When 54 Japanese Tried to Execute One American — He Killed Them All in 7 Minutes

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When 54 Japanese Tried to Execute One American — He Killed Them All in 7 Minutes

It was September 18th, 1944. The blistering sun hung high in the sky over Pelilu Island, and Private First Class Arthur Jackson, a 19-year-old Marine, pressed his body against the coral outcrop. The heat from the island felt like an oven, but it was nothing compared to the tension in the air. The air was thick with gunfire, the screams of dying men, and the relentless sound of Japanese machine guns cutting through the advancing American lines.

Jackson’s platoon had been pushing forward for three days, trying to clear Japanese pillboxes—a series of concrete bunkers lined up in a half-moon arc across the southern peninsula. They had already taken heavy casualties. But Jackson knew that if they stayed pinned down any longer, more Marines would die. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting for reinforcements. He was alone, and the fate of his platoon rested on his next move.

The Japanese had fortified their positions well. Their pillboxes were built into the coral ridges, with walls up to three feet thick. The Marines had tried grenades. They tried rifle fire. They even tried rushing the bunkers. But every attempt was met with devastating fire from the Japanese soldiers. The terrain was too steep for tanks to make an impact, and artillery risked killing the very soldiers it was meant to protect.

The situation had become a stalemate. The Marine platoon had pushed forward, but now they were stuck. No one could advance without being slaughtered by the enemy’s machine guns. But Jackson, despite the odds, wasn’t willing to stay idle and wait for death.

With his Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) clutched in his hands, Jackson stood up. He didn’t wait for orders. He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t even wait for his platoon to catch up. Jackson simply ran across the open 150-yard stretch between him and the nearest Japanese pillbox.

The Japanese saw him immediately. Their machine guns swiveled, the air filled with the crack of bullets. But Jackson was relentless. His BAR fired back, suppressing the machine gunners as he sprinted. Every second was a gamble—every second exposed him to a brutal death. His rifle crackled as he squeezed the trigger, using the volume of fire to keep the enemy’s heads down. But the concrete walls of the pillbox were too thick, and the bullets had no effect.

At 100 yards, Jackson dropped behind a coral boulder, reloaded, and sprinted again. The air was filled with the roar of machine guns and the sharp crack of bullets around him. Jackson could feel the heat from the barrel of his rifle, the sweat pouring down his face, but none of it mattered. He had a mission: destroy the pillboxes, no matter what.

With his final push, Jackson reached the blind spot of the pillbox. He had no more time for grenades, so he reached into his pouch for white phosphorus grenades. The first grenade flew through the firing slit, and the screams from inside the pillbox were immediate. Japanese soldiers, burning alive, stumbled out of the pillbox as the grenade cooked off their ammunition belts.

But there were still more Japanese soldiers inside. The assault was far from over.

Jackson quickly pulled out the plastic explosive. He slid the package of explosives into the slit and ran. He dove into a shell crater just as the explosion rocked the island. The pillbox was obliterated. Thirty-five enemy soldiers lay dead. Jackson, shaken but still alive, didn’t stop. There were still more pillboxes to clear.

He advanced to the next pillbox, taking down another group of Japanese soldiers. No one had ever attempted such an aggressive, solo assault on fortified positions like this. Yet Jackson’s courage and brutal precision kept the momentum going. The Marines, encouraged by his success, began moving forward as well. Jackson wasn’t just clearing a path for his platoon; he was single-handedly breaking the Japanese defensive line.

With every pillbox destroyed, Jackson’s body became more battered. His leg was bleeding from a bullet wound. He was physically exhausted, but his resolve remained unwavering. He had one mission: push forward. There were still more positions to take, more enemies to destroy.

And that’s exactly what he did.

With the help of his fellow Marines, Jackson assaulted the final Japanese pillboxes. The last one, a stronghold that had been firing on the Marines since the D-Day landing, was taken out in a decisive assault. In less than 90 minutes, Jackson had destroyed 12 pillboxes and killed 50 Japanese soldiers, all while suffering from blood loss and exhaustion.

The remaining Japanese forces on Pelilu had no choice but to retreat. The southern defensive line collapsed.

Jackson was injured, but he refused medical attention. His team needed him. More pillboxes remained, but Jackson had made sure the Marines could advance through the gaps he had opened. The assault was his victory, but it wasn’t without sacrifice. He was wounded, exhausted, and covered in the blood of both his enemies and his comrades.

By the time the island was declared secured in late November, the stories of Jackson’s actions had already spread through the ranks. His name had reached Admiral Chester Nimitz’s desk, and a recommendation for the Medal of Honor had been submitted.

The story of Jackson’s bravery didn’t end with Pelilu. Jackson returned home to Oregon after the war, married, raised a family, and worked as a postal worker. He didn’t speak about Pelilu for decades. The Medal of Honor he had earned was kept in a closet, buried beneath the everyday life he had built. But he never forgot the faces of those soldiers, the men who never made it off that island.

In the years following, Jackson became a public figure, speaking about his experiences, visiting schools, and talking to veterans groups. He shared what he had learned about courage, survival, and the cost of war. When he was 86 years old, he visited the USS Pelilu, a ship named in honor of the battle. Standing in front of a group of sailors and Marines, he spoke about the sacrifices made, the lives lost, and the courage it took to win.

Arthur Jackson passed away in 2017 at the age of 92, leaving behind a legacy of heroism that will never be forgotten.