Known as the Deadeyes for their marksmanship, the 96th Infantry Division went from an inexperienced division led by regular Oregonians to a courageous and skilled amphibious unit that fought with distinction in two of the most brutal and fabled battles of the Pacific Theater -- Leyte and Okinawa.

The 96th Infantry Division was Oregon’s own military unit, activated into combat at Camp Adair north of Corvallis on August 15, 1942. Its men, most draftees from the Pacific Northwest and the Midwest, trained there in addition to the high desert of Central Oregon and Camp White in Medford.

More than 100 Oregonian Deadeyes served in World War II. They entered combat on October 20, 1944, on Leyte, a narrow island that Gen. Douglas MacArthur had planned to use as a significant Army Air Corps base.

As the Deadeyes slogged through the water from their landing crafts to the beach, they couldn’t imagine the hell that awaited them.

They fought tenaciously through the swamps, rice paddies, jungles, ravines, and mountains. Lt. Robert E. Gaines of Portland and Sgt. John C. Rea of Salem commanded platoons on the front lines, knocking out machine gun nests and fighting with bayonets and trench knives. Leslie T. “Tom” Harper from Hermiston was a forward observer for an artillery division, and Robert J. Frolik of Albany was a Browning Automatic Rifle infantryman.

Lt. Robert Gaines

Sgt. Benjamin C. Confer of Medford and his ordnance company worked desperately under fire to get supplies through on nearly impassible roads. Virgil M. “Bub” Simmons of Bay City and his demolition squad cleared enemy caves with explosives.

During Leyte’s monsoon rains, the Deadeyes climbed slippery, muddy slopes to knock out fortified pillboxes with artillery, grenades, and flamethrowers. They grabbed a few hours of rest in foxholes filled with stagnant water and wore the same wet boots until the skin on their feet and ankles sloughed off. They caught dengue fever, malaria and dysentery.

By the time Leyte was declared secure on Christmas Day 1944, the 96th Infantry Division lost 376 officers and enlisted men, 1,000 more had been wounded, and 2,500 had fallen victim to injury or illness. Those left to carry on were battle-hardened, sick, demoralized and exhausted.

Yet their hardest test was still to come.

Soldiers with the 96th Infantry on Okinawa.National Archives

On April 1, 1945, the Deadeyes would meet the Japanese Army’s “typhoon of steel" on Okinawa in the bloodiest battle of the Pacific War.

Just after dawn on Okinawa’s landing day, which fell on Easter Sunday, the Navy began a pre-invasion bombardment of the island, and carrier planes struck the shore and trenches with napalm. Over a breakfast of steak and eggs, the Deadeyes were tense and somber. Within a few hours, they would come face to face with 155,000 troops ready to fight to the death.

John Pfaff, a 27-year-old captain from Independence, made a last minute check of his field pack and his weapons and ammunition. He knew if his landing craft foundered, he probably wouldn’t make it. He just cinched his lifebelt tightly around his waist.

Pfaff, with his usual stoicism, didn’t tell his men he couldn’t swim.

Capt. John Pfaff

Thirty-five-year-old Sgt. Charles C. Carston, a battalion communications chief from Albany, stuffed a D-ration fortified chocolate bar and an assault ration candy into the pockets of his fatigues, just in case. During their first five days on Leyte, Carston’s regiment had to split one C-ration canned meal between every two men.

A continuous cloud of black smoke hung over the troopships to protect them against kamikaze attacks, and the acrid sulfur smell of cordite explosives hung in the air. An armada of Landing Ship Tanks circled, waiting to take the troops to the beach. As transport ships played the popular Bing Crosby song, “Easter Parade” over the speakers, William C. Luehrs of Ontario, Ralph J. “Lucky” Luciano of Dallas, and Arthur T. “Sonny” Sturgess of Rainier, began descending the cargo nets to the landing craft that would take them ashore.

Landing on Okinawa, the men ran onto the sand, yelling fiercely as they stormed the cratered beach. Other than light artillery fire in the distance, there was no resistance.

The enemy fighters were waiting in prepared positions on the ridgelines. The Deadeyes shifted south and took their first heavy casualties at Kakazu Ridge.

Pfc. Glen R. Breach, a 20-year-old from Culver, was getting C-rations for his squad when he came under fire from a sniper. Breach escaped by leaping down the terraced hillside.

He cheated death again when a grenade exploded behind him and, incredibly, again when a 10-inch shell exploded 30 feet from his foxhole.

Richard J. “Chappy” McCarthy of Coos Bay wrote in the “Deadeye Dispatch,” the 96th Infantry Division Association’s newsletter, that he jumped in a shallow foxhole with two other men just before it was raked with gunfire. As they lay together, all three were hit by a single bullet— it grazed one, went through the second man’s thigh and out his buttocks, and finally lodged in McCarthy’s thigh.

There were many instances of heroism. Pfc. Paul A. Ronco, a graduate from Pedee High School in Polk County, stayed on a ridge giving covering fire as his company was forced to withdraw during a fierce counterattack. He stopped to help a wounded comrade, carried him to a cave, and stayed with him until the man could be evacuated. Ronco was later wounded by mortar fire, developed a severe infection, and spent 13 months in the hospital.

William K. House, a communications sergeant from Portland, said in an interview for the Library of Congress’ Veterans Project that he saw his best friend killed by a Japanese sniper. House was climbing the hill to shoot the sniper when he was sprayed with grenade fragments. He hunkered down in place for three days until the bleeding stopped.

Sgt. Alford B. Cooper, a 26-year-old platoon sergeant from Portland, was badly wounded and in severe pain but he continued to lead his men. Pfc. George J. Churchill of Portland crossed 400 yards of open terrain under fire to evacuate two wounded men.

The battle of Conical Hill, the six long ridges defended by more than 1,000 Japanese troops, was the most treacherous battle that Staff Sgt. Orrie H. Gruwell from Enterprise ever encountered. Gruwell, a platoon guide, told the “Deadeye Dispatch” that he and his men advanced behind flame-throwing tanks. Firing their machine guns while the ground burned, they attacked until all resistance ceased. By the time they finished, only 21 of Gruwell’s men and two officers were left. All had been wounded at least once.

Monsoon rains turned Okinawa into a morass of ankle-deep mud, and foxholes and trenches were filled with water. The hills and ravines were littered with shell casings, mortar shell containers, and abandoned supplies. Corpses of enemy soldiers lay decaying in the mire.

The battle for Okinawa lasted for 82 days. On June 22, 1945, the American flag was raised over the 10th Army Headquarters and the island was declared secure. The 96th Infantry Division lost 1,625 men in action on Okinawa and over 7,500 were wounded.

Some 880 Deadeyes were evacuated from Okinawa due to combat fatigue from what they saw and experienced. Some blocked it out completely. Many never talked about it, even with their families.

The remaining Deadeyes left Okinawa for Mindoro, Philippines, to rest and prepare their next action, this one even more dreaded. They would invade Japan.

The U.S. dropped the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, and on Nagasaki three days later. Six days later, Emperor Hirohito surrendered, and the war was over.

The Deadeyes celebrated with three allotted beers a piece. They were the lucky ones -- they were going home.

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Lynne Hasselman is a writer from southern Oregon.