In mid-August, 1945, when the Japanese decided to surrender, various and sundry- plans were made by our forces for the initial occupation of the home islands of our late enemies. Needless to say, the Navy had to get into the act, too, and the high command decreed that there would be a Third Fleet Naval Landing Force.
The first word that the Japanese would surrender, provided that the Emperor retained his throne, was received on August 14th, and the landing force embarked in the assigned transports on August 20th. Why we did not wear out our signalmen and our signal searchlights, with all of the messages that went back and forth, is still something of a mystery. Eventually, after a great deal of “when in danger or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout,” we got organized.
Battleship Division EIGHT, in which I was serving as Gunnery Officer of Indiana, was ordered to provide an infantry battalion in the Navy regiment, and much to my surprise I found myself appointed Battalion Commander. That was just fine. My last experience in playing soldier had been as a platoon commander in a parade up Market Street in San Francisco, Navy Day, 1935.
The three battleships of our division each furnished a company of bluejackets, and a battalion staff was scraped together. By sheer luck we were able to dig up a Marine major, a medical officer, and two Marine privates, all of whom had been in the invasion of Guadalcanal, for the staff. So far as I know, those four were the only ones in the entire battalion who had ever heard a rifle fired in anger.
On August 20th we were transferred to Gosselin, an APD, and from there to Monitor, an LSV. For a week, most of which was spent trying to get our muster lists correct (I’m not sure we ever did succeed) we milled around, the ships doing squads right and left and the landing force trying to learn what to do ashore. It was a moderately peaceful time, upset only once, when the Captain of Monitor announced with righteous indignation and understandable heat that the landing force had broken into a storeroom, swiped the field shoes that were being carried to be issued to released American prisoners of war, and what were we going to do about it? The Regimental Commander, the late “Molly” Malone, called all hands aft, and after one of the finest combinations of blarney, humor, and seriousness that anyone ever heard, got all the shoes back.
On August 28th we anchored in Sagami Wan, the bay next to the west from Tokyo Bay. Early on the morning of August 30th we steamed into lower Tokyo Bay, anchored, and prepared to land at the Japanese Naval Base at Yokosuka.
We all felt that the Japanese had really surrendered and meant to carry out their obligations, but there was just the possibility that a few die-hards might take physical exception to our landing. To prevent any serious trouble, it had been wisely provided that professionals, a Marine regimental combat team, go ashore first.
This regiment had been badly shot up, on Okinawa, and was at about 60% combat strength. It was then in the Marianas, resting and getting ready for the planned invasion of Japan. The story we heard, whether or not it is true, was that they received orders to find 2,000 Marines to reach full strength, get their guns, ammunition, food, all other necessary supplies and equipment, and sail in 72 hours for Japan. They did, too. True, they left behind in their haste their entire supply of whiskey (said to be 720 cases) which did not arrive until some time later. That was a catastrophe to the Marines, but has nothing to do with this particular narrative.
The morning of August 30, 1945, was clear and calm. Lower Tokyo Bay was filled with ships of all types, from battleships down to LCIs. Overhead the sky was so full of B-29s, and Navy planes from carrier task groups operating off the coast, that the seagulls quit trying to fly. Promptly at 0930 the Marines landed.
Allowing an hour for the professionals to clear up the situation ashore, the Third Fleet Naval Landing Force was scheduled to hit the beach at 1030. We were really armed to the teeth, with rifles, pistols, helmets, packs, and other ferocious-looking equipment. Someone in authority, however, had very properly considered that we were in much more danger from each other than we were from any Japanese. So we had very specific orders that no rifles or pistols were to be loaded.
Our landing was strictly according to the book. We climbed into the landing boats, which were maneuvered in the prescribed manner until all was ready, formed at the line of departure, and dashed for the beach.
Promptly at 1030, with our heads (helmeted) down and our guns (unloaded) ready, the boats grounded, the ramps were lowered, and we stormed ashore, looking almost as if we knew what we were doing.
The Marines, who had landed an hour earlier, greeted our arrival with mild interest and some criticism, but were too busy with their primary task to pay us much attention. They were playing baseball.