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A Marine’s memories

Editor’s Note: This is the second of a three-part series of stories about Stan Kindler. Kindler, a PFC in the U.S. Marine Corps during World War II was with the 2nd Marine Division, 8th Regiment, 2nd Service Battalion, Ordnance Company. The interviews were conducted by Phil Drietz, who also wrote the stories from July-November 2011. Kindler lived in Redwood Falls until his death in December 2014.

As we’re sitting here talking, I can see every bit of it going on,” said Kindler. “(I) see the guys walking in, see one drop here, one there, somebody would reach up for help, you could see his hand come up out of the water, but you couldn’t stop to help anybody. It was just hell. “If he went down under the water you knew he was just as good as dead, and you didn’t dare stop or you’d get hit. “We didn’t have time to waste on them. They were already out of action. That’s a hell of way to think about your buddies. Boy, I met lots of guys that I never knew too closely, but they were good friends of mine. I barely knew their first name.

“One guy I remember, he loved to play cribbage, he played it on the boats going out. He had the board in his back pocket sticking out of there. “By God, we get just about to shore and here I see this guy’s board sticking out his pocket, he was dead , still floating in the water . About a 1,000 guys died just trying to wade in. I saw one N C O hanging on the side of a (stalled) tank directing his men in; he had his legs all shot to pieces, he couldn’t walk or nothing. I saw that guy and then a little while later I looked over, and he was sinking down in the water and drowned. About 15 tanks went off the ship to land, and we had three left after the first day. Tanks had canister shot shells, was like buckshot, you could take out a lot of Japs with it.” According to Kindler, only one tank was still going at the end of the battle.

“A lot of them went into a shell hole and the engine sucked in water and shut them down,” he said. “Some of them were knocked out by artillery. Later on, tanks were fitted with a hood that went up to the turret to keep the water out, but even then the hood would get all shot up and take in water to shut the tank down again. Half tracks had the same problem until fitted with high mounted intake and exhaust tubes. “That first day, all we got was about 50 feet onto the beach up to the coconut log wall which was about five to six foot high all around the island, and we were just thicker than hogs all piled in there. One time on that first day when we were pinned down on the beach, one of the Japs was up in one those trees, we opened fire. “I shot a couple times and everybody on the beach opened up with everything they had, and little pieces of arms and legs fell out of that tree, (we) shot him all to pieces.

“I remember laying in my foxhole with my feet sticking up and the bullets were going right over my toes, but we couldn’t get any deeper, because we were then in water. The slope up from the water was about seven to eight feet, and, trying to get up there, it just was machine guns just one after another all the way around that place. And you know you had go through and get them some way. A grenade was about the only way you could knock them out before you went over the top. Amtracks would start up the wall and the Japs would shoot and put a big hole right in the bottom killing everybody inside. Those were knocked out during the first or second wave. I remember a platoon sergeant, tough little devil, I was just a little ways from him when he told his men, ‘I am going over the top, and by God you guys follow me and keep going.’ And when he raised up he was right smack in front of a damn machine gun and they blew a big hole right through his chest. I still see them pieces of cloth come out and fly past me. Oh, we lost so darn many men there.

“Late the first day we broke through the wall and got in a ways and a lot of guys were shot. “At night there were fires all over the island tracers going back and forth all over. I worked with some fellows with a stretcher, and we’d go in and pick them up and bring them back. One night when we were carrying wounded back, I saw one guy walking near us, and not a stitch of clothes on, shot in the leg with bone sticking out, I couldn’t figure out how he could walk like that. We’d run 300- 400 yards across no-mans land to try and get these guys. We lost one man coming back when they shot him right on the stretcher. “No matter where you stopped, some Japanese on the island could get a shot at you. “They were in trees. I shot a couple times. “I don’t know if I ever hit him.” Kindler carried the wounded all during the second and third day back to the pier and then carried ammo and supplies back to the front. “One time the fire got so intense we jumped into a big shell hole, we went in on one side and the guys already in there were on the other side.”

“(They) yelled at us to get over to their side because the bullets started flying at us when the Japs were high up in the trees to see us. We shot back but never knew if we hit anything. On Tarawa, I used an M-1 rifle with eight rounds in a clip. When I’d go up to the front lines to bring back the wounded, I noticed they were burning up machine guns like mad, and so I said to some guys ‘lets go back and get those machine guns off the amtracks stalled in the water.’ (We) got out to the pier and jumped into the water. I started walking over there. “I can still hear them bullets bang and going above my head and see the water shoot up. “I got to the amphibious tractor and climbed up on the side, unlatched one machine gun and turned around to give it to the guy behind me, and there was nobody there, they were all sitting under the pier. You talk about getting mad. I carried the machine gun back, water up to my neck and took (it) all the way back to the front line. Then (I) caught hell from Major Crowe because I didn’t have it at the front line. “I don’t know what he was thinking about. I had to shoot that thing with no tripod, carried the ammo belt around my neck and held on to the sleeve around the barrel with my bare hand which was like leather from being burned. I’d fire four to five shots, and the belt would get kinked. Then (I) had to get it straightened out. I finally gave that gun to another guy, whose weapon was burned up, and went back to hauling the wounded across the 300-400 yards of no-mans land, which really was more dangerous than being on the frontline where at least you could crawl up behind something.”

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