The book Marine: The Life of Chesty Puller, tells the story of the most decorated Marine in American history. Chesty Puller. In Part 3, we move to the disaster at Peleliu, as well as the end of World War II, peace, and Puller’s leadership in Korea, just five years after World War II ended.
Discussion Questions
- When You Know A Disaster Will Happen: During World War II, on the island of Peleliu, Puller was sent to a battle that he did not agree with, and then when he participated, he did not get the support he needed with air cover, in his opinion. They suffered great losses. Question: How do we participate in something we do not agree with, when we have signed up to do something? Whendo we make our feelings known?
- On Who Is Important: Leaders need to ensure that the people who are doing the work get what they need, first? How can we apply this in our own lives? In restaurants, they call it family hold back, when the owners eat only after customers, and staff. Why do we not see it more in business today?
- Training on a Ship: Puller, while trying to train his Marines, saw his Marines drafted into menial ship cleaning tasks. He said no. Do we say no enough to others to protect the people under us?
- Breaking Rules for Ceremony: Puller threatened to run over an Army guard to get to a ceremony in Korea. How willing are we to break rules to adhere to more important goals?
- Drunk Soldier: While not tolerant of drunks, he passed over an indiscretion because he needed the man And he also passed over a shooting, in an outrageous situation. Could we have dealt with this the same way?
- Facing the Troops: Puller was frustrated that the Marines censored a video of a burial in the snow, with tanks, in Korea. How much does our hiding of difficult truths get in the way of people knowing the costs of what we do?
Chapter 8: Peleliu, Written in Blood
About the battle: The battle was controversial, as Allied forces took severe losses for an island that ultimately possessed little strategic value. In a history note, a party of Japanese soldiers held out the island until 1947 when they had to be convinced by a Japanese admiral that the war was over.
Japanese troops defended Peleliu, among them units of the never-defeated Manchurian Imperial Guards—whose mention stirred Puller’s memory.
Puller went with scores of other officers to briefing sessions, to be told of the strategic picture, and to see the maps and pictures. From these sessions the infantry commanders went back to their practice landings and assaults.
The strategy had a grand simplicity: Seizure of bases on three of the Palau islands would neutralize 25,000 Japanese in the northern end of the group and lessen the threat of 100,000 more on Truk and other nearby islands. This would offer air bases within 600 miles of the Philippines and cover the rear of a drive on those islands.
When the staff planners got down to cases the task seemed more demanding. Peleliu on the maps was in the shape of a great lobster claw, an airfield at its base and two pincers thrust to the northeast.
The assault plan: Three regiments abreast, Puller’s First Marines on the left, the Fifth in center, and Seventh on the right. The Army’s 81st (“Wildcat”) Division could be called up within eight hours, if needed.
The First Marines faced the gravest danger and their role would be crucial. They would land on a narrow beach west of the airfield, then turn northeast along the larger pincer in a dangerous maneuver which would be imperiled by enemy fire from coral ridges 200 feet high. The First must pull itself together in a shallow staging area to assault the jagged hills which were interspersed with overgrown ravines. More ominously, a rocky promontory at the waterline would cut off the First from the Fifth Marines.
Puller never forgot these planning days: “I told General Rupertus that though we might have 27,000 men at Peleliu, no more than 10,000 infantry would have to do all the fighting, and that the specialists on ships and beaches could not be counted on.
“They thought my fears were groundless, but I had my say. I didn’t like landing operations in the face of a prepared enemy, anyway. There didn’t seem to be an alternative, the way higher command had planned. But I pointed out the differences between Tarawa and the photographs of this Peleliu. I told them they were going to need a replacement infantry regiment. I knew the Japs, and I knew they would be ready and would fight to the death. We ended up with an explanation of how the fire of ships and bombing by planes would clear the way. I was still apprehensive. I told them we would pay.”
Puller had never before felt pessimism at the opening of battle. On shipboard he studied the maps of his sector until he felt that he had committed the terrain and the plan to memory. He did not tell his younger officers of his forebodings, but as he went over the maps he felt them anew. In his final briefing, when he had called attention to the promontory flanking his position, he had said, “This ridge enfilades my regiment.” He was dismayed to see that many of the officers from higher staffs did not understand the term; he explained. He had been promised full support, and yet an admiral, in presenting air plans, had said that his planes would fly at 2000 feet.
Puller’s reaction was that they would never damage the enemy from such heights.And when the convoy was still two days from its destination a message had come back from the naval bombardment squadron: “At nightfall there were no more targets on Peleliu worthy of fire. All destroyed. Have ordered bombardment to cease. Await arrival of transports.”The skipper of Puller’s ship handed the Colonel a copy of the message: “What do you think, Puller?”
“Well, since you’ve asked my comment on this asinine order, I’ll say this: In the next hour, if I know Admiral Nimitz as well as I think I do, you’ll intercept an order from Pearl Harbor to that admiral, ordering him to turn over his command to his next senior officer and continue the bombing and shelling for three days as ordered. If we don’t keep up the fire, they’ll be loaded and waiting for us.”The order never came.
The terrain was an ally of the Japanese. Marines did not see its equal in the Pacific fighting: The western peninsula of the island heaved up in a rocky spine, a contorted mass of decayed coral covered with rubble among which crags, gulches and ridges lay in a confusing maze. Enemy mortar shells dropped into the jumble, spraying the attackers with slivers of coral which multiplied the effect of the explosions. Marines were slashed by the flying stone, but they fought their way along the crests, taking bunkers and pillboxes in succession. Toward noon progress became more rapid and large stocks of enemy shells were captured. Enemy artillery observers were found chained to their dugouts in these hills; Jap machine gunners were strapped to their weapons to prevent retreat.
At the end of the day the regiment reported a total of 1878 men lost. The fighting went on without a break until September 23, when the First Marines rested in lines without advancing. They beat off several counterattacks and patrols pushed about 1000 yards down the west coast without serious opposition.
In nine days on the line Puller’s regiment had eliminated one major blockhouse and 144 defended caves and lesser pillboxes. Division reported that 3942 Japanese had been killed in the regiment’s zone. No enemy had been captured. Puller’s total casualties of men were 56 per cent—the highest regimental losses in the history of the Corps. The First Battalion had lost 71 per cent; the Second, 56 per cent; the Third, 55 per cent; Headquarters and Weapons Companies, 32 per cent.
General Smith, who walked this terrain after it was finally captured, said: “It seemed impossible that men could have moved forward against the intricate and mutually supporting defenses the Japanese had set up. It can only be explained as a reflection of the determination and aggressive leadership of Colonel Puller.”
On Who Is Important
Private John Loomis, a recruit from California, was walking a guard post at Puller’s tent one afternoon when the Colonel beckoned.
“I was scared; I’d never talked to a colonel before. He asked me my name and where I was from, and asked me to sit down. He asked how I was getting along, and then told me about his home down South. I think he wanted to talk to somebody.”
Soon afterward, when Loomis was waiting in a long line before a tiny PX in a coconut grove, patiently enduring delays to buy paper and soap, Puller fell in at the end of the line.
A new second lieutenant strode up, shouldered his way through the line, shoved aside two men at its head and demanded service. Puller seized him by a shoulder, spun the young man about, and to the delight of Loomis and other enlisted men said sternly: “Now get to the end of the line where you belong.”
Below, a look at the Korean War, with Marines and the seventh division:
Years of Peace, Chapter 14
He found morale among his enlisted men low, and soon detected one reason. There were clubs for officers and for staff and top non-commissioned officers but the lower ranks of sergeants, corporals and privates had no place to go in leisure hours. They were finding recreation by going into Honolulu, often getting into trouble and overstaying their leave. Puller enlisted the help of wives and men, set up three new clubs, and cut absenteeism by 50 per cent.
War on a Shoestring, Chapter 15
Note: Before the Korean War, Puller trained on the way to Korea
Training on a Ship
The Colonel entered and sat at the bar. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked. A corporal indicated a lieutenant, who thrust his head through a door:“Last night you ran out of beer, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid we did.”
“And what you served was warm?”“Yes, sir.”“It won’t happen again, Lieutenant. You understand me?”
“I sure do, sir.”“Maybe you don’t. These boys are going to war, and some of them won’t be coming back. They’re working like hell all day and half the night to get ready, most of ’em at least sixteen hours straight. What they do with their off hours is their own business, and if they want a couple of beers, Lieutenant, they’re going to get ’em.”
On Board Ship
The ships were so jammed with equipment that there was limited room for training or exercises, but some officers gathered their companies on deck hatches for lectures in night patrol, guerrilla fighting, and weapons drill. Lieutenant Joe Fisher of I Company, a Massachusetts boy who had been seasoned at Iwo Jima, specialized in map reading and bayonet fighting practice with his men. Fisher was an impressive figure, six feet two inches tall and a muscular 235 pounds. There was an effort at an exercise program and Puller did some stationary running with the men to keep in trim. He once saw half a dozen Marines chipping paint off a deck, assigned to the task by some Navy officer.
He dismissed them: “Throw those chippers over the side and go about your business. Let the Navy paint the damned ship. You’re going to fight this war.”
IN KOREA
Celebrating the Recapture of Seoul with Gen. MacArthur
Breaking Rules for Ceremony
Suddenly, about mid-morning, the streets had filled with big staff cars, all Army—spotless Buicks and Chevrolets brought in from Japan. These made Puller’s jeep seem more battle-worn than ever. Still, the Old Man was one of the four Marines summoned to the festivities, and Jones made ready. Puller had argued in vain with Oliver Smith that he should be excused from the ceremony, since his job was not restoring governments. He also grumbled over the order that he must wear his battle helmet, when he had come all through the fighting in his wrinkled cap.
Puller literally had to fight his way into the ceremony. Before they left Duk Soo Palace the Colonel came upon Bodey, who was sloshing suds over his head and chest from a helmet half full of water. “What’s going on, Bo? Don’t tell me you’ve taken to bathing.”
“Colonel, I’ve got to get ready for the shindig.”
“What shindig?”
“Yours. Ours. The MacArthur party, Colonel.”
“Knock it off, Bo. If you get cleaned up you can’t go with us. People will think we haven’t been working.”
Bodey lumbered across the Palace yard after them, grinning as he pulled on his jacket. Puller deliberately postponed his own sprucing up, though he had not shaved since the landing and his utilities were rumpled and dirty. They crawled into the jeep.
Bodey was in the rear seat, drinking from a quart of liberated Korean beer and nibbling from a bag of peanuts. They were halted at the gate of the Government House compound by a natty Army MP officer, a major.
Puller looked mildly at the MP, inspecting his gleaming black boots and white shoe laces. His jaw tightened when he saw that the laces had been ripped from silk parachutes; he remembered the shortage of chutes in the drive on Seoul, when supplies had been needed.“Sorry, Colonel,” the MP said. “Only staff cars allowed in the compound.”
Puller took the pipe from his mouth: “Major, I left my staff car in Japan a month ago, when they told us there was a war going on here.”
“I was told cars only, sir.”
“This is our real estate, Major. My boys took this damned place.”
“Orders, Colonel. I’m sorry. I can’t let you pass.”
Puller stood, clinging to the windshield. “I don’t give a damn what your orders are, old man. My orders are to go in there, and I’m going. Now get out of the way.”
“Not today, Colonel.”
“Listen, Major, if you wanted to throw your weight around you should have been here when you could get your nose bloody, while the First Marines were coming through these streets.”“My orders, sir. You cannot enter here.”“Run over him, Jones!”
On a Drunk Soldier
As the first marines rested in camp near Seoul, Puller improved his acquaintance with Jan Bodey and Orville Jones.
Bodey, who was slow to anger, had been bedeviled by a young radio operator in Puller’s headquarters who had ambitions as a practical joker. The boy disregarded Bodey’s warnings and continued to pester him. One morning as Bodey lay asleep in the sun near Puller’s tent the young radioman crept up a slope toward him and reaching with a slender twig tickled Bodey’s ribs. Jones was watching idly.
Bodey struck like a rattlesnake. Jones could hardly believe his eyes: “He carried his .45 in a holster on his left chest, and he snapped it out of there with his right hand and in one motion pulled that thing into cock, sighted on the kid’s helmet and fired. I’ve never seen another man who could do that with one hand, give him half an hour.”
The bullet zinged off the kid’s helmet and the radioman dropped as if dead. Puller came from his tent: “What in hell’s going on, Bo?” “Your radio kid, Colonel. I shot him.”
“In God’s name! What for?”
“He aggravated me.”
Puller peered at the boy’s body, over which Jones was crouching, took a long look at Bodey, shook his head and disappeared into the tent. Within a few minutes Jones had the boy out of his faint, much sobered, and with a throbbing head.
Puller would not tolerate drunkenness, but he once came upon Bodey, lying prone in the CP area, looking suspiciously as if he’d had a few beers, at least. The California giant was blowing his mustaches in great snores. Jones expected the Colonel to explode, but he only said mildly: “Put a rock under his head, Jones, so he won’t strangle. We can’t afford to lose a good shotgun. Corps commanders are easier to find.”
Minor Matter of Discipline in Korea
The Colonel became involved in a minor matter of discipline. One of his Marines, alone on the roadside, tried to hitch a ride with an Army MP who passed in a jeep and when the soldier increased his speed without stopping, showering him with mud, the Marine fired a shot over the MP’s head. The boy was arrested by an officer and three MP’s from Corps Headquarters, sentenced to sixty days’ restriction, and his papers came to Puller.
The Colonel scratched on the document: “This man can’t be guilty. In the opinion of the undersigned, if he’d fired at the MP, he’d have hit him.” General Smith advised against this endorsement: “You can’t do that, Lewie.”
Puller’s reply: “Hell I can’t. I signed it, didn’t I?”
On Rules and Common Sense
Sergeant Jones and Bodey found a moment of relief even in these days. A pompous colonel of the command who spent much time issuing imperious commands in the spit-and-polish tradition was a burden to Jones and Bodey, who scorned his directive that every man must carry a weapon every waking moment, even to the best-protected privies.
One day they saw this colonel walking below them on a trail, hands in pockets, without his helmet. Jones bawled from the tent: “All right there, Marine! Hands out of the pockets! Assume correct posture. And don’t let me catch you without battle gear on your head again!”
The colonel marched off like a mechanical man. Jones savored the moment: “Lookit him! He wants to turn around so bad he can taste it, because he suspects it might be us—but he’s scared to, because it might be the Old Man yelling at him.”
A Burial Hidden from the Public
Early on December 8 the Marines began clearing the ridges on either side of the road south but the going was slow and the trucks bearing the bridge sections made little progress. A funeral service for 117 Marines in a common grave brought the day to an end in the perimeter. It was a scene that lived in Puller’s memory—the burial of frozen bodies by a tank battalion which crushed them under the frozen ground.A Marine photographer took movies of this burial. Puller said, “How I wish our people could have seen the sight—to see just what happened to us in Korea!” He later heard that Army censorship in Washington kept the film from the public.
Below an archival video of what they encountered.