Life on Tinian – Ground Crews

Marines with automatic rifles directed traffic as the trucks hauled us to our new home. Although the marines had secured the island five months earlier, fighting was still going on. There were seven hundred battle-seasoned and extremely annoyed Japanese soldiers in the high country. The island was only twelve miles long and never more than five miles wide. Mount Lasso was the high point, a flat topped mesa 564 feet above sea level. From Tinian Town the road narrowed between rows of Philippine mahogany and banyan trees. Beyond that on either side of the road the sugar cane, eight to ten feet high, extended to the moist jungle of rotting vegetation and fungus.

A SEABEE ON A CATERPILLAR PULLING A SHEEPSFOOT ROLLER WAS BREAKING DOWN THE SUGAR CANE TO ACCOMMODATE OUR CAMP

Our campsite was a point of land jutting into the sea on the west side of the island. A Seabee on a caterpillar pulling a sheepsfoot roller was breaking down the sugar cane to accommodate our camp. It took little time for us to pitch camp. I shared a tent with Jim McKinley; and as the sun sank into the western ocean, it tolled the end of the 28th day of December 1944.

Back in June and July the marines drove a wedge through the central portion of the island. A lot of Japanese were killed, few surrendered, and many remained in the cane fields or caves. We could hear babies crying. In most cases they preferred to die rather than surrender. We rarely saw them in the daylight, but at night they were bold. Enlisted personnel were not issued firearms. Our officers considered it too risky. The 24th Infantry was assigned cleanup operations, but their commanding officer didn’t like the idea of a brush war. The Japanese could hide in places that were impossible for their infantrymen to find. He thought why risk his men’s lives foolishly digging Japanese out of caves or engaging them in hand to hand combat when the enemy would be pushed into the sea by occupation of the island by people like us.

MY CARBINE WAS MADE BY CAROLA, A JUKEBOX MANUFACTURING COMPANY

As it became obvious that it was we who were pushing the enemy into the sea, our officers agreed to issue firearms. I was issued a 30-caliber carbine and a half dozen rounds of ammunition. My carbine was made by Carola, a jukebox manufacturing company. The idea of defending myself with a weapon made by a jukebox company disturbed me. I traded it for a Thompson submachine gun, but it did not take long for me to discover that the machine gun was not for me. My supply of ammunition offered only a short burst of fire, and after that all I had was an unwieldy club. I swapped with Frenchy Veilleux for a carbine manufactured by Winchester. Since I had carried one at the ranch, I had trust in Winchesters.

One night on guard duty Don Ordahl and I sat back to back covering an indistinguishable wall of sugar cane, silhouetted black against a moonlit sky. As we watched the tops of the sugar cane part, I thought it was pigs. There were plenty of them running wild on the island, feeding on casualties of the war. I emptied a clip at ground level, expecting to hear a lot of grunting and squealing; but we heard nothing. Later we were told that our area was infiltrated. Two Japanese made off with a couple cases of rations, but as the intruders crawled into the can of an earth mover for an express ride out of the area, it turned out they boarded the wrong express. The Seabee operating the rig saw them in his rear view mirror and stopped his machine under the floodlights at the guard station.

WE WERE RATIONED TWO CANTEENS PER DAY WITH WHICH WE SATISFIED OUR THIRST, SHAVED, WASHED, AND LAUNDERED OUR SOCKS

Water was a precious commodity. We were rationed two canteens per day with which we satisfied our thirst, shaved, washed, and laundered our socks. One morning Eugene DiMiao found a jeep trailer half full of water parked in the area. He dug his soap and towel from his barracks bag and was lathering up his hairy chest when Major Jack Goodie arrived. With a big toothy Italian grin, DiMiao said, “Sure rained last night, didn’t it, sir?” “Rain hell,” said the Major, “You’re sitting in our drinking water.” Our lister bag had been punctured during the night, and the jeep trailer was the best substitute they could come up with.

OUR LATRINE WAS A SLIT TRENCH LOCATED AT THE LOWER END OF OUR AREA, AND USERS WERE ACCOMPANIED BY AN ARMED GUARD

Our latrine was a slit trench located at the lower end of our area, and users were accompanied by an armed guard. A blazing burst of gunfire sent an alarm through the camp; someone was in danger. John Schwab was the heroic defender; but the enemy proved to be a Seabee behind a coral rock, wanting only a moment of privacy. I was writing a letter when we heard an exchange of rifle fire. Jim McKinley and I went to a high point from which we could see Japanese and our infantry men exchanging fire, and then our infantry men opened up with flame throwers and burned the Japanese out of their cave below our camp. It was like sitting in the bleachers watching a rodeo, but this was no rodeo!

Japanese air raids came at night, and they usually hit Saipan. When our searchlights locked onto them, their aircraft lit up like bright stars in the sky. Our antiaircraft fire was spectacular, and sometimes they hit their target. Tokyo Rose announced the strikes on the radio and called the shots with such accuracy I bet money on her predictions; but when she predicted the recapture of Tinian, I did not bet. Major Goode ordered us to dig foxholes. I got a pick from supply, dug a foxhole, and put an open ended barrel in it to crawl into. What a wonderful day it was! We received our first mail, and I had a bundle of letters. When Major Goode checked the area, I was reading my mail beside my bonfire. He commended me on my foxhole but asked why in hell I would build a fire on top of my foxhole— “a bull’s-eye for a target.”

WE MOVED FROM PUP TENTS INTO SQUAD TENTS

Conditions on Tinian improved rapidly. We moved from pup tents into squad tents; and while I was enjoying a good sleep on a cot, dreaming about “Old Paint” and the ranch in Montana, “Wham!,” a blast blew the tent down. I woke up bound in canvas, scared stiff with the wind knocked out of my lungs. “Damn,” I thought, “that hit close!” I took inventory of my parts—arms, legs, and I wiggled my toes and fingers to be sure I was in one piece. When I came out from under the canvas, “My God!” I found the whole area in shambles, for all of our tents were down, and men were wandering around wondering what the hell had happened. Eventually we were told that a suicidal Japanese saboteur had blown up the Seabees’ explosives dump. A hundred-twenty tons of dynamite went up in the blast, debris scattered everywhere was all that was left of it and ten men of the 107th Seabee Battalion who were in the process of changing their guards when it happened.

OUR SQUAD TENTS GAVE WAY TO PLYWOOD BARRACKS

 I admired the Marines and the Seabees. They did their job well, and in no place was that more evident than at North Field, which was a Japanese airstrip at the far end of the island near White Beach where the Marines made their landing. Japanese fortifications still contained the bodies of the dead. Grisly relics of war scattered everywhere, amphibious tanks, ammunition, grenades, helmets, and boots with feet in them. The Naval Logistics Construction Battalion or Seabees as they were known, came with bulldozers, and what had been a battlefield was soon a maintenance depot. The papaya grove became a taxiway. Four huge runways were under construction, 250 feet wide and 8,500 feet long. In a few short weeks Tinian Island changed from the devastation of war to a huge construction site. Highways encircled the island; mess halls, water and sewage facilities, outdoor theaters and recreation halls were built. Our squad tents gave way to plywood barracks, and the ox and oxcart that the fellows from Oklahoma had appropriated were condemned as being a traffic hazard.

ON THE 18TH OF JANUARY THE FIRST B-29 LAND[ED] ON TINIAN

On the 18th of January the Seabees joined us at North Field to welcome the arrival of the first contingent of our air echelon. Vehicles and men lined the runway as Lieutenant Raymond Johnson and his crew from the 99^th Squadron of the 9th Bomb Group touched down in the first B-29 to land on Tinian. He came in low over White Beach and touched down only a short distance from where the marines had landed six months earlier. (Editor’s note: B-29s from the 6^th Bomb Group began arriving the same day)

With the construction of North Field nearly completed, I was assigned to a brand new B-29, number 888, manufactured at the Renton factory near Seattle, Washington. Our Crew Chief was Glen LeGrand, and our ground crew consisted of James R. McKinley, Donald E. Tayson, Marion B. Thrasher, and myself as electrical technician. Our crew was one short, but inasmuch as I had completed the Aircraft Engine Technical School at Amarillo, I could work on engines, too.

Captain John H. Hobaugh and his flight crew were assigned to the airplane and flew their training missions on January 27th, 29th, and 31st, and February 6th over Japanese held islands of the Marianas. Hobaugh said, “I expect you members of the ground crew to fly in this airplane after you work on it.” I said, “I’ve been trying to do that from the time I enlisted as a cadet.” So Hobaugh took me with him. I wasn’t being paid for it—I was along for the ride, and Hobaugh wanted someone around who knew the airplane and was willing to get his hands greasy. That suited me fine, and I flew with them on the 31^st over Rota, a small island between Tinian and Guam. I monitored functions with the crew, and the bombardier invited me to drop a bomb on a grounded freighter off the north end of the island. That was about the time General LeMay was transferred from India to replace Hansell in the Marianas. I was aboard the airplane again on the 9th of February. That was to be a training mission to bomb Moen Island in the Truk Atoll, but they chalked it up as combat after encountering heavy flak over the target area.

THE RENTON AIRPLANES WERE DESIGNED WITH A THIN WING WHICH DID NOT ACCOMMODATE FUEL TANKS OF SUFFICIENT CAPACITY TO GIVE THE AIRPLANE THE NECESSARY RANGE TO FLY TO JAPAN AND BACK

Later our Renton B-29, number 888, was replaced by B-29, number 544, manufactured by Bell Aircraft Company in Marietta, Georgia. The Renton airplanes were designed with a thin wing which did not accommodate fuel tanks of sufficient capacity to give the airplane the necessary range to fly to Japan and back. I was saddened to see 888 go, but 544 was a beautiful airplane.

After Colonel Eisenhart arrived, regulations were strictly enforced and ground crews were restricted to checkouts or slow time. No passengers or pets were permitted on combat flights. That had always been the case, but the decision had been left to the airplane commander. I was glad to have gone to Truk.

I gathered some bottles and went to the beach for target practice. While I was alone, pecking away at a bottle in the surf, I noticed warships gathering on the horizon. As they approached, I saw landing crafts group and move out toward me, and fighter planes lift from the deck of an aircraft carrier, circle and come in low at me. I was curious, wondering what the hell was going on, and then I went into shock. “Good God,” I thought, “It’s an attack! This was Tokyo Rose’s prediction. The Japanese are coming to retake Tinian Island.” I thought of all the money that I had won betting on her predictions. She called the shots, and there was nothing I could do. There was no time to give alarm and to get our planes in the air, and my only defense was five rounds of ammunition for my carbine and three beer bottles. I watched in absolute horror as the fighters bore in on me until the last moment when they pulled up, and I could see the insignia of the United States Navy on the bottom of their wings. I was observing a mock run for invasion of Iwo Jima.

GROUND CREWS PUT IN LONG HOURS OVER HOT ENGINES OR IN THE BAKING BOWELS OF THE AIRPLANE. IN MOST CASES A MECHANIC WAS ASSIGNED TO EACH ENGINE AND AN ELECTRICIAN TO EACH AIRPLANE

Lieutenant Archie L. Nash replaced Captain Hobaugh as commander of our airplane, and we became nursemaids to a new brood of flight crew, their welfare attached to every nut and bolt that we put our hands to. Glen LaGrand was our first crew chief, replaced later by Elmer Hampton. They were as conscientious as any persons I have ever known. The airplane was their baby, and they were mother hens to the flight crew. They were both knowledgeable of service procedures and knew much of the tech order by heart. For that which they didn’t know, they had available a dog-eared copy of the tech order that we could put our greasy hands on. Other ground crews would say the same of their crew chiefs, such as French Veilleux or Curly Klabo to name a couple as well as our maintenance officer, Major Norman E. Wienberg. They were regular Army men. In most part the ground crews were the product of months of tech schools. They put in long hours over hot engines or in the baking bowels of the airplane. In most cases a mechanic was assigned to each engine and an electrician to each airplane.

North Field thundered with activity. Our planes hit Nagoya on the 11th, Osaka on the 13th, Kobe on the 16th, Nagoya for the second time on the 18th and the Mitsubishi Aircraft Engine works on the 24th, and mined the Straits of Shimonoseki and the approaches to Hiroshima on the 27th and 30th. It was flown by Nash, but in late March Captain Burton E. Cox took his place as airplane commander, and the airplane was named “Cox’s Army.”

Learn more >