Phil Wood's Letters
Letter #60
Lay Bare A Few More Nerves
To Margretta & Gretchen
2 April 1944
2 April[1]
I’ve been a Marine exactly two years today
I’ve been thinking [of sending] you the story of Namur for quite some time. I guess I didn’t because of censorship, and because a great deal of what I saw wasn’t nice and orderly and safe – that is, after all, the traditional view that one is supposed to impress on the loved ones at home.[2] Of course they know it isn’t that way, just as well as you do, but they don’t want to sound as though they’re worrying themselves to death. Maybe it’s the realistic age we’re living in that makes the change – not blatantly so, as were the 20s – but quietly, factually – simply accepting facts, though unpleasant, because of a desire to know rather than an attempt to seek a new thrill – a violent sensation – The Sun Also Rises – cut away another inhibition – lay bare a few more nerves.
I’m not writing because I want to shock or worry you, or because I’m proud of the dangers I’ve been through – it’s just that knowing and loving you, I think that you would prefer knowing what it was like and how I felt – and thus what it will be like next time. Known fears and worries are limited ones. Unknown, they can become tremendous.
Copies of the above map and questionnaire (front and back) were distributed to all hands of the 4th Marine Division en route to Operation Flintlock. (Editor's collection.)
The Captain sensibly decided to go up through the blasted area–we could be sure no Japs were left there. We moved out, scurrying from one shell hole to another as we realized for the first time that a lot of rifle fire was coming our way.[9]
The area covered by the bombardment, a 400 yard swath cut along the length of the beach – stood for a simply incredible destruction. There had been many buildings, pillboxes, and men there – nothing was left but rubble – twisted iron, heaps of concrete, a few blasted palm stumps and shell-pocked earth – a super No Man’s Land that you had read about so often, and here I was. This was the battle that I had pointed toward for so long – two years, almost. It all seemed unreal – I felt detached, but very tense.
We met nothing but a few snipers until we came to the northern half of the island. There some shells had landed, but there was a lot of shrubbery and treed area left – many dugouts, pillboxes, and blockhouses – and almost all the Japs left living on Roi and Namur [after] the bombardment. The first one I saw was half naked – an Officer, brandishing a Samurai sword. I slowly sighted on him, but before I squeezed the trigger he was down – one of my machine gunners was standing over him, smashed out a gold front tooth and put it in his pocket – I yelled, “Why?” He said because his dad had asked for one, I said I was glad it was for a sentimental reason.
We moved around the perimeter of the island, just off the beach, from where we landed up to the northernmost point.[10] On our flanks we were the forward echelon of the Regiment – we picked up stragglers from the outfit that had been blasted, but the rest of them followed us.[11]
I realized that the sound of my firing might attract snipers, so I moved off and sat quietly in the bush, waiting for the others to come up. When they did we moved forward, Roy and I side by side.[13] I do like fighting next to him–we know each other well enough.
A burst of machine gun fire came from a blockhouse we were approaching, we all dove for nearby trenches, and Steve Hopkins and I landed in a small one. On a small projection lay a Jap. I thought him dead, and passed by him up the trench. Hoppy kept an eye on him, though, and when the wounded Jap rolled over to throw the grenade he had in his hand, Hoppy shot him. The kid was white-faced and chattery – “Did you see, Mr. Wood? Did you see the grenade? Did you see what he was going to do?”[14]
That was my job – to find targets for the mortars, check and see that no friendly troops were too close, and then adjust their fire onto the target. The mortar fires from behind the lines, and they need someone to control their fire from the front. My machine gun squads were attached to the rifle platoon, but if they happened to be around and I spotted targets for them, I controlled their fire, too.[16] That was the biggest trouble I had, though – our boys, the riflemen, were too eager to attack. Several times I could have saved lives if they had only waited for a preparatory mortar barrage, but they couldn’t wait to close with the Japs. It made for a headlong, rushing attack that never gave the enemy a chance to reorganize. Every one of them is vividly conscious of the fact that he is a Marine.
Sgt. Tucker was in a hole on my left – he and Harry and Roy and two or three from Roy’s platoon and I gave the dugout a barrage of grenades at a range of ten yards – they were deafening – Tuck and Cpl. Robbins charged first, but were driven back by fire.[19] Then five or six of us went over the edge of the embankment and shot everything that moved – a rifle came around a corner – I shot it out of the Jap’s hands and someone else drilled him – he had a big silk flag tied to his rifle which I cut off and stuffed into my pocket – it’s one of the few found on Namur.[20]
I found [a] runner, gave him directions as to the disposition of the mortar sections, and he went back to tell them where to go.When I turned, the rest of them had gone on – running, stopping to fire when they saw a fleeing Jap – following the beachline along the island. Imm, my other runner – 17 and, literally, has never been kissed – and I started after them, heard heavy firing, and stopped to reconnoiter. We were almost up to a wide, cleared area, just off a road running parallel to the beach. The “daring dozen” were across the clearing, and apparently having a hell of a fight in the scrubbed area 100 yards ahead of us. We crawled into a shell hole with a Lieutenant from D Company – he told us to stay down for Christ’s sake, the road and the clearing were machine gun lanes, and the Japs had been killing anyone who tried to go up.[21]
Only four of us got out of that trap whole – that any did was Sgt. Tucker’s doing – seeing that they were being methodically slaughtered, he stood up and opened fire with his rifle. As each Jap arose out of the opposing trench to fire, Tucker carefully sighted in and shot him – often, as we found out later, right between the eyes. They think that he killed about 30 Japs that way – he put two enemy machine guns out of action, and gave the others a chance to pull the wounded into nearby shell holes – bullets creased his helmet, punctured his canteen, and cut off his rifle belt, but he didn’t get down until the rest of them were safely in position.[22]Harry was hit in the leg, but Roy was alright.
I didn’t know any of this until later. I only saw one man run across the clearing, and he was cut down – that was enough. We stayed there – I lay on my back, looking up at a shell scarred fragment of a tree that stood over our hole, watching the beautiful serene white terns soar over the battlefield – and for the first time, I was really afraid. Afraid of my own motives for staying there. I knew damned well that it was foolish to think of going up, but that didn’t matter. I was still afraid, wasn’t I? Yes, I was afraid, but it was a justifiable fear of a certain death – still afraid, though – I thought of the mortars, but the other Lieutenant said that the Third Battalion had reached the beach a few hundred yards up the line, and this was the last pocket of resistance. I thought he was wrong, and he was, but I couldn’t take a chance, and in the growing dusk I sat and worried – still firing forward, what could I do – nothing, but they needed help. Imm is asleep, confident that anything I decide is correct – but I haven’t decided, there is no decision to make – were are too disorganized to effect a mass rush, the Company spread out from here back to the blockhouse. They need help. Yes, I am afraid, I’ll admit it, but what about it? A half-track passed over our hole on the way up the road, but it doesn’t get 25 yards in front of us before it is stopped by the sheer force of thousands of rounds from Jap heavy machine guns – it backs off, without even getting a chance to fire a round. I now admit that I’m afraid – even to myself, but am no longer ashamed of it. And the half-track gives me an idea.
We crawled up to where the Captain was, in the front line, and it was a mistake – he thought we were infiltrating Japs, challenged us, but I was pretty deafened by the day’s firing and didn’t hear him – his runner almost plugged us before we were recognized. We exchanged “the word.” He had been on the left flank all day, the wounded had been evacuated, and we were expecting a counter-attack that night. It materialized. We had been told before we went in to expect it – that no matter how hopeless the situation, the Japs would always counter-attack, to save face and all that. They did it, but it hit our left, in B Company’s sector, before dawn with wild yelling and all the accouterments – firecrackers, samurai [sword] waving officers who shouted commands in English – B Company was pushed back by the sheer violence of the attack, and they suffered pretty heavy casualties; but their 60mm mortars saved the day – they fired at a perilously close range, but succeeded in breaking up the charge. A damned good weapon – my favorite – if I had enough of them and enough men, I think I could pretty near win this war with them alone.[27]
At dawn the Captain called to me, and told me that he had checked all night, by radio, and found out that there were no Marines on the beach beyond us, only Japs, so it was safe to fire the mortars. We set a time, and I crawled back to the guns, and sat there with them, cleaned my carbine in the growing light, ate a couple of squares of chocolate – the first food I’d had in 24 hours, but I wasn’t hungry – drank a little water, the first I’d had in almost a day, and smoked my first cigarette with relish, as soon as it was light enough not to show.
That attack broke the back of the resistance – from then on the Japs were disorganized and fleeing. When the mortars went out of action, I went up and helped a couple of my machine gun squads root them out of their dugouts. The mortars had made a slaughterhouse of the area, and then we chased the few remaining, there couldn’t have been more than 25 or 30, up the tank trap, an 8-foot trench that ran around the island just inside the beach.
We raced after them. It was like hunting rats then – they scurried and scrambled, hid among the bodies of their own dead – there were hundreds of dead, killed by the Naval bombing the day before, lying in the trench, horribly twisted and mangled – headless, bodies laid open to the backbone, small pieces of flesh splattered on the ground, and carcasses so thick that at times we had to walk on them to get by. I remember stepping over a Samurai sword, but was too tired to even pick it up. Didn’t care. Col. Dyess was killed halfway up by a machine gun that they had set up in ambush. Fired at me, I think, but I heard the click of the bolt and hit the deck, and the shots went over me.[29]
Finally it was over – we met the other units coming around the island from the other side – the island was secured – well in hand, I suppose you’d call it, by one or two in the afternoon. We walked back down the beach – that picture that I sent you – and assembled in the center of the island – began to find out who was killed, and I realized that my face was taut and tired, and it was from pulling my lips tight into a set expression so that the sight of those piled bodies wouldn’t show on my face.
We started to clean up – mop up the wooded area for isolated snipers, and my platoon found a couple of cases of Jap beer – we all had a bottle or two – they forced five on me, and I promptly got tight – no food and almost no water.
We slept, although it wasn’t sleep that we needed – just a chance to stretch out in the sun, alone, and do and think of nothing at all.
We had to bury those dead – those foul rotting bodies – dig in defenses, and remove all the duds from the area – and were lucky enough to have left the island before it was bombed by Jap planes – we watched that from the lagoon – it reminded me of the Fourth of July – that time we were on the Boston boat and watched the fireworks along the sound.
And we came back here, to this paradise, to rest, that we might fight as well again.
It’s taken several sittings to write all this, girls – I almost tore it up once, because it’s unconventional, because of the gory things, and because I say I was in the front lines and in danger. But you must know all that already. And it feels good to get it down on paper – somehow, that settles it – makes you feel it’s really over and done with. Not that it’s bothered me much, but you can’t help thinking of it at times.
All my love,
Phil
Footnotes
[1] The handwritten copy of this letter has not survived. Gretchen and Margretta made numerous attempts to have this letter published, and it is believed that the original was lost in one of these efforts. Fortunately, Gretchen transcribed the letter ahead of time.
[2] Phil is taking full advantage of his job as battalion censor in sending this remarkable (and detail-rich) letter out.
[3] On 31 January 1944, the 25th Marines attacked and secured the smaller islets surrounding Roi and Namur, overcoming light resistance and allowing the 14th Marines (artillery) to land and set up their batteries. The 14th would fire in support of the 23rd and 24th Marines during their landing.
[4] The 24th Marines had a great deal of trouble getting organized for the ship-to-shore movement. The amphibious tractors (LVTs) they were to use had been in service the previous day, and most were unable to find their parent ships to refuel or rearm. Boats (LCVPs) had to be substituted at the last minute, with priority given to the assault waves. Phil’s company was particularly fouled up as they received conflicting orders; first to head for the beach as stand-in reserve for 2/24, then to hold fast as 2/24’s scheduled reserve (Company G) arrived, just as the flags dropped to commence the assault.
[5] This is to say at approximately 1230. The trip to the beach took 33 minutes.
[6] The Second Battalion, 24th Marines.
[7] Later, it was revealed that a Marine demolition team from F/2/24 breached a large concrete blockhouse. What they thought was a defensive fortification turned out to be a stockpile of bombs and torpedoes for aircraft flying out of Roi; their satchel charges set off the entire dump, obliterating the heavy structure and leaving a hole “as large as a fair-sized swimming pool” which quickly filled with water. From the boats, it looked as if the entire island had been destroyed. Twenty Marines from 2/24 were killed and a further 100 wounded by the blast, which also caused Company A’s first combat casualties. Corporal William J. Quinn and PFC Edward J. Horan were struck by falling concrete; both survived and eventually returned to duty with the company.
[8] “Jim” is most likely Lt. James B. Heater of Fox Company. Heater was wounded on Namur, but soon returned to his unit and served through the rest of the war and in Korea, retiring as a lieutenant colonel.
[9] The front lines were approximately 200 yards inland by this time.
[10] After linking up with 2/24, Company A was ordered to pass through the reeling Company F and take over the far right flank of the regimental line. They appear to have cut sideways along the front until reaching the beach; this movement began around 1530 hours.
[11] Due to poor terrain and a lack of wire communication and contact between outfits, it took nearly two hours to complete the relief of Fox Company’s “stragglers” and begin the next phase of the attack.
[12] Ervin stepped over a “spider hole” and had a narrow escape when a Japanese soldier fired a bullet that left a long burn mark but did not break the skin. Ervin was more discomfited by swallowing a plug of chewing tobacco and trying not to throw up in front of his squad. It was later said that telling this story was the only thing that got Ervin to laugh in public.
[13] Phil was often attached (or attached himself) to Roy Wood’s Third Platoon.
[14] PFC George A. Smith, gunner for Hopkins’ squad, witnessed this event. Smith relates that Hopkins kept the muzzle of his rifle squarely on the “dead” man’s head while the Marines moved up the trench. When the man pulled his grenade, Hopkins shot him through the brain; unbelievably, the Japanese merely shook his head and continued raising his grenade, and “Hoppy put the rest of the clip into him before he stayed still.” Small wonder Hopkins was “white faced and chattering.”
[15] Phil’s runner was eighteen-year-old PFC William J. Imm of Maspeth, NY.
[16] A weapons platoon leader in combat was most concerned with the mortars; as Phil mentions, his three machine gun squads were under the temporary command of his colleagues in the rifle platoons. Ordinarily, the platoon leader would call coordinates back to the mortar section sergeant, who would relay the orders to the tubes. Phil’s decision to go personally is somewhat unusual, but not out of character; Roy Wood will later mention that Phil preferred to take risks himself rather than send his men.
[17] This left “a slight scratch on the heel of my hand, so slight that it won’t even leave a scar that I can point to and tell my children that that is as close as Jap bullets ever got to me.” Phil did not bother to put in for a Purple Heart for this minor wound.
[18] Shortly after storming rearward in protest, Ervin became dizzy and – to his great annoyance – was carried back on a stretcher. He sustained “a through and through bullet wound in the tissues of the right chest wall” and “a grazing wound of the skin below the right clavicle.”
[19] Corporal Franklin C. Robbins, a quartermaster from Company D, attached himself to the assault troops. He was frequently mentioned alongside Sergeant Tucker in dispatches, and received a Silver Star Medal for gallantry.
[20] Unfortunately, this souvenir has been lost.
[21] The story of “the Daring Dozen” was a news item for a brief period after the battle; a number of them received decorations.
[22] Tucker would maintain this position overnight; his tally was eventually determined to be 38 of an estimated 75 Japanese in the trench. This feat earned him the Navy Cross.
[23] This plan, while quite courageous, was potentially fatal. Given the Japanese predilection for night infiltration, anything moving after dark was an open target for Marines–and the Japanese staged two attacks on 1/24 that night. The only reason to leave a hole at night was in a situation of most dire peril, and this rather foolish action on Phil’s part was a mark of inexperience and naiveté.
[24] Either the Marines that Phil encountered were just as inexperienced as he, or they had truly admirable fire discipline.
[25] Dyess was probably surprised in turn that a platoon leader had the temerity to call his command post and make tactical decisions.
[26] Smith recalls that his squad was ordered to advance their machine gun forward of the main line – a poor decision that left their crew exposed. They spotted movement, and Hopkins was shot in the head as he reached for his rifle. He died aboard a hospital ship a few hours later, without regaining consciousness, and was buried at sea.
[27] Approximately one company of Japanese soldiers struck at a gap between B/1/24 and I/3/24 in a fierce 45-minute fight. Although initially pushed back, the Marines rallied and actually wound up with a gain of 50 yards. Company B took severe casualties in this encounter; their Third Platoon was “practically wiped out [but] had hundreds of dead Japanese piled in front of its positions” as their captain later wrote.
[28] Being able to “smell” Japanese was a widely reported phenomenon throughout the Pacific Theater.
[29] Aquilla James Dyess received a posthumous Congressional Medal of Honor for organizing this final attack. The airfield on Roi was promptly renamed “Dyess Field.”
[30] Phil’s friend, 1Lt. Theodore Knapp “Ted” Johnson, the executive officer of Company C, was shot in the leg on 1 February 1944. The bullet must have hit an artery, for Johnson bled out and died while being evacuated for treatment. He was buried at sea. In addition to Hopkins, Phil’s platoon lost PFC Paul G. Southerland. According to veterans, Southerland was killed by a lone Japanese soldier while out souvenir hunting.
The full story of First Battalion, 24th Marines in Operation Flintlock incorporates much of this letter.
Part I: Not Afraid Of What Is Coming
Part II: Christ, This Is It
Part III: Better Not Shoot Me, You Sonuvabitch
Part IV: Like Hunting Rats
Part V: We Had To Bury Those Dead
Part VI: A Sad Voyage Back
Phil has obviously been wanting to get this off his chest for some time. As he mentions, the fear of censorship held him back – but now, two months after the battle with casualty reports released and numerous articles written, the rules are a little more relaxed. (Add, too, the fact that Wood often acted as the battalion censoring officer.) All helped spur him to write and send this remarkable letter, which evidently arrived with names and details intact.
As will be seen in subsequent missives, this letter caused quite a stir when it reached New York and was sent around to various family members and friends. Margretta even thought it might be published and sent copies to potential printers. Although initially surprised by the interest, Phil was evidently quite pleased with his work, and promised to “do a better job telling the story of the next one.” He would not get the chance.