William Swanson - The View from My Foxhole: A Marine Privates Firsthand World War II Combat Experience from Guadalcanal to Iwo Jima

Advance Praise for The View from My Foxhole

Twenty-seven months and three bloody Pacific Operation campaigns changed a young man excited about the adventure of foreign places to an experienced combat Marine survivor relieved to claim a seat on a magic ship stateside. William Swansons firsthand account of life in jungle foxholes and ship bellies tells of the real life of those lucky enough to make it through another day of WWII in the Pacific: lack of food, water, safety, any kind of comfort. A combat Marine doesnt ask why, just does his job well. A good read written with a rare blend of practicality, authenticity, and humanity.

Cynthia Kraack, award-winning author and co-writer, 40 Thieves on Saipan

A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK

ISBN: 978-1-63758-467-5

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-63758-468-2

The View from My Foxhole:

A Marine Privates Firsthand World War II Combat Experience from Guadalcanal to Iwo Jima

2022 by William Swanson

All Rights Reserved

Interior Design by Yoni Limor

All people, locations, events, and situations are portrayed to the best of the authors memory. While all of the events described are true, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Permuted Press, LLC

New York Nashville

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Published in the United States of America

Dedicated, first and foremost, to those whose luck ran out and, second, to a couple of old companions: misery and fear.

Note From the Publisher

This book is a memoir. It reflects the authors recollections of experiences that occurred decades prior. Some language may be offensive to some readers, including the term Jap, which the author uses to refer to the enemy and not as a racial or ethnic slur. In fact, prior to World War II, the term was not considered offensiveit was only after the war that it was considered a derogatory insult. The author displays respect for the enemys determination and bravery.

Table Contents

T his is the true story of a not-so-casual journey across the Pacific while on a tour of duty in the United States Marine Corps, 19421945. Although conceding that this not to be confused with real literature, I hope that in some way I have been able to convey a feeling of what it was to be an ordinary rifleman in that rather hard and sometimes dangerous time. This is not about heroes or of heroic deeds. It is, instead, about an occasional bit of misery and those bone-weary foot sloggers whoupon finding themselves in terrible circumstances and even when wishing to hell they were somewhere elsedid what they had to do.

Though some stories were sadder and more difficult than mine, some funnier than mine, and many more pleasant than mine, this, to the best of my recollection, is how the thing looked from my particular foxhole.

Under certain circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.

Mark Twain 18351910

November 1942, embarked USS Arthur Middleton for practice landings on the Southern California coast.

January 1943, embarked USS Mount Vernon bound for New Zealand.

March 1943, embarked USS President Hayes for practice landings on the New Zealand coast.

June 1943, embarked USS George Clymer bound for Guadalcanal, BSI.

October 1943, embarked USS Crescent City bound for the invasion of Bougainville, BSI.

January 1944, embarked USS President Hayes for a return to Guadalcanal, BSI.

March 1944, embarked USS President Adams bound for an aborted invasion of New Ireland.

June 1944, embarked USS President Hayes bound for the invasion of Guam.

February 1945, embarked USS Fayette bound for the invasion of Iwo Jima.

February 1945, evacuated to the USS Doyen , then transferred to the USS President Adams bound for Saipan.

March 1945, embarked USS Karnes bound for Pearl Harbor.

April 1945, embarked USS Matsonia bound for San Francisco.

Misery, the damned thing seemed to hit with an utter, almost callous disregard. But fearI learned soon enough to envy those who had no fear.

In the beginning, there will be the illusion of excitement and adventure.

T urning eighteen in 1942 was, for some, just about the right age at just about the right timeprime time, many would say. The depression was over and the war was on as I graduated from high school in June, read about the Marines landing on Guadalcanal on August 7, and then reached my eighteenth birthday on August 10. It has been said that this was the best of times and the worst of times, and that sums it up pretty well. For a rather large number of us prime-timers, this best of times had to do with great excitement, with thoughts of high adventure. And we could hardly wait to get in the damn thing. The worst of times would come later, but we scarcely gave it a thought. Why I chose the Marine Corps, I cant really say, except that it probably had to do with their unique esprit de corps along with a reputation of being first to fight. Then, compounding the thing, I ran into a couple of former China Marines along the way, giving me my first inkling of this once a Marine, always a Marine business and, at the same time, only reinforcing that expectation of high adventure. So, it is no doubt a combination of these events and fate that brings me to this particular date and place.

A side note to all this is that I wouldnt take a million for the memories, the experiences, and the camaraderie but wouldnt do it again for all the Goddamn tea in China.

September 17, 1942

I arrive in Los Angeles for a final physical and signing of papers before being sworn into service in the US Marine Corps. It is a long, drawn-out session and no doubt pretty routine, but we detect a not-so-subtle change after the official swearing in. Up to this point, we have been asked to do this or that. Now, however, we are told, in no uncertain terms, what to do and when to do it. A sort of major line has been crossed and nothing will ever be the same.

The paperwork is finally finished around nine or so, and we are then hustled aboard a Greyhound bus for the trip to our new home, the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego. Arriving after midnight, the bus stops at a deserted part of the base, which seems odd. I guess we had expected to drive in the main gate, but this isolated location merely sets the stage for our welcome. The driver quickly opens the door, and a loud gruff voice immediately yells fall out. Unfortunately (for us), we fail to grasp the rather simple import of this new term and, instead, fumble around getting our gear together, totally unaware of the wretched turn our lives are about to take.

The voice, sounding very impatient now, speaks again, and this time there is no mistaking the message. Get your Goddamn candy asses off this bus and be damned quick about it. Youre in the United States Marine Corps now, and when youre given an order, you had better jump and damned fast. That gets our attention, and we stumble out of the bus as fast as we can, being cursed and berated every step of the way. Cant figure what could have brought on such an awful tirade. We are still blissfully unaware that this is the way it will be for most of the next two months and is just one part of a process which is designed to turn ordinary people into Marines. At this moment, however, we are beginning to wonder if we might not have made a rather serious andperhaps worst of allirrevocable mistake.