THE 40 THIEVES OF SAIPAN: How a Marine Lieutenant Recruited Criminals from the Brig – and Turned Them into the Pacific’s Deadliest Ghost Unit That Halted a 3,000-Man BANZAI Charge”

 

The humid air over Guadalcanal smelled of rot, diesel, and death. It was September 27, 1942, and Lieutenant Colonel William “Wild Bill” Whaling stood at the muddy edge of Henderson Field, watching four Marines carry a stretcher through the heat shimmer. The man on it was barely twenty-two. His uniform hung in shreds. His face was still and gray, eyes half-open, staring at the clouded sky.

Three more stretchers followed, boots sloshing through red-brown muck. The jungle behind them was silent now, but the silence was worse than gunfire—it meant the enemy had already vanished. Seven men had gone out on patrol that morning. Only four came back.

Whaling’s jaw tightened. It was the same pattern every day. Marines sent into the green hell of Guadalcanal’s interior disappeared like stones tossed into a well. In the past three weeks, seventeen patrols had been wiped out by ambushes they never saw coming. The Japanese owned the jungle. They moved through it like shadows, invisible until the instant they struck.

The Marines weren’t trained for this kind of war. They were trained for amphibious assaults, for hitting beaches and charging open fields, not creeping through steaming vines where you couldn’t see ten feet in front of you. Machine gun nests stayed hidden until entire squads passed by, then opened fire from behind. Snipers picked off officers through gaps in the leaves. The jungle swallowed everything—sound, sight, men, hope.

The First Marine Division had already lost over four hundred men that September. Whaling knew it couldn’t continue. The mathematics were simple: at this rate, they would run out of Marines before Japan ran out of jungle.

Two days earlier, he had been relieved of his post as executive officer of the 5th Marines. No disgrace in it—just “personality conflicts,” the official phrase that ended most promising careers. Normally, that would have meant a ticket back to the States. But Colonel Gerald Thomas, the division’s chief of staff, knew better than to waste a man like Whaling.

Whaling had fought in the trenches of France in 1918, earned a Silver Star at St. Mihiel, competed as a marksman in the 1924 Olympics. He’d spent years in Central America chasing insurgents through dense jungles where the only law was stealth. He was a hunter long before he was an officer. Thomas told him to stay, to think about the problem no one else could solve.

Whaling spent three sleepless nights at Henderson Field, sitting on an ammo crate, studying the maps and casualty reports. Every red X marked a patrol that had vanished. Every blue arrow pointed nowhere. The enemy wasn’t winning because of numbers. They were winning because they understood how to disappear.

On the morning of September 29, Whaling stepped into General Alexander Vandegrift’s command tent. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Maps lay scattered across a wooden table, stained with sweat and rainwater.

“I think I know how to fix this,” Whaling said.

Vandegrift didn’t look up from his papers. “Then you’re the only man on this island who does.”

“I need volunteers,” Whaling said. “Hunters, marksmen, the kind of men who don’t need someone telling them when to breathe. Small teams, two or three men at a time. We’ll train them to stalk instead of march. Send them in ahead of patrols to find the enemy before the enemy finds us.”

Vandegrift studied him for a long moment. The general had seen the reports too. Whole platoons erased in minutes. He exhaled through his nose and nodded once. “How long do you need?”

“One week.”

“Then you’d better start.”

Whaling turned on his heel and walked out into the rain. The order wasn’t official yet—nothing was on Guadalcanal—but that didn’t matter. He already knew the kind of men he wanted.

That night, under a single flickering lantern, he spread open stacks of service records. He wasn’t looking for medals or perfect conduct. He looked for signs—“Expert Rifle,” “Hunter background,” “Raised rural.” He noted disciplinary records too: “disobedience,” “unauthorized action,” “initiative in the field.” Those were the men he wanted. Men who got in trouble for doing what needed to be done.

By October 1, he had chosen forty-three names.

At 06:00 the next morning, he assembled them under a palm-frond canopy behind the airfield. Most were barely out of their teens—farm boys, mechanics, loggers, a few college dropouts who’d traded lectures for bayonets. They stood in ragged lines, mud up to their ankles, waiting for orders.

Whaling stepped forward, hands behind his back. “You’ve been chosen for something different,” he said. “You’ll go behind enemy lines. You’ll move like ghosts. You’ll see things before anyone else does, and if you do your job right, you’ll kill men who never knew you were there.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. “Casualty rate is fifty percent. No backup. If you get trapped, no one’s coming for you. If that doesn’t sit right, step out now.”

Two men did. Forty-one stayed.

Whaling nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

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At 09:00 on September 27th, 1942, Lieutenant Colonel William Whailing stood at the edge of Henderson Field on Guadal Canal, watching four Marines carry a stretcher toward the aid station. 22 years old, third patrol this week, dead before they found the Japanese position. Three more stretchers followed.

 The jungle had swallowed a seven-man patrol that morning. Only four came back. The Japanese owned the jungle. Two months into the Guadal Canal campaign, marine patrols walked into ambushes they never saw coming. 17 patrols had been wiped out in 3 weeks. The Japanese moved through dense vegetation like ghosts. Marines trained for frontal assaults could not see an enemy soldier 10 ft away. Enemy snipers picked off officers.

 Machine gun nests stayed hidden until entire squads walked past, then opened fire from behind. Whailing knew this pattern would kill them all. The first Marine Division had lost 400 men to Japanese ambushes in September alone. Standard infantry tactics did not work in jungle warfare. Marines needed something different, something the Japanese did not expect.

 2 days earlier, Whailing had been relieved of his command as executive officer of the fifth marine regiment. No combat failure, just personality conflicts with his commanding officer. Most officers in his position would have been shipped back to the United States.

 But Colonel Gerald Thomas, the divisional chief of staff, knew Whailing’s reputation. World War I veteran, silver star at San Miguel, expert marksman who competed in the 1924 Olympics. Most importantly, Whailing understood fieldcraft better than any officer in the division. Thomas kept him on Guadal Canal, told him to think about their jungle problem. Whailing spent 3 days watching patrols leave and counting how many returned.

The mathematics were brutal. At this rate, the division would run out of infantry men before the Japanese ran out of jungle. He needed men who could hunt the hunters. Men who understood stalking, men who could read terrain and move silently, men who could kill without being seen.

 On September 29th, Whailing walked into General Alexander Vandergri’s command tent with a proposal. organized a scout sniper unit. 100 volunteers handpicked from Marines with hunting backgrounds, outdoorsmen, skilled marksmen. Train them in reconnaissance and ambush tactics.

 Send them into the jungle in small teams to gather intelligence and eliminate Japanese positions before regular patrols advanced. Vandergrift approved immediately. The general had studied Lieutenant Colonel Robert Rogers and his Ranger tactics from the French and Indian War. small mobile units operating independently behind enemy lines.

 The idea fit perfectly with their desperate situation on Guadal Canal. Whailing had one week to find his men and start training. If you want to see how Whailing built the deadliest unit in the Pacific, please hit that like button. It helps us share these forgotten stories with more people. And please subscribe if you haven’t already. Back to whaling. He started reading service records that night, looking for specific markers, expert rifle qualification, rural backgrounds, hunting experience, disciplinary records that showed independence, not cowardice, men who thought for themselves, the kind of

Marines who got in trouble for questioning orders, but always completed the mission. By October 1st, Whailing had identified 43 candidates. He called them to a briefing at 0600 on October 2nd. Told them the assignment was voluntary. Told them the casualty rate for reconnaissance work ran above 50%.

 Told them they would operate in teams of two or three, sometimes for days behind Japanese lines. No backup, no extraction if things went wrong. 41 volunteered immediately. Two walked away. Whailing looked at the men standing in front of him. Most were 20 years old or younger. Half had been in combat less than two months. But they had something the regular infantry did not.

 They wanted to hunt. And Whailing was about to teach them how to become the most feared unit the Japanese would face in the Pacific War. His training would create a template. Two years later, another Marine officer would use Whailing’s methods to build an even more notorious unit.

 That officer would add one unusual requirement to his recruitment process. a requirement that would shock the entire Marine Corps and create a legend that lasted 80 years. Whailing started training on October 3rd. No manuals existed for what he was building. The Marine Corps had disbanded its scout sniper program after World War I. Everything Whailing knew came from experience.

 24 years in the core, jungle patrol in Nicaragua, French battlefields, where he learned that invisible soldiers lived longer than brave ones. The first lesson was silence. Whailing took his volunteers into the jungle west of Henderson Field and told them to walk 100 yards without making noise. Every man failed. Equipment rattled. Boots cracked branches. Cantens clinkedked against rifles.

 The jungle amplified every sound. He made them do it again. Removed everything that made noise. Taped down metal parts. Wrapped cloth around canteen hooks. walked in soft sold boots instead of standard issue. After three days, half the men could move through dense vegetation without alerting Japanese positions 200 yd away. Marksmanship came next.

 Most marines could hit targets at 300 yd on a rifle range, but rifle ranges did not have wind or rain or targets that shot back. Whailing taught them to estimate distance by terrain features, judge wind by watching vegetation, account for how humidity affected bullet trajectory.

 He made them fire from uncomfortable positions, uphill, downhill, lying in mud, crouched behind cover that barely concealed them. By October 10th, his best shooters could kill Japanese soldiers at 400 yd with iron sights. The hard part was teaching them to think differently. Regular Marine infantry worked in squads of 12 men. clear chain of command. Orders flowed down from officers. Initiative was discouraged.

Whailing needed the opposite. Teams of two or three operating independently for days, making tactical decisions without asking permission. Soldiers who could adapt when plans failed. He trained them in map reading and terrain analysis, how to identify good ambush positions, how to sketch enemy fortifications, how to estimate troop strength from campfire smoke and foot traffic.

 skills that regular infantry never learned because officers did that thinking for them. On October 13th, Whailing received orders from General Vandergrift. The division was planning an offensive across the Matanakau River. Japanese forces had dug in on the western side. Machine gun nests covered every approach. Artillery positions sat hidden in jungle canopy.

Regular patrols kept getting slaughtered trying to find them. Vandergrift wanted Whailing to take his partially trained unit and locate Japanese positions before the offensive started. Whailing picked eight men, split them into four teams, gave each team a sector to scout, told them to avoid contact if possible, gather intelligence, and return. If they got pinned down, they were on their own.

No rescue missions. The division could not afford to lose more men looking for lost scouts. The first team left at 0400 on October 14th. Two Marines, both from Montana, both grew up hunting elk in mountain forests. They moved west along the Matanakau River for 3 hours, found a Japanese artillery position at 0715.

 Four Type 92 Howitzers hidden under camouflage netting. 60 soldiers. They sketched the position, counted ammunition crates, and returned by noon. The second team found a machine gun nest overlooking a river crossing. The third team mapped Japanese patrol routes. The fourth team ran into trouble.

 They were mapping a trail network when a Japanese patrol appeared. Five soldiers 50 yards away. The two Marines froze, waited for the patrol to pass, but one Japanese soldier stalked, looked directly at the position where the Marines hid in vegetation, raised his rifle. The marine closest to him fired first. Single shot. The Japanese soldier dropped. His four companions scattered, started shouting.

Within 30 seconds, whistles echoed through the jungle. Enemy troops converging on the sound. The two Marines ran, headed east toward Marine lines. Japanese soldiers followed. The chase lasted 40 minutes. The Marines reached friendly positions with 11 enemy soldiers 200 yd behind them, but they brought back critical intelligence.

 Whailing now had detailed maps of Japanese positions along a two-mile front. Information that regular patrols had failed to gather in two months of trying. Information that cost dozens of Marine lives. General Vandergrift looked at the maps on October 15th and immediately changed his offensive plan. Instead of a frontal assault, he would use the scout teams to guide flanking maneuvers around Japanese strong points.

Whailing’s unit had proven the concept worked. Now Vandergrift wanted more. He told Whailing to expand, find another 60 volunteers, form a full company, and prepare for the largest marine offensive of the Guadal Canal campaign. The battle for the Matanaka was coming, and Whailing Scout snipers would lead the way into the deadliest jungle fighting the Pacific War had seen.

 The Matonau offensive began at 0600 on October 6th, 1942. Whailing scouts moved out 30 minutes before the main assault. Their mission was simple. Infiltrate Japanese lines. Locate command posts and artillery positions. Eliminate officers and radio operators. Create chaos before Marine infantry crossed the river.

 Whailing organized his scouts into a special task force, combined them with third battalion, second marines. The unit was officially called the composite battalion. Everyone else called it the whailing group. They crossed the Matanaka River 3 mi upstream from Japanese positions. Moved through jungles so dense that visibility dropped to 20 ft. No trails, no maps, just compass bearings and intuition.

 By 0800, they had penetrated 2 mi behind Japanese lines without being detected. The first engagement happened at 0920. A whailing group scout team spotted a Japanese command post tent with radio equipment. Six officers studying maps. 15 soldiers providing security. The scouts waited until officers gathered for a briefing. Then opened fire from 200 yards.

 Killed four officers in the first volley. The remaining Japanese soldiers scattered into jungle. Never found who shot them. 30 minutes later, another scout team eliminated a forward observer calling artillery strikes on Marine positions. Single shot from 300 yd. The observer dropped. Artillery fire stopped.

 Marine infantry advanced 600 yd before Japanese gunners realized their spotter was dead. By noon, whailing group had encircled Japanese positions west of the Matanakau. Regular marine battalions attacked from the east while scouts cut off retreat routes. Japanese forces found themselves trapped between two forces. No escape, no reinforcements.

 The fighting lasted 4 days. Between October 6th and October 9th, approximately 750 Japanese soldiers died in the encirclement. The fourth infantry regiment effectively ceased to exist as a combat unit. Marine casualties were lighter than any previous offensive. 43 killed, 112 wounded. General Vandergrift credited the scout snipers with changing the tactical situation.

 Small teams gathering intelligence, eliminating key targets, disrupting command and control. The Japanese had not expected Marines to fight like this. Expected frontal assaults, not infiltration and ambush. Whailing’s methods worked, but they came with a price. On October 8th, Whailing took shrapnel from a mortar round. Nothing critical, just enough to put him in a field hospital for observation.

Infection set in 3 days later. By October 15th, fever forced evacuation to a hospital ship. He spent the next 4 months recovering, missed the rest of the Guadal Canal campaign, but his program survived. The First Marine Division formally established scout sniper platoon in each infantry regiment. Headquarters company got a dedicated reconnaissance section. Training became standardized.

 Selection criteria formalized. Everything Whailing created from scratch in September became official Marine Corps doctrine by December. The division awarded him the Legion of Merit in February 1944. Citation read that he organized a scout sniper detachment and supervised training of selected groups in scouting, stalking, and ambush tactics.

 that his instruction and expert knowledge of jungle warfare contributed immeasurably to success achieved by marine patrols. Whailing never returned to Guadal Canal, took command of First Marine Regiment in Australia, led them at Cape Gloucester, eventually commanded 29th Marines on Okinawa where he earned the Navy Cross.

Retired as a major general in 1954. But his real legacy was not medals. It was a concept, a template for how Marines could fight differently. His program became the foundation for all Marine scout sniper operations through World War II, Korea, Vietnam. Every conflict where Marines needed eyes in places regular infantry could not go.

Two years after Whailing created his program, another Marine officer read his afteraction reports, studied his training methods, decided to build something even more aggressive, an elite platoon that would take Whailing’s ideas and add one controversial twist. This officer did not want disciplined Marines.

 He wanted fighters, troublemakers, men who won brawls and ended up in the brig. He was about to create the most legendary scout sniper unit of the Pacific War. At 0700 on January 15th, 1944, First Lieutenant Frank Tachsky walked through the brig at Marine Corps base camp Tarowa in Hawaii. 29 years old, combat veteran of Guadal Canal and Tarowa, looking for the worst Marines in the Second Marine Division. He found them.

 18 men locked in cells for fighting. assault charges, insubordination, destruction of property, the kind of disciplinary problems that got Marines dishonorably discharged. Tachsky was not there to punish them. He was there to recruit them. 3 months earlier, Colonel James Risley had given Tachsky an unusual order. Form an elite scout sniper platoon for the Sixth Marine Regiment. Model it after British commandos.

 train 40 men in reconnaissance and long range killing, but do not recruit from regular infantry. Risley wanted something different. He wanted men who could not follow orders, men who thought for themselves, men who would survive behind enemy lines where rulebook tactics got you killed. Tchsky understood the assignment.

 He had read William Whailing’s afteraction reports from Guad Canal, studied how small teams of scouts disrupted Japanese operations. But Whailing had recruited hunters and outdoorsmen, disciplined men who happened to have fieldcraft skills. Tachsky wanted the opposite. He wanted fighters. His selection criteria was simple. Find Marines who won fights and ended up in the brig. ignore the losers who went to the infirmary.

 He explained his logic to skeptical officers. When two Marines fight, one wins and one loses. The loser goes to sick bay. The winner goes to the brig for assault. Standard Marine justice punished the wrong man. The winner proved he could handle himself. Proved he would not quit when things got violent.

 That was the Marine Tachsky wanted on his team. The Brig commander thought he was insane. told him these men were troublemakers, criminals, the worst discipline cases in the division. Tachsky said that was exactly what he needed. Over 3 weeks, Tachsky interviewed 47 Marines with disciplinary records, asked them why they fought, what they did before joining the core, whether they could kill a man silently with a knife. 23 volunteered.

 Another 17 came from regular infantry. Marines with expert marksman ratings who had proven themselves at Tarowa. By February 1st, Tachsky had his 40 men, called them the scout sniper platoon of the sixth marine regiment. The nickname came later after they started stealing everything not bolted down on the big island of Hawaii.

Training began in the jungle highlands near Hilo. Tachsky used whailing methods as a foundation. silent movement, long range marksmanship, map reading. Then added hand-to-hand combat training, knife fighting, garat techniques, how to kill sent centuries without making noise. British commando tactics adapted for Pacific jungle warfare.

 The platoon learned to live off the land, hunt wild boar, catch fish, identify edible plants. Survival skills for operating behind enemy lines where resupply was impossible. They trained with piano wire garats, learned how to roll the wire in glue and crushed glass.

 One Marine named Wild Bill Emer became infamous for rescuing wounded men from kill zones using nothing but a garat and silence. Equipment was a problem. The Marine Corps issued them World War I era Springfield rifles, outdated rations, no proper camouflage, so they stole better gear, raided Army supply depots at night, took newer weapons, stole canned food and whiskey, even stole an army captain’s jeep and repainted it marine green.

 If you want to see how these 40 thieves earned their nickname on Saipan, please hit that like button. Every like helps us share more forgotten stories. and please subscribe if you haven’t already. Back to the thieves. The stealing became legendary. Other Marine units called them the 40 thieves, not as an insult, as respect.

 These men operated outside normal military constraints, took what they needed to survive. Officers looked the other way because Tachsky was building something unprecedented, a unit that could hunt Japanese soldiers in their own territory. By May 1944, the 40 thieves were ready. Saipan was coming. 15 square miles of volcanic rock and jungle. 30,000 Japanese defenders.

 The first invasion of Japanese home territory. High command expected 70% casualties in the first week. The thieves would go in first. Days before the main landing. Their mission was simple. scout enemy positions, map defenses, kill officers, and survive long enough to guide the assault force through the bloodiest invasion of the Pacific War.

 At 0530 on June 15th, 1944, Corporal Bill Canppel crouched in a Higgins boat 300 yd off Saipan’s western shore. 21 years old, member of the 40 Thieves, watching naval bombardment tear apart the beach ahead. The noise was unbelievable. 16-in guns from battleships, 5-in destroyer batteries, rockets from landing craft. The entire shoreline disappeared under smoke and fire.

 The Japanese were waiting anyway. The second and fourth Marine divisions hit the beach at 0840. 8,000 Marines in the first wave. Japanese artillery opened fire immediately. Mortars, machine guns, artillery zeroed on landing zones. Marines died before they left their boats. Bodies floated in surf. Wounded men drowned in three feet of water. The 40 thieves landed in the fourth wave.

 Their mission was different from regular infantry. While line companies fought for the beaches, Tachsky’s platoon moved inland looking for Japanese command posts, artillery positions, supply dumps, targets that regular Marines would not reach for days. By noon, the thieves had penetrated half a mile inland, found themselves in dense sugarcane fields where visibility dropped to 10 ft. Perfect terrain for ambush.

 Japanese soldiers hid everywhere in caves, underground bunkers, spider holes covered with vegetation. The first silent kill happened at 1300 hours. Two thieves were scouting a trail when they spotted a Japanese radio operator alone setting up antenna wire. They approached from behind piano wire gar. The operator died without making a sound. They took his maps and radio codes. Left his body hidden in sugarcane.

 2 hours later, another team eliminated a three-man observation post. Knives. No gunfire. Japanese officers never knew their forward observers were dead. Artillery fire became uncoordinated. Marines advanced through gaps in defensive fire. This was what Tachsky had trained them for. Silent killing, operating independently, making tactical decisions without orders.

The thieves moved through Japanese controlled territory like ghosts. Regular infantry fought setpiece battles. The thieves hunted. On June 16th, Tachsky led a patrol to scout Mount Tipo Pale, a volcanic peak in central Saipan. Intelligence reports said Japanese forces used the mountain as an observation post.

 Someone up there was calling artillery strikes on marine positions. Tachsky needed to find them. The patrol climbed through jungle so thick they used machetes. Reached the base of Mount Tipo Pale at 0900. Found a trail leading up the slope. Fresh footprints. Bicycle tracks. The Japanese were using bicycles to move supplies and troops down the mountain.

 Tachsky positioned his best snipers along the trail. Five men with Springfield rifles mounted with Unertle scopes, told them to wait for targets. By noon, Japanese soldiers started descending on bicycles, officers, couriers, supply runners. They made easy targets. The thieves killed 14 men that afternoon.

 Never fired more than one shot per target. Never gave away their position. The Japanese response was predictable. They sent a patrol to find the snipers. 40 soldiers moving uphill toward thief positions. Tachsky pulled his men back before contact, melted into jungle. The Japanese patrol found nothing but empty firing positions and dead bodies.

That night, Tachsky received new orders. Division intelligence had located a Japanese ammunition depot near Garrapan, Saipan’s capital city. Command wanted the thieves to scout the depot and report on security, possibly destroy it if the opportunity presented itself. The mission was suicide.

 Gapan sat two miles behind Japanese lines. Thousands of enemy soldiers between marine positions and the city. No support, no backup. If something went wrong, the thieves would be on their own. Tachsky picked eight men, best fighters in the platoon, told them they would leave at 0200 on June 17th, move through Japanese lines under darkness, scout the depot, return before dawn. He did not tell them about the intelligence report he had read that afternoon.

 The report that said Japanese commanders had ordered their troops to take no prisoners, that wounded Marines were being used as bait to ambush rescue parties, that the enemy was preparing for a final bonsai charge that would throw every available soldier at Marine lines.

 The thieves were walking into hell, and they would not come back the same men who left. The 8-man patrol left Marine lines at 0200 on June 17th. No moon, complete darkness. They moved west through sugarce fields toward Garrapan. Every 50 yards, they stopped, listened. The jungle was never silent on Saipan. Japanese patrols moved constantly. Artillery rumbled in the distance.

 Wounded men screamed in no man’s land between the lines. By 03:30, the thieves had covered a mile. Crossed two Japanese patrol routes without being detected. Sergeant Bill Canuple led the way, reading terrain by feel, stopping whenever he sensed movement ahead.

 The rest of the patrol followed in single file, 10-ft intervals, no talking, hand signals only. They reached the outskirts of Garrapan at 0415. The city had been flattened by naval bombardment. Buildings reduced to rubble. Streets cratered, but infrastructure remained. The thieves could see Japanese soldiers moving through ruins, supply trucks, communication lines. This was still a functioning military base despite the destruction. The ammunition depot sat on the northern edge of town.

 Three concrete bunkers surrounded by barbed wire. Guards at each entrance. Tchovsky counted 16 soldiers visible, probably more inside. His orders were to scout and report, not engage. But he saw an opportunity. The bunkers had ventilation shafts, narrow openings in the concrete large enough for a satchel charge.

 If they could place explosives without being detected, they could destroy the entire depot, eliminate tons of Japanese ammunition, enemy artillery for days. He made the decision. Two men would approach the nearest bunker, plant charges. The rest would provide covering fire if things went wrong.

 They would detonate at 0500, then run like hell back to marine lines before Japanese forces realized what happened. Corporal Rosco Mullins and Private Otto Heeble volunteered. Both had engineering experience. Both understood demolitions. They moved toward the bunker at 0430, crawled the last 100 yards, took 20 minutes to reach the ventilation shaft.

Japanese guards walked patrol routes 30 ft away. Mullins waited until a guard turned his back, then lifted the satchel charge to the ventilation opening, wedged it inside, set the timer for 15 minutes, pulled back slowly. They were 10 yards from the bunker when a guard spotted them.

 The Japanese soldier shouted, raised his rifle. Mullins fired first. The guard dropped, but his shout had alerted the entire depot. Whistles echoed through ruins. Soldiers poured out of buildings. The thieves opened fire from their position 200 yd away, covering Mullins and Heeble while they ran. The satchel charge detonated at 0457 3 minutes early.

 The explosion tore through the bunker. Secondary explosions followed as ammunition inside ignited. Artillery shells, mortar rounds, small arms ammunition. The entire depot chain reacted. Explosions continued for 5 minutes. The sky turned orange. Debris rained down across Garapan.

 The thieves used the chaos to escape, ran east through sugarcane fields while Japanese forces tried to contain fires and evacuate remaining ammunition. By 0600, they had crossed back into marine lines. All eight men, no casualties. They had destroyed the largest ammunition depot in northern Saipan. Division Intelligence estimated the explosion eliminated 30% of Japanese artillery ammunition. Enemy fire dropped significantly over the next two days.

Marine casualties decreased. The advance accelerated. But the mission had consequences. Japanese commanders realized Marine scout units were operating behind their lines. They increased patrols, set ambushes, started using wounded Marines as bait. Any Marine caught alone faced immediate execution.

 The rules of warfare on Saipan changed after Gapan. On June 19th, a thief patrol walked into an ambush near Mount Tipo Pale. Four men scouting a trail network. Japanese soldiers had positioned themselves in trees and underground positions, waited until the patrol was surrounded, then opened fire. The patrol leader was killed instantly. The other three fought their way out, wounded.

 One man took a bullet through the shoulder. Another had shrapnel in his leg. They made it back to Marine lines, but brought terrible news. The Japanese had used two wounded Marines as bait, left them crying for help in an open clearing. When the thief patrol approached, the ambush triggered. The wounded Marines died in the crossfire. That night, the 40 thieves held an unofficial meeting.

 No officers present, just enlisted men. They voted unanimously. No thief would be taken alive. If wounded and unable to escape, other thieves would ensure a quick death rather than capture and torture. The war on Saipan had become personal. By June 23rd, the 40 thieves had been in continuous combat for 8 days.

 No rest, no rotation off the line. They operated in 12-hour shifts. Half the platoon scouting during daylight, the other half infiltrating Japanese positions at night. Sleep came in 2-hour intervals. Food was whatever they could steal or scavenge. Casualties mounted. The platoon had started with 40 men.

 By June 23rd, 32 remained combat effective. Three were dead, five wounded badly enough for evacuation. The mathematics were simple. If combat continued at this rate, the platoon would cease to exist by July 1st. But they kept hunting. On June 24th, a four-man team scouted Japanese positions in the Kagman Peninsula, found a battalion command post in a cave system, 20 officers, radio equipment, maps showing defensive positions across northern Saipan. The team could not assault the cave.

 Too many guards, so they marked the position and called in artillery. Naval gunfire destroyed the cave at 1600 hours. Direct hit with 14in shells. The entire command structure of a Japanese battalion disappeared in one strike. Enemy coordination collapsed. Marines advanced 300 yards that afternoon with minimal resistance.

 The next day brought the worst loss the thieves would suffer. Corporal Martin Dyer led a patrol into dense jungle near Mount Tapochow. Five men. Mission was to scout Japanese artillery positions reported in the area. They found the artillery. Four Type 92 guns positioned in a narrow ravine camouflaged with vegetation, completely hidden from aerial reconnaissance.

 Dyier’s patrol observed the position for 30 minutes. Counted crew members, noted ammunition storage locations, then began withdrawal. They were 200 yd from the artillery position when Japanese infantry appeared from three directions. The ambush was perfect. Machine guns opened fire from elevated positions, rifles from ground level. The patrol was caught in the kill zone with no cover.

Dyer ordered his men to scatter, run for marine lines. He stayed behind with a Browning automatic rifle, provided covering fire while his team escaped. Three men made it out. Dyer and one other Marine did not. The Marine who stayed with Dyer was found later dead from multiple gunshot wounds. Dyier’s body was never recovered.

 Japanese forces had overrun the position before Marines could retrieve remains. The patrol survivors reported that Dyer had killed at least seven Japanese soldiers before his position was overwhelmed. For his actions, he was postumously awarded the Navy Cross. Citation read that he sacrificed himself to ensure his patrol’s survival.

 His leadership and courage were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Marine Corps. The thieves took Dyier’s death hard. He had been popular, good leader, the kind of marine who never asked anyone to do something he would not do himself. His loss reminded everyone that skill and training only delayed the inevitable on Saipan.

 Eventually, the numbers caught up. June 26th brought news that changed the tactical situation. Japanese forces were preparing for a massive bonsai charge. Intelligence estimated 3,000 soldiers would attack Marine positions in a suicidal assault. Command wanted the thieves to infiltrate Japanese assembly areas, locate officers, eliminate them before the attack began.

Tachsky received orders at 2200 on June 26th. The bonsai charge would likely happen within 48 hours. He had one night to disrupt Japanese preparations. His mission was to take 20 thieves deep behind enemy lines, find command posts, kill as many officers as possible, create chaos before the assault.

 It was the most dangerous mission the platoon had received. Japanese forces were consolidating. Thousands of soldiers moving into attack positions. Security would be intense. The thieves would be operating in an area saturated with enemy troops. Extraction would be nearly impossible if things went wrong.

 Tachsky briefed his men at 2300, told them the odds, told them casualties would be high, asked for volunteers. All 20 men stepped forward, not because they were brave, because they understood what happened if they failed. The bonsai charge would hit marine lines with overwhelming force.

 Thousands of men would die unless someone disrupted Japanese preparations first. The thieves would go. They would hunt officers in the darkness. And they would probably not all come back. The 20 thieves moved out at midnight on June 27th. No moon, heavy cloud cover, perfect conditions for infiltration. They split into five teams of four men each. Each team had a designated sector.

Each team knew they were on their own if contact occurred. Tchovsky led the center team, moved west through Japanese lines toward reported command post locations. By 0200, they had penetrated a mile into enemy territory. Found Japanese soldiers everywhere, sleeping in foxholes, standing guard, moving supplies.

 Thousands of men preparing for the assault. The first officer died at 0230. Japanese captain studying maps by lamplight inside a captured American tent. Tchovski’s team approached within 50 yards. Single shot from a suppressed Springfield. The captain dropped forward onto his maps. Guards did not even hear the shot.

 Over the next 3 hours, the five thief teams eliminated 17 Japanese officers. Majors, captains, lieutenants. Command structure for the bonsai charge. Each kill was silent. Each team extracted without detection. By 0530, all 20 thieves had returned to Marine lines. Zero casualties. The bonsai charge came at 0400 on July 7th. 3,000 Japanese soldiers screaming, bayonets fixed. They hit Marine positions along a two-mile front.

 The assault was ferocious. Hand-to-h hand combat. Marines fought with rifles, pistols, knives, entrenching tools, anything that could kill. But the Japanese attack lacked coordination. Officers who should have directed the assault were dead. Units attacked without support. Communication broke down. What should have been an organized offensive became a chaotic charge. Marines held their positions.

 Artillery and machine gun fire cut down wave after wave of Japanese soldiers. By 0800, the bonsai charge had failed. The Japanese lost 2500 men. The marine line held. The battle for Saipan effectively ended that morning. Organized Japanese resistance collapsed. Remaining enemy forces retreated to caves and prepared for final stands. The 40 thieves had done their job.

 Their nighttime raids disrupted Japanese command, made the difference between a coordinated assault that might have broken through and a suicidal charge that accomplished nothing. The platoon finished the Saipan campaign with 27 men, 13 casualties over 21 days of combat, four dead, nine wounded. The survivors returned to Hawaii in August. The platoon was disbanded in October.

 Men were distributed to regular infantry units. The Marine Corps decided specialized scout sniper platoon were too expensive in casualties, but their legacy lived. Frank Tachsky received the Silver Star. His methods influenced marine reconnaissance doctrine for the rest of the war. The concept of small teams operating independently behind enemy lines became standard practice.

What William Whailing created on Guadal Canal, the 40 thieves perfected on Saipan. Modern Marine scout snipers trace their lineage directly to these men. Whailing’s training methods, Tachsky’s selection criteria, the fieldcraft, the silent killing, the independence.

 Every Marine sniper who has served since 1942 learned from lessons written in jungle combat on Pacific Islands. The scout sniper military occupational specialty was retired in December 2023 after 81 years. But the legacy remains in reconnaissance platoon, in tactics manuals, in stories passed down through generations of Marines who learned that sometimes the deadliest warriors are invisible.

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