Peleliu, Through a Young Man's Eyes

One may think taking a man’s life is no easy task. Lucky for us the Japs made pulling the trigger a whole lot easier. As the days went on our hatred grew in an exponential form. These words I write are similar to those of a monster, a madman, a man longing for Japanese blood. I do not deny it, they are.
You may ask how this happens, how a man’s soul turns black, like I feel mine did. As it is now tainted with the images and memories of the actions I carried out on a small island in the Pacific ocean, known as Peleliu. There is no simple answer. I suppose my hatred grew from the environment, the heat, the enemy, the loss of those who fought beside me, the internal conviction that death was imminent. All these factors together turned my life into a struggle to see the sun rise the next morning.

-------------------------------------------

For the lucky ones, their first time under fire is their last. A thirteen ounce piece of metal will tear through their body in a part vital for human survival, releasing them from the strangling vice of war. I was not lucky. I would encounter the enemy many more times after my first. I tell you, there is nothing like the first time. My own first time was on the morning of September 15th, 1944.
My name is Calvin Brennan of New Orleans, Louisiana. I grew up in a small apartment with my mom, dad, two brothers, two sisters, and our huge Irish wolfhound, Brew, in a neighborhood known as the Irish Channel. We had little money growing up and my parents worked very hard running the family owned general store. Many families had their children drop out of school to help earn money, but my father did not. He pushed me and my siblings to work hard and get good marks so we could go to college one day. I played football and baseball at my high school. I was a junior when I decided to join the Marines
When the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor I was 14 years old. My brothers and many men around me began to enlist to go do their part for the country. I felt left behind and anxiously waited to be of age to enlist. My folks were not fond of the idea, especially my mother. I was finally able to convince my father to let me join at the age of 16. I was one of the first in my class who enlisted and many more followed. Despite not being 17 my father still told the recruiter I was 17 and I had his permission.
I was a member of the 1st Marine Division in the 5th Marines. I was to land in the second wave on Peleliu on Orange Beach with the rest of the 5th Marines and the 7th Marines. Our objectives were to get the beach and and capture the airfield. The airfield was supposedly vital to the capturing of the Philippines, a major stepping stone to the invasion of the Japanese mainland. I heard that it was only supposed to last four days and it would not be too difficult. It also looked like our boys in the Navy had done a pretty decent job on bombarding that tiny little island. The island was no longer visible. It was covered by a thick, black curtain of smoke. Our guns were constantly firing, hitting the island over and over again. By the end of the bombardment, well over 75,000 rounds were fired on the two mile wide, six miles long island.
I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me, and neither was my stomach. It churned and felt like it was flipped inside out. I had little of the steak and eggs for breakfast that morning, so when my body said vomit all I could do was dry heave. The others around me did not have the same problem, many of them would look down and let go all of their breakfast and probably a little more. The amtrak stunk of vomit and fuel.
A bell rung and the ship’s bow doors opened revealing a blinding light. The explosions that were muffled only moments ago had begun echo in the ship’s hull, they brought a terrible pain to my ears due to the high volume. When my eyes were no longer dilated I could make out the island, a lump sitting in the clear, blue water. Dozens of amtraks lazily floated towards the madness that lay there. The water would rise to geysers around them every time a shell was dropped into the ocean. I saw one amtrak get hit. There was a massive, fiery explosion that rose into a plume. When the smoke cleared, it revealed a hunk of black metal with no men inside, all of them dead.
“Shit,” the man in front of me said. I glanced at him and nodded speechlessly. The man appeared just as tired as me but much more confident. I couldn’t see the burning fear in his eyes that I could see in many other’s. I suspected he was a veteran and had done this only a few more times than I had. I wanted to ask him what it was going to be like and if I was going to be okay but I knew it was wasn’t the time, I knew I had pretend I was brave and confident, even though I felt the opposite of both. A white cigarette dangled from his pursed lips, unlit. He chewed it down and only half of it was left. I wanted to be like him: brave, prepared for the oncoming battle- I was not, I was a coward.
Another bell rung and the amtrak slowly started to creep forward to the opening. When we got to the edge the amtrak dove and the bow plunged into the water below us. The water splashed onto many of us, leaving us drenched. The water was warm, yet refreshing from the already hot air. I wiped away the water from my face with the collar of my shirt, the bronze USMC pin lightly grazed over my nose. I looked at the pin. It reminded me what I was: a United States Marine. Something that very few men get to claim they are. A small boost of confidence was carried through my veins.
I looked up into the clear sky. Every ten seconds or so a dark blue F4U Corsair would fly over, on its way to the island to deliver a few pounds of explosives to the Jap army. The plane’s engines were deafening but only lasted a second as the plane would fly further away. The roar of the engine would drown out all the other chaotic noises around us. I closed my eyes, and with each bang and boom I would shut them tighter and tighter. There was no escape from the noise, the smell, or the sights. I shut my eyes hoping that when they opened I would be elsewhere. I opened them- I was still sitting in the same boat, bound for the deadly beach ahead.
A buddy of mine who was in front of me stood up and peaks his head over the edge of the amtrak. He propped himself up with his arms to get his head over side. He turned and looked right down at me with a big grin on his face. His expression reminded me of a child’s when he looks down under the Christmas tree to see it full of presents.
“We’re almost there,” he said, his voice was full of excitement.
I did not feel like my friend. My heart violently thumped in terror. He continued to peer over the edge in excitement. There was a high whistling sound getting louder and louder, a shell dumped into the water right in front of my friend. The water fell down upon us, I got soaked. The water had gotten in my eyes and my vision was no longer clear.I wiped away at my eyes with my knuckles, hoping that my friend was okay. He tumbled down from the ledge and fell right in front of me. He looked up and started screaming. The right half of his face was missing, along with his eyeball. He wiped at his bloody face as men tried to help him, panicking,
The explosions were starting to get much louder and the two gunners at the front received orders to fire the machine guns. The machines guns rattled away as the fallen kid continued to yelp and cry. Despite the trouble in the boat we were told to load our weapons. When I was through loading my M1, I began to pray. I told God to help me survive and to bring me home one day, alive. My desperate prayers were interrupted by a violent halt of the amtrak.
Someone yelled, “We’re stuck, move!”
The amtrak had gotten stuck on coral, about 30 yards away from the beach. Bullets rung off the sides of the boat and they sailed over our heads. The boat was now a sitting duck, a huge target for the Japanese machine guns and artillery, and was waiting to be obliterated. Men heaved themselves over the edge. I reached up to the ledge and swung my leg up and over. I straddled the side then rolled over into the water. My fall was stopped when I hit the water, I ascended downwards. I violently thrashed my arms and legs, trying to get my head above to the surface. Japanese rounds swam through the water, leaving behind thin trails of air pockets that slowly floated to the top. Bodies of men intercepted the bullets and would sink down, their blood seeping out, fading away, becoming one with the Pacific.
I was able to find my balance and I stood on my toes, planted on the hard, coral ground. The water was nearly chest high, but subject to change as I moved forward, encountering small hills in the coral. The water swayed me back and forth with its small waves. I payed close attention to keep my already wet rifle out of the water. I was then 25 yards away from the beach and continued to pump my legs as hard as I could through the water. There was a monstrous blast only five yards ahead of me. The concussion threw me backwards. I lost the the tight grip I had on my rifle only moments ago, it flew backwards, the bayonet knicking my right eyebrow. When I hit the water the laceration stung terribly.I helplessly dove deeper until I reached the sharp, coral bottom. My knees struck the ground first, the coral cutting through my pants and tearing the tough skin. I jumped I hard as could to get my head out of the water.
I ran, this time harder towards the beach, determined to make it there with no more setbacks. I no longer had my rifle, so I prepared myself to search through the countless bodies of dead Marines. I assumed the task would be easy, considering the current intensity of the battle and the heavy casualties.
I was not alone on my charge to the beach, many more Marines ran beside me. A large fraction of them would fall face first with a splash, after a small spew of blood shot out from their bodies. My head rotated all around, observing the violence that was around me. My eyebrow was gushing blood all over my face from the cut. I constantly had to wipe it away with my sleeve so I could see clearly.
I finally was able to make it to the small beach. I immediately fell into the sand to avoid the thousands of bullets flying right at me. With my belly on the ground I began to crawl in search of a new weapon. There was a dead man lying on his back, facing the sun. He was clenching an M1 Garand tight to his chest, equipped with a bayonet. The rifle did not look too wet and appeared to be fireable. There was a large, gruesome hole on the right side of his neck. The wound was fresh and still bleeding. The blood poured down his collar and leaked onto the ground around him, the liquid absorbed by the sand. I hesitantly removed the rifle from his surprisingly strong grip. I checked to see that the rifle was fully loaded, then cocked it back so it was ready to fire.
“Get off the the beach, get off the fucking beach!” a man yelled over the chaotic noise.
I continued to crawl on my belly trying to find some cover. I spotted a fallen palm tree that would provide me with enough cover to allow me to compose myself. I rested my head on its thick trunk, my finger on the trigger, and my knees bent, ready to spring up. I looked around the beach and watched as the bodies piled on top of each other, the men were not able to escape the spray of the machine guns. I heard many men attempting to yell over the gunfire and explosions for Navy corpsmen. Other men were screaming the names of women or for their mothers. The machine guns crackled and the rifles fired. I could smell the stench of burned flesh and gunpowder. I knew the horrendous aroma would only get worse, as the bodies would begin to rot in the 100 degree heat. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to shout. I felt like my head was going to explode into thousands of pieces.
Men continued to yell, “Get off the beach!” with an extreme urgency. I knew I would not be able to stay behind the safety of the palm tree for much longer, so I decided to make my move towards an embankment that many Marines piled up against. I was breathing heavily and peaked over the trunk a few times. The dead and dying were scattered along the pathway to the embankment. The machine gun fire remained heavy, so I waited for the gunner to reload. A few bursts later the fire came to a halt. I quickly pounced up and kept my torso low to the ground.
I sprinted only about five of the thirty yards when I saw a wounded man to my left. When he noticed my attention he looked me in the eyes and and cried for me to help him. His right leg up to the knee was a shredded mess of flesh, bone, and blood, practically severed. A large puddle of blood around the leg suggested he was there bleeding for a long time, time was not in his favor. I decided to drag him to the safety of the embankment. I ran through the storm of fire to his helpless self. I grabbed hold of his wrist and told him to do the same to mine. All the while, I screamed, “Corpsman!” repeatedly. I dragged him across the sand.
My new companion had slowed me down a considerable amount and I only moved slower as I lost my precious energy. My slow movement made me a vulnerable target to the fire of the guns. The man screamed and screamed in intense pain, I wanted to help him ease it but I could do nothing in the heat of battle. The man’s grip squeezed my wrist even tighter for only a short moment and then it was gone. His tattered clothes covered his pale skin, drained of his blood, as he had lost too much. His body looked no different to the many others, strewn about the beach. I had to leave him there and continue on without him, for I could not risk my life for a dead body.
When I reached the embankment I saw a very close friend of mine, George Aherne, of Boston, Massachusetts. He was barely a year older than me and we had known eachother since the train to to Camp Elliot. He is about my height of six feet. He has brown, reddish hair, barely long enough to make out that it is curly. He has large eyebrows that hang over his deep set, blue eyes. He smiled a big smile when we saw each other, happy to see a familiar face and to see that I was okay. He looked as relieved to see me as I was to see him.
“You made it, huh, Cal?” he yelled over the gunfire.
“Barely,” I yell back.
I could tell he was staring at my eyebrow which had finally stopped bleeding.
“It’s nothing,” I said to him, pointing at the brow.
He nodded wordlessly, deciding it was not worth the effort to raise his voice over the terrible racket.
About ten of us rested in a group at the embankment. Bullets kicked at the dirt only a few inches from our heads. The small debris would sprinkle onto our helmets lightly. I had already downed one of my two canteens, the heat was well over one hundred degrees at that point. My mouth was dry only seconds after I would gulp down the fluid. I could not help myself relieve my unquenchable thirst.
“Not too much, boys,” a sergeant, Richard Stephano told us. “You never know when you’ll get to refill those,” he added in his New York accent.
He was right. The fighting showed no sign of coming to a stop anytime soon and most of us had already had more than half of our personal water supply.
“Move, we gotta’ move. Up and over,” Stephano ordered us.
We all climbed over the embankment, finding an abundance of thin trees and shrubs- the only thing separating us from the Jap pillboxes. We kneeled down awaiting the orders to move. Many of the men asked each other if they had any extra water. They often got a, “Nobody’s got any fucking water,” as a reply.
Stephano discussed his next move with another sergeant at the head of the group. It sounded like we were going to have to take out a Jap defense straight ahead.
“On me,” said Stephano.
We all trailed him to the right of the Jap pillbox ahead. We stayed out of sight of the gunner. We were going to flank the Japs to their left. The pillbox resembled a hill, only a small bump in the ground. It appeared to be built of wooden logs then camouflaged with with brush and palms. The type 92 machine gun blasted away at the offense on the beach, oblivious to our upcoming attack.
The sergeant ran over to the side of the pillbox and leaned against it on his back. Ho nodded to his left, signaling us to go around back of the defense. He pulled a grenade off his chest and ripped off the pin with his right hand. He quickly rotated around the front of the box and tossed in the live grenade. A man inside yelled something in Japanese which was followed by several screams of terror. There was a loud bang. Dust on the exterior of the hill quickly rose off of it into a cloud..
Three men climbed out of the hole in the back of the emplacement and charged at us with arisaka rifles armed with sharp bayonets on the end. We stood maybe only ten feet away, some of us shooting, and others standing motionless. I was one of the motionless and I stood there hoping the Japs would be shot down before they reached me.
Two of the men were shot several times, one of them in the forehead. After a few puffs of red liquid they fell to the ground, dead. The third man remained, unscathed, continuing his charge. The men continued to shoot, all of them missing each time. The Jap had his slanted eyes set on me. He was screaming loudly, his face was very tense. I waited there, terrified. When he got close enough I closed my eyes and thrust my bayonet at hard as I could. I could feel the sharp end had met skin. I opened my eyes and my bayonet was stuck through his bloody neck. I fiercely twisted my rifle to the left and let it stay there for a moment, before I pulled the trigger. His neck slid off the weapon. I fell down right on my ass. He staggered backwards, unbalanced, trying to cover the hole that leaked blood at the pace of his pulse- slower and slower. I flinched when someone shot their rifle. The bullet hit him in the face then his head snapped back. He fell to the ground.
“You okay, Cal?” George asked me. George and all the other men circled around me. My gaze stayed focused on the body of the young Jap I had just contributed to killing. I broke my gaze on the lying figure and looked up at George. He looked very concerned, his blue eyes bugged out of his skull. He did not blink once while he waited for my response. I nodded my head, “Yes,” I said.
He smiled and helped me off the ground. When I got up he reached his arm out and offered me his water from his canteen. As much as I would have loved it, I couldn't accept.
“No, I can’t take that, you need it. I have enough,” I lied.
“Suit yourself,” he replied, then he took a swig of the canteen.
After only a minute of rest we continued to slowly move inland. We were looking to destroy enemy machine gun nests that were threatening the beach and to kill any resistance, capturing was not an option. These fuckers didn’t surrender , they were stupid. They either fought to the death or killed whoever was trying to kill them, as brutally as possible.
I was surprised that our constant air strikes and Naval bombardments prior to the invasion, did nearly nothing the the defense. They were dug in too deep. They hid in holes, they hid in caves, the even hid in trees- if they could hide in it, they would make that happen. We would soon learn that they hid in plain sight. They would cover their backs and helmets with leaves and sticks and lie on the ground. When one of our guys would be practically on top of them they would pounce up and attempt to stab at him with a bayonet.
When the small palm trees began to thin out we climbed down into a trench. We had hoped that the trench system would lead us to machine gun crews. Every turn was terrifying. We all expected a crazy Jap to be waiting at the corner with a fixed bayonet, ready to slit our throats.Even if they could just kill one guy out of the ten of us before we blew their brains out, then they believed they died with honor and respect.
The trenches were constructed with the logs of palm trees. The stacked logs restrained the earth behind them. At some points the trench would be thin, at other points it was thick. Each log wall was little over four feet tall. The grounds were sandy and were scattered with wooden crates, oil drums, and the personal belongings of the Japanese.
We neared an intersection in the trenches. We had yet to face any resistance. Stephano peaked his head around the right corner, while a young private, named Lawson, peaked around the left. The other eight of us waited behind and kept watch behind us and in front of us. We had no cover if the Japs decided to attack us. There was a single wooden crate that would not have been able to stop a bullet or provide cover for the ten of us.
Lawson looked at the sergeant and nodded giving him the sign that the left side was clear. Stephano nodded back, giving the sign that the right side was okay too. Machine gunfire crackled in the near distance to our right, so we would probably head that direction so we could take it out.
“Let’s go boys,” Stephano told all of us. He turned the right corner cautiously. Fwemph! Stephano’s helmet flew off his head as a bullet ripped through his chest. Lawson too was shot and his body fell on top of the sergeant’s. Machine gun fire opened up coming from the right side. I was the first to run up to the corner from my position at the front of the group. I kept my body low and was careful not to expose the top of my head above the trench wall. The Jap guns continued to fire at the two dead bodies in front of me, they were riddled with holes.
The other men had their right shoulders leaned against the wall, all facing me. They waited for me to take out the machine gun. “Hurry the fuck up,” a sergeant said next to me. I quickly regretted my move to get up front so quickly. The corner could only provide cover for one person to shoot, any more would be in danger of getting shot.
I quickly peaked around the corner and saw five soldiers, one firing a type 99 machine gun (an ugly machine gun with a large banana magazine that was on the top of the gun) on the ground. Another two men were by his side, they all fired from a prone position, then two others stood behind them. They were all firing bolt action arisaka rifles except the gunner. None of them had any cover. I decided I had my best chance to make a move when the machine gun was reloading and hope that none of the riflemen could hit me.
A few seconds later the machine gun stopped firing but the rifles continued. Because the target was to my right and I shot right handed, I would have to completely expose myself to the enemy. I pivoted my right foot, raised my rifle, then squared my body towards the gunner, who struggled to replace the magazine in time. I fired twice, the first shot missing, the other one putting the gunner facedown, fifteen yards away from me. Although I was exposed for too long I fired again, this time hitting the man to the gunner’s right. A shot fired by the Japs hit the ground at my feet. This had scared me back into cover.
I turned to the sergeant, his name Hale, to my left. “I killed two of them, the gunner’s dead, I said.
“Good,” he said back to me. He turned to the two men next to him and tapped them, “You two, follow me.” He sprinted through the fire to the corner across from me, the other two not far behind him. The sergeant returned fire to the Japs with his automatic thompson gun.
I began to fire back until someone near me yelled, “Japs, up there!”I looked over to my left and Japs were running towards the trench on the high ground, all of them yelling, “Banzai!” Two of the four carried long sabers. The men and I fired at them. We were only able to hit one before the officer leading the charge jumped into the trench. He swung his sword missing every time. A bullet brought him down to his knees, he still tried to swipe at our guys before someone shot him again, this time fatally.
The sergeant had taken out the last three riflemen and ran over with the two other men to assist in killing the remaining banzai attackers.
One of them carried a sword, the other had a rifle that he tried to swing at us, using the butt. The man bearing the sword was quickly brought down with the burst of Sergeant Hale’s thompson. The man swinging the rifle was much harder to kill. Men who had to reload swiped at him with bayonets, he would avoid them by jumping back each time. George finally lunged at him, ducking under the swing of the rifle. George jabbed his bayonet upwards. It struck the soldier in the soft spot under the chin, not backed by bone. George pulled out the rifle then stuck it in his chest. George pulled it out again then the Jap fell. George brought the rifle above his head and planted it into the man like one would plant a stake into the ground. George continued this even after the Jap stopped screaming.