by Daniel Wrinn
Naval commanders received their first clear signal that things were going wrong on the beach when a derelict LVT chugged astern with no one at the controls. They dispatched a boat to retrieve the vehicle and discovered three dead Marines aboard the LVT. Their bodies were brought on board and buried with full honors at sea. These were the first of hundreds of men consigned to the deep because of the maelstrom on Betio.
After the communications were restored on the Maryland, General Smith tried to make sense of the conflicting and intermittent messages coming in through the ship’s command net. At 1036 General Smith reported to the V Amphibious Corps: “Successful landing on beaches Red Two and Three. Toehold on Red One. And committing one LT from division reserved. Still encountering strong resistance.”
Colonel Shoup was trying to navigate getting ashore. When his Higgins boat was stopped at the reef, he transferred into a passing LVT. He joined Colonel Evans Carlson, a legend for his exploits on Guadalcanal and Makin. He took command of the 1/10 Artillery detachment. Their LVT made three attempts to land—each time the enemy fire was too intense. On the third attempt, the vehicle was hit and disabled. Shoup took a painful shell fragment wound in his leg but led his men out of the LVT and into the fight. He stood in waist-deep water surrounded by thousands of dead fish and floating bodies. Shoup manned his radio and tried desperately to get organized combat units ashore to sway the fight’s balance.
Colonel Shoup had hoped that the Sherman tanks could break the gridlock. This was the combat debut of the Marine Corps’ medium tanks but was discouraging on D-Day. The 2nd Marine Division did not understand how to employ tanks against fortified positions. When four Shermans reached Red Beach Three, later in the morning, Major Crowe waved them forward with orders to knock out all enemy positions. The tank crews, who were buttoned up under fire, were practically blind in their tanks. With no accompanying infantry, they were destroyed one by one. Some were knocked out by the Japanese 75mm guns, while others were damaged by friendly fire from American dive bombers.
Six other Shermans that tried to land on Red Beach One were preceded by a dismounted guide to warn off underwater shell craters. These guides were shot down every few minutes by Japanese marksmen. Each time, another volunteer would step forward to continue the movement. Combat engineers had blown a hole in the seawall for the tanks to pass through, but the way was blocked with wounded and dead Marines. Rather than run over their fellow Marines, the tank commander reversed his column and went around toward a second opening blasted in the seawall.
While the Shermans operated in murky, chaotic waters, four tanks foundered in shell holes on the detour. Inland on the beach, one of the surviving Sherman’s engaged a Japanese light tank. The medium American tank demolished its small opponent, but not before the doomed Japanese tank released one final 37mm round—a phenomenal shot—right down the barrel of the Sherman.
Red Beach Two
By the end of the day, only two of the fourteen Sherman tanks were still operational. Maintenance crews worked desperately to retrieve a third tank, Cecilia, on Green Beach for Major Ryan. Japanese gunners sank all four of the LCMs transporting the light tanks into the battle before the boats even reached the reef. The tank battalion commander, Colonel Swenceski, was assumed killed in action while wading ashore. He was severely wounded but survived by crawling on top of a pile of dead bodies to keep from drowning until he was discovered the next day.
Colonel Shoup sent a message to the flagship at 1045 on D-Day voicing his frustration: “Our tanks no good. Stiff resistance, need half-tracks.”
The regimental weapons company’s half-tracks with their 75mm guns fared no better getting ashore than any other combat units that morning. One half-track was sunk in its LCM transport by long-range artillery fire before reaching the reef. A second half-track ran the entire gauntlet but got stuck in the loose sand at the water’s edge and was destroyed. The situation was now critical.
Individual courage and initiative inspired the scattered remnants throughout the chaos along the exposed beachhead. Staff Sergeant Bordelon was a combat engineer attached to the 2/2. After a Japanese shell disabled his LVT and killed most of the troops en route to the beach, Bordelon rallied the survivors and led them ashore on Red Beach Two. He stopped only long enough to prepare explosive charges. He knocked out two Japanese positions that had been firing on the assault waves. After attacking a third emplacement, he was hit by machine-gun fire but refused medical help and continued fighting. Staff Sergeant Bordelon bolted back into the water and rescued a wounded Marine calling for help. As more intense fire opened up from another enemy position, Bordelon prepared one final demolition package and charged the Japanese gun position in a frontal assault. This is where his luck ran out. He was shot and killed. He later became the first of four men in the 2nd Marine Division to be awarded the Medal of Honor.
In another instance, Sergeant Roy Johnson single-handedly attacked a Japanese tank. He scrambled to the turret and dropped a grenade inside while sitting on the hatch, waiting for the detonation. Sergeant Johnson survived this but was later killed in the fighting on Betio. In the seventy-six hour battle, he was one of the 217 Marine sergeants to be wounded or killed.
A captain on Red Beach Three, who was shot through both arms and legs, sent a message to Major Crowe apologizing for letting him down.
Major Ryan later recalled a wounded Sergeant, who he’d never seen before, limping up to him and asking where he was needed most.
PFC Moore, who was earlier disarmed and wounded, trying to drive “My Dolores” over the seawall, carried ammo to the machine gun crews for the rest of the day until he was evacuated to one of the transports.
Other brave Marines retrieved a pair of 37mm antitank guns from a sunken landing craft. They manhandled them across several hundred yards under terrifying enemy fire. They dragged them across the beach to the seawall. While two Japanese tanks approached the beachheads, the Marines lifted the 900-pound antitank guns on top of the seawall. They calmly loaded, aimed, and fired. Knocking out one of the Japanese tanks at close range and chasing off the other.
Robert Sherrod was an experienced war correspondent for Time magazine. The landing on D-Day at Betio was the most frightening experience of his life. Sherrod accompanied Marines from the fourth wave of 2/2 and tried to wade ashore on Red Beach Two. In his own words: “No sooner did we hit the water than the Japanese machine guns really opened up on us. It was so painfully slow, we waded in such deep water. We had 700 yards to walk slowly into direct machine-gun fire, looming into larger targets as we rose onto the higher ground. I was so scared, more than I’d ever been before. Those who weren’t hit would always remember how the machine-gun bullets hissed into the water, inches to the right, inches to the left.”
Colonel Shoup moved toward the beach parallel to the pier. He ordered Major Ruud’s 3/8 Marines to land on Red Beach Three—east of the pier. There were now no organized LVT units to transport the reserve battalion to the fight. Major Ruud was ordered to approach as near as he could to the landing boats and then wade the remaining distance into shore. Ruud received his orders from Shoup at 1104. While the two officers were never more than a mile apart from each other for the next six hours, they could not communicate.
Major Ruud divided his landing team into seven waves. Once the boats approached, the reef confusion began. The Japanese zeroed their anti-boat guns on the landing craft with fearsome accuracy. They scored several direct hits as the bow ramp dropped. A distinct clang from an impacting shell would signal a split second before the explosion. Staff Sergeant Hatch watching from the beach later recalled: “It happened at least a dozen times. The boat was blown completely out of the water and smashed bodies all over the place. I watched a Jap shell hit a landing craft directly that brought many Marines ashore. The explosion was horrific, and parts of the boat flew in all directions.”
Navy coxswains watching the slaughter directly ahead stopped their boats seaward of the reef and ordered troop
s to debark. Many Marines loaded with extra ammunition or radios instantly sank into the deep water—many drowned. The reward for the troops whose coxswains made it into the reef was less sanguine. They waded through 600 yards of withering crossfire. Heavier, by far, than what the first assault waves experienced at H-Hour. The first wave slaughter of companies L and K was terrible. Over 70% fell while attempting to reach the beach.
Colonel Shoup and his party frantically waved to groups of Marines to seek the pier’s protection. While many did, several NCOs and officers had been hit, making the stragglers disorganized. The pier was a questionable shelter; it received sniper fire, and intermittent machine-gun fire from both sides. Colonel Shoup was struck in nine places. A bullet came close to penetrating his bull-like neck. His runner crouching behind him was shot between the eyes by a Japanese sniper.
The commander of the 3/8 Weapons Company, Captain Carl Hoffman, fared no better getting ashore than the infantry companies ahead. His landing craft took a direct hit from a Japanese mortar, and he lost six or eight men right there. Captain Hoffman’s Marines veered toward the peer and then waded toward shore. Ruud was unable to contact Shoup. And instead radioed his regimental commander, Colonel Elmer Hall: “Third wave landed on Red Beach Three. Practically wiped out. Fourth wave landed but only a few Marines ashore.”
Colonel Hall was in a small boat near the line of departure, unable to respond. General Hermle, Assistant Division Commander, intervened with this message: “Stay where you are or retreat out of gun range.”
This only added to the confusion. Major Ruud did not reach the pier until late afternoon. At 1730 he was able to lead what was left of his men ashore.
Many Marines did not straggle in until the following day. Colonel Shoup dispatched what was left of the 3/8 to support Major Crowe’s besieged 2/8. Other Marines were used to plug the gap between the 2/8 and the combined troops of the 2/2 and the 1/2.
When Colonel Shoup finally reached Betio and established his command post. He was fifty yards in from the pier along the blindside of a Japanese occupied bunker. Shoup posted guards to keep the enemy from launching any attacks. Still, the site’s approaches were exposed, just like any other place on the flat island. Over twenty messengers were shot while bearing dispatches to and from Colonel Shoup.
Combat photographer Sherrod crawled to look out at the exposed water on both sides of the pier. He counted over fifty disabled LVTs, boats, and tanks.
Colonel Shoup admitted to him, “We need more men. We’re in a tight spot.” The situation did not look good.
Shoup’s first order of business after reaching dry ground was to seek updated reports from his landing team commanders. Tactical communications were worse now than they had been during the morning assault. Colonel Shoup still had no contact with any troops on Red Beach One, nor could he raise General Smith on Maryland. A messenger arrived with a report from 2/2: “All communications out except runners. We need help. Situation bad. CO killed. No word from E Company.”
Colonel Shoup found Colonel Jordan and ordered him to take command of the 2/2. Shoup reinforced him with elements of the 1/2 and 3/8. He gave Jordan an hour to organize and rearm the assorted attachments. Shoup then ordered him to proceed inland to attack the airstrip and expand the beachhead. Colonel Shoup then ordered Colonel Carlson to hitch a ride to the Maryland and inform General Smith of the situation personally. He told Carlson to tell the general, “We’re going to stick it out and fight.”
Carlson departed immediately. But because of the hazards and confusion between the line of departure and the beach, he did not reach the flagship with his message until 1800.
Fog of War
Colonel Shoup focused his attention on the critical matters of resupply. Beyond the pier were over a hundred small craft that circled aimlessly. They carried assorted supplies from cargo and transport ships. They unloaded as quickly as they could in compliance with Admiral Nimitz’s orders of “Get the hell in and then get the hell out.”
The unorganized unloading hindered the fight ashore. Shoup was not sure of which boat held what supplies. He sent word that only the most critical supplies were to be sent to the pier: LVT fuel, ammunition, water, blood plasma, and more radios. The naval gunfire support since the landing was terrific, but it was time for the Marines to bring their own artillery to the beachhead. The original plan of landing the 1/10 Marines at Red Beach One was no longer practical.
Shoup conferred with Lieutenant Colonel Presley Rixey and agreed to land on Red Beach Two’s left flank with the 75mm howitzers. These expeditionary guns would be broken down and manhandled ashore. Lieutenant Colonel Rixey had seen close up what happened when the 3/8 tried to wade ashore from the reef. He went after the last few LVTs. There were only enough operational vehicles for two sections of Batteries A and B. In the confusion, three Battery C sections followed the LVTs toward the shore in their open boats. Luck smiled on the artillerymen. The LVTs landed with intact guns in the late afternoon. When the trailing boats were hung up on the reef, Marines dragged the heavy components through the bullet swept waters to the pier and made it ashore by twilight. There was now close-in fire support available at dawn.
General Julian Smith knew little of what was happening. He continued trying to piece together the tactical situation onshore. Smith received reports from staff officers afloat and in float planes. He decided the situation in the early afternoon was in desperate straits.
Although he had elements of five infantry battalions ashore, their toehold was unstable. General Smith decided the gap between Red Beach One and Red Beach Two had not been closed. And that the left flank on Red Beach Three was not secure. Smith assumed that Shoup was still alive and in command, but he could not afford to gamble. Over the next few hours, the commanding general did his best to influence all-action ashore from the flagship. Smith’s first step was to send a radio message to General Holland Smith. He requested the use of the 6th Marines to division control because the situation was in doubt. He also ordered his last remaining landing team, 1/8 Marines, to the line of departure. General Julian Smith reorganized another emergency division composed of engineers, artillery, and service troop units.
General Julian Smith ordered General Hermle to proceed to the end of the pier and assess the situation and report back. Hermle took his small staff and promptly debarked from the Monrovia headed toward the smoking island—but the trip took four hours. During this time, General Julian Smith received a message from Major Schoettel, still afloat seaward at the reef: “Command post located on back of Red Beach One. Situation as before. Lost all contact with assault elements.”
General Smith replied: “Land at any cost. Regain control of your battalion and continue to attack.”
Major Schoettel reached the beach at sunset. It was well into the next day before he could work west and consolidate the scattered Marines. General Smith received authorization to take control of the 6th Marines at 1525. Smith now had four battalions of landing teams available at his disposal. The question was how to feed them into the fight without getting them annihilated like Major Ruud’s experience trying to land the 3/8.
Again, General Smith’s communications failed him. At 1740 he received a message from Hermle that he had reached the pier and was under fire. Ten minutes later, Smith ordered Hermle to take command of all forces onshore. Hermle never received these orders. General Smith did not know his message failed to get through, and Hermle remained at the pier sending runners to Colonel Shoup, who told him to “Get the hell out from underneath that pier.” They tried with little success to unscrew the two-way movement of casualties and supplies to shore.
Throughout the long day, Colonel Hall and his staff languished in their Higgins boats next to the 1/8 waiting at the line of departure. They were wet, cramped, hungry, and tired with many seasick Marines. Later in the afternoon, General Smith ordered Hall to land all of his remaining units on the beach on the northeast tip of the island and work west toward Colonel Shoup’s ragg
ed lines. This was extremely risky. General Smith’s primary concern was that the Japanese would counterattack from the eastern tail of the island against his left flank. Once he had the 6th Marines, General Smith later admitted he would’ve sacrificed a battalion landing team if it meant saving the landing force from being overrun by a Japanese counterattack during the night.
Luckily, Hall never received this message from General Smith. Later that afternoon, a float plane reported to Smith that a unit crossed the departure line and headed for the left flank of Red Beach Two. General Smith assumed it was Hall going to the wrong beach. But this was the beginning of Rixey’s artillerymen moving ashore. The 8th Marines spent the night in their boats waiting for orders. General Smith did not discover this until early the next morning.
On Betio, Major Ryan reported to Colonel Shoup that several hundred Marines and two tanks had penetrated over 500 yards beyond Red Beach One on the island’s western end. This was now the most successful progress of the day and welcome news to Shoup, because he’d feared the worst. He’d assumed Schoettel’s companies and all other strays who’d veered in that direction were wiped out. This was more news that Shoup could not convey to Smith.
Major Ryan’s troops were effective on the western end. They learned how to best operate the medium tanks and carved out a substantial beachhead. They overran several Japanese pillboxes and turrets. Aside from the tanks, Ryan’s men had only infantry weapons. They had no demolitions or flamethrowers. Major Ryan new from his earlier experiences fighting in the Solomons that positions reduced by only grenades could come alive again. He decided by late afternoon to pull back his thin lines and consolidate. In his words: “I was convinced that without any flamethrowers or explosives to clean them out, we needed to pull back . . . to a perimeter that could be defended against a counterattack by Japanese troops still hidden in the bunkers.”