"BLOODY TARAWA"
This was a concept that me and my shipmates gave little or no thought to until the Battle of Tarawa..."BLOODY TARAWA"...
Adding a bit of historical fact, The Tarawa Atoll's only claim to fame during the war years was it had the only operational airstrip in that part of the Pacific and we needed it. It's size bordered on the insignificant. It consisted of approximately 290 acres or less than half the size of New York's Central Park. However, the Japanese had realized it's military significance very early because they spared no expense in fortifying it. Unlike Guadalcanal, the Japanese decided to initiate the battle before our troops hit the beach.
When the fortifications were completed, there was not one square yard that was left uncovered. Most of the enemy's positions were underground. Above ground there was little or no cover to be found. The Japanese were so confident in their ability to hold the island that the Atoll Commander, R'Admiral Keiji Shibasaki had boasted to his staff that "a million men could not take Tarawa in 100 years." The Admiral was wrong. He failed to factor in the tenacity of the American fighting man.
The actual battle lasted for approximately 72 hours when we declared it secured. However, nearly 6,000 men lay dead: 1,027 Marines and Sailors and close to 4,800 Japanese. There were also 2,380 Americans listed as wounded or missing. History tells us that only 17 Japanese soldiers surrendered. The rest fought to the last or committed ritual suicide. There were 125 Amtraks utilized to transport the Marines ashore. 90 were destroyed. Of the 500 Sailors manning the Amtraks and Mike boats, 323 became casualties.
Tarawa was never characterized or ranked as a great battle. However, in tempo and ferocity, it had no equals.
Over the years, I've spent some time studying this short battle...studying and...remembering. Maybe it's because of all the major conflicts I experienced, but, it's always Tarawa that comes back to haunt me in my dreams. Maybe it's because I've never been able to understand or comprehend the mentality it takes for a man to wade ashore from 500 to 800 yards out, under constant fire watching his fellow men being cut down in droves and never waver, never step back...but instead march to the sounds of the guns. Perhaps, it's just that the sights, sounds and smell of such a horrific event are seared into one's mind...never to allow peace of mind again.
It was at Tarawa that we were brought in close for the first time. The whole crew was exposed to the HORROR of war. After dropping off this convoy, we recieved encrypted orders so, we bid ado to Leyte and proceeded to the Gilbert Islands arriving just in time to witness the most God awful bombardment of some little islands that I'd ever seen. Battleships, cruisers, destroyers and aircraft kept pounding away until vitually everyone believed nothing could possibly survive such destruction. With all the damage inflicted, it still turned out to be the bloodiest conflict of the war. We cruised around the fleet screening for subs but on Thanksgiving day 1943, we were brought in close, steaming around Betio Inlet at Tarawa, screening as usual. we could even hear but not see the sounds of battle. The sounds of mortars, fiels artillery, grenades and small arms fire seemed to flow over the ship. Up to this point, our experiences in war were for the most part impersonal. Tarawa changed that for everybody forever. The battle was relentless with no signs of even a brief respite. But watching those heavies pound that island with Naval gunfire Support and listening to the sounds of battle started changing our concepts of war. We knew that there were men both American Marines and Japanese locked in a deadly battle where death was often the only respite of the fight. Men were fighting and dying just outside our view. We only had our imaginations to get a feel of what it must be like for those men on that island.
On this Thanksgiving day, when we were ordered in close, our lives were changed forever. At least I know my life was changed. The battle for the most part was over. Only small pockets of resistance remained but the island had been declared secured. The atmosphere was surreal and horrific. We had won the battle. Of that, there was no doubt. "But", my God, at what cost? The island itself was totally destroyed. There were no signs of life to be seen. The only exception were the greyish tinted surviving Marines who appeared to have marched into hell and scratched, crawled and fought their way back. They literally looked like dead men walking.
On this day, our whole ship was surrounded by the bodies of dead Marines.As we cruised ever so slowly, you could see our bow slowly push the bodies aside. Many bodies would just slide down the sides of the ships hull. Some were whole and some were in various stages of dismemberment. This one was missing an arm, that one was missing a leg and that one over there, didn't have a head, the one beside him, well, all he had was a torso. All were swollen up with gases after being in the water for a couple of days. It seemed like there were thousands of them. I suppose these were the Marines who never made it to the beach. I must have been in a state of absolute shock as my brain was having extreme difficulty comprehending what my eyes were seeing. Nothing seemed to compute. I distinctly remember standing at the rails, dumbstruck and numbed at what my brain was trying to comprehend when this "Butterbar" (Ensign) stepped up beside me. He seemed all excited like, staring at the carnage and made the statement: "Man, we are really giving them Japs hell!" I think, I wanted to put his lights out but I remember grabbing him by the shirt bending him over the rails pointing out several of the bodies and asking this idiot, " Have you ever seen any Japs wearing U.S. marked pistol holsters?" I suppose he realized his mistake because he turned white as a ghost and disappeared below. Now, as I think about this ensign I realize that his brain probably couldn't believe what was in front of his eyes either...better to think the bodies were the enemy...than to know they were your fellow Americans.
There's really no way to explain the sights, sounds and smells of an event like that. It was indeed one of the bloodiest battles of the war. The memories of that little dot of an island in the Pacific have never left me. Thanksgiving has always been a difficult holiday for me. I always have to put on a mask for the family because it has never been a day of Thanksgiving for me since that hot stench filled day. In 1968, all the memories came back to haunt me with a vengeance when my # 2 son, John, came home proudly one day and announced he had enlisted in the Marines. I was numb. I felt as if a ton of bricks had been dropped on my heart. I couldn't feel anything. I'ts not that I wasn't proud of him. I wasn't angry at him. I was afraid for him. I had visions of him being one of the "bodies". I have never forgotten the Marines at Tarawa yet, I had never told my family about it. It was to horrible to think about much less speak about. Even now, as I try to explain that day...my words seem inadequate. Whoever coined the phrase: War is Hell, surely wasn't at Tarawa. The phrase falls way short of defining WAR.
We got lucky around this time when we recieved orders to proceed to the Marshall Islands and take up station to the north for picket duty. I say lucky because we didn't have to become involved in the retrieval and burial of all those bodies. I don't even like to think about that job and I know it had to be done.
I didn't know it at the time that we would be all by our lonesome up there. And to add insult to injury, we didn't know how long we would be there. We were on station for 28 days and there was no sign of relief. We learned later that our relief ship didn't make it. She was sunk. We all just seemed to think that everybody forgot about us. So, there we sat, fat, dumb and hungry as we were down to beans, rice and spam. No fruit. No vegetables. To this day, it turns my stomach if I see a can of spam. I must have vegetables at every meal and my refrigerator is stocked year round with fruit. Funny how certain things or events will change the way you think or act for a lifetime...but I am proof positive that they do.
Early one morning, just before dawn, our radarman picked up some surface contacts that weren't supposed to be there. This obviously concerned our skipper because as I was working in the engine room, he rang down for full throttle. This was out of order, so I brought her up to full speed ahead and then went up to the bridge snooping around to find out what was going on. Apparently, the skipper felt that these two contacts weren't flying the same flag as us because as I came on the bridge I overheard the skipper say, "I don't like this one bit. We're getting the hell out of here!" Around this time, the blips on the screen were visible through the looking glass and it didn't look good at all. The skipper saw me and asked, "Chief, is that all the speed you can give me?" I told him I could probably squeeze out a few more knots but I didn't know how long the engines would hold up. He informed me that if whatever was behind us caught up with, the engines wouldn't make any difference. Thats when I realized just how much trouble we were really in. I shot back down to the engine room and disconnected the governors. The old lady gave us a few extra knots but our engines and generators were running hot, way above normal. I was growing real concerned but it just got worse when I found out that we were still losing ground and the contacts were closing in. I found out later that this is when the skipper announced to everyone on the bridge: Now, I'm no coward but this is a classic case of discretion is a better part of valor. He started raising hell on the radio. It was no secret to those contacts behind us, they knew where we were, so radio silence seemed like a relatively stupid idea. A short time later, lo and behold, a voice came across the air asking what the problem was. After a short conversation, the voice said, "Hang on." This really didn't ease anyones concerns. Then, 30 minutes later our radarman reported two ait contacts coming at us. The skipper sounded GQ and said, "Let's dog her down boys and get ready to fight".
A short time later, we spotted two aircraft coming on strong at water level. Our gunner's trained on the aircraft and we all waited for the shit to hit the fan, as the saying goes. Tensions were as high as I ever remember them being. We were ready to let go, when the incoming planes were identified as ...... OURS! They were B-26's. The type with the cannons mounted in their noses. Real mean bastards they were. They flew down our length port and starboard as one of the pilots radioed us to sit tight. They would take care of those fellows for us. As we were on their radio frequency, we could hear machine gun and cannon fire and someone asking someone else to leave some for them. Then, off our stern we heard all hell break loose for a few minutes. Then, we heard nothing...and saw....nothing. A short time later, they overflew us again and radioed down: "Hey little fella..how's about going back and hookin us a couple more!?!?" We were a damn content ( but still hungry ) crew. We also figured that them fly boys were all right afterall. No longer would a jarhead or army grunt mess with a fly boy whenever we got a chance to "Wet Down".
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