Medal of Honor Recipient: Marine General Alexander Archer Vandegrift

Major General Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC, with his staff on Guadalcanal, 1942. Painting by  by Col. Charles Waterhouse, USMCR (ret).

General Alexander Archer Vandegrift, USMC (March 13, 1887 – May 8, 1973) was a General in the United States Marine Corps. He commanded the 1st Marine Division to victory in its first ground offensive of World War II, the Battle of Guadalcanal. For his actions during the Solomon Islands campaign, he received the Medal of Honor. Vandegrift later served as the 18th Commandant of the Marine Corps, and was the first U.S. Marine to hold the rank of four-star general while on active duty.

Alexander Archer Vandegrift was born on March 13, 1887 in the small town of Charlottesville, Virginia where his father of Dutch descent was an architect and contractor. Young Vandegrift, known as "Archer" in his boyhood, had an interest in the military – both from reading military history novels and from stories of ancestors who fought in various wars.

He attended the University of Virginia for three years; then received his commission in the U.S. Marine Corps through a week-long competitive examination in 1908, becoming a second lieutenant on January 22, 1909.

While at the Marine Corps Schools in 1909 he wrote a prophetic article entitled "Aviation, the Cavalry of the Future." As Commandant, he appointed the Hogaboom Board, named for Major General Hogaboom, the chairman, that began the USMC's development of vertical envelopment, the use of helicopters for air assault. During his early years as a Second Lieutenant, General Vandegrift was also very nearly dismissed from the Marine Corps due to disciplinary infractions and negative evaluations. In his first Marine Corps evaluation, dated June 30, 1909, Vandegrift received an overall rating of "Not Good" with these remarks from the Commander of the Marine Officers School.

This officer has not shown that he appreciates the responsibilities of his position as an officer, and unless there is a decisive improvement, his relations will not be to the advantage of the service.

In Vandegrift's next evaluation, dated December 1909, he received a "Good and Tolerable" rating and next was rated as "Excellent" upon reporting to the Marine Corps Barracks, Navy Yard, Portsmouth, New Hampshire in 1910.

Following instruction at the Marine Officers' School, Port Royal, South Carolina, his first tour of duty was at the Marine Barracks, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. In 1912, he went to foreign shore duty in the Caribbean, first to Cuba and then to Nicaragua. He participated in the bombardment, assault, and capture of Coyotepe in Nicaragua. Then in 1914, he participated in the engagement and occupation of Vera Cruz, Mexico.

In December 1914, following his promotion to first lieutenant, he attended the Advance Base Course at the Marine Barracks, Philadelphia. Upon completion of schooling, he sailed for Haiti with the 1st Marines and participated in action against hostile Cacos bandits at Le Trou and Fort Capois, Haiti.

In August 1916, he was promoted to captain and became a member of the Haitian Constabulary at Port-au-Prince, where he remained until detached to the United States in December 1918. He returned to Haiti again in July 1919 to serve with the Gendarmerie d'Haiti as an Inspector of Constabulary. He was promoted to major in June 1920.

Major Vandegrift returned to the U.S. in April 1923 and was assigned to the Marine Barracks, MCB Quantico, Virginia. He completed the Field Officers' Course, Marine Corps Schools in May 1926. He then was transferred to the Marine Corps Base San Diego, California as Assistant Chief of Staff.

In February 1927, he sailed for China where he served as Operations and Training Officer of the 3rd Marines with Headquarters at Tientsin. He was ordered to Washington, D.C., in September 1928 where he became Assistant Chief Coordinator, Bureau of the Budget.

Following duty in Washington, D.C., he joined the Marine Barracks, Quantico, where he became Assistant Chief of Staff, G-1 Section, Fleet Marine Force (FMF). During this assignment, in June 1934, he was promoted to lieutenant colonel.

Ordered to China in June 1935, LtCol Vandegrift served successively as Executive Officer and Commanding Officer of the Marine Detachment at the American Embassy in Peiping. Promoted to colonel in September 1936, Col Vandegrift reported to Headquarters Marine Corps (HQMC), Washington, D.C. in June 1937, where he became Military Secretary to the Major General Commandant. In March 1940, he was appointed Assistant to the Major General Commandant, and the following month was promoted to brigadier general.

Brigadier General Vandegrift was ordered to the 1st Marine Division in November 1941, shortly before the United States of America entered World War II. He was promoted to major general in March 1942 and sailed for the South Pacific Area that May as commanding general of the first Marine division to ever leave the shores of the United States. On August 7, 1942, in the Solomon Islands, he led the 1st Marine Division in the first large-scale offensive action against the Japanese. For outstanding service as Commanding General of the 1st Marine Division during the attack on Guadalcanal, Tulagi, and Gavutu in the Solomon Islands, he was awarded the Navy Cross and for the subsequent occupation and defense from August 7 to December 9, 1942, received the Medal of Honor.

In July 1943, he assumed command of the 1st Marine Amphibious Corps and commanded this organization in the landing at Empress Augusta Bay, Bougainville, Northern Solomon Islands, on November 1, 1943. Upon establishing the initial beachhead, he relinquished command and returned to Washington, D.C. as Commandant-designate.

On January 1, 1944, as a lieutenant general, he was sworn in as the 18th Commandant of the Marine Corps. On April 4, 1945, he was appointed general, with date of rank from March 21, 1945, the first Marine officer on active duty to attain four-star rank.

During his tenure as Commandant, the Marine Corps faced institutional threats from Army efforts to absorb the mission of the Marines. Though the Navy was sympathetic to the Marine Corps' predicament, it was ready to accept the diminishment of the Corps in exchange for keeping naval aviation from consolidation with the Air Force. The post-war discussions on the restructuring of the American defense establishment opened the door to diminishing the mission and role of the Marine Corps in the new defense structure. Proponents of such cuts included President Harry Truman and General Dwight Eisenhower. In this power struggle, the Marine Corps aligned itself with Congress, warning against the encroachment on civilian oversight within the Army proposals.

To clinch the support of Congress, Commandant Vandegrift delivered the famous "bended knee speech" on May 6, 1946 to the Senate Committee on Naval Affairs. In it, he stated:

The Marine Corps...believes that it has earned this right—to have its future decided by the legislative body which created it—nothing more. Sentiment is not a valid consideration in determining questions of national security. We have pride in ourselves and in our past, but we do not rest our case on any presumed ground of gratitude owing us from the Nation. The bended knee is not a tradition of our Corps. If the Marine as a fighting man has not made a case for himself after 170 years of service, he must go. But I think you will agree with me that he has earned the right to depart with dignity and honor, not by subjugation to the status of uselessness and servility planned for him by the War Department.

For outstanding service as Commandant of the Marine Corps from January 1, 1944 to June 30, 1946, General Vandegrift was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. He left active service on December 31, 1947 and was placed on the retired list on April 1, 1949.

The general co-authored a book chronicling his experiences in World War II. The book is titled Once a Marine: The Memoirs of General A. A. Vandegrift Commandant of the U.S. Marines in World War II.

General Vandegrift died on May 8, 1973, at the National Naval Medical Center, Bethesda, Maryland, after a long illness. His interment was on May 10, 1973 at the Arlington National Cemetery.

Birth name: Alexander Archer Vandegrift

Nickname: Archie

Born: March 13, 1887, Charlottesville, Virginia, U.S.

Died: May 8, 1973 (aged 86), Bethesda, Maryland, U.S.

Buried at: Arlington National Cemetery

Allegiance: United States of America

Service/branch: United States Marine Corps

Years of service: 1909–1949

Rank: General

Commands held:

1st Marine Division

I Marine Amphibious Corps

Commandant of the Marine Corps

Battles/wars:

Banana Wars

Battle of Cayotepe

Battle of Le Trou

Battle of Fort Capois

Mexican Revolution

Battle of Veracruz

World War II

Battle of Guadalcanal

Battle of Bougainville

Awards:

Medal of Honor

Navy Cross

Navy Distinguished Service Medal

Companion of the Order of the Bath (United Kingdom)

Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire (United Kingdom)

Knight Grand Cross of the Order of Orange-Nassau (Netherlands)

Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour (France)

Dates of Rank:

Second Lieutenant: January 16, 1909

First Lieutenant: November 10, 1914

Captain: August 29, 1916

Major (Temporary for war service): July 1, 1918

Captain (Peacetime reversion): July 31, 1919

Major: July 4, 1920 (Backdated to June 4, 1920)

Lieutenant Colonel: November 15, 1934 (Backdated to May 29, 1934)

Colonel: September 1, 1936

Brigadier General: April 11, 1940

Major General: March 20, 1942

Lieutenant General: July 28, 1943

General: April 4, 1945 (Backdated to March 21, 1945)

Medal of Honor Citation

The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the

MEDAL OF HONOR

to

MAJOR GENERAL ALEXANDER VANDEGRIFT

UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

for service as set forth in the following CITATION:

For outstanding and heroic accomplishment above and beyond the call of duty as commanding officer of the 1st Marine Division in operations against enemy Japanese forces in the Solomon Islands during the period August 7, to December 9, 1942. With the adverse factors of weather, terrain, and disease making his task a difficult and hazardous undertaking, and with his command eventually including sea, land, and air forces of Army, Navy and Marine Corps, Major General Vandegrift achieved marked success in commanding the initial landings of the United States forces in the Solomon Islands and in their subsequent occupation. His tenacity, courage, and resourcefulness prevailed against a strong, determined, and experienced enemy, and the gallant fighting spirit of the men under his inspiring leadership enabled them to withstand aerial, land, and sea bombardment, to surmount all obstacles, and leave a disorganized and ravaged enemy. This dangerous but vital mission, accomplished at the constant risk of his life, resulted in securing a valuable base for further operations of our forces against the enemy, and its successful completion reflects great credit upon Major General Vandegrift, his command, and the United States Naval Service.

/S/ FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT

Namesake and Other Honors

General Vandegrift held an honorary degree of Doctor of Military Science from Pennsylvania Military College, and honorary degrees of Doctor of Law from Harvard, Colgate, Brown, Columbia, and Maryland Universities and John Marshall College.

In 1982, the frigate, USS Vandegrift (FFG-48) was named in his honor.

The main street that runs through Camp Pendleton is named Vandegrift Blvd in his honor.

A former military housing complex, now civilian housing, for Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, near Dayton, Ohio, has streets named for World War II commanders including Gen Vandegrift, Gen Eisenhower, Adm Nimitz and others.

Family

Vandegrift married Mildred Strode (1886–1952) on June 29, 1909. They had one son, Alexander Archer Vandegrift, Jr. (1911–1969 ), a Marine Corps colonel who fought in both World War II and in the Korean War. He married, after Mildred's death, to Kathryn Henson (1903–1978).

In Popular Culture

Vandegrift was portrayed in the 1960 film The Gallant Hours by Raymond Bailey, the 2006 film Flags of Our Fathers by Chris Bauer, and the 2010 miniseries The Pacific by Stephen Leeder.

A fictionalized account of Vandergrift and the U.S. Marines on Guadalcanal are featured in the The Corps series by W.E.B. Griffin.

Military Offices

Commanding General of the 1st Marine Division: March 23, 1942 – July 8, 1943. Preceded by Philip H. Torrey. Succeeded by William H. Rupertus

Commandant of the United States Marine Corps: 1943–1947. Preceded by Lt. Gen. Thomas Holcomb. Succeeded by Gen. Clifton B. Cates

General Alexander Archer Vandegrift, 18th Commandant of the Marine Corps (1944–1947).

Maj.Gen. A.A. Vandegrift, commander 1st Marine Division, in his tent on Guadalcanal, 1942.

Original caption: Lieutenant General Thomas A. Holcomb, Colonel Merritt A. Edson, and Major General Alexander A. Vandegrift caught in a candid shot during the Lieutenant General's inspection on Guadalcanal. December 1942."

Guadalcanal Get Together: Shown left to right; General Woods, General Alexander A. Vandegrift, and Col. Thomas at Vandegrift's headquarters on Guadalcanal.

American Lieutenant General Thomas Holcomb, CMC, makes an inspection tour of the 7th Marine Regiment on Guadalcanal in December 1942. Left to right: General Alexander A. Vandegrift, 1st Division commander; Lieutenant General Holcomb; Colonel Amor L. Sims, regimental commander; and Lieutenant Colonel Julian N. Frisbie, executive officer.

1st Lt. Alexander A. Vandergrift, USMC. Though dated 5 April 1917, this image must have been taken in 1914-1916, as Vandegrift was promoted to Captain on 29 August of the latter year.

General Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC, Commandant of the Marine Corps, 1944-1947.

Lt.Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC.

Lt.Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC, 1944.

Lt.Gen. A. A. Vandegrift as he appeared while commanding I Marine Amphibious Corps in 1943. The only Marine Corps-specific insignia on the General's uniform is the left collar ornament worn on the left curtain of his overseas cover.

Maj.Gen. A.A. Vandegrift (rear of jeep, left) riding through Guadalcanal jungle in November 1942.

Commanding Officers Meet: Rear Admiral John S. McCain, USN, former commander of the Naval air forces in the South Pacific, and Major General Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC, Commander of the Marines battling at Guadalcanal, exchange greetings at an American base in the Solomons. Admiral McCain has since returned to Washington to become Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics.

Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt presents the Medal of Honor to Maj.Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, with the aid of his wife.

Pedro del Valle, Thomas Holcomb, and Alexander Vandegrift, 1942.

Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC. Note Medal of Honor Ribbon above ribbon bar.

Maj.Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC.

Lt.Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC.

Melbourne, Australia, 21 May 1943. Four legendary Marines at an award ceremony for the Medal of Honor. Left to right, Maj.Gen. A.A. Vandegrift, Col. Merritt 'Red Mike' Edson, 2nd Lt. Mitchell Paige, Plt.Sgt. John Basilone. Of note are the locally procured Australian battledress blouses worn Edson, Paige and Basilone.

Washington, D.C., January 1944. Gen. Holcomb receives the Distinguished Service Medal from Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox. Also present are Gen. A.A. Vandegrift and Lt.Col. James Roosevelt.

Maj.Gen. Julian Smith (left) confers with Lt.Gen. A.A. Vandegrift in New Zealand. Smith took command of the Second Marine Division on 1 May 1943.

Commandant of the Marine Corps Gen. A.A. Vandegrift awards the Bronze Star Medal to SSgt. James Moser of Culpeper, Virginia. Moser was drafted as a combat correspondent in 1943 and served with the 1st Marine Division on Cape Gloucester and Okinawa. He volunteered for service on Guam and his Bronze Star was awarded for his courage and professional skill there. He was wounded on Guam and recuperated in the United States prior to returning to the Old Breed.

Rear Adm. Turner and Maj.Gen. A.A. Vandegrift confer aboard USS McCawley (AP-10) circa July-August 1942 prior to the Guadalcanal landings.

Gregory "Pappy" Boyington receives the Navy Cross from Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift.

Gen. Vandergrift (left) with staff on USS McCawley: Lt.Col. Gerald Thomas, Lt.Col. Randolph McPate, Lt.Col. Frank Goettge, Col. William James.

Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, 5 April 1943. Major General A.A. Vandegrift, commanding 1st Marine Division of the U.S. Marine Corps (left) with Lieutenant General Sir Leslie Morshead, KCB, KBE, CMG, DSO, ED, general officer commanding Second Australian Corps (center) and Lieutenant General H.D. Wynter, CB, CMG, DSO, of Allied Land Headquarters (right), at a dinner held at the officers mess of the staff of Signal Officer in Chief, Australian Military Forces, at the termination of combined operations exercises by American army and naval forces and the RAAF. All senior ranking officers of American and Australian headquarters attended as well as senior formation commanders under the command of General Sir Thomas Blamey, GBE, KCB, CMG, DSO, Commander in Chief Allied Land Forces, Southwest Pacific Area and senior officers of the U.S. and Australian navies and the Royal Australian Air Force. In the background are (left), Major General G.A. Vasey, CB, CBE, DSO, General Officer Commanding 7th Australian Division and Major General C.E.M. Lloyd, CBE, Adjutant General, Allied Land Forces.

Lieutenant General Vandegrift with US Marine Corps Colonel (and fellow Medal of Honor recipient) David Shoup, 1943.

Admiral William F. Halsey, USN (left), Commander South Pacific Force Confers with Major General Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC, Commanding General, First Marine Division, at South Pacific Force headquarters, Noumea, New Caledonia, in January 1943.

Navy and Marine Corps leaders. At a conference on Guam, 11 August 1944. They are (from left to right): Major General Roy S. Geiger, USMC, who commanded ground forces during the recapture of Guam the month before; Admiral Raymond A. Spruance, USN, Commander, Fifth Fleet; Lieutenant General Holland M. Smith, USMC, who commanded ground forces during the Marianas operation; Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, USN, Commander-in-Chief Pacific Fleet and Pacific Ocean Areas; and Lieutenant General Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC, Commandant of the Marine Corps. Photographed by TSgt. James N. Carroll, USMC.

During a visit to Marines in late April, the Commandant, Gen Alexander A. Vandegrift, second from left, called on Maj.Gen. Francis P. Mulcahy, center, commander of the Tactical Air Force, Tenth Army, and three of his pilots: Maj. George C. Axtell, Jr., left; Maj. Jefferson D. Dorroh, second from right; and Lt. Jeremiah J. O'Keefe. Maj. Axtell commanded VMF-323, the "Death Rattlers."

14 June 1942, Wellington Harbor, New Zealand. Maj.Gen. Vandegrift (wearing overcoat), and Brig.Gen. Rupertus (center), confer dockside after debarkation. In the background at right is Lt.Col. John D. Macklin, an officer in the D-4 section. He was later assigned as the divisional Ordnance Officer.

14 June 1942, Wellington Harbor, New Zealand. Maj.Gen. Vandegrift and Brig.Gen. Rupertus confer dockside after debarkation. In mid-frame looking left is Col. William C. James, Divisional Chief of Staff.

August 1942. Maj.Gen. Vandegrift (center) and Col. William C. James, Divisional Chief of Staff, render honors at the flag raising ceremony on recently captured Henderson Field.

Henderson Field, Guadalcanal, seen from the air.

Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Honorees and other dignitaries following ceremonies awarding honorary degrees to senior leaders of the Army, Navy and Marine Corps, 1946. Those seated are (from left to right)): Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, USN; General of the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower; Harvard University President J.B. Conant; General of the Army Henry H. Arnold, USAAF; General Alexander A. Vandegrift, USMC; Colonel W. D. Cleary, U.S. Army Chaplain. Those standing are (from left to right)): Nathan Pereles, Secretary, Harvard Club; Paul H. Buck, Provost; Byron Price; J.L. O'Brian, President, Harvard Alumni Association; F.P. Graham, President, University of North Carolina; P.M. Hamilton; H.B. Bigelow, Professor of Zoology, Harvard University.

Vandegrift grave site.

 

Marine M2A4 Light Tanks: First Action at Guadalcanal

Unloading a Marine M2 light tank, nicknamed "The Blizzard" by its crew, being lowered from the ship to a barge for the trip to shore, Guadalcanal, 1942.

by Dieter Stenger

The Marine Corps first employed light tanks in 1927 to support the Marine garrisons in China. The Marine Light Tank Platoon, East Coast Expeditionary Force, was stationed at Tientsin in support of the 3^rd Marine Brigade. Equipped with five Series E light tanks, leftover Army 6-ton derivatives of the World War I French FT Renault tank, they guarded the international community at Peking.^[1]

In July 1941, the 5^th Defense Battalion, whose nucleus was formed around Marines of the 1^st Provisional Brigade, assumed the occupation of Iceland that helped free British forces needed to fight elsewhere. The Brigade’s reinforced 6^th Marine Regiment incorporated the under-strength Company A, minus 3^rd Platoon, 2^nd Tank Battalion, and consisted of two platoons of 12 light M3 “Stuart” tanks.

By 8 March 1942, the deployment came to an end whereby the last remnants of the Brigade left Iceland and headed Stateside.^[2] By 1942, five Marine defense battalions guarded key outposts throughout the Pacific. Light tank platoons were attached to the Defense Battalions on Midway (platoon of five tanks) and Johnston Islands.^[3]

In August 1942, the 1^st Marine Division landed on Guadalcanal. The 1^st Tank Battalion consisted of an incredulous mix of M2A4, M3, and M3A1 tanks. Albeit obsolete by Army standards, the Marine M2A4 tanks of A Company went ashore on 7 August alongside the M3 tanks of B Company, 1^st Tank Battalion. The Headquarters and D Company did not participate in the assault due to a lack of transport vessels. The tanks of A and B Companies faced no enemy activity and assisted the infantry in crossing the Tenaru River and establish a defensive perimeter at the Lunga airfield. Thereafter, the tanks were positioned around the airfield for security and as a mobile reserve for counterattacks. In stark contrast to the quiet landings of 1^st Tanks, two tanks of C Company, 2^nd Tank Battalion, encountered a spirited Japanese resistance at Tulagi while supporting the landings of the 2^nd Marines. Led by 2^nd Lt. Robert J. Sweeney, the two tanks landed at 1315 at Gavutu and by 1620 led the infantry assault companies on Tanambogo by covering both the eastern and southern island slopes. Sweeney was killed at the onset of the attack by Japanese small arms fire and his tank was disabled but managed to provide continuous covering fire for the riflemen. The other tank, which had gotten too far ahead of the assault troops moving against a pillbox was disabled by Japanese infantry with an iron bar and set afire with oil-soaked rags as they swarmed over the tank. Hand-to-hand combat ensued between the tank crew and the Japanese defenders until the 2^nd Marines closed the gap only to find two tankers dead, but surrounded by 42 dead Japanese.^[4]

The only major Marine tank engagement on Guadalcanal came on 21 August, on the heels of three failed Japanese efforts to restore the situation on Guadalcanal. After the 1^st Marines had effectively repulsed the attacks and then corralled the remaining Yokosuka 5^th Special Naval Landing Force, Major General Alexander Archer Vandegrift, commander of the 1^st Marine Division, ordered a tank attack into the rear of the Ichiki Force. A platoon of M2A4 tanks from A Company attacked across the estuary and decimated the Japanese with 37mm canister and .30 caliber machine gun fire. According to Richard Tregaskis, who witnessed the action,

It was unbelievable to see men falling and being killed so close, to see the explosions of Jap grenades and mortars, black fountains and showers of dirt near the tanks, and see the flashes of explosions under their very treads.

During the action two tanks were disabled, one after hitting a mine, but the crews were rescued in close proximity of the other tanks. For the Battle of the Tenaru, close to 800 Japanese were killed, 15 were taken prisoner, and a few managed to escape. Marine casualties were 34 dead and 75 wounded. Disgraced by the debacle, Col. Ichiki committed suicide.^[5]

A less glamorous tank action came on 14 September, along Edson’s Ridge, against a battalion-sized Japanese formation east of Bloody Ridge. After a hasty reconnaissance, six M3 tanks from B Company moved forward, however without infantry support. Almost immediately two tanks fell prey to an anti-tank gun, and a third plunged 30-feet into the abyss (Tenaru) after charging across a field and over a grass hut. A fourth tank was hit by an anti-tank gun, and the fifth was hit in the tracks by another anti-tank gun. Only one of six tanks returned to friendly lines: one officer and 13 Marines were killed.^[6]

The lack of tank-infantry coordination beyond the beaches of Guadalcanal can be attributed to the short-sighted tank doctrine of the 1930s that prescribed only the clearing of enemy beach emplacements and to provide further support inland. With such a broad mission statement and no pervious training that placed emphasis on mechanized combine arms tactics, it is no wonder that the results were less than enviable. Guadalcanal clearly outlined the limitations of light tanks operating in a jungle environment and their vulnerability to infantry when operating without infantry support. The tank-infantry doctrine was not refined until June 1944 on Saipan, where the fighting “… proved the need for a weapon which could operate closer to the infantry, a weapon which the infantry could direct and control…” The tank-infantry concept flourished on Saipan since the terrain was better suited for mechanized operations. On Tinian in July 1944, the tank-infantry coordination was excellent, whereby one reinforced tank company of 18 M4 medium tanks, a platoon of four flamethrower tanks, and two M5 light tanks were assigned to each infantry regiment.^[7]

By the time Marines landed on Saipan in June 1944, only a few light tanks (flame) remained in the tank-infantry equation that was merely three years old. Since the first tank engagements on Guadalcanal, Marine light tanks provided a testing ground for the unexplored mechanized combined arms tactics that evolved into an effective combat arm of the air-ground team concept.

---

[1]      Kenneth W. Estes, Marines Under Armor, p. 7.

[2]         Col. James A. Donovan, USMC (Ret.), Outpost in the North Atlantic: Marines in the Defense of Iceland, pp. 1 and 30-31, and Steven J. Zaloga, U.S. Marine Tanks in World War Two, pp. 6-7, Kenneth W. Estes, Marines Under Armor, p. 37.

[3]         Lt.Col. Frank O. Hough, History of the U.S. Marine Corps Operations in World War II, p. 219, and Dr. Ed Gilbert, unpublished paper, “Tanks Tactical And Other Markings of U. S. Marine Corps Tank Units, 1941-1945.”

[4]      Hough, Marine Corps Operations in World War II, Vol. I, pp. 258, 269, and Estes, Marines Under Armor, pp. 47-49.

[5]      Hough, Marine Corps Operations in World War II, Vol. I, pp. 288-91, and Estes, Marines Under Armor, pp. 49-50.

[6]      Hough, Marine Corps Operations in World War II, Vol. I, p. 308, and Estes, Marines Under Armor, pp. 50-51.

[7]      Shaw and Frank, Marine Corps Operations in World War II, Vol. V, p. 722, and Estes, Marines Under Armor, p. 50.

Guadalcanal-Tulagi Landings, August 7-9, 1942. A U.S. Marine Corps M2A4 “Stuart” light tank is hoisted from the U.S. Navy transport USS Alchiba (AK-23) into a LCM(2) landing craft, off the Guadalcanal invasion beaches on the first day of landings there, August 7, 1942.

U.S. Marine M2A4 light tank leading a column of M3 light tanks on Guadalcanal, August 1942.

M2A4 Light Tank, 3rd Platoon, A Company, 1st Tank Battalion, on the beach at Guadalcanal.

Another view of M2A4 Light Tank, 3rd Platoon, A Company, 1st Tank Battalion, on the beach at Guadalcanal.

 

Jungle Slaughterhouse of Guadalcanal

by William Marshall

In a corner of the Marine cemetery on the western end of Guadalcanal there stands a faded wooden tombstone. It is a marker not for one particular grave, but for all. On the wooden board, words burned into the plank with a hot soldering iron are now barely legible. They say:

St. Peter

Let These Marines Enter Heaven

They Have Served Their Time In Hell …

Guadalcanal

The man who burned those letters in the pathetic wooden tombstone spoke for all who had lived, suffered, and died on the dread island of Guadalcanal. That name is not a word to the Marines and GIs who fought there. It is an emotion. In it are compressed the ultimate depths of horror, fear, sickness, hate, violence, disgust, and death. That is the real meaning of Guadalcanal. That weather-beaten tombstone says it all.

Jungle war was new to the Americans who landed on “the Canal” in little Higgins boats. Coming ashore against no resistance, on the clustered islands of Tulagi, Gavutu, and Guadalcanal, it began quietly enough. This was 7 August 1942, and some of the green Americans still wore old World War I helmets as they began the Solomon Islands invasion. Battalions from the 1st and 2nd Marine Divisions led the attack.

Incredible as it seems today, only a single battalion of 2nd Division Marines made the Tulagi assault landings. Another battalion of the 1st Marines formed the original landing force for Guadalcanal. In all, less than a thousand men launched the first American invasion of enemy-held territory. Close behind them came thousands more.

Pure luck saved them from massacre. There were less than a thousand Japanese on the islands then. Pouring quickly ashore at Lunga Point, on the north shore of Guadalcanal, the Marines quickly seized an unfinished airfield there. Beyond it, they met and engaged the enemy troops, in the jungle and barren uplands, in what was to become a seemingly endless struggle.

Reinforcements began to pour in, for both sides. From Bougainville and Rabaul, the Japanese started the famous Tokyo Express. Every night destroyers and troopships landed more and more men, building the defense force faster than it could be destroyed. From Efate and New Hebrides, the Americans brought in more shiploads of men of the 1st, 2nd, and 10th Marines, and the Army’s 25th Infantry Division and Americal Division.

The very day of the first landings, Japanese air and sea attacks began, in ever-increasing violence. Determined to cut off the invaders’ air and sea support, they threw whole fleets into the channel between Guadalcanal and Florida Islands. There, Yank and Japanese forces grappled in deadly combat, almost daily. Over fifty warships, and hundreds of planes, sank in the death-filled narrows, to earn a grim new name for the 15-mile-wide sea lane—Iron Bottom Sound.

Ashore, the unfinished airfield, a muddy morass, formed the crude, sticky base (Henderson Field) for Marine air support. From it, obsolete P 40s, manned by ferociously brave pilots, soon were to take to the air against overwhelmingly superior Japanese planes and shoot them out of the sky by sheer skill and courage.

First man to die was Private Russell L. Miller of New York City, a member of B Company, 2nd Marine Regiment. He was killed by a Japanese bullet, at his Lewis gun, on Florida Island. Right after that an American Navy shell, falling short, dropped on Miller’s little assault group and wiped it out. The misery of the invasion had begun, on a typically rotten note.

On the Canal, the Japanese quickly recovered from their surprise, and came forward to meet the invaders. Never before defeated, and full of propaganda about their invincibility, they hurled themselves on the Americans. Hysterical with almost religious ecstasy, they could not be stopped except by death. Here, for the first time, Americans faced combat with absolutely no choice but to kill or be killed.

In the jungle, death was everywhere. In hidden foxholes, behind trees, concealed in swamp hollows, or up in the trees, the Japanese waited. They were resigned to die if only they could shoot or grenade one American. Soon the Yanks learned the answer to those tactics as man after man fell, cut down by invisible snipers. Creeping and crawling forward, the Marines fired at every suspicious spot. They quickly learned to shoot first, and fast.

“Better waste a bullet on a coconut,” said Sergeant Jim Tatum of Miami, Florida, “than save it and find the coconut was a Jap.”

From the first minutes, the stinking rot of the jungle disgusted the men from the plains and mountains of America. Insects buzzed and crawled in swarms everywhere. Every man soon was covered with red, itching insect bites. And every man stayed that way. Sweat and filth became normal, and cleanliness was something only remembered from another world.

Swarming Japanese ships in Iron Bottom Sound bombarded the Americans from the rear, while newly-landed artillery and mortars smashed at them from the jungle. High above, atop Mt. Austen, over-looking Lunga Point, Japanese artillery fired down on the invaders. There was no front, and there was no rear. It was an insane, mixed-up mess of infiltration and murderous raids by both sides.

On 20 August, the first big clash between massed forces exploded along the Tenaru River, not far into the jungle. So poor were the American maps that they did not know that the muddy stream actually was Alligator Creek, not the Tenaru River. But the name stuck to this first full-scale battle, only 3,000 yards east of Henderson Field.

In black darkness, yammering machine guns, roaring explosions and thudding mortar bursts made a hell of the thickly overgrown mud banks. On each side Japanese and American smashed at each other with every weapon. Morning revealed over nine hundred dead Japanese, as the defenders backed away into the jungle. Hundreds of dead Americans lined the other bank of the gloomy little creek. Here the Army’s 164th Regiment, fighting alongside the Leathernecks, won a typical Marine title of praise—the nickname of the “164th Army-Marines.”

Pressing slowly ahead, the Marines met constantly advancing Japanese reinforcements. Through the steaming muck, invisible from only a few yards away, little groups sought each other, grappled, and killed in gasping nightmare struggles. Marine Lieutenant Larry Hickson of Seattle, Washington, leading a crawling patrol, turned to call to one of his men, who seemed to be too far off to one side. It was a Japanese soldier. Both fired almost at the same time. The Japanese fell dead, hit in the heart, while a bullet smashed Hickson’s arm. That was how it went in the cloudy ground haze on the Canal.

On the hilltop, Marines found a Japanese flag flying from a post atop a hut. As they climbed up to remove the “meatball” ensign, an American plane dove down and bombed them, killing seven men. That was how things seemed to go on the accursed island.

It was well that the Americans had the will and guts to meet adversity. “Indian war” was the routine in the ever-damp, stinking jungle. Sudden ambush, sudden death—they were every day, and every night. A shot, and the rustle of leaves; a knife flash and the gurgle of blood choking a slit throat—that was Guadalcanal.

Dysentery was everyone’s curse—”the crud,” they called it. Every half-hour sick men, stomachs gripped by convulsive cramps, had to defecate. Many a man died in horrible ugliness and misery, shot or stabbed as he squatted to relieve himself.

Malaria and dengue racked the men. Shaking with fever and chills, thin and wan, men who should have been on hospital beds slithered through the disease-filled mud. Many who were still in their teens looked like old men. Their skins were furrowed and cracked, and red-rimmed eyes stared vacantly from dark eye sockets. Many men lost 40 or 50 pounds, and looked like living corpses.

Jungle rot—a leprous white or yellow rotten puffing—ate into the skin of almost every gyrene. Never dry, as sweat soaked them in the sticky humidity, men literally rotted in the terrible, steaming, tropical heat.

Not far from the native village of Tassafaronga, on 5 September, two light tanks accompanying a Marine advance ran into the kind of fighting that was a synonym for Guadalcanal.

Out of hidden holes, swarms of Japanese rose to meet the Marines, and machine guns sprayed so thickly through the undergrowth that clipped leaves and twigs rained down. Led by Lieutenant William Petoskey of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the Marines charged with naked bayonets. Steel clashed with steel, as shrieking Nipponese dueled with the Americans, and the jungle echoed with screams of rage and fear. Then it quieted for a moment, to groans and horrible gurgling noises.

In one tank, Sergeant Ralph O’Connor of Boston, Massachusetts, raised his head to peer out, and got a bullet through his head. The tank bogged down in a mud hole, and the rest of the crew fought their way out against Japanese who swarmed over them with knives and bayonets.

The other tank jammed between two trees. Suicidal Japanese crawled up to it and drenched it with gasoline. While its commander, Sergeant Dave Abramowitz of Jersey City, New Jersey, fired its machine guns desperately, the Japanese set the stuck tank afire.

They actually beat on the tank’s sides with fists and knives, screaming wildly. Abramowitz was stabbed to death as he climbed out of the tank, but the other crewmen escaped under the cover of his machine gun. Later, thirty-eight dead Japanese were counted under the sweep of the dead tank’s gun.

Rain poured down almost daily, turning the already damp earth into a deep slime. On both sides of Iron Bottom Sound, on the Canal and Tulagi, the fighting went on, and the misery grew endless. How men could rise to bursts of violent courage, in that sodden muck, is hard to understand.

Take Sergeant Jesse Glover, of the 6th Marines. He was on Gavutu, one of the many shore fringe islands. One morning he and his squad came upon a native hut, in a clearing. It was impossible to tell whether or not there were any Japanese in it.

Glover, an “old pro” who called the Corps his home, quietly bawled out his squad for hesitating. Then he took some extra hand grenades and started towards the hut, all alone. Waiting at the edge of the clearing, the men saw him dash to the door of the hut. He kicked it open, and plunged inside.

As he disappeared into the hut they heard the crack of a grenade, and part of the straw hut blew out. Above the echoes they heard Glover’s bull-throated voice bellowing joyously:

“Good morning, you bastards!” — Blam!

“Good morning, you bastards!” — Blam!

“Good morning, you bastards!” — Blam!

Each explosion, and the flying straw walls, told of Glover’s passage from room to room of the hut. When his squad came up to join him, they found the sergeant happily surveying his work. He was un-harmed, but in the wreaking havoc of the hut lay the torn parts of nine Japanese soldiers.

But joyous carnage like that was not the rule of the dark and bloody islands. Especially on the big one, the Canal, there was little laughter—except by the psychos, who sometimes broke down in insane cackling, as their minds gave way under the grisly horror. The men in the line didn’t ever laugh very much. They didn’t remember how.

Many men were hit and lost in the dense underbrush. Invisible from a few feet away, and unable or not daring to call for help, they gasped their lives out there. No one will ever know how many men, of both sides, died like stricken animals on Guadalcanal’s tangled floor. Other men, like Lieutenant Jim Snell of Enid, Oklahoma, of Edson’s Raiders, suddenly collapsed, overcome by heat and exhaustion, and lay helplessly paralyzed.

Only a few Japanese civilian laborers surrendered. All other Japanese preferred death to the shame of surrender. At Matanikau, one of the coastal villages, Marines were test-firing a captured pom-pom gun, when suddenly a white flag appeared near the village. A group of terrified Nipponese laborers, who thought they were being fired on, came out to surrender. They were the only ones to give up, except stunned or helpless Japanese.

After a while, the atmosphere of killing destroyed all normal thoughts of mercy. One Marine saw six Japanese come running toward him, apparently unarmed. Taking no chances, he opened up with a BAR, and cut them all down. Later, examination of the bodies revealed no weapons on them. Perhaps they were trying to surrender. No one will ever know.

More often, there were no doubts. A man would spot an enemy running, and the cry would go up, like the baying of hounds: “There he goes! Get the bastard! Kill the SOB!” Rapping rifle fire would follow the terrified Japanese, cut him down, and then tear holes in his twitching body. Mercy was too dangerous, when “dead” or wounded Japanese would suddenly come to life and attack corpsmen who stopped to bind up their wounds.

Many times the Marines found enemies holed up in caves, from which they emerged now and then to shoot and run. Here began the sickening task that was to continue all across the Pacific—the blasting shut of cave entrances, with dynamite, sealing the inhabitants alive in their tombs. In one cave a wounded Japanese officer was found still alive. An interpreter called to him to surrender. The answer was a grenade. And the last word was a satchel charge that sealed the cave mouth, entombing the fanatical officer. In another cave, three Japanese were cornered. They had only one pistol, which they kept firing. The last three shots seemed to be inside the cave. Later, it was seen that they had used their last three bullets to kill themselves.

So it went on the Canal, as the stench of disease, death, and rotting corpses turned the humid air to poison. The stink of Guadalcanal was something never to be forgotten. It was the smell of hell on earth.

Madness seized some men. Sergeant Angus Goss of Detroit, Michigan, had a hard time with one cave. Every grenade he pitched in came sailing back out. Then he pushed a satchel charge into the entrance. The Japanese threw it out, near Goss. The explosion ripped the skin from his leg. Streaming with blood, and wholly maddened, Goss sprang to his feet. His Tommy gun firing steadily, he leaped into the cave, spraying bullets into it. Eight Japanese went down before the hail of flying lead. Unharmed, Goss emerged from the cave, eyes blazing with fury. Questioned later, he said “I just got mad. Everything got red in front of my eyes. I had to kill those damn Japs.”

Back on Henderson Field, the few available old Grumman Marine and Navy planes did unbelievable flying against new Zeros that could out-speed, out-climb, and out-maneuver them. Just to refuel a plane took hours of labor, when gasoline had to be hand bailed out of 55-gallon drums. Poor radios limited communications to a 20-mile range. Fliers lived on cold Spam, like the GIs in the line. Even so, such great pilots as Captain Joe Foss were there, and they took a fearful toll of Japanese planes.

On 25 October, the Japanese launched a massive attack in a desperate effort to smash the Americans. By then thirty thousand Nipponese troops were available, and all of them were used. Failure to coordinate the assault on the flanks led to its failure. Fanatically brave as ever, the Japanese launched wave after wave of screaming banzai attacks, led by sword-swinging officers. Delayed and confused in the thick jungle, each wave struggled forward only to be cut to pieces by waiting Marine and Army units.

For two days and nights the attacks continued, only to be beaten back by the haggard, red-eyed Yanks. When the Americans were on the verge of exhaustion, almost unable to fight back, the attacks suddenly stopped. The Japanese had lost nearly four thousand men, and were retreating.

Dead bodies and bloody pools littered the murky jungle, like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. Bodies rotting on the jungle floor bloated like overstuffed sausages and burst to emit a nauseating stench that hung like a cloud. Millions of maggots crawled over and in the dead bodies.

Again the grim advance resumed, and the blasting of caves of holed-up enemy began again. Marine Captain Harold Torgerson of Valley Stream, Long Island, New York, alone blasted forty caves. His method was to run to a cave mouth, while some of his men covered him. Then he would light his dynamite fuse, shove the charge into the hole, and run. Sometimes he tied gasoline cans to the charge, “for added flavor.” Once he was blown 15 feet by one explosion, and his clothes were almost ripped off. Arising, he remarked calmly, “Boy, that was a beaut! Even better than the Fourth of July!”

Marine Sergeant Max Koplow of Toledo, Ohio, tangled with three Japanese, killed one with one shot, and was seized by the others. Unable to point his gun, he used it as a club, and killed the other two with its butt. Then, as he lay panting, two more Japanese leaped on him. In a brutal wrestling bout with them, while they stabbed at him with knives, he turned one attacker’s knife against its owner, and killed him with it. Finally, one knee holding down his last enemy’s knife hand, he strangled the Japanese with his bare hands. Then he collapsed with eight knife wounds in his body.

Disease became rampant. Shattered Japanese food stores of canned fish stank horribly in the tropic heat. No latrines could be built, and the thousands of dysentery and malaria-racked men relieved themselves and vomited where they could. Nauseating mounds of human excrement were everywhere. All this, and rotting bodies cooked and steamed in the fierce heat. A pestilential miasma of foulness covered everything.

In this sickening stench, swarms of flies traveled from fish to excrement, to maggoty corpses, and to food, as the men forced them-selves to eat. Soon every man was haggard with fever, while medical stores ran out. Then food was cut down to one can of C rations per day, as the Tokyo Express sank incoming supply ships. Few men tried to shave any longer. On all their grimy, deeply-lined, stubbled faces there was “the look” of soul-sick combat veterans.

Guadalcanal was all this. The island stank and reeked with ugliness, death, disease, and horror. No nightmare of hell could possibly have been worse. Men who lived through it still grow silent and staring-eyed at the memory of that horrible, awful place.

After a time the men became dull-eyed, nearly numb killing machines, almost beyond feeling or thought. The ultimate example was Private “Red” Van Orden of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, of the 2nd Marines, age eighteen years. He and a buddy crawled slowly all one morning, to knock out a machine gun nest. Van Orden found it and killed its crew of four, finishing the last one with a gun butt smash. Then, returning to his lines, he reported the incident to his commanding officer. The officer, with wry irony, jokingly asked, “Why didn’t you bring back the machine gun?” The tired Marine listened seriously.

Numbly, Van Orden went out again, and returned a little later. Silently, he laid the Japanese machine gun at the captain’s feet. Later, in January, the quiet young man was killed by a shell burst in the last drive to secure the island.

Curiously, after all the Marines’ suffering, it was an Army division that broke the back of the Japanese defense. At Mt. Austen, which dominated Henderson Field, the Americal Division locked in massive lines of combat with the core of the defense force, early in December. Seven times the 132nd Infantry charged up the barren slopes. Seven times the crack Oka Regiment, defending the mountain, counterattacked. The GIs’ last charge broke the defense lines. From then on the Japanese defeat was certain.

On 16 December, a 1st Marine night infiltration patrol found some sixty Japanese quietly camped around a fire far behind the battle lines. Silently the patrol ringed the peaceful scene. At a signal from Lieutenant Claude Grout of Athens, Georgia, they all fired at once, killing every one of the stunned enemy. Then they moved in and shot the fallen Japanese again—just to be sure. Minutes later the patrol moved on. Behind them the campfire still flickered, its lights and shadows dancing over the still bodies of sixty dead men. That was how death struck on the Canal.

On another patrol, out of Edson’s Raiders, a squad was hit by mortar fire, leaving only three men alive. One of them, his stomach torn open, and losing blood fast, was Private Ray Herndon of Walterboro, South Carolina. Knowing that he was dying, he told the others to go back, as they heard Japanese slithering through the brush to finish them off. He propped his gun up, facing the enemy, and told the others: “You guys get out of here. I’m done for anyhow. I’ll get some of the bastards before I pass out. Now scram!”

Early in December the malaria-ridden, staggering men of the 1st Marines were relieved. Many were too weak to climb the nets to board the transports back to Lunga. Soon after, the 10th and 2nd Marines also were pulled out. They were so sick and exhausted that their combat value had become dangerously low. The Army’s 25th and Americal Divisions went on with the dirty business.

It was to take a full year before the 1st Marine Division could again be brought back to fighting condition. The 2nd Marines, having had comparatively little fighting on Guadalcanal, were able to move out late in the year to the deadly Tarawa landings. There, in November 1943, their brutal training at the Canal paid dividends.

In January and February the Army divisions pressed forward to finish the miserable job. As days passed resistance became weak, though it flared up violently every once in a while. In the last days the big island became a grisly killing ground. Methodically, the GIs killed off the fanatical Japanese, while the Tokyo Express struggled to evacuate the defeated Imperial Army. Eleven thousand Japanese did escape, but nearly thirty thousand were butchered when they stubbornly refused to surrender. By February the gloomy mud of the island was blood-soaked, from one end to the other. In mid-February it was over. Guadalcanal was secure. The blood-letting was done with.

With the taking of the Canal, the march towards Tokyo and victory began. Counting the price, the leaders of the American fighting forces shook their heads gloomily. It was too costly. The fighting men said nothing, hardly believing that they were still alive.

Yet, very soon, the optimism that is so typical of the Americans flared up again. If they had won through hell itself—and Guadalcanal was literally hell on earth—then what could stop them now? Nothing. And the Japanese knew that they could never win. If they had lost when hell itself fought for them, when could they ever win? Never.

So it happened, in fact. The men who served their time in hell, on Guadalcanal, had served for all the Americans. With their suffering they had brought the assurance of victory.

They looked back with haunted eyes at the terrible, unnatural island, as on a nightmare. For the rest of their lives they would shudder inwardly when they heard the name of Guadalcanal.

Surely the men who sleep forever in the cemetery there deserve the pity and gratitude that no longer can reach them. But for the living, the name of that awful island always will mean one thing—the heartsick emotion of men facing death in a stinking hell… Guadalcanal.