My name is Chris O'Brien and I am the younger son of Warren Jack O'Brien. When Jack O'Brien's granddaughter Sara was a sophomore in high school in Brattleboro, Vermont, her history teacher gave several options on an assignment concerning their studies of the Second World War. One option was to interview a veteran and to report to the class about that interview. Sara wanted to interview her Grandfather, but the 2000 mile distance made it difficult. My father was reluctant to do a phone interview so he requested that Sara write out some questions and he promised that he would do his best to respond, in writing. He wrote Sara a letter and sent copies to me and to my older brother, John.Following the death of my widowed mother in November, 1942, I fell so far behind in school that I dropped out and enlisted in the Marine Corps on Dec. 12, 1942. I was one of the last recruits able to enlist because I was only seventeen years old at the time. A group of eight of us from Colorado Springs was sent first to Denver for swearing in, and to San Diego, California for training at Boot Camp. I didn't know any of the group prior to leaving for Denver. I never met anyone I previously knew in my entire Marine Corps experience.
I was in Boot Camp at the Marine Base in San Diego for eight weeks. The only notable thing about Boot Camp, other than surviving, was "shooting high man" in my platoon on the rifle range. I scored 228 points out of a possible 240. Not bad for a myopic lefthander.
Following Boot Camp I was sent to RADAR school at Utah State University in Logan, Utah. A high school drop out, I was surrounded by people, many of whom had several years of college, all of whom had experience in electronics. I was over my head. I was transferred out after an altercation with a civilian instructor. I also lost my rank as Private First Class.
I wound up at Camp Elliot, a Fleet Marine Infantry Training Center near San Diego. I underwent training in Combat Intelligence. This involved scouting, map preparation and map reading, communications and other like functions. I shipped overseas on Sept. 20, 1943.
I arrived in Wellington, New Zealand some two weeks later where I joined the Headquarters Platoon of George Company (Co), Second Battalion (Bn), Eighth Regiment (8th Marines) of the Second Marine Division (2Mar Div). George Co was a Rifle (Infantry) company. I was assigned to the Headquarters Platoon because of my combat intelligence training. I was a runner, providing communications between the company commander and the upper and lower elements of the battalion. One week later we boarded ship and headed for the assault on Tarawa Atoll in the Gilbert Islands.
On November 20, 1943 three Marine Battalions, the 3rd and 2nd of the 2nd Marines and the 2nd of the 8th Marines, hit Betio Island of the Tarawa Atoll. The first three assault waves were boated in amphibious tractors (Amtracs) which could move through water and also move on land. These were required because of the coral reef which surrounded the island for 500 to 700 yards out. The rest of the assault troops were in Higgins boats, flat bottomed shallow draft vehicles with a forward opening ramp. The water depth was supposed to be sufficient for this craft to clear the reef and reach the beach. This was not the case. I was 18 years old at that time.
I was in the Higgins boat with Lt. Col. Crowe, the commander of the 2nd Bn, 8th Marines, as a runner for George Co. Our boat grounded on the edge of the reef just as the second wave of Amtracs passed by. Machine gun fire was hitting the ramp of our boat, forcing us to jump over the sides into the water. Lowering the ramp would have wiped us out. I was toward the rear of the boat and landed in water over my head. I walked up the edge of the reef. This probably saved my life. Several of those forward in the boat were hit as they landed exposed.
That walk across that 700 yard reef changed my life forever. I will never know how any of us who survived made it. I've often said that anything in life after that has been pure gravy. In three days of battle we lost some 1000 dead and 2000 wounded.
At the end of that 700 yard walk was a 10 to 20 foot beach with a 3 foot seawall. The 2nd Bn, 8th Marines landed to the left of a 700 yard long pier which went out to the edge of the reef. This gave us some cover on our right flank but we had none on our left. Since we were on the inside of a curving beach we were receiving murderous flanking fire. We had to go over the seawall to get away from it.
We were never more than 25 yards from the enemy. He had bunkers made of coconut tree logs, sand bags and concrete. Each gave cross fire support to at least two others. We had to frontally assault them simultaneously. The cost was terrible. Hand-to-hand fighting was common. There was at least one sniper tied into every coconut palm tree. The enemy did not surrender, he fought to the end.
I don't remember eating anything during those three days. I remember that we were issued C rations of either canned stew or pork and beans while aboard ship. It all tasted like mucilage glue. The biggest problem was water. Very few Jerry cans made it to the beach. Ammunition was in even shorter supply.
At night we would dig a fox hole, a trench about 12 inches deep, wide enough and long enough for two men to lie in. We slept in turns taking two hour watches. This way you were protected from anything but a direct hit on your hole, and no enemy could sneak up on you.
It might have been the effect of stress or fear but I have never felt a deeper chill than I felt lying in a foxhole half full of sea water on Betio those first two nights. We were only 1 degree off of the equator.
Following Tarawa, the 2Mar Div was sent to the Island of Hawaii for replacement and retraining. We were camped up between Mauna Loa and Mauna Keya, two extinct volcanos. The nights were cold and the days were hot. We prepared for the next assault.
I earned back my PFC rank, and I was transferred to the Intelligence Section of Headquarters Company, 2nd Bn, 8th Marines. I was assigned as the intelligence scout to my old George Co. I had very good relations with the CO, Captain Hoffman, who was a trumpet player with a well known big band in civilian life. He would, on occasion, serenade the troops. He was the finest officer I met in my career as a Marine.
We boarded ship around June 1, 1944, combat loaded for our next objective, Saipan in the Marianas Islands. This group included Guam, the American protectorate lost to the Japanese in the early days of the war. Saipan was to be first. It had been a Japanese protectorate since WWI. It was the first time we would encounter enemy civilians as well as natives.
We were loaded on a flat bottomed craft known as a Landing Ship Tank (LST). It was designed to actually ground itself on a beach and unload tanks through giant doors and ramps in its bow. The tank deck was loaded with Amtracs which we boarded on deck. The doors were opened, the ramp lowered and the Amtracs rolled off into the ocean. D-day was June 15, 1944. I was nineteen years old at that time.
The Amtracs formed into lines (waves) at the line of departure. At the signal they headed for the beach. I was in an Amtrac in the first wave with the Second Platoon of George Company.
Just before we hit the reef which surrounded Saipan, we passed through a line of boats called Landing Craft Infantry (LCI) which had been fitted with rack after rack of anti-personnel rockets. These were fired as we passed. The impact on the beach was awesome. It was obliterated in dust and smoke. I thought that nothing could survive that bombardment. However, when we hit the beach our coxswain could not lower the ramp and we had to bail out over the side again. We jumped into a trench full of enemy soldiers, very much alive and angry. A Marine with a Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) who jumped ahead of me, firing on the way to the ground, neutralized the immediate enemy.
We were on the right flank of the 2nd Div. We were supposed to be some 200 yards left of the left flank of the 4th Div. Rip tides and currents had caused us to be landed some 2000 yards from the 4th Div. Instead of joining them in 2 hours, it took us two days.
As we drove down the beach our left flank bordered a small airstrip near the town of Charan Kanoa. We were exposed to infiltrators since the enemy controlled the other side of the strip. I was sent to locate any friendly troops on our flank. I literally ran into an enemy patrol scouting our lines. After a brief fire fight I managed to return to the Company command post. I led a patrol to flush out any survivors. We found none and our flank remained secure.
A series of large pillboxes made our drive to join the 4th Div extremely slow. A platoon of Sherman tanks, 3 to be exact, was assigned to support us. I was given the task of leading them down the beach, directing them around shell holes and trenches. We finally reached our front in time to confront a pillbox which had held us up for hours. The tanks stopped and began firing. It became obvious that they needed to move up on the pillbox so that their fire could be more effective.
Our tanks were used to support our infantry. To allow communication between the crew and outside observers they were fitted with a sound power telephone. I used this phone to guide them into point blank range and the enemy position was knocked out. For this I was later awarded a Silver Star medal, my country's third highest medal of valor. At the time it was just something that had to be done.
On June 28 I was trying to establish contact between George Co and Fox Co. on the slope of mount Tapotchau. I was exposed as I climbed over a rock outcrop and was wounded by shrapnel from an enemy mortar. I was evacuated, first to Kawajalein, and then to Honolulu.
I sneaked out of the hospital after a couple of days. I wanted, almost craved, a milk shake. That milk shake was the most delicious, refreshing drink I have ever had. Unfortunately the staff figured that if I could go AWOL, I could return to duty. I was sent back forthwith, even though my wound was not completely healed. When I returned to the hospital, before I was discharged, the man in the bed next to mine told me that Purple Heart medals had been handed out in my absence. Before he could secure mine for me someone copped it. Some 50 years later I requested and received my Purple Heart.
I rejoined my outfit on Tinian, the island next to Saipan. It was taken with only 300 killed and 1600 wounded. Casualties on the first day of Saipan had been over 1600. There were over 16,000 killed and wounded before the island was secured. There is grim history connected with Tinian. It was from here that the Enola Gay took off with the atomic bomb that leveled Hiroshima.
On Saipan we were issued new rations called K rations. They were a significant improvement over the C rations. Crackers instead of hard tack and a variety of potted meats and cheese made them almost palatable. If water was available, we could have tea or coffee. Sometimes it was hot, if we could light a fire.
As for personal hygiene, our helmets were the main item. Water from rain, shell holes and Jerry cans was used. Clothing changes were impossible. Packs had been jettisoned in favor of mobility, and even a change of socks was impossible. Washing socks and underwear was risky. One might have to leave before one could collect one's laundry. Someone liberated an enemy clothing dump. I got several pairs of tube stockings that served me through the Saipan-Tinian campaign.
The most tragic event of the Saipan campaign was the suicide of hundreds of civilians who jumped from cliffs into the sea rather than face the monstrous enemy. They were afraid when the Japanese army ceased to provide protection for them after it was wiped out in a futile Banzai attack.
Unfortunately the same kind of fanaticism exists today. It is displayed in the Near East, in Africa, in South and Central America, in the Balkans, in Ireland, and in our own country. I sometimes wonder if there is really hope for the human race. Sara, you and your generation have been left with terrible evils to overcome. I wish you Godspeed.
We trained on Saipan for the invasion of Okinawa, the last assault before the invasion of Japan. For the attack on Okinawa, the 2nd Div was in reserve. We were boated and combat loaded, but were not committed until the very end of the campaign. We made a mock landing at the southern end of the island on Easter Sunday, April 1, 1945. We assaulted a small off shore island called Iheya Shima. We landed unopposed. Again I was in the first wave but with no severe consequences. Only my nerves were frayed. I had been made Scout Chief of the Intelligence Section and got to choose my landing boat. I, of course, chose George Company.
On our way from Saipan to Okinawa, I lost my Corporal stripes. I traded my M1 rifle for a light weight carbine, for mobility purposes. The Table of Organization did not permit this and I was reduced in rank for doing it. When we finally were committed on Okinawa, I picked up a carbine at the first opportunity. You could get away with more when actually engaged in combat.
We were committed to mop up the last of the enemy army on Okinawa. All of the original landing forces had been decimated in the most vicious fighting of the war. We had been on the line for three days when General Buchner, the three star general who commanded the Okinawa campaign, visited our lines. He and our regimental commander came to our 2nd Bn observation post (OP). They assumed that the enemy had nothing left to hurt them with. I was on the OP when they arrived. It got too crowded for me and I left. I had just reached the cover of a rock outcrop when the enemy sent about a dozen rounds of 57 mm antitank fire at the OP. Gen. Buchner was the only casualty. I've always considered my move off the OP as having been inspired.
We returned to Saipan and began training for the final show, the assault on Japan. On August 6, 1945, at about 10:00 p.m. Saipan time, the head of the Communication Section came out of his radio shack to announce to one and all that some sort of tremendous bomb had been dropped on a Japanese city, nearly destroying it. We all felt that he had somehow stumbled onto a cache of Saki and was drunk or crazy. The next morning the word of the atomic bomb was officially passed. I thought that we had all been reprieved.
We subsequently landed in Japan at Nagasaki, the second city to have been hit by an atomic bomb. We rode by truck through the center of the city. The devastation was complete. What appeared to be bits of lath and plaster overlaid the entire landscape. Partial skeletons of concrete buildings were the only standing elements. I remember looking at the surrounding hills. The pine forests appeared as though they had been swept over by a giant hot wind. They had indeed.
I don't remember hearing a word said all the time we traversed the devastated area. The growl of the exhaust of the truck is all I remember. It was a subdued bunch that unloaded at Cummamato where we were stationed during the occupation of Japan.
I don't recall anything of great interest that happened during my stay in Japan. I was only interested in coming home. I do remember the utter devastation of the cities. The B-29s from Saipan and Tinian had fire bombed them unmercifully. The carrier attack groups had done their bit. Even so, I don't think that Japan would have surrendered if it had not been for the bomb. I don't believe that I would have lived through an invasion. Although it released terror upon the world, I was, and still am, grateful for its deployment. I would not be here without it.
I returned to the United States on Dec. 12, 1945. I was finally discharged from the Marine Corps at Camp Pendleton, California, on Jan. 8, 1946. I first went to Los Angeles to stay with my elder sister. I wanted to get civilian clothes before returning to Colorado. I hoped against hope for a warm greeting from the girl I loved, Roberta Printz. I finally got up my courage and bought a bus ticket home. The reception was warm. We were married on June 30, 1946.
I have tried to answer most of your questions in the preceding chronological history of my military service. In response to those remaining:
I missed my family. My brother was in North Africa and my sisters were somewhere in the United States. I lost track early on. I would write to the last address and hope that the mail would get through. My family, as it had existed before the war, was gone forever. All four siblings got together for the first time since before WWII in the Fall of 1996 at my elder sister's home in Bellingham, WA.
I was often afraid. Fear was common. Nobody wanted to "buy it." Some were paralyzed by fear. Fortunately, I was stimulated by it.
As far as rank goes, I made PFC twice, Corporal twice and was posted for Sergeant but left for home before it became effective. I wasn't a miscreant. I just did not fit well in the military mold. In my opinion some elements of the Table of Organization needed to be changed. Of course no military organization can tolerate action based on individual opinion.
We lived, worked and fought in dungarees. Jungle green was the color. Split leather high top boots were our footwear. T-shirts and shorts were jungle green. On liberty in Hawaii we wore khaki. In the States we wore dark green winter uniforms.
We would occasionally get the no advertisements "pony" editions of Time and Newsweek magazines. There were very few radios. In general we pretty much knew what was going on in Europe. We thought that they were getting better support than we were. The Pacific Theater was not the primary concern.
I learned from WWII that you have to do the best you can. You can't make it entirely on your own. However, there is a limit to how much you can depend on others. The only way to get anything accomplished is to get with it, get started. There never is a best time.
Much has been written about the camaraderie of the fighting unit. There certainly was the need to feel you could depend on anyone in your unit but when it came to lasting friendships I found it rather a lonely place to be. Friendships were ephemeral, here today and gone tomorrow. You had to develop a shell of almost indifference to survive emotionally.
I have never felt guilty about surviving. Nobody was lost because of action taken or omitted by me. Sometimes life is a crapshoot. I was lucky. I am grateful.
I can't remember any really joyous times, other than leaving a combat zone. By this I mean times that I would like to relive. There were pleasant experiences such as listening to Capt. Hoffman play the trumpet.
I hope that I have answered your questions. If not, give me another chance. As your Grandma Bobby has noted, your questions have prompted an analysis of my feelings about war in general. It's a terrible way to settle any issue. I have attempted to be dispassionate in my account of events. Even so, I can't recount the Tarawa and Saipan assaults without choking up. She also points out that reflections and thoughts of a 73 year old veteran may differ markedly from those of a seventeen year old Marine recruit. Fifty years can also dim memories.
Although patriotism may be unfashionable, you should remember that as long as avarice, greed, prejudice and brutality exist between individuals or countries, there will always be conflict. Some things are worth fighting for. You, in your lifetime may have to face the moral dilemma of such conflicts of human society. I pray that they will be few. Know this, I fully believe that you will account yourself well.
Having witnessed first hand the absolute destruction of two cities laid waste by the atomic bomb, you may find it unconscionable that I would ever help make both the weapon and the delivery systems of that terrible device. My only rationale to you is this: my country's development and manufacture of such weapon systems has managed to keep an uneasy peace throughout the world for the past 55 years. Judge me as you may, I gave my best.
