Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
In addition to today’s column, we will print several others which we have received from Ernie on Okinawa. We believe he would have wanted it this way.
OKINAWA (by Navy radio) – My company of Marines started moving just after breakfast. We were to march about a mile and a half, then dig in and stay in one place for several days, patrolling and routing out the few hidden Japs in that area.
We were in no danger on the march – at least we thought we weren’t, so not all the Marines wore steel helmets. Some wore green twill caps, some baseball caps, some even wore civilian felt hats they had found in Japanese homes.
For some reason soldiers the world over like to put on odd local headgear. I’ve seen soldiers in Italy wearing black silk opera hats. And over here I’ve seen Marines in combat uniform wearing Panama hats.
I’ve always enjoyed going along with an infantry company on the move, even some of the horrible moves such as we had in Italy and France. But the move we made that morning here on Okinawa was really a pleasant one.
It was early morning and the air was good. The temperature was perfect. The country was pretty. We all felt that sense of ease when you know nothing very bad is ahead of you. There is no weight on your spirit. Some of the boys were even smoking cigars.
Always funny sights
There are always funny sights in a column of soldiers moving along. Our mortar platoon had commandeered a dozen local horses to carry heavy pieces. One of the Marines had tea the pack onto his horse with a Japanese oboe – one of those brightly colored reams of sash Japanese women wear on their backs.
And here came this Marine, dirty and unshaven, leading a sorrel horse with a big bowtie of black and while silk, three feet wide, tied across its chest and another similar one tied under its belly, the ends standing out on both sides.
Troops carry the oddest things when they move. One Marine had a Jap photo album in his hand. One had a wicker basket. Another had a lacquered serving tray. They even had a phonograph with Jap records, strapped onto a horse.
Lots of them wore Japanese insignia or pieces of uniform. Later an order came out that any Marine caught wearing Jap clothing would be put on burial detail. I guess that was to keep Marines from shooting each other by mistake.
Orders ‘revised’
There were frequent holdups ahead of us and we would stop and sit down every hundred yards or so. One Marine commenting on the slow progress said: “Sometimes we take off like a crippled duck, and other times we just creep along.”
The word was passed down the line, “Keep your eyes open for planes.” About every sixth man would turn his head and repeat it and the word was sent back along the column like a wave. Except toward the rear they made it comical–
“Keep your eyes open for Geisha girls.”
We were walking almost on each other’s heels, a solid double line of Marines. My friend, Bird Dog Clayton, was behind me. He said, “A column like this would be a Jap pilot’s delight.”
Another said, “If a Jap pilot came over the hill, we’d all go down like bowling balls.” But no Japs came.
Makes harmonica talk
At one of our halts the word passed back that we could sit down, but not to take off our packs. From down the line came music, a French harp and ukulele, playing “You Are My Sunshine.” When it was finished the Marines would call back request numbers and our little concert went on for five or ten minutes out there in the Okinawa fields.
The harmonicist was Pvt. William Gabriel, a bazookaman from a farm near Houston, Texas. He is only 19, but a veteran with one wound.
He is a redhead and the shyest soldier I’ve ever met. He is so bashful he can hardly talk. But he makes a harmonica talk.
Playing with him was an officer – Lt. “Bones” Carsters of Los Angeles. Bones has a mortar platoon. He strummed cords on a sort of ukulele common to Okinawa. It has three strings and the head is always made of tightly stretched snakeskin. It gives you the willies just to look at one.
When we started on again the way ahead was clear and we went that time like the well-known duck and after about a mile we were there, all panting.
