Grandpa Stories: Shipping Out

On Monday, March 10th, Robert E Patton went home to be with Jesus. I, and the rest of my, very large, extended family, is blessed that my grandfather put together a small book full of stories from his life. Some of them are absolutely incredible stories of God's saving mercy and I wanted to share a couple. 

The tide of the war was beginning to change. The build up of US forces in Europe was in full swing; convoys of Liberty ships were carrying men and supplies to the European Theatre in huge quantities and American planes were decimating European cities in Nazi hands. Battles in the Pacific were intense with immense casualties for both the Japanese and Americans. But the Navy was winning naval battles and the Marines were taking one island fortress after another; Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Pelilu, etc.

I wanted to do my part as a patriotic American. Thew result was far from a forgone conclusion. Our national survival was at stake. I enlisted as soon as Dad would allow. Now, boot camp at Parris Island was over and four months of infantry training at "Tent City" in Camp Lejune was coming to an end. There had been months of obstacle courses, jumping over things and crawling under others. There were many overnight bivouacs in the chilling cold. This place had been built in a hurry to handle the training of thousands of marines. Only the mess halls and churches were heated. We lived in six man tents and from January to April, were cold most of the time. One break from the cold came when we were loaded on to a troop ship, went to the Caribbean and practiced assault landings on the island of Vieques, near Cuba.

Every few weeks I would pull out of my "seabag" a letter that I had received prior to enlisting that said I would be sent to Radio School at Great Lakes Naval Training Center when my basic training was complete. It never happened, even though I showed that letter to each Personnel Officer as I was transferred from place to place.

Finally, time came for us to "ship out" We knew that we were to be assembled with a large group of Marines somewhere in the Pacific. It would soon be our chance to prove our manhood... or otherwise. We were to pack our seabags and carry our rifles and full marching packs. We were marched to the train platform and after the normal wait of several hours, loaded on to coaches for the trip to California or the Pacific.

The train pulled out and went for several miles and stopped. No one knew why but there were all kinds of rumors. Eventually, after hours more, the train reversed and we backed to the platform from which we left, unloaded and sent back to our tents. No reasons was given. "Ours not to question why; Ours but to do or die".

Several days later, it was the same "drill" all over again. Pack up as instructed, march to the train platform, wait, get on the train by the numbers, then wait. The train pulled out slowly, gathered speed, then slowed and stopped. More waiting. The train backed up almost to the platform; then stopped. Before long, it backed up the rest of the way and we were again sent back to our tents. It took all day. What a way to run an organization. But the unofficial "scuttlebutt" was that these actions were to confuse any enemy spies about troop movements.

Again, we got instructions over the loudspeaker to "fall in". (A Marine Corps term that means to get in a three row formation where you are supposed to be!) The Sergeant gave us "the word", but this time he called out some individual names: "Bronder, Patton, Smith, Williams". The four of us were told to stay in our tents and wait for further instructions. Then the order was given... "Right Face; Forward March" and off went the friends we had made during the last eight months. They boarded the same train again and left Camp Lejune. We never saw them again.

Our platoon from Parris Island and Camp Lejune were sent to California, then to Guam for more assault landing training from large LCI (Land Craft Infantry) ships. They were being prepared for a major attack "somewhere in the Pacific".

Bronder and I were shipped to the Marine Corps base at Quantico and assigned to the Field Arto;;dry Training Battalion, Smith was discharged for bad feet and Williams went to San Diego to bugler school. I had joined the Marine Corps to "fight Japs", not teach school. Why was I left behind?

Some time later, I heard through the grapevine that our platoon had been on an LCI ship headed for the attack on Okinawa when it was sunk by a Japanese suicide bomb. All of the platoon were lost. Maybe God has something for me to of in life! Make it count!

Postscript:

Many years, after my parents were killed together in an automobile accident, I found a copy of a letter which indicated that Dad had contacted someone with influence in the Marine Corps who had been responsible for my being assigned to the Marine Base in Quantico, Virginia.

When I get to heaven I'm going to have to thank Great Grandpa Patton for stepping in and saving Grandpa's life. When you think of the ripple effect that would've happen if he hadn't, it's pretty incredible. My dad wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be here. My baby wouldn't be here in September. Thank you Lord for using Great Grandpa!