Unpublished writings of Roger Cleaves, circa June 1945:
Editor's note: Roger Cleaves kept his writing ability a close secret until nearly 20 years after the war had ended. He kept a detailed personal diary of his time in the Pacific theater but years afterward explained that he would never want to see it published. "War may be fought between nations," he said, "but for every soldier, sailor, Marine and airman, it is intensely personal. That's what comes of being in a literal life or death struggle for days, weeks, months on end."
The following passage was written during and immediately after the Battle of Okinawa. Roger had been recently promoted to sergeant and reassigned to the machine gun platoon of the 3rd Battalion of the 8th Marine Regiment, leaving behind his friends who remained in Company C, 1st Battalion, 8th Marines.
June 19, 1945 - Battle for Okinawa
War Diary of Sergeant Roger Cleaves, Section Sergeant - 3rd Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment, Machine Gun Platoon
We pushed forward today, guns blazing, sweat pouring, and the sounds of battle echoing in our ears. The Kiyamu Peninsula lay before us, and our mission was clear - to pierce the heart of the enemy's defenses. As the section sergeant of the machine gun platoon, I led my men through the treacherous terrain, our weapons ready and our spirits high.
The morning sun cast long shadows over the rugged landscape, providing us with a semblance of cover. Lieutenant Colonel Wallace's voice boomed through the air, urging us to press on. With each step, the weight of our gear seemed to increase, but we soldiered on, determined to break through.
The Japanese resistance was fierce. Machine gun nests peppered the hillsides, raining bullets upon us. Mortar shells exploded around us, sending dirt and debris flying. But we were Marines, battle-hardened and resolute. We returned fire with everything we had, our machine guns roaring, spitting out death to the enemy.
My section fought with unwavering resolve. Private Williams, a crack shot with an uncanny ability to pick off enemy gunners, laid down suppressive fire, allowing the rest of us to advance. Corporal Martinez, always cool under fire, skillfully maneuvered our heavy weapons through the chaos, setting them up at strategic points to deliver a devastating barrage.
We inched closer, yard by yard, taking cover behind rocks and fallen trees. The cacophony of battle drowned out all other sounds, but I could see the determination in the eyes of my men. Their trust in me as their leader spurred me forward. We fought as one, a well-oiled machine, each of us knowing our role and executing it flawlessly.
As we reached Ibaru Ridge, our assault intensified. The enemy clung to the high ground, their resistance growing more desperate. With a thunderous boom, our artillery unleashed a barrage of white phosphorus smoke, shrouding the ridge in an eerie haze. It provided the cover we needed.
I gave the command, and we charged forward, bayonets fixed, adrenaline pumping through our veins. The enemy defenders were caught off guard by our ferocity, stumbling backward in disarray. Bullets whizzed past, narrowly missing us, but we pressed on, undeterred.
The ridge became a battlefield, a maelstrom of chaos and violence. Hand-to-hand combat ensued as we fought tooth and nail to drive the Japanese down the slope. The determination in their eyes matched our own, but we had the advantage of numbers and the will to win.
In the midst of the melee, I caught sight of Private Spinelli, his face etched with determination, firing his machine gun with deadly accuracy. But in an instant, a burst of enemy fire found its mark, and Spinelli fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. I yelled for a corpsman, but the chaos swallowed my voice. I could only hope that help would reach him in time.
By 1700 hours, we had achieved a breakthrough. The enemy lines had crumbled under our relentless assault. We regrouped atop the ridge, catching our breath and assessing our losses. It had been a hard-fought victory, but the battle for Okinawa was not yet over.
Over the next three days, the 8th Marines joined forces with other units, clearing out pockets of resistance and ensuring the island's security. Company I of our battalion faced heavy losses during a fierce engagement in Makabe, but the indomitable spirit of the Marines prevailed.
On June 22, the final objective loomed ahead - Naha. Our boots pounded the war-torn ground as we advanced, the end in sight. General Geiger's announcement reverberated through the air, signaling our victory. Okinawa was ours.
Reflecting on the battle, I am filled with a mix of emotions. We had fought with valor and resilience, paying a heavy price. The loss of brave comrades will forever weigh upon my soul. Yet, we emerged triumphant, having accomplished our mission.
As I write this diary entry, surrounded by the echoes of war, I cannot help but feel a sense of pride in my men. Together, we faced the horrors of battle, standing tall against the onslaught. Our machine guns, once mere tools of war, became instruments of salvation.
Now, as we prepare to redeploy, we turn our gaze towards the horizon. The invasion of Japan looms ahead, a daunting prospect. But for now, we rest, heal our wounds, and honor the fallen. We will carry their memory with us, drawing strength from their sacrifice.
The battle for Okinawa may be over, but our journey as Marines continues. The war rages on, and we stand ready, knowing that whatever lies ahead, we will face it with the unwavering spirit of the 8th Marine Regiment.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sgt. Roger Cleaves leads his men towards Naha, Okinawa, June 1945
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------