashed in his eyes. "It just lay there."
It was a dud.
"It could have taken all of us. Thank the good lord it was a dud. We broke fast. I'm sure that Jap gunner was aiming at the tank and he probably aimed at the same point but ten or twenty feet further. Wet as I was and scared as I was, and probably everyone else too, we all ran through the water."
"It seems the Jap gunner merely moved his aim, but never where we expected it. The next explosion was away from us and out of danger," the sigh was not audible, but clearly Lyle was relieved.
Almighty starts and moves inland with the rest of the tanks.
The scuttlebutt about Jap mortarmen was that they never seemed to follow up on their fire. They ranged, but never corrected. They just fired in another direction, scattering the rounds; they never corrected and fired at the same target.
At least that was on Guam.
Lyle revealed that a dirt road runs parallel close to the beach. The tanks then made a left turn next to the hill on Assan Point for about 100 yards and turned right once more. There was a lot of trouble for the tanks, he related.
"The Japanese were buried deep in caves and untouched, or so it seemed, by the huge bombardments. Machine gun fire came from this bunch," Lyle said and grimaced.
As with any cave it takes direct hits and accurate fire from Marines to destroy the defenders. Infantry was needed and they were occupied elsewhere.
4
54,000 American troops land on Guam after the original group lands on July 21, 1944. General Turnage's 3d Marine Division goes ashore soon after III Amphibious Force and Lyle's tank starts, grinds a bit, and joins this group.
On one desperate try, the Japanese mount a Banzai charge on the American headquarters and were driven off. They almost reached the CP, but their losses were so terrible that even if they had there would have been no one to do anything other than gloat that they had lost all their men.
19,000 Japanese soldiers are dug in. The 29th Infantry Division is commanded by General Takashima. General Obata is in charge of 31st Army.
There aren't enough Japanese to take on 54,000 Americans. The end is never in doubt as was the case at Guadalcanal and later on Tarawa. Never in doubt.
Saipan and Tinian are in the control and grasp of Americans. Two weeks before, July 7, 1944, the Japanese on Saipan were finally reduced to a mere 3,000 men.
After-battle reports of Guam tell that there were only 1,780 survivors of an original garrison of 27,000. Many of these 1,780 were wounded and injured; others were battle casualties from shell shock and unable to comprehend what was happening to them.
The 27,000 less the 1,780 made it 25,220 Japanese killed. The Americans lost less than 3,400; though, 13,000 were wounded.
It was only a few days before that Colonel Withers wondered why the Almighty was stuck in the middle of the bay with Guam just 500 yards -- it might as well have been years to Corporal Clinebell -- from the beach.
Even then there was what was described, by talk around the night fires, as only light resistance on the beach.
"Hell, that light resistance damn' near killed me," Lyle retells the story.
Tinian is assaulted by V Amphibious Corps on July 24, 1944. 15,600 men from the 2d and 4th Marine Divisions attack some 6,200 Japanese defenders; Colonel Ogata and Admiral Kakuta command these troops.
On Guam, however, the last four days are spent trying to consolidate the beachheads. The Orote Peninsula is the scene of fierce fighting.
And in less than three days, July 28, 1944, Marines clear Orote Point of all resistance.
On Tinian, though the fighting has not ceased, men are already clearing the runway at Ushi Point. This will be a critical launching pad for bombers on their way to Tokyo. And it's only late July, 1944.
By the 30th of July the American forces can say that they have taken Guam for all intents and purposes. There are still pockets of fighting and to these men the war still rages, but the pacification has already started.
But, back on July 21, 1944 Lyle and his tank crew are still trying to get ashore. They have to wait for the infantry to clear the beach and when that is done the Almighty finally cranks over and begins to move through the three feet of sea water.
The Marines know the Japanese troops are on the high ground. They don't know how stiff the resistance will be, but they are under no illusions this is still a viable and hardy bunch of enemy soldiers.
Captain Stone, the Company Commander, is wounded. He was outside the tank talking with Staff Sergeant Joe Clary when a shell fragment hit the CO. Another mortar round casualty. He kept moving, ordering the men into position, as the Corpsman bandaged the Captain and he continued his advance inland with the tanks.
Corporal Robert Campen, the TC of Almighty is wounded later that afternoon and evacuated to the ship. He must have been able to convince someone that he was all right since he returned the next day.
Corporal Clinebell was wounded -- also a mortar round -- but the Corpsman got him cleaned up and put a dressing on the injury.
All of these incidents came from mortar round near misses. Mostly the injuries came when the men from the tank units had to get out and repair other vehicles.
The worst injuries came, not unexpectedly, to the Corpsmen. They stood in the line of fire and ignored the warnings, the shrapnel, and the action around them to take care of their charges.
On several occasions tanks were the victims of the Japanese mortar attacks. Mostly the explosions merely cleaned off paint. If a mortar round had landed on an engine "inlet" the tank might have been disabled, but still the men inside likely would have escaped with few or even no injuries.
"During most of the most active attacks we would crawl under the Almighty. I'd lay there and look at pictures of Lora. She'd sent them and I'd gotten them when we left Eniwetok. I also had some other pictures. I think the girls ought to have known they helped us get through some tough times and wouldn't have minded the sand being thrown at us from exploding mortar rounds," Lyle said.
Almighty, being a tank retriever, spent some time along the beach pulling stranded tanks out of the surf-line. Two men walked by when a round landed in the sand near them and the Almighty.
"Anderson and I jumped down to see if we could help. One of the men had taken shrapnel in the head and was dead. His buddy was only slightly wounded; he covered his friend with a poncho and walked on toward the ammo dump.
The guy said, "We were sent to get more ammuntion for our unit."
There is a pause as Lyle Radeleff swallowed. "The mortar was obviously shooting at the tank. Poor guy. Wrong place. Wrong time."
Lyle was still thinking of this when he admitted having to "go." He related, "I was in need of a bowel movement. I knew if I waited much longer I'd do it in my pants. I had plenty of toilet paper in my helmet. I looked around and saw a ditch across the road and a log across the ditch made a perfect place to sit. I thought, 'I'll go there.' So, I went. There. I didn't linger long afterward, however, since I could just see some Jap mortar-man lining up on me while I went. In fact, we found a Japanese soldier who had obviously been in this same situation and he was only partly 'done.' His feces was half in and half out and he was dead."
The first nights the men slept in the tank. It wasn't comfortable and it was dangerous. The tank retrievers have an open turret. There is no flap lid. The men made sadistic bets on the possibility of a shell coming through that open hatch.
"We slept with .45s on our chests in death grips. We had plenty of eats, though -- canned fruit and cold Campbell's pork and beans."
The tank was loaded with water containers. 5 gallon cans, porcelain lined, full of fresh water. The men drank lots since it was hot and humid and they sweat heavily.
The men made a round wood cover for the Almighty to keep out the rain which came for days after the Marines established the beachhead.
105mm Howitzers shot heavy shells over the heads of the men on the ground and in the tanks. The zoom and whip whip whip sound was gratifying since the Japs had been the only gunfire the Marines heard until then.
Engineers brought up water as soon as they could get it ashore. Fresh and pure drinking water.
Almighty was called to help out a tank at Adelup Point. The tank had a bad track.
"As we returned to our position I saw Fred Bartells on the beach. I called out, jumped from the retriever, and ran to see him. We talked for only a minute. He seemed as surprised as I was that we met one another. He sure looked tired and dirty," Lyle said. He was glad to see his old friend even for such a short period. It would be three months before they saw one another again.
Lyle watched from his tank retriever as Marines attacked up to a crest of a hill and then over the top. A couple of minutes later a group of them came back down carrying wounded. Later, Lyle recalled, "They set up a system of cables to lower the wounded without having to walk down and then back up again."
Navy TBFs, torpedo planes, came in low and let off rockets into the Japanese positions. Then more TBFs came in low and slow and rocketed more positions. The sound of whoosh and the trailing white smoke from the rocket tails was an exciting event to watch.
A Marine "cracked up" along the road. It was a sight to see, Lyle remembered. "He was foaming at the mouth and had what we heard was called The Thousand Yard Stare."
And if it happened to one it could happen to many.
"Our radio operator had to be replaced after he reached his limit. I wondered if I might reach my limit sometime." Lyle was quiet for a moment as if wondering if he ever did reach his limit and didn't know it.
The tankers dig square holes. Then they drive the tank over it and sand-bag around the behemoth. They could almost sit up straight then, under the tank. Certainly they could sleep better.
During the night the 12th Marines set off flares and artillery. Men had to learn to sleep through all that. If they were tired enough they could.
Colonel Withers must have heard something as he called on his radio for the Almighty to light up his tank.
"I've got Japanese all over us," Withers said.
"Anderson woke up TC Corporal Campden and told him what was up," Lyle tells. "One thing for sure is not to shine any lights at night. You just don't call attention to your tank like that."
Campden tells Anderson to get out the spotlight and light up the colonel's tank.
They do and they see nothing.
"We tell the colonel on the radio and we hear nothing more. I guess he was hearing things or the Japs jumped off and ran into the jungle," Lyle says and there is a look that says he thinks Withers might have been right.
There was rifle fire all around the men the next morning. The tank crew located some Japanese who had found a way to overlook the artillery position.
The cook was huddled for protection against a tank.
Arky and Lyle took the Thompson to see if they could dissuade the Japanese.
A squad of Marines headed up the hill toward the Japs and Lyle said he was sure the Japs would never make it back to their own lines. He heard no rifle fire, but that did not mean the Japanese soldiers were safe.
"I figured the danger was over so Arky and I went over to see what the cook was fixing for breakfast," Lyle said.
Tinian is secured on August 3, 1944. Of the 6,000 Japanese defenders there were only 250 prisoners. All the others had been killed. 5,750 dead. American losses were 390 killed and 1,800 wounded.
The army's 77th Division on the east side of Guam takes a large number of casualties as the Japanese futilely counter- attack. And elsewhere on the island the reports are that the Japanese defenders yield ground only grudgingly. The jungle and the terrain assist the Japanese. The end is not in doubt, however as they retire to the north end of the island and the Japanese defenders are overrun at Mt. Santa Rosa.
Americans take 1,300 dead and almost 6,000 wounded -- the company commander with the flesh wound is considered one of the almost 6,000.
There is a wonder among commanders that the Japanese started with almost 19,000 men on Guam and less than 100 survive as prisoners of war. It is a question. Rhetorical, but a question nonetheless.
The commanders begin to understand the nature of the Japanese and though the command does not take their fight lightly the command also believes there is no way to soften the blow to the mothers and fathers of the slain Japanese.
Light machine guns are mobile, deadly, and usually hardy.
The Americans used a Browning designed 1916A6 crew or squad serviced machine gun in .30 caliber -- a caliber being a tenth of an inch, i.e., .30 caliber is 30 tenths of an inch or nearly one third. It had a cooling jacket with circular holes, a flash hider, and bi-pod. The long butt and carrying handle facilitated ease of mobility.
Earlier the Marine Corps used a Johnson 30" .30 caliber machine gun with recoil operation. It was available in only limited numbers, however, since the Marine Corps was the only service that liked the beast.
It had an adjustable rate of fire and fired from an open bolt during full automatic burst to avoid rounds cooking-off when fire ceased.
The consensus was that the American forces never equipped their infantry with any LMG of real merit during WWII.
The Japanese were no better off. They supplied their troops with a discredited Czech design copied from the Hotchkiss. The unusual feed operation was what was the final blow to this inadequate machine gun.
6.5mm Taisho 11 first came to the Japanese army in 1922. A hopper fitted the right side and was both clumsy and outdated before it entered service, but continued as a standard piece until 1936 when the Type 96, also in 6.5mm was introduced. This weapon also was a reject from the Czech army. Japanese designers were never hesitant to adapt other ideas to their use. Good or bad was not the criterion, or so it seemed.
The Type 96 had a finned barrel, a drum rear sight, and an ornate -- for no apparent reason -- carrying handle.
The worst part of this monster was that it required oiling when changing the bullet clips. They entered through the left side and as the gunner fired the oiler was pouring from a one gallon container. This not only created a lot of smoke it also caused extraction problems when grit built up and could not be run off with the oil; and, this oil, required the ammo bearer to carry two gallon cans of the lubricant -- approximately 10 pounds each.
Other little idiosyncrasies of this machine gun were the bayonet which one wag said, "fitted the Japanese style of offense." It also over balanced the carrying feature of the "ornate" handle. Further the Japanese had a telescopic sight which the same writer suggested, "Whose fitting is incomprehensible."
Late in the war and without any large production numbers to deliver the weapon was the Type 99. It fired a rimless cartridge in 7.7mm. That meant that the armorer had to supply different cartridges to machine gun units as well as another group to the regular army units.
5
Guam was finished as a defensive action by the Japanese and their suicidal defenders. In the last days the stories of American atrocities, the "code" of Japanese "face," and eventuality led many of the soldiers to merely jump from the cliffs above the water onto the rocks in the surf-line. Some of their families took the same way out and women held children with them as they plummeted to their deaths. At night some of those who survived were heard moaning or even screaming in pain until the tide rose and washed their bodies out to sea.
These victims neither requested, norw were they given aid.
Lyle Radeleff never heard these plaintive wails. But he wondered, after he heard the tales, if anyone survived the fall to the rocks would he go save them? The answer everytime was that he would. He could not stand to see the people who could survive just wash away in the ocean. It was inconceivable to him to let someone suffer like that.
But these thoughts came to him as he struggled to save the Marine tank about to be towed under by the pounding surf.
Clinebell followed the tracks of other tanks as he wanted to avoid the land mines. If someone else had gone that way and not been damaged then Clinebell must have figured he could as well.
Campden talked to the Lieutenant on his radio telling the officer that the Almighty would pull them with a cable.
Cariker -- Arky -- and Lyle took the cable -- 1" diameter -- to the water's edge. The cable slowly played out and Lyle went into the sand to direct the operation.
A Japanese machine gunner opened up and sand blew small puffs into the air.
The radio says to leave the Lieutenant's tank where it is since it is in no real danger at the moment.
However, another nearby tank has a track that had come off in a land mine explosion and a bogey wheel needed to be replaced.
The Almighty drove back through the same tracks it came in on and repaired the injured tank: new track sections and new bogie wheel.
"At the same time, Marines on a nearby ridge are in a fire fight with desperate Japanese. A tank would have gone to help, but none were available," Lyle remembers.
Sometimes it was useless to send tanks into combat patrol since the jungle trails were so narrow that if the tanks needed to fire they couldn't traverse without the barrel of the cannon hitting trailside trees.
Still the machine gun on the turret and the nose were good offensive weapons. The LMG on the turret was particularly effective at keeping Japanese away at night. And the men often got a good night's sleep under the tank in what was called The Pit; the square hole previously described.
On July 24, only one day before Guam was declared secure, the Japanese attack one last time in force. The tanks were arrayed as infantry and many of the crews volunteered, or were directed to volunteer, as infantry.
The Japanese assault was futile, once more, but they did kill several men. The Japanese were able to reach the hospital and killed doctors -- unknown number -- and corpsmen -- once again an unknown number -- and "some" wounded Marines.
Support troops were able to throw back the Banzai attack and killed all of the Japanese soldiers.
They were found to have explosives wrapped and taped to their bodies. The officers, who also died, with waving swords pushed the soldiers forward.
It was the sense of Bushido that prevailed that day. It cost many mothers grief and anguish. But it was almost a self fullfilling prophesy; each man who died did so without complaint; or at least none was heard to complain.
Rains came and made tank operations difficult.
The 9th Marines had a difficult time of it and Captain Wilson led his men with his tanks into the fray.
Fonte Plateau became a killing ground. The Captain fought off a counter attack and because of his courage and determination he was praised with the Medal of Honor.
Captain Wilson who led A Company tanks that night was later to become the Commandant of the Marine Corps.
Every Marine desires two things: The Medal of Honor -- too many are given the MoH posthumously; and to be the Commandant of the Marine Corps.
Captain Wilson survived that mountain with a great effort.
Everyone "heard" that Japanese bayoneted the wounded.
"We built a hatred for them based on that. We would never do that. Marines have a code, an ethic, that we just wouldn't ever do that," Lyle said. "But, it got so bad that one Sergeant, Leonard Anda, Agony's tank commander would run over Japanese, living or dead, and return with clothing and body parts hanging from the tread. One member of his crew refused to clean the tank. He said he'd be sick and walked away. I guess Sergeant Anda hated the Japs."
Graves Registration was busy right next to the tank park. The GR people took the dead men to this area and buried them. A marker was placed over these men.
"I hated seeing the trucks come up to this area and men taken off the back with ropes. Then the Graves people would inspect the bodies for identification. The dead were wrapped in a poncho and put in a grave," Lyle said and added that it was very demoralizing.
And to top that when the tanks moved to a new area the crew of the Almighty chose a particularly convenient spot. Lyle chose a soft place in the sand and lay down. Ants and beetles and a horrible smell suddenly overwhelmed him. He discovered a dead Japanese soldier was buried in a shallow grave.
Lyle almost jumped and ran from the spot.
There were many Japanese infiltrators. Line troops had said the best way to stand guard was to get into a dark area and focus on one place.
It didn't work as Lyle thought that every coconut he saw had fixed eyes and was staring back at him.
Anderson, who was the radio operator, had a bad time. He talked strange words and wrote letters to his father. The word went around that Anderson needed help. Captain Stone transfered Anderson to the hospital. It appeared he had seen too much and could not handle it. Soon, not seeming to have improved, Anderson was sent back home.
"We were called on to help a stranded tank. We drove through all the ?getting ready? foxholes, the already prepared foxholes, and found the tank with a damaged tread." Lyle's thoughts were evident, almost as if reliving the moments. "We inspected what we could do and as I walked around the tank I saw an explosive device attached to a tree. I notified Corporal Campden. We decided to ignore it. I walked to the back of the Almighty and found a magnetic mine attached to our tank. I drew my .45 and searched hard for the person who might have done this. I couldn't see anyone. When we reinspected the explosive device on the tank we found the fuse was missing. They probably ran out of them."
The darkness fell, so Lyle and his tank crew decided the last thing they wanted was to be working on the disabled tank in the darkness. They decided to pull back until the light of day. They also found, later, that the foxholes they had passed were the front line.
Now that's a scary enough thing to be "up front," as Lyle recalled, but to be forward of the front was really scary as every combat veteran can testify to.
The tanks moved very carefully through the dense jungle growth. Often it was impossible to see what the tanks would shoot at. The Almighty was only armed with a machine gun and could have been easily knocked out by one of the Japanese anti- tank guns hidden only feet inside the thick greenery.
The Japanese also used 200 up to 500 pound bombs as mines. The Japanese would bury the bombs with only the nose and fuse exposed. They were easy to spot, but moving around them was also an adventure since the Japanese would often put land mines in the area so that any tank trying to avoid the "big ones" would be disabled by the small ones.
Meanwhile, Lora wrote. Often.
Just before the finality of their time on Guam, which the Japanese could not avoid, someone took one of the small Japanese tanks and stripped it. The vehicle was used as a water carrier until parts were no longer available to repair it.
Clothes were still washed in 55 gallon drums or almost anything that would hold water.
"I burned my clothes once by not keeping enough water in my washing machine, a tub full of soap and water," Lyle said with a laugh.
Barbering was a challenge as well.
"Cariker and I cut each other's hair using a child's scissors that we found. Who cared what it looked like? The night life was lousy anyway."
Meanwhile, Lora wrote. Often.
"I was starved for mail. It finally caught up with me around the first of August," Lyle said. "I read her letters and read them again. I laughed at her return addresses. One she wrote as Miss Ignatzi Ratskivatski, The Daydream Kid. Another was from Miss Minnie Trueblood. She always wrote of everyday things that she did and with whom. Family events and family members along with words that we both felt for each other. I had painted a name on our mortar tube GIZZI. That's what I called Lora. If she only knew what it meant to be with this crew."
He also recalled how he was sick with diarrhea. He had to run from the foxhole or the square hole under the Almighty to find a place to "go." He'd tell the men, "I gotta go. Don't shoot. I got runny bowels." Then on the way back he would use the best "sign" he could figure out, "It's me, comin' back, don't shoot."
It was August 3, 1944 when the Almighty went on patrol called RJ 177. The initials RJ mean road junction. This happened to be number 177 of a multitude of numbers. The 21st Marines also sent a company of infantry loaded aboard half-tracks and trucks. This armored recon was under the command of Lt.Col. Withers. The reinforced infantry unit was commanded by Major Clark who was also Exec of 3d Bn., 21st Marine Regiment. Nine Detection and Demolition men were assigned to us from the 19th Marines; their duty was to find and explode anti-personnel and anti-tank mines.
"We proceeded up the road through Agana toward the villages of Didedo and Finnegayan just past Tuman Bay. The lead half-track took the wrong turn and we ran into a strong column of Japanese. The Almighty was at the rear of the tank column with some trucks behind us. We could hear all the firing. The radio chatter was confusing and it was only three days before my birthday," Lyle said with that same wry grin. He seemed to have been more concerned about making his birthday party, a party of one as it turned out by the way, than with what was happening before him.
"We were halted and I spotted a Japanese soldier with heavy camouflage over his helmet. He looked as if he were trying to escape toward his own lines. He seemed to be attempting to blend into the lanscape, but whenever I saw a moving bush I knew it was the Jap," Lyle said and seemed to squint at the sight in his mind. "This is the best picture in my mind I ever saw of a Japanese soldier and a live one at that. His rifle had the bayonet on it and it was as clear as if it were a picture on the wall. He stopped at some shrubbery, but the guy was easily seen. He clearly didn't think so, however. We debated who was going to shoot the man. The machine gun on the turret ring moved around and began to train the gun on the man," Lyle squinted again as if aiming at the enemy soldier. "Then we noticed a bunch of Marines from the 1st Battalion, 9th Marines moving around behind the guy and we couldn't shoot without maybe hitting them," Lyle said and there was relief in his voice. "So, we just waved at the little guy and he disappeared in the brushy stuff. All hell was breaking loose at the front of the column anyhow about then."
Almighty had stopped beside a hole where five Japanese soldiers had been killed. One had the top of his head blown off and the rest were in contorted positions. All had died defending their positions. The men of Almighty, or others as well, were not indifferent to the deaths, but Lyle figured the Marines had no choice except to merely acknowledge the deaths and move on.
Lyle also knew the camo clad soldier would soon be as dead as the men at the base of the tank.
Suddenly the tank radio squawked and the men heard Colonel Withers ask Division if he could hold up the patrol and continue in the morning. Almighty's radio operator spun the dial to hear the reply and they said not to delay and continue at once.
The Almighty was smoking and belching as it began to move along when suddenly a Japanese shell came from someplace headed directly toward the tank retriever.
"I could see that shell coming. It was like slow motion. I could swear I could make out Japanese writing on it. I ducked, it was so close. Too close. It landed behind us a few yards and blew up clods of dirt and dust all over Almighty and me. Too close," he repeated and I know he wondered why it didn't hit them.
The tanks and trucks moved forward as the column cleared the Japanese. Once more someone was heard to complain they'd taken the wrong turn. Again. There was more heavy Japanese fire and the patrol was bogged down. Again.
But after the short fire fight the men moved along and later it was determined that the excursion behind enemy lines resulted in:
American losses
1 tank slightly damaged
1 KIA
14 wounded
1 half-track destroyed
1 truck left behind
Japanese losses
All soldiers in the action were killed
2 75mm guns destroyed
several machine guns captured or destroyed
Japanese patrol activity increased during the night. Two tanks were heard heading through RJ 177. The Japanese tanks raced through the 9th Marines lines and crushed the trail arm of a 37mm anti-tank gun. Then they continued behind the 3d Marines lines. Once there they turned and fired only one time. A 57mm cannon shell was aimed at a tank. It failed to explode though it did make a hole in the right sponson.
With this going on the Japanese also made an attack against the point where the 9th and 3d Marines' lines came together. At 2130 hours Division had warned the 3d Tank Bn. to be prepared to repel the attack.
Artillery broke up the attack, so, Lyle said, "This let us spend the remainder of the night in quiet, without further incident. The alert was cancelled soon after 2230 hours."
Guam seemed very busy to Lyle Radeleff. He was involved in the action from the time he arrived until the very last moments. Some of the incidents were dangerous and some were folly, but none were less than serious.
Once more a routine mop-up patrol is sent out a few days later and the column is halted under heavy fire from the front. As it turned out the U. S. Army has the 77th Division ahead and above. They mistook the Marines for Japanese and fired. Several men are killed and this was what they called Friendly Fire.
"I call it stupid fire. They could have known. They certainly should have known. To me," Lyle says with a snarl that says it was unsatisfactory performance, "it was what we might have expected from doggies."
The column once more has stopped next to dead Japanese who are bloated and covered with thousands upon thousands of flies. He asks Clinebell to pull forward. Lyle didn't want to look at the bodies or listen to the airforce of flies.
"Semper Fi, Mac," is all Clinebell replies.
That, as every Marine knows means, "Tough, Gyrene." Or, nowadays someone would say, "Just deal with it."
Arky says he likes the belt on one of the Jap dead and proceeds to remove it. Along with the belt comes some skin from the body. Gold teeth glint in the dead man's mouth. Arky takes his .45 and knocks them out. He lays the belt across the water can and puts the teeth in his pocket.
"I look up in time to see the Assistant Driver puke all over the front of the tank," Lyle says and curls his lip and squints his nose at the memory of the stench. "I might have if this had been my first. Though I never got used to seeing dead men, and this was pretty rank."
The radio sparkled and an order was given. Lyle, untrained in radio procedure answered, "Okey Dokey."
There was laughter along the net.
He remained mad at the 77th for their lack of professional and military training.
A sweep of the island by local Guamanians and some Marines was made after the final action. It was August 10, 1944.
"We held a memorial service for all our men who had been killed. A friend carried a candle to the altar for his buddy. Corporal Campden had a home town mate in C Company who had died of wounds. Our 3d Tank Battalion had 6 officers and 56 enlisted wounded; KIAs were 5 enlisted and two who later died of their wounds," there is somberness in Lyle's voice. "I guess the small number was fortunate."
He was on Guam longer than any other action and therefore there are more stories to tell. But none will be more important to him than the ones coming up.
After Guam was secured there was a lot of clean up and fix up. The Marines were deeply involved in that as they had been in the liberation.
Chamorro families welcomed the Marines.
There were movies and a movie "theater" on logs next to a Chamorro home. On one occasion a Chamorro woman gave birth with Marines going through the drama with her. First the battalion doctor was called, then a Corpsman was there, and suddenly the night air was split by the cry of the newborn.
Everyone cheered.
Reports from other units came that as the men watched movies a Japanese straggler would be seen standing at the edge of the jungle watching along with the Americans. But, at the outcry and before the men could grab their weapons the man was long gone.
A B-29 taking off for a long distance raid on Japan caught fire in one engine. The plane was loaded with fuel and bombs. It had no chance. It crashed into the ocean and it appeared every man aboard was lost.
Another moment of peril came when Lyle was in his five man tent and writing a letter. A squall went over, then a heavy wind, more rain -- heavier this time -- and the tent went down. The rain was harder by the moment. The men could not get the tent back up. Lora's letter was soaked. Lyle grabbed the gasoline lamp to keep from starting a fire on the blown over tent. The storm abated, but not until after it ruined almost everything. The letters to Lora always suffered. Many times Lyle had to write two letters since the first one was soaked so badly it could not be read, much less, sent.
A promotion list came out and PFC Lyle Radeleff made Corporal. He felt no different, but he got a big raise in pay. About $5 a month.
Campden made Sergeant.
In the finest traditions the men clinched their fists and hit one another on the shoulders. They were sore for days after, however.
Sergeant Campden was asked if he would like to go to Officer's School. He turned them down.
It made some difference since there was now a sergeant running Almighty and four corporals arguing with each other.
"I hoped Lora would be impressed by this promotion," he said.
She was more than likely happy for Lyle than impressed.
There was more to do on Guam than just fight off storms and write letters.
One day a young Chamorro lad came saying he knew where a Japanese straggler was located. It seems the man was prowling around the youngster's house. The soldier must have been hungry and wanted something to eat. He had to know that for him the war was over. If not then how come all the Marines were just working at jobs instead of fighting?
It followed that someone somewhere likely said, "Stupid Japs."
Lyle grabbed his .45 and a bunch of men followed the kid to his house.
"We began to search, but with all the jungle undergrowth it was hard to see anything. We spread out in a sweeping line and someone said there had been four of them," Lyle relives the story. "I saw one about that time as the boy pointed to the man. He began to crawl out of some bushes when he saw me. He froze as I pointed my pistol at him and slowly walked toward him. I searched him while he shivered in fear. That fear was deeply imbedded in his eyes. Someone yelled at me that I ought to be careful since they sometimes had hidden grenades. This man didn't. I got him to stand up. Suddenly a guy rushed up with an M-1, shoves it in the prisoner's mouth, and screams at the Japanese soldier, 'Where are your bastard buddies?'. I knew that if this jerk pulled the trigger I'd get the round as well. I stepped aside and told everyone that I was taking him to headquarters. The man continued to shiver and shake. At headquarters we parted and I know he said, I felt it inside me, 'Please don't leave me.' I was somewhat disturbed by that fear in his eyes. Once you see it you know it and it never leaves you. I said to him, 'Don't worry you'll be okay.'" Lyle paused. "I hope he was. We didn't bayonet our prisoners nor torture them."
Lyle said he never undressed the man nor did the man have much on. He was so skinny and almost lifeless. The man stayed next to Lyle the whole time the soldier was being loaded aboard the truck that came to get him.
"It was sorta like a lost puppy," Lyle says.
The Battalion 3, Intelligence Officer, questioned Lyle about where the prisoner was captured and tried to talk with the Japanese soldier.
"As I walked out I glanced at this man knowing that now he would be better off as a prisoner of war than running around in the jungle hungry and freezing in the rain." This was Lyle's way of putting the conditions into focus. "I wonder if that man is still alive and thankful that I stopped that angry Marine from pulling the trigger on the M-1."
Normally a Japanese soldier will die before surrender.
With that in mind Corporal Radeleff didn't have any illusions about the probability of getting into a fire fight to the death with some renegade Japanese soldiers who might refuse to end the fight Now.
He went on several patrols to bring in Japanese stragglers. "I went on a patrol consisting of about 12 men. I carried a carbine and two boxes of ammunition for the machine gun, along with 4 hand grenades hung on my belt. The patrol was trying to be as quiet as we could. The trail was only wide enough to walk on. It was dense jungle on either side," Lyle told. "There was a halt and word was whispered back to pass up the ammo boxes. The men were crouched on the trail. I couldn't see up front even though I was only about seven back. Machine gun fire started and I fell into the growth. The gun stopped after a few moments. Someone called back that the path was all clear and we could move out." Lyle paused and seemed to think about the event. "I stood up and noted I no longer had my hand grenades. I searched for them and just couldn't find them. This is not good since some Jap straggler could have picked them up."
He sipped at a cup of coffee while he acted as if he wanted to recall every nuance of the patrol.
"We approached a grass and bamboo hut built on stilts. This was what all the firing was about, I guess. Three Japanese soldiers had been inside with one underneath on the ground. We almost caught them all with the machine gun, but two seemed to have slipped away."
The story is very long and detailed, however, Lyle and his men were a noisy bunch and the Japs likely heard this gaggle of Americans coming down the trail. The Japs left in a hurry.
The Japanese had probably been looking for food and got caught inside the hut. One hiding under the building was killed and the two inside were also killed.
"Someone searched the bodies but said they found nothing of importance. No attempt was made to bury the enemy and we only noted the position on the map." Lyle pursed his mouth and squinted a bit, but continued. "I'm sure the Japs knew every move we made, because we never found anyone after that. We returned to the CP and made a report." Now Lyle sounded as if he remembered the worst part of the patrols on Guam. "Lots of Marines were killed or injured on these island sweeps and patrols."
6
Guam was still a dangerous place though the fighting had virtually concluded.
Patrols continued, however, and the men were very active. They went on night as well as day patrols. There had to be more Japanese stragglers to be found. In September of 1944, there was a lengthy patrol Lyle participated in; it would last two days. The men followed a trail until they arrived at a clearing with a typical Guam bamboo building. Piles of coconut husks about three feet high were in the center of the open area.
"We dug foxholes under the hut. We waited for night to fall. We ate rations and prepared for the evening. I hoped no one would interrupt my sleep that night since I didn't have a very good line of fire or sight with those coconut piles where they were." There was an enigmatic smile on Lyle's lips. "I could see a Japanese face in every coconut husk. I peed in a cap from an artillery shell and carefully poured it over the lip of the foxhole."
If the Japanese were watching from cover they had to know there were Marines hidden under the hut.
"And, I'm sure every Jap on Guam knew we were there," Lyle admitted.
Nothing happened and with sighs of relief the men returned to the CP to report, "No contact."
The weapons Lyle carried were varied. When out on the 12 man patrol he carried a carbine along with his .45. The next patrol he carried that same carbine, but the other Marines carried M-1s and BARs.
"One patrol I carried a Thompson sub-machine gun. It was light, easy to fire, but you had to be careful since it liked to rise; so you could be right on the first few shots and then shooting off hilltops before the magazine was empty."
Lyle followed a column of Marines. This patrol he carried that Thompson. He walked backward as he was the last man.
"The sound of the dust shield on the Jap rifle is distinctive. I heard it. It made me very careful. Then I heard the pitter patter of Japanese shoes running across the jungle floor. The bush swished. I pulled the trigger on the Thompson and sprayed 20 rounds of .45 caliber ammo into the greenery. I didn't go looking for the man or his body. In the jungle you don't have much time to react or spend extra time searching for dead people."
The patrol finally made contact.
"I full clipped the gun. The incident controlled my actions. I fired and other men came rushing and shooting into the same area. I think that in my whole life this one minute of will cling to me forever," Lyle admitted.
The patrol business went on and on. Lyle carried a .30 caliber light machine gun this time. His belt of ammo would shoot 30 rounds really quickly.
"I was ordered to set the machine gun up at the head of this one particular trail. The sergeant wanted me to cover the men on the patrol. An assistant gunner carried two cans of ammo. And one thing is certain, I tried hard to be invisible to any enemy eyes."
Several days went by and late in the afternoon a patrol was called to help a Guamanian family a few miles up a road. The word was that Japanese were on their farm and caused the Guamanians some concern.
In the moon light the Marines could see the small hut near the house. Palm fronds covered the sides and roof.
"Fire into the corn fields," the patrol leader whispered. "If they're there they'll come out."
Lyle did as he was told and figured he was doing more damage to the Guamanian farm than to any Japanese that might be hidden there.
Another Marine with a BAR fired into the hut and the patrol could hear the shatter of pottery inside that building.
"God, I felt bad for this family. Here we come like gang-busters and shoot up their pottery and corn field. They must have been huddled inside their own home," Lyle's eyes filled with concern for those natives, "Of course the Japanese were long gone and I doubt they ever called any nearby Marines again."
The Japanese surrendered in few numbers. And in 1972 "the last" remaining survivor came out of the forest to give himself up. He had no way to know the war had ended, nor, did it appear, that the man cared in the least.
"I would liked to have talked to him about his days alone on that island. He was probably buried in some cave and waiting. I don't know for what, but waiting. Geez, what a way to live."
Almighty was very busy during the day. The big A frame on the retriever was in demand from those tanks that needed to repair either tank treads, bogey wheels, or other parts.
Arky was about to hammer a shaft with a sledge hammer again.
"Everytime he hit that damn shaft dirt would fall in my face as I lay under the tank," Lyle laughed. "This time it fell into my eyes and washing them out with water didn't work. I went to the aid station with two Marines leading my by the arms."
He stayed at the battalion aid station while the Doc and Corpsman washed out the eyes and then advised they would glue his eyes shut to let them heal by themselves.
"They put a thick bandage around my head and over my eyes. Sergeant Campden led me back to the tent in our area. I stayed there for four days. The rest of the crew would bring my food and when I went to the head someone had to help me." Lyle smiles then. "The piss tube was a bamboo shaft stuck deep in the ground. There was a funnel on the open end. The men then would tell me how good my aim was." Lyle laughed at the memory. "I wouldn't let them read Lora's letters to me. I saved 'em. They did read the return address on the envelope. That was always good for a laugh. Since all I could do was lay on my bunk, I slept and daydreamed about Lora. Letters from Lora were for me alone."
Patrols were an everyday occurrence. They continued for the Marines on a regular shift basis.
Lyle and a team went out with the Almighty to a disabled tank several miles away. On the way there the Tank Commander ordered Clinebell to stop the tank.
After a rocking halt we jumped out of the tank and found several men in an army survey team with rifles up as if ready to use them. Imaginary Japanese appeared everywhere these days and it was not unusual for a phantom enemy to cause an alarm.
There were, however, plenty of real enemies without reacting to the phantoms all around.
Training for the next phase began in earnest. The refitting was like a mad scramble. Someone claimed we were on a Chinese Fire Drill with no one in control and squirting water at anything.
Pago Bay was on the east side of Guam. It provided a perfect spot for our mortar Gizzi to shoot smoke rounds into the middle of the bay and give the other units a target to shoot at. The 81mm mortar was particularly suited to this type of mission. It was larger and the distance was further than the much smaller 60mm mortar.
The American forces used two primary mortar types.
The 60mm was a licensed modified French version of a British Stokes mortar from WWI; the 60mm M-2 was fitted to an M-2 mount or base plate and a collimator sight. The mortar weighed 43 pounds and a 2.9 inch projectile would range out to near 2,000 yards. An unusually broad variety of bombs was available.
The next size was the 81mm M-1, like it's cousin the 60mm, was derivative of the 81mm French Brandt. Originally designed as a way to throw out a High Explosive bomb with folding fins, which theoretically sprang out to stablize the bomb, the reality was that the boost from the tube would distort the fins and make it difficult for the bomb to perform as expected or accurately. An M-56 bomb was designed weighing in at 10.6 pounds and from the 49 inch tube the device would range as far as 2,500 yards. The heavy weight of the mortar made it less than mobile -- 136 pounds -- but when mounted on carriages it could travel easily. On the Sherman Tank Retriever it was suitably impressive.
Later the T-13 mortar in 105mm was produced and even the T-25 heavy mortar fired 155mm projectiles in support of advancing troops. The destruction by the 6 inch and the heavier, almost 8 inch, bombs was enormous as might be expected.
The Japanese used the Type 89 mortar of 50mm. It was only a short range mortar, out to 700 yards, but particularly effective in close assault situations. Americans who captured the Type 89 heard the Japanese used them by mounting them on knees to stabilize the tube. Much to the surprise of the Americans, however, were broken femurs when they tried to emulate the rumor. The Japanese actually used a deceptively small baseplate upon which to mount the mortar tube. The bomb was only slightly shy of 30 ounces; quite small.
Later the Type 98 was of more orthodox construction, but for reasons Only known to the designers, a fixed elevation of 40 degrees was built into the device. Bagged charges ignited by friction strikers propelled the 14 pound bomb out about 700 yards. The unique feature, once more a designer curiosity, of the bomb was that it exploded seven seconds after it left the mortar tube; it did not matter where it was in the flight path.
In 1937 the Type 97 in 81mm was produced. This too was a Brandt copy; however, production was unlicensed as opposed to the royalty paid by the American manufacturer.
The Type 97 sent a 7 pound bomb out to 2200 yards -- a goodly distance by comparison to the T98 and 89. The Type 94 in 90mm was produced late in the war and deemed, by the Japanese who used the mortar and the enemy who suffered little from it, both ineffective and limited in use.
The Americans, it seemed, had the better of the small mortars, were even on the medium mortars, and superlative in the heavy mortars.
While Corporal Radeleff would shoot his 81mm mortar at the bay leaving colored smoke balls the other tanks would shoot at the balls of billowing smoke with their 75mm cannon.
"I'm sure lots of dead fish resulted from the explosions of the 75mm shells," he said with a chuckle. He must have remembered the sight of floating fish which the Chamorro natives likely gathered at the end of the firing exercises.
WWII in Europe was over!
Men fired their guns in the air and revelry ran amok on the island. Tracers arched and fell into the sea, against the jungle, and disappeared over mountain tops. Then someone wondered if anyone might be hurt by the displays.
"What goes up must come down," Lyle recalled his wonder at the silly actions of the few.
The next day the word came from the command not to put on a show like that again. Besides, the war in Europe was Not over. Yet.
"I bet the Japanese stragglers and survivors were impressed by the display, though," Lyle said and grinned, probably thinking of some poor Japanese fellow cringing in fright at the sight in front of him.
Lora and Lyle still corresponded and it was serious. They shared dreams and ideas. Often the inner feelings were not so inner, but right out in the open on the paper.
Lyle said he felt as if he were actually talking directly to Lora.
"Her letters were precious gems to me," he remembered. "I would read them over and over. The rest of the crew knew that when I got my mail I would be worthless until I finished reading Lora's letters." But, he never seemed concerned that they'd hold up the end of the war for those letters.
He had his mother send Lora pictures of him taken in San Diego when he was a recruit. His brother lived in Long Beach and Lyle urged his brother buy a locket for Lora with some money Lyle had saved. Lyle knew this was the woman he wanted to share his life with.
Corporal Campen always wrote to a girl in Michigan. On one evening Lyle received a letter from Lora and he went to chow where he could read it quietly. He was very excited.
But Campden received a letter, actually two, from the girl in Michigan. He was so excited he yelled, "Where's Curly. I just got a second letter from my girl!"
"They were all interested in my letters from Lora and now with Campden he wanted everyone to know as well," Lyle said with a bright smile.
There were injuries, crotch itch, bumps and bruises. One hurt came from a steel part from a tank which caused Lyle's hand to be bandaged. Mostly the wrap was to keep the dirt and debris out, however. This turned out to be a conversation piece in his letters to Lora and he was inventive. He didn't tell her about some things though: the crotch itch and how the men lined up for the Corpsman to swab between the Marines' legs with a green medication. That would really start the day.
Lyle visited Fred Bartells at the MP company; he had made, however, corporal as a Baker. The Battalion moved closer to Division Headquarters so Lyle and Fred saw one another quite often; Fred had malaria several times and been to the hospital. On one visit Fred told Lyle he was much too thin and the new baker seemed to want to test his skills as he tried to fill Lyle up with Turkey pies. Fred, one day, wandered over to the tank park, but Lyle was out in the field on training.
"I always wrote Lora about Fred as he sort of got us together and I was sure she was interested how he was doing with his girl friends. When I asked him about the girl in New Zealand he told me, 'I don't write to her anymore because she's changed.'" Lyle shook his head. "Poor Fred. He always had trouble with his girls."
But Lyle seemed to have his own share of confusion. A girl from New Zealand wrote someone of high rank and the letter came down through the chain to Lyle's Commanding Officer, Captain Stone.
"Did anything happen while you were in New Zealand with Jean Pierre?" the captain wanted to know. The question sounded innocent enough.
"Me sir? No sir," Lyle said truthfully. He expected the worst at that point. He didn't want to be blamed for anything that didn't happen. But he hoped it wasn't That.
"All right, Corporal. I'll write and tell her you are alive and well," Captain Stone said. And that seemed to end that incident.
Lyle thought, as he left the office walked back to his area, that he should have written her -- even a mere friendly letter -- that he was all right and nothing happened to him.
Lora received orchids and roses from Lyle's brother at Christmas time. Lyle had sent money for them. Later Lora sent pictures of her wearing the locket and orchid.
There was a point system for men to return to the United States. Lyle was sure he could be home sometime early in 1945 so he didn't write as often or as much. He was certain he had the points, though with that delightful thought in his mind, the idea made some things worse instead of better.
A correspondent attached to the division wanted to interview Lyle for the hometown paper. Lyle tried to describe the tank retriever to the man, but only succeeded in making the Almighty into an ugly thing. But, after some revisions, pictures, and passing the censor the article turned out fine and the feature was published in the Delano Record on January 26, 1945.
Lyle laughed at the censor who must have thought the Japs never saw the retriever before or maybe the guy thought it was a secret weapon.
7
The LST 477 moved through the water; the island on which we were to land was still 80 miles away. Corporal Radefleff watched ships all over the ocean headed toward a distant shoreline.
"Every ship had the same destination," Lyle said, but recalled as well that only a few knew where it was. It was like just one boat or ship followed another. It got late onto afternoon and men began to line up for chow. The cramped walkway was full of Marines who mumbled about their own interests: girls, chow, rumors, card games, stories -- real or phony -- about life back home, or anything that came up.
Then it happened. As Corporal Radeleff watched late that afternoon, a Japanese plane came slicing through the air and past all the anti-aircraft fire.
"The pilot seemed to head the thing directly toward me." Lyle watched as if mesmerized. His thoughts were stifled and his mind seemed blank to the events occuring around him.
"The big red cowl in front of that the olive body, streaked with oil and dented metal and two red balls painted on the wings, came closer and closer. The right wing went up. The left wing looked as if it were the pivot for the whole aircraft. The pilot seemed to look for a good spot to slam into us and I was his bullseye," Radeleff said and his body appeared to withdraw as he recalled the events of that day.
"Below, in the hold, were tanks loaded to the gills with fresh ammo, guns, bullets of every size and variety, including phosphorous, AP, and high explosives. I knew if that damn plane hit there we'd go up in one big blast."
What the hell was Corporal Radeleff doing staring at the airplane?
"I was on the weather deck waiting in line for chow. It was only a matter of seconds, not even a minute, when the Japanese airplane suddenly appeared and dropped into the hole in the ship and smashed itself apart. I knew the pilot had been killed. The explosion was terrific. The smell was overwhelming. I was blown up against the bulkhead behind me and almost slid off my feet."
And?
"That navy knows it's stuff. They knew exactly what to do. All sorts of Marines were staring at the damage. After all it was less than a wing distance from where we stood. These Marines were all gawking like people rubber-necking a wreck on the road."
Japanese aircraft were, on the whole, a bit faster and a little more maneuverable. They sacrificed pilot and crewmen safety to gain the speed. They also lacked self-sealing fuel tanks. So, when pilot cabin or crew areas were hit by the .50 or 20mm cannon from Allied planes the Japanese lost their air-ships.
They also refused to upgrade from radial engines. The mere physics of a huge radial engine in the front of a plane does not satisfy the need for speed alone.
So, with a maximum of 356 miles per hour the Japanese soon lost ground to the Allies who, though many still flew radial engines, adapted somewhat and installed four bladed propellers which increased speed to compensate for self-sealing fuel tanks and armored cabins and heavy plate around engines. The trade off, the Japanese must have thought, would be men for metal. The Allies thought the same thing, trade offs; but they believed the men were more important. The Japanese clearly didn't.
And so, with laquered canvas and lighter weight wood the Japanese aircraft flew circles around American planes. For a while, that is. They flew into the deck with a few bullets in them after the Americans began to show their adaptations in the their planes and pilots.
There was no contest shortly after the in line engines, the Rolls Royce Merlins in the P-51s and the Allisons in the P-38s. The Japanese had lost on points. It was soon set, match, and game for them.
Dead men, it was obvious, couldn't fly planes.
Lyle paused and it looked as if he had something in mind with that Kamikaze airplane buried in the hold of the LST 477.
"I saw the navy wasn't getting any cooperation, so I yelled into the gawking crowd of Marines, 'Make way for the sailors, they got a job to do!' and the guys began to move out of the way."
The fire and damage control people went deeply into the hold and began to extinguish the fire and repair the hull.
"I thought we were going to abort the rest of the trip, but it must have been a nervy guy up on the bridge 'cause even as we shuddered under the attack by the plane the ship kept on going for a little," Lyle Radeleff said with some admiration for the navy and their skills.
"Someone said we went dead in the water as the power went out, but I don't know. I don't recall if the power went out, but it seemed the rest of the convoy left us behind. We must have been dead in the water for some period of time." He thought for a few seconds and admitted, "It's really blurry with me. I think we just trailed along and later we anchored near the battleship Texas off the island I found out was Iwo Jima.
"Long after the night fell we were under air raid. A friend of mine and I went on deck to see what it was all about; what the commotion was. I stood behind a 20mm anti-aircraft gun-mount which was shooting at the same spot everyone else on all the other ships were firing. A bit later, a little hunk of metal stuck in my leg. A corpsman pulled it out with what I thought was a machete. Really it was only tweezers, but when it was all done the corpsman thought I ought to get a Purple Heart for this little thing covered by a bandaid. I felt stupid for standing out in the open during an air raid and couldn't bring myself to have anyone apply for a Purple Heart for that."
Did Lyle have any regrets yet? Joining the Marines, getting into tanks, going to war against the Japanese, a long way from home, and writing to a girl who was an enigma for him at that point. He didn't say. But from his appearance he had no second thoughts or regrets. None at all.
One thing you gather from Lyle Radeleff was that he had a definite respect for war and all the events involved with killing people, breaking things, and destroying stuff. But he expressed no real fear. He seemed not to be afraid for his life.
One does get the impression he expresses no foxhole conversion, no devout or deep religious conviction though he does say, "Lord help us!" on occasion.
Lyle just did his job and worried about things he could do something about.
There were things he had no control over and he didn't get too excited about them.
Later Lyle Radeleff studied all the documents relating to the action around him and found:
The LST 477 loaded with tanks -- precious cargo of the 3d Marine Division -- was badly damaged but was later able to unload on the beach before returning to Saipan.
The planes were from the 2d Mitate Special Attack Unit -- Kamikazi -- who took off from Katore Airbase, near Yokosuka about 50 miles south of Tokyo. These men and their airplanes stopped at Hachijo Jima, an island about 125 miles south of Tokyo for resupply. They headed, once again, in a southerly direction to attack the American fleet off Iwo Jima.
Not one of the fliers of that group survived. None of them would ever see their mothers or fathers, wives, children or become grandparents.
Other ships involved and damaged or sunk by the Kamikazi were the CVE Bismark Sea (an escort carrier), CV Saratoga (a major carrier), CVE Lunga Point (another escort carrier), AKN Keokuk (a resupply ship).
Out of the dawn there was a terrible sight. Lyle wasn't sure the navy learned from experiences at places like Tarawa, Bouganville, and Guam as well as places where Lyle never served such as Saipan and Tinian, that the bombardments from off shore were nearly ineffective, i.e., the Japs were not badly hurt. Mostly the expenditure of ammunition and high explosives was only a mind game.
Iwo Jima, Volcano I. Iwo in Japanese means something like stone or rock. The word Jima means island. This rocky island was covered by smoke and dust. One shell after another for days on end seemed to have been enough to sink the island.
The main volcano, long extinct, would likely open up if another 16" shell landed inside the dormant cone. But Suribachi didn't erupt. And the navy continued to pound the place for days. And then more days. And weeks after that. Air assaults were continuous while huge bombs created their own earthquakes and seemed to make the island a candidate for sinking from the weight of the steel and iron the United States Navy poured onto the land.
The beaches were black sand and seemed to darken from the turned over silicates and volcanic ash from deep onshore.
Lyle watched the big guns kaboomed one after another; their 1,800 pound shells falling onto the island. He was fully impressed. It might just as easily have been him on the island and Japs shooting their huge guns at him.
Weeks passed and these guns still fired. One salvo after another. Lyle figured the Japanese had to be going nuts. There was little they could do except sit inside their bunkers carved into that mountain and wait. Lyle was sure he'd have gone nuts long ago.
But the Japanese, it was learned later, merely hunkered down and waited. They knew the Americans were on their way. When the gunfire settled down these men moved their mortars and light artillery out and began to shoot into areas they had zeroed in months before. Not one square foot of the beach was uncovered by the Japanese gunners.
The key was to get off the beach as quickly as possible.
Suribachi was the keystone too. As long as the Japanese had the high ground the invasion would be a mere preparation for the hill climb.
Suribachi looked like Mount Everest. But K-1 had no artillery nor Japanese waiting to kill the climbers. Suribachi was stone hard and defended by men who cared not one whit for their own lives if they could kill an equal number of Americans.
30,000 men go ashore the first day; the 4th and 5th Marine Divisions assault the beach.
Japanese are led by General Kuribayashi. It seemed to many that he had no feeling or care about his 21,000 men. If he had, then why would he squander so many of the youth of Japan on this rock. A barren and ignominous place to die. And, he had to know, they would certainly die there. The Americans would attempt to spare many, but the Japanese refused to accommodate the conscience of the Marines; many Japanese died on the first day; they might have survived to become fathers, grandfathers, and great grandfathers. They did not, however, because of Bushido.
Why Iwo Jima?
The Americans could place fighters there and escort B-29s to bomb the mainland. From Tinian to Tokyo round trip is 2,700 miles plus or minus flying directly over Iwo Jima and the radar warning facilities. And, on the way back, any damaged airplanes would be easy pickin's from the Japanese fighter interceptors on Iwo Jima. American fighter escort would be immensely helpful and a deterrent if not a defense against Japanese fighter interceptors. And, just as importantly, a one way trip to Tokyo from Tinian is 1350 miles or so, but part way back for a damaged B-29 is only 500 or so miles. The B-29 could almost make that on two engines if anything went wrong. Later the B-29s would with more than 250 of the bombers and 2,500 crewmen are alive today to say Iwo Jima was worth it. These are not just any crewmen, but highly trained and skilled members of a flight crew of, at that time, the most complicated airship in the sky.
Compared to the European air war the round trip from Guilesford, England to Berlin is 1,000 miles. Round trip to Frankfurt is 800 miles. Round trip to Dusseldorf is 600 miles. These numbers are approximate, as are the mileage figures to Tokyo.
The numbers are for reference. It is certainly less to Berlin from England than from Tinian to Tokyo. And then the flight from Tinian is over 95% water. Very little of the European flight is over water.
There is nothing to determine the survivability of one over the other.
But, why do the Japanese need to or want to defend Iwo Jima so fiercely?
This is the first step into metropolitan Japan. The island is part of the country. It is face. It is Bushido.
But, written on the wind, Americans will not be denied.
The first assaults on the beach are unopposed and almost without the terror to come later. The American Marines quickly consolidate their positions and before the first day is 24 hours old the Marines have pushed across the island and ripped a huge hunk of the rock into permanent possession of the Marines.
The resistance becomes hardened and hours of bloodshed follow the men across the barren landscape.
Urging the men forward and off the beach the leaders push the Marines into closer combat with the Japanese.
Suribachi is the Pacific island's K-1.
But, instead of 26,000 feet, glaciers, deep snow, and blowing winds the Americans fight heat and bullets. Instead of straight up the side of a monster mountain with piton and ice axe the Marines climb 550 feet of granite rock with fist over fist determination.
At the top, on the summit, the Marines mount the flag.
The war is over for the Japanese. But they do not know it or they just refuse to acknowledge it.
Lyle watches and waits for his turn in the barrel. The Almighty lights off the diesel engine, coughs a couple of times, and spits out huge clouds of black smoke. Clinebell has the thing operating perfectly.
The beach is a garbage dump of destroyed landing craft by the time Lyle and his tank retriever are ready to go.
Vehicles of all types litter the beach. They are flattened or exploded from accurate Japanese gunfire.
Other ships come to the shore to take off the wounded and dead. They fall under fire from the Japanese and Lyle thinks it must be a miracle that another equal number of sailors and Marines are not killed.
A naval gunfire spotter in an airplane is suddenly shot at by Japanese anti-aircraft fire. The green tracers arc smoothly and evenly until they whip the small spotter plane into a wingless arrow which falls to earth behind Japanese lines.
There is no vegetation. Not only because there is normally little or no vegetation. There is no vegetation because none could survive the intense hammering of the pre-invasion gunfire and the post-invasion defensive fire.
The LST 477 has an LCM attached to it and sending it into the water was a big task. The huge transport began to list to the side and seemed in some danger, but two burly sailors with double edged axes parted the 3 inch hausers fairly easily. The LCM dropped it's 100 tons with a huge splash. Five men clammered into the boat and began to load precious cargo of heavy equipment for the shore.
Beachmasters crowded the sea lanes yelling almost indistinguishable orders to ships to go here and go there. Lyle heard the LST 477 called out and the Captain was ordered to Beach Yellow 1.
An LST on the off side of 477 is crushed in the Sickbay area, rear aft quarter of the vessel, and the Beachmaster screams invectives that mean this incident could hold up the whole operation.
The anchor cable to pull the ship off the beach is entangled with the ship's own screw when the LST attempts to withdraw from the shore. Navy divers go into the water to remove this line and the delay is costly.
The Beachmaster continues to rant and rave, but with some good cause.
A small boat brings heavy weight officers, large stripes and many of them on epaulets, attend to the LST's Captain; obviously someone wants to impress the man with the seriousness of the events taking place all around him.
"Get those tanks ashore," the bullhorn screams at the Cargomaster.
In the wake, no pun intended, of all the activity the Japanese are not idle. Shells swoosh and splash close to the 477 and make life perilous for all hands. There is no reason, or so it seems, for this to be happening to this one ship.
But it does.
Finally, after backing and filling and repositioning, 477 finally comes to rest on shore and the tanks, along with Almighty scramble their treads up the black sandy beach toward their first objectives.
Two tanks are immediately disabled by improper maneuvers as deep sand builds up between the track and bogey wheels. The crew of the Almighty hurry to repair the damage and send the tank on the way.
Japanese shells exploding close by once more peril the rescuers of the tank.
But, as we learned earlier, the Japanese are not want to take advantage of their fortune when they find an idle immobile tank in the open.
"We crossed our fingers that the Japanese were up to their normal activity with their artillery fire; sure enough, they did not improve the position of the firing by walking the rounds closer. They merely ranged somewhere else," Lyle relates with a quick twitch of his eyebrows that indicated the Japanese were badly trained, poorly led, or just downright incompetent. In any case the Marines on the repair mission were glad of it.
"We also found a place to pull up and park the tanks. Then we waited for dark to move to the assigned positions," he tells. "This is to keep the Japs from seeing our moves while they still had control of Suribachi. At least for a little while longer anyhow."
Star shells burst overhead and men in the infantry units continued to move forward. Japanese tracers threw out green glowing rounds in smooth deceptively peaceful arcs. Marine tracers groped blood red at the sides of hills, then spun off into the darkness.
Men fell and others raced to help, if they could. Corpsmen never seemed to get a moment's rest.
The airfield was the objective and bodies littered the way.
February 23, 1945 the evil looking mountain with the awful name is under control of the Marines and the flag raised. It is a glorious moment. Those that are not being shot at rise and cheer. The rest keep their heads down as the Japanese may be losing, but they aren't all dead. Yet.
February 24, 1945 the second airfield is taken and the issue, though in a bit of doubt at first, is no longer more than a foregone conclusion. The Japanese cannot have many men left, but they are willing fodder.
On the night of February 22, 1945, the first airfield had been taken and Marines found junked Jap aircraft of all kinds are now destined for the scrap metal pile.
Japanese fire on the tank units ceases and the men fall asleep inside the Almighty.
But rockets, mortars, and both light and heavy artillery go both ways nearby.
Angry noises penetrate the senses, but as tired as these men are they seemingly ignore the whoosh and zzzzzs that strange new weapons make. They sleep.
A Marine crew advances the next morning and passes by the Almighty. They put a 37mm anti-tank weapon to work. There are no tanks in the Japanese arsenal around here, however, so the 37mm is used as anti-personnel.
A cameraman correspondent asks Corporal Radeleff to point to a hole in a tank from a Japanese anti-tank projectile. The lense opens and closes in a quick snap and Lyle is immortalized. Someplace.
The flag flies on Suribachi and over the cheers there are boat whistles as bells scream and clang.
"Captain Stone put out an order that all personnel were to wear their steel pots at all times. When around the tanks we had a tendency to remove the helmets. We understood shell fragments would be dangerous, but we took chances," Lyle says. "Thinking about it we concluded that no place on Iwo was safe from anything the Japanese wanted to fire at us. No place was safe and no one was safe."
Engineers began to probe with long knives and sharpened steel rods along the runway of what was called Airfield Number 1.
Shortly a Piper Cub bounced down the way and Lyle said he was amazed at the canvas covered spotter plane only 500 yards from the front lines.
"I ate K rations as the morning hurried along. We dug that square hole under Almighty and prepared for the assault on Motoyama Airfield. We called it simply Airfield Number 2. The Japanese clearly sensed the urgency they were under and began to fire in haste at us," he related.
"Rough terrain, ditches and such, made tank operations difficult. So, we stayed in place, but plenty of mortar fire and artillery came our way," Lyle said. "It was sure slow movement by tanks on this difficult rocky soil. No one got over first gear and we ground along very slowly."
Earlier in the war the Marines lost many a tanker crew to drowning when tanks fell into deep coral reef holes. Others were lost because they could not operate effectively in the jungle. Now in the open and rocky terrain the tanks were going to operate as mere gun platforms.
The connecting branches of tunnels in the mounds of volcanic rock made it difficult for the Marines to dislodge the Japanese. "We had to wait for them to shoot so we could spot their positions," Lyle complained. "Then our tanks had to traverse to get on the hidey hole and by then the Jap would have run back into the rock and gone to another location. It didn't keep the tankers from shooting the hell out of the place, though. The Marines got angry and over-punished the positions."
3d Tank Battalion suffered only wounded in action on the first day: one officer and thirteen enlisted. The major positions destroyed by 3d Tank Battalion were, "Twenty to thirty pill boxes were cleaned out. No one estimated the number killed."
But the big battle along the airfield was credited to Ateball and Corporal Adamson from Agony.
The Japanese disabled the tanks Ateball and Agony; however, Agony was aflame; Adamson escaped and was wounded. He wrapped his leg and continued to assist the rest of the unit operate. Adamson found an enemy anti-tank gun operating along the edge of the airfield and directed fire of the Ateball gun from the open while he lay exposed on the ground. Ateball's crew destroyed the weapon with their 75mm cannon. More enemy advanced and with Adamson's direction Ateball blew that threat away. Then a daring try by a Japanese soldier with a satchel charge was stopped when the Ateball crew turned on the man and shot him to rags with their machine guns.
Lyle Radeleff's friend Corporal Adamson got the Silver Star for directing that action.
Ateball had been disabled, but Almighty came and dragged the carcass, of what must have appeared to the Japanese as a monster, away for repairs and quick reinsertion in the battle.
Other crews of other tanks remained inside and shot the hell out of Japanese positions.
Lieutenant Kirkham and gunner Corporal Schimmer of Company B, 3d Tanks remained with their disabled and immobile vehicle. They had plenty of ammo and more courage. Their skill wasn't lacking either.
Though they were peppered by fragments and machine gun fire they knocked out Japanese tank after Japanese tank until three lay dead, four field pieces were shot to hell, three ammuntion carriers were blasted to pieces, and pill boxes hiding Japanese soldiers were gutted.
There was plenty of heroism to go around.
Almighty pulled back as many as she could. Ten tanks were lost or damaged.
The after action reports would tell of February 26, 1945 that one man was killed, 21 wounded, and 2 missing in action.
"But," Lyle reminds, "that was only the surface reports. There was more heroism among the 3d Battalion than was reported as well."
Many tanks were reworked with bogey wheels, treads, and minor wounds to the tanks' skin.
Lyle crawls under a tank to repair an idler on the rear of a damaged vehicle. The details of his effort are inconsequential except to say that Corporal Clinebell and Arky razz Lyle about how long he's been under the tank.
"Let me and Arky relieve you," Clinebell offers.
Lyle finishes the work and comes out just as Lieutenant Ball arrives.
"There's so much artillery and mortar fire coming in a person could get killed around here," Lyle says with a laugh.
It was no laughing matter, however. Almost as the words leave his lips an 82mm Japanese mortar crew has found the range. Explosions begin to rain down shrapnel on the men. The side of the tank Corporal Radeleff was working on tinked with the sound of the metal bouncing off of it.
"Take cover men!" Lieutenant Ball orders. It was no suggestion.
Almighty is a place to shelter the men. They bunker up and get at ease.
"I crawled to the right rear corner of the tank and felt a bit uncomfortable. I moved then toward the center. Shells were coming more rapidly now," Lyle says. "It's very frightening to be the target of an artillery barrage. Certainly I felt there was not a hole deep enough to protect me from the mortar shells."
Lyle peered at the other men and they were all on their stomachs with their hands over their heads.
Dirt flew everywhere whenever a round went off.
Then it happened. A mortar shell exploded nearby.
"It sounded different somehow. I really didn't hear it like the others. I bounced like a ball with dirt covering me and all seemed to go blank," Lyle recalls with a shake of his head.
Then after a pause of moments he said, "I heard the shoosh of air from Corporal Clinebell. The life going out of him. I felt stunned. Both at the sound of my crew-mate dying, but the round had bounced me around pretty badly as well."
Clinebell was still.
Corporal Lyle Radeleff wondered then, why he'd moved. Why he'd moved just that few inches toward the center of the tank? Instinct?
Sergeant Campden yelled, "Let's get outta here!"
"I could feel them move as I tried to get my senses back. Then I crawled out from under the tank," Lyle says as he remembers almost every move he made. "I heard another shell coming. I jumped into a shell crater. My boot felt mushy like it was full of water. My hand," he held up his hand just then, "my hand was covered with blood."
He was not thinking clearly. He fell into another shell hole nearby and bumped against a Marine he hadn't seen in a year and a half.
"Ward," Lyle said simply.
"Curly?" the man called Ward answered with a grin and huge silver dollar sized eyes of surprise.
"Funny where you meet people," Lyle said of the incident.
Two Corpsmen loaded Lyle on a stretcher and then on a jeep. There were still strikes from mortars and artillery coming in. The Corpsmen put their bodies over Lyle to protect him.
Darkness came and went. The night might have been night and then again it might not have been. He never knew which was which from time to time. He knew he hurt, however. A pain he never felt before and hoped never to feel again. Agonizing pain of almost unendurable proportions.
And then there was morphine.
Blessed morphine. Lyle never felt a thing as they cut his boot off and bandaged his foot. He saw the tag attached and then he felt himself lifted and loaded once again on a jeep that would take him away from that killing place.
An amphibious tractor pulled up and men from the beach aid station, eight of them, were loaded aboard the water capable vehicle and taken to a barge outside range of the Japanese artillery.
"The barge was another place to load men to different ships. I was put on an LCVP. Then I was taken to the APA-20 President Hays. All I could see was a gray hull of an enormous vessel. The men took me aboard and while I was going in and out of consciousness I heard a doctor tell," Lyle had difficulty remembering the exact words, but they must have been to put Lyle in a certain ward and they did. "I got sick and vomited all over. Poor guy below me. Good thing he was out 'cause it was a mess."
There were some sad moments when mates died around him and they wanted to talk to Curly. Anderson passed away.
Corporal Lyle Radeleff lived, however and that is the best part of the story. He came through with scars, scabs that didn't heal, a mind that would be steel trap sharp for years, and seemingly unaffected by the things that went on around him.
He had to go home. The girl Lora "Gizzi" Bridges, Minnie Trueblood, and Miss Ignatzi Raskivatski was waiting.
epilog
Lyle Radeleff is an elderly man now. He carries himself straight and tall. His features are year-worn, but somehow still powerful.
He speaks of his past in a tone of respect not only for what it was, what the Marines did, but what his fellow tankers and other Marines have given for the nation.
Lyle Radeleff has gone full circle with this story. He leaves us with a legacy of honor and bravery. He is self- effacing about it as well. Lyle does not think of himself as brave, a hero, or even a warrior.
Lyle Radeleff was just doing a job that needed to be done and in his own way he contributed a powerful blow for the final victory.
This was Lyle Radeleff's story, but also the story of brave men everywhere who went to war.
Thank you Lyle Radeleff.
