Sergeant Jim Moll with A-1-7 on Peleliu

Charles H. Owens, Layfayette, GA

About 0830, the landing craft turned for Peleliu Beach. The nearer they drew, the deadlier it got. Mortars, anti-boat guns and artillery rained shells into the ranks of our beach-bound vessels. Some were hit. Amtracs hung on coral heads and reefs. Debris and body parts flew overhead.

Marines, waist deep in water, plunged ahead. Some were badly wounded and staggered past men floating face down. Trying to back off the beach, amtracs ran over riflemen splashing ashore. In the surf and the chaos, the men were hard to spot.

The amtrac bearing Sergeant Moll and his platoon headed in, full speed with shells bursting all around. Thirty yards out, a Nambu opened up; the bullets peppered the armor just in front of Moll near the bow.

We were 10 yards out and the machine gun stopped. The nose hit the sand and the Sergeant was over the starboard side, the first to go. His leggings caught on something and he fell headfirst into the water. He got up and he ran on.

Off to his right, ten feet away, a machine gun fired from an emplacement. Moll crawled to it and stuck his Tommy gun into the slit; it didnít fire. Sand must have jammed the bolt so Moll grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin and shoved it in.

A moment later, a shard of shrapnel a half-inch square ripped through the sleeve of his dungarees. It lodged under the skin just above his left elbow and burned like hell. With his K-bar, he made a small incision and removed the smoldering steel. Later, he wondered if he set some sort of record: in less than five minutes, Sergeant Moll stormed a beach, killed a Japanese soldier and took a hit.

Sgt. Moll

Born 21 April 1921, in Clifton, NJ, James W. Moll graduated 17 years later from Clifton High School, where he was a gymnast. At 21, he joined the Marine Corps. He was six feet tall, 190 pounds and his athleticism served him well at boot camp on Parris Island.

He stayed about a year, becoming a drill instructor and advanced from private to sergeant. Selected for the V-12 program, Moll requested combat duty instead, and near the end of 1943 he joined the Pacific-bound 43rd Replacement Battalion. On Pavuvu, 60 miles northwest of Guadalcanal, he transferred to the 1st Marine Division, there to train for the assault on Peleliu.

Sergeant Moll went to Able Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines; Col. Herman H. Hanneken commanded the regiment. Col. Hanneken was awarded the MOH while serving as a sergeant in Haiti in 1919. Lt. Col. John J. Gormley commanded the battalion, and Capt. Preston S. Parish, the company. Moll was put in the 3rd rifle platoon, commanded by Lt. Stewart; Lacy Ward was platoon sergeant and Moll was platoon guide.

Peleliu is a coral bastion in the Palau Islands about 600 miles east of the Philippines. Its northern half, the Umurbrogol, was a jumble of tall, jagged coral ridges, some heavily overgrown. Its southern half was flat, swampy and jungle-like. It ends in two boot-shaped promontories, each connected to the mainland by a causeway. Temperatures reach 120� and in those days there was almost no potable water.

Thirteen thousand Japanese, mostly combat veterans, were dug in there. Their defenses were elaborate and they had zeroed-in the beaches. The whole island could be covered by heavy mortar and artillery fire from the high ground and that is where most of them were, tucked into caves and tunnels.

The brass said the island had to be taken to protect General Douglas MacArthurís eastern flank, as his forces returned to the Philippines. Admiral William Halsey thought Peleliu should be bypassed, but he was was overruled and Peleliu became a slaughterhouse.

Peleliu D-Day

Our LST, one of more than 400 vessels in the invasion armada, sailed from Pavuvu on 4 September 1944. More than 2,000 nautical miles stood between us and D-Day, 15 September; H-Hour was 0830. The Navy used the interval to pound Peleliu with guns and bombs.

D-Day breakfast was the usual steak, eggs, potatoes and toast. After chow, we returned to quarters to check arms, equipment and supplies. What we carried had to last two days. Each Marine filled two canteens with water. We stood by to disembark.

A-1-7 was assigned to older amtracs without the ramp in the rear. Once on the beach, we had to jump over the side. We went down the ladder to the tank deck of the LST and boarded the amtrac.

There was mass confusion ashore. Men wading in struggled to find their units. Shells burst all over. Some wounded got medical aid, others were crying out for it. Landing craft and amphibious tanks from the first wave were afire. On A-1-7ís right flank, Major Arthur Parker, the XO of the 3rd Armored Amphibian Tractor Battalion, whose command tank was knocked out on the beach, yelled and cursed, trying to get the infantrymen to move inland. He saved lives. Sergeant Moll knew that getting off the beach was imperative. He gathered men and advanced a couple hundred yards.

The outfit spent the rest of that day in that spot regrouping and adjusting defensive lines for the night. It had lost a lot of good men ó platoon leader Stewart and platoon sergeant Ward were among the wounded and there were no replacements. Some of us were running low on ammo and grenades. Just before nightfall, company headquarters passed out concussion grenades.

It was dark and overcast; the foliage was dense; visibility was about 10 feet. The enemy fired knee mortars and threw grenades into our positions. The Japanese were so near, we could hear them talking. To avoid disclosing our positions, we were told not to fire our weapons, but almost from the start of the push south in the morning, A-1-7 took rifle, machinegun and knee-mortar fire.

The advance line of a platoon ran into a pillbox on its left flank. Fire pinned it down. A sergeant crawled forward to drop a concussion grenade through the window but before he could release it a Japanese inside struck his fist. The grenade exploded and blew off the sergeantís hand.

The terrain became swampy and the foliage more dense. The enemy threw lots of small-arms fire at us, withdrawing before we could return it. We could not see them; they were dug in and moved through tunnels. The temperature shot up. Most of us had emptied one canteen and were into the second. Some had no water at all.

Sergeant Moll was on the extreme right flank with Corporal Lundbergís squad. Lundberg had made a career of Pacific fighting. A big, tough New Yorker, he had the mean and unhappy look that comes naturally to a Marine who spent too much time in jungle combat.

Near dayís end I, along with Moll, Lundberg and another Marine from Lundbergís squad lost contact with the rest of A-1-7. We broke into a clearing and stopped to wait for the platoon, sweating out the night in a shell hole. By dawn, we were out of water and thirst was overtaking us. Lundberg found a swine hole nearby full of a slimy, green liquid that we believed to be wild hog urine. He filled a canteen, poured in Halezon tablets and drank. He looked so relieved that the rest of us partook. Not long afterward, the company found us.

Early that day, elements of the 7th Marines reached the approach to the southwest promontory. All the Japanese on the islandís south end had retreated there to make a stand. By the toss of a coin, the company commanders decided which of the three companies would hit it first.

Its causeway

Its causeway was a couple of yards wide and 100 yards long. At the end, the Japanese had a large blockhouse flanked by pillboxes to lay down heavy machinegun fire.

Before the assault, the rifle companyís CO asked for naval gunfire and artillery to soften up the objective. When the shelling lifted, Baker Company, followed by Charlie Company, attempted the crossing. Soon the causeway was littered with dead and wounded, and it was Able Companyís turn.

Mollís rifle platoon was about half way across when he took off, racing toward the enemy. He dashed past a friend, a kid they called Jersey Joe, who lay wounded.

Joe yelled, ì Sarge, help me.î Moll knew he had to double back. One of the youngsterís legs hung from a small piece of thigh. His face was an ashen white and the blood was gushing from the stump. Joe asked for a cigarette. Moll handed the kid his only pack and lighter, and started yelling ìCorpsman.î He fashioned a tourniquet from the youngsterís cartridge belt and his trouser belt. Joe handed back the smokes. Moll patted him on the head. The kid smiled and said, ìThanks, Sarge, and good luck.î

Moll took off again. The Japanese were still firing. He made it ó ran about 10 or 15 yards and dove into a shell hole. A rifleman, a BAR man, and PFC Ike Smith, a machine gunner, all from A-1-7, were already there, and in a predicament.

Two ports of the blockhouse faced them, and the four Marines were pinned down. Moll saw that the longer they stayed, the worse it would be. He proposed taking the blockhouse; Smith agreed, but asked how.

Moll had his Tommy gun; he and the BAR man would jump up on signal and fire into the ports. As soon as Smith set up his machine gun and started firing, Moll and the BAR man would crawl to the blockhouse and throw in grenades. Mollís plan worked. The blockhouse fell quiet but Smith didnít notice he was hit, twice, until the four exhausted men sat down to rest.

The remainder of A-1-7 crossed and before nightfall, the company had cleaned out the defenders. While the Marines set up defensive positions along the beach, Moll checked the bush where he found a cardboard box containing six bottles of sake. He took it back to the platoon and told Cpl. Shanahan to keep an eye on it.

Just before dark, Moll visited Shanahanís squadís to check its defenses. As he left, he heard ungodly screaming and ran back to see Shanahan bashing a Japanese soldier over the head with his shovel. While the Corporal was digging a foxhole, the soldier came out of the bushes and tried to kill him.

As soon as night fell, Moll and Shanahan each enjoyed a bottle of sake.

D-Day + 3

Early the next morning, Moll and Shanahan had a canteen cup of coffee and enjoyed a K-ration breakfast. There were dead Japanese all around. It was hot, the sun was rising and flies swarmed over the bloated and stinking corpses. It was hard to keep insects out of the cup.

Three Marines, strangers to us, came along. One was old, the others young and none were wearing insignia or stripes. Their clothing was neat and clean; they hadnít participated in the fighting of the past few days. They seemed to be looking over the area.

One of the younger Marines approached us and asked who was in charge. Moll said he was a sergeant, if that helped, without disclosing who or what he was. The stranger told Moll to get some men together and start burying the dead Japanese.

Sergeant Moll looked at him and said, ìWe only kill them. Somebody else has to bury them.î So matters stood when the younger Marine spotted the sake box, went over and reached out as if to look inside. Shanahan said, ìIf you touch that f---ing box, youíre dead.î

The old Marine looked over and said, ìLieutenant, you better not disturb those men while they are having breakfast,î and they left.

Later, Shanahan learned the old marine was Colonel Hanneken, regimental CO.

Well up in the morning, the remnants of A-1-7 were ordered to get their gear together; they were heading north to relieve the 1st Marine Regiment. Commanded by Colonel ìChestyî Puller, the 1st Marines came ashore in the first wave. Puller had repeated efforts to take and hold the high ground to his front. There, the Japanese were dug in deepest and the 1st Marines lost many men but made little headway. The defenders, on the tops and sides of the tallest Umurbrogol ridges, had a commanding view of all of the maneuvering below.

Into this hell the 7th Marine Regiment was committed. What was left of the 1st Marines was still under heavy mortar and artillery fire as it made way for us. Darkness was falling as we took up positions along a ridge. Word passed to withdraw for the night. Sergeant Moll, with Corporal Kelty and his squad, were the last to leave.

Moll was halfway down when a mortar shell hit nearby. He woke up in pitch darkness, suffering from a concussion but nothing else. The last thing he remembered was being airborne; Kelty found him stumbling around in a daze.

A-1-7 set up near the base of the ridge. Apparently unaware of the withdrawal, the Japanese were still lobbing shells up top. Sergeant Moll noticed a smaller ridge and shortly after daybreak he began to climb it to get a better look at the bigger ridge. A few steps up the steep path, a rock came trickling toward him. Moll looked up and saw a young Japanese soldier coming down and the soldier saw Moll at about the same time. They stopped a yard or two apart and, momentarily, the soldier seemed to not notice Moll was a Marine, and he smiled. His smile soon faded and his eyes popped open, but before he could get his rifle up, Moll shot him. It was the first time Moll had killed someone face-to-face.

Later that day, the company headed into the hills with a tank. The men in the advance were nearing the top of the ridge and Sergeant Moll reconnoitered the road ahead. It was narrow and treacherous with no cover.

The track took a sharp bend, straightened for 50 yards and bent again just in front of a boulder about 15 feet in diameter.

Unseen, at the base of the rock, commanding the straightaway, was a machine gun emplacement. The Japanese had tunneled under from behind and they waited until the advance was about 20 yards away before they opened up.

Some Marines were hit; others surrounded the rock and pinned down the Japanese with small arms as the tank came up. It laid in three or four rounds while a flamethrower got into position. After three or four flamethower bursts, nine Japanese soldiers crawled out of the rear and our BAR men picked them off.

Umurbrogol Ridge

Near the end of the day we reached the Umurbrogol Pocket and set up lines on the left side of the road at the top of the ridge. The right shoulder sloped down five feet and ran 30 more to the wall of another ridge. Bushes three- to four-feet-high covered the terrain.

The top of our ridge was coral and we could not dig foxholes. Sergeant Moll told us to prepare positions for the night as best we could and he crossed the roadway and worked his way to the other ridge until he was opposite us.

Edging along the vertical wall, he came upon a Japanese soldier down on his right knee; his rifle resting on his left thigh. He was just in front of a tunnel with his back to Moll while he looked up to the left, watching our platoon. Moll could not shoot him in the back, so quietly the sergeant said, ìHey, banzai!î As the soldier turned, he was smiling into a burst from Mollís Tommy gun.

The sergeant moved toward a few corrugated steel sheets sticking out of the ground 30 feet away. Moll thought it was a shed that had fallen down, but when he crawled up he saw a machinegun barrel poking out from between two of the sheets.

Moll peeked in and looked into an eye, just inches away. The eye blinked and Moll fired five or six rounds into the metal, grabbed the barrel, and gave it a good yank. The gunner and the Nambu lay dead.

From morning to dusk, A-1-7 moved toward the enemy in the hills. We took constant sniper fire and after dark the enemy came out of the ground firing mortars and throwing grenades. Each day, we searched for Japanese in foxholes caves and tunnels. We burned and blasted them out with flamethrowers, grenades and other explosives and tried to seal the openings.

Our ranks thinned daily and there was no respite in the action. The Japanese soldiers killed as many Americans as they could before they were killed.

Early every morning, company headquarters sent a runner to each platoon for the casualty count. One day, a kid who came to get the numbers from Sergeant Moll, stopped to bum a cigarette. There was a tree that had been knocked down by shelling that lay between them horizontally, about three feet off the ground. Moll tossed the kid his pack of smokes and reached over the tree to give him a light. Just as the runner took his first drag, a sniperís bullet whizzed by Mollís head and hit the runner in his right front temple. He was dead before he hit the ground, the cigarette still between his fingers.

Moll and six other men were all that was left of the platoon at the end of the battle in the northern hills. Most had already been wounded; they all had ringworm and dysentery, and five had malaria. On 6 October, after 21 days of continuous combat, A-1-7 was pulled out of the lines, but their part in the battle for Peleliu was not over.

Mop up

A day or two later, Lt. Romo approached the sergeant and announced that they were going back into the hills to mop up some of the enemy holding out in a pocket. A truck carried them to the base of a ridge along the beach. Romo pointed to a hill high up and said, ìTheyíre up there. Go and get them.î and found a spot to sit and watch the progress through binoculars.

The climb was long and tiring, the footing bad. At the top, Moll waved to Romo. A path about 10 feet wide ran the crest and the platoon moved 50 yards upslope and came upon a dozen closely-spaced pits about four feet wide. In each were five or six dead Marines; they had been there since D-Day.

The only way the men could get past the pits without falling was by straddling the walls in between and crawling forward inch by inch. They had gotten about three-quarters of the way across when a Japanese machine gun opened up. All the Marines could do was hang on and lean into the pits as much as possible for protection.

Moll knew there was no way to advance and he instructed his men to turn around. They were going back and would find another approach. Romo was angry, but he calmed down when the sergeant explained the situation. Moll said he dreaded sacrificing the few men he had left and that there was no chance of taking the ridge with small arms. He also said if the lieutenant wanted to lead the platoon back up, they would follow his orders. They all returned to the rest area.

The next day, Sergeant Moll was offered a commission. Only if, he said, he could remain in A-1-7. There was no guarantee, so Moll declined, but back at Pavuvu he was promoted to platoon sergeant. After a weekís rest the unit began to train for Okinawa. There, Moll again excelled and was promoted to gunnery sergeant. But for all his contributions, he, not unlike other unsung heroes, received no decorations, not even a Purple Heart.

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Jim Moll resides in Laguna Niguel, CA, with his wife, Sandy. Editorís note: For more information on A-1-7, visit their website, www.scuttlebuttsmallchow.com/chowen.html.