On September 18th, 1944, on the rugged shores of Pelilu Island, Private First Class Arthur Jackson found himself facing a tactical nightmare no soldier should ever have to endure. At just 19 years old, he was part of a Marine platoon attempting to clear out entrenched Japanese forces dug into the coral ridges of the island. The mission seemed simple enough on paper: clear out enemy pillboxes and advance toward the airfield. But reality had a far darker plan in store for him and his men.
By 07:30 that morning, Jackson was pinned down with his platoon. He pressed his body against a coral outcrop, watching Japanese machine gun fire tear into the Marines to his left. The Japanese had built 12 reinforced concrete pillboxes across the southern peninsula, each housing between five and thirty-five enemy soldiers. These pillboxes were fortified with thick coral walls that made them nearly impenetrable. The Marines had already tried grenades, rifle fire, and direct assaults—all to no avail. Every approach had ended in failure. 1,300 Marines had already fallen on D-Day alone, with no clear end in sight.
A Deadly Stalemate
The initial plan for the assault on Pelilu had been a quick four-day operation, but it had dragged on far longer than anyone had anticipated. Major General William Rupertus had confidently told his men they would secure the island by the weekend. He couldn’t have been more wrong. By September 18th, the 1st Marine Regiment had suffered an appalling 70% casualty rate. The men who had landed on the beaches, those who had survived, were now weary, low on ammunition, and demoralized.
The Japanese had adjusted their tactics. No longer were they charging headlong into machine gun fire in reckless bonsai attacks. Instead, under Colonel Kunio Nakagawa, they had dug in, creating a fortress. The defenders were holed up in caves and concrete bunkers, connected by tunnels that stretched across the island like a labyrinth. The Japanese let the Americans come to them, drawing them into a deadly trap.
The Marines were stuck. They could not advance, and they could not retreat.
The pillboxes were positioned in such a way that any attempt to attack one would result in being cut down by fire from multiple directions. The standard solution in these situations would be to call in tanks or artillery—but neither option was viable. The terrain on Pelilu was too rough and narrow for tanks, and the jungle was so thick that artillery could not strike the pillboxes without risking American casualties.
A Desperate Move
For Jackson’s platoon, there was only one option left: one man had to cross 150 yards of open ground to get close enough to destroy the pillbox. That’s where Jackson came in. He knew what the officers, the sergeants, and his comrades all knew: no Marine could survive such a crossing.
Jackson understood the stakes, and he knew that every minute his platoon stayed pinned down meant more men would die. He knew that waiting for a solution that might never come was just another way of accepting death.
And so, without permission, without a plan from his superiors, and without even consulting his sergeant, Jackson made a choice that would change everything.
The Impossible Charge
Arthur Jackson stood up and ran.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think twice. He grabbed his Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) and started sprinting across the exposed ground. The Browning automatic rifle was heavy, weighing about 19 lbs when fully loaded. Its rate of fire was fast, 550 rounds per minute, but firing from the hip was not accurate. Still, accuracy wasn’t the point. The point was to suppress enemy fire, to keep the Japanese gunners’ heads down.
The Type 92 Japanese machine guns swiveled towards him the moment they saw him. The crack of bullets split the air, and the sound of rounds whipping past his head was deafening. Coral chips exploded around his feet, and the air was filled with the sound of Japanese automatic weapons.
But Jackson didn’t stop. He kept firing, his BAR sweeping across the firing slit of the pillbox. The Japanese gunners were forced to duck, and that gave him the precious seconds he needed.
The distance between him and the pillbox shrank with every step. 100 yards, then 80 yards, then 60 yards. His first magazine ran dry. He dropped behind a coral boulder, slapped in a fresh magazine, and ran again. The Japanese gunners had recovered. Their fire intensified. Bullets kicked up coral dust inches from his boots.
At 40 yards, Jackson reached the blind spot of the pillbox. He was now close enough that the Japanese soldiers could hear him, but they couldn’t shoot him. They were trapped in a concrete box, unable to fire in the direction he was coming from.
A Decisive Action
Jackson didn’t hesitate. He had brought white phosphorus grenades, which burn at 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit and cannot be extinguished by water. He pulled the pin on the first grenade and shoved it through the firing slit of the pillbox.
The screaming started immediately. Japanese soldiers rushed out of the pillbox, their uniforms on fire, bullets exploding around their waists. Jackson shot them as they emerged. But not all of them were dead. There were still 35 soldiers inside, and some had retreated further into the pillbox to take cover.
Jackson reached into his pockets and pulled out 40 lbs of plastic explosive—a C2 satchel charge. With a 30-second time fuse, he had only one chance to place it correctly.
He shoved the entire package through the firing slit and then ran. As he dove into a shell crater and curled into the fetal position, he covered his head with his arms.
The Explosion
The explosion was deafening. The pillbox was lifted off its foundation. Concrete, logs, and body parts flew into the air, and Jackson felt the blast wave slam into him, knocking him further into the crater. Debris rained down around him. A piece of concrete the size of a football landed just inches from his head.
When the dust settled, the pillbox was gone. 35 Japanese soldiers were dead. Jackson stood up, his ears ringing and his hands shaking, but he was alive.
No Time for Rest
Despite the destruction he had caused, the battle was far from over. Jackson knew there were still 11 more pillboxes ahead. The logical thing would have been to return to his platoon, report the success, and allow the other Marines to finish the job.
But Jackson wasn’t done. He reloaded his BAR, checked his remaining grenades, and set his sights on the next pillbox. He wasn’t going to stop. Not until the southern defense was broken.
The Assault Continues
The second pillbox was 80 yards northwest of the first. Smaller than the first, with only five Japanese soldiers inside, but heavily defended by two machine guns. Jackson had lost the element of surprise; the Japanese had heard the explosion and were ready for him.
Jackson moved carefully. The coral ridges of Pelilu created natural channels between the positions. Using the terrain to his advantage, Jackson crept from cover to cover. He had studied the Japanese positions over the past three days and knew their blind spots.
As he approached the second pillbox, Jackson crawled the last 30 yards on his belly, dragging his BAR through the volcanic rock. The Japanese inside heard him but couldn’t see him. They threw grenades blindly over the bunker wall, but Jackson waited for the pause between explosions and moved quickly.
He reached the bunker wall, pressed his back against it, and prepared to climb onto the roof. The pillbox had a ventilation shaft in the roof, and Jackson knew from his previous assault that it could be used to attack from above.
Inside the Pillbox
He climbed to the roof and found the shaft. He shoved the BAR into the opening and emptied an entire magazine into the darkness below. The sound of ricocheting bullets inside the concrete was followed by screams and then silence.
The second pillbox was destroyed.
Now, Jackson had destroyed two pillboxes, with about 55 Japanese soldiers dead, but there were still 10 pillboxes to go.
The Final Assault
The third and fourth pillboxes were positioned close together and covered each other’s approaches. Jackson couldn’t assault one without being shot by the other. But he quickly figured out the geometry of the defenses. There was a narrow corridor between the two bunkers, a gap where neither machine gun could fire effectively.
He sprinted through the corridor, reached the third bunker, and fired his BAR into the firing slit until the magazine clicked empty. He threw a fragmentation grenade inside, and the bunker’s defenders were killed.
Jackson moved to the fourth pillbox and repeated the process.
Four pillboxes down, and approximately 55 soldiers dead. Jackson had been fighting for less than 20 minutes, and his ammunition was running low. His BAR was overheating, and the barrel was so hot it burned his hands through the wooden foregrip. But there was no stopping him now. The Marines needed him.
The Final Stretch
Jackson moved toward the fifth pillbox. This one had a rear entrance, which the Japanese had used to escape. Jackson didn’t know this, but as he approached, a Japanese soldier emerged from the tunnel and lunged at him with a bayonet.
Jackson spun around, fired from the hip, and hit the soldier in the chest. The man fell backward into the tunnel, but his shout alerted the others inside. Jackson heard them scrambling, heard the sounds of them preparing for a counterattack.
But he had no time to waste. He fired into the tunnel, killing three soldiers.
Five pillboxes down. About 60 soldiers dead.
He continued his assault, taking down six more pillboxes in a matter of hours.
The End of the Battle
At the end of the day, Arthur Jackson had destroyed 12 pillboxes, killed approximately 50 Japanese soldiers, and single-handedly broken the southern defensive line of Pelilu Island. His 90-minute assault had changed the course of the battle.
He was wounded, his leg was bleeding, but he refused to stop. He reloaded his BAR and prepared for the final push. The remaining seven pillboxes would fall, and the Marines would push forward.
The battle for Pelilu would go on, but Arthur Jackson’s heroism had already changed everything.
