This is part two of James Butler and James Burchette’s story…

Army green On Sept. 26, 1944, Butler and Burchette were officially inducted into the U.S. Army at Ft. Bragg. Because of their last names, the two were usually grouped together all the way through training.

“They did things alphabetically,” said Burchette. “I was just ahead of him in line. I got the top bunk and he got the bottom bunk.”

While at Ft. Bragg, Butler was surprised to run into an old friend from his hometown who was known for his strength and headstrong ways.

“I heard someone say, ‘Hey, Little Jim.’ It was Tommy Connor,” said Butler. “Tommy was six-foot-six, 250 pounds of rip cord steel. He was one tough cookie. We talked for a few minutes and I said, ‘I see you got to be a corporal.’ He said, ‘Hell, I was a sergeant last week.’ That fit Tommy’s personality exactly. “He said, ‘Now, if anybody gives you a hard time tell them you’re my friend because they know me here.’ After the war he got into a fight at the Stockyard Café and threw a guy through a window. A judge declared his fists a lethal weapon. Tommy was tough.”

After a short stay at Ft. Bragg the new recruits were sent to Ft. McClellan, AL for basic training. With war raging in both Europe and the Pacific, the Army squeezed 17 weeks of training into just 15 weeks. “We rushed through it,” said Burchette.

The training may have been rushed but it still proved invaluable. Both men said the things they learned in basic training eventually helped save their lives on Okinawa.

Shortly after the war ended, Burchette met his company’s training instructor, Capt. Cousins, in a bar in the Philippines. He quickly remembered Burchette and the other men in that group.

“He said we were the easiest men he ever trained in his life,” said Burchette. “The majority of us were from eastern North Carolina and had come off the farm. We did everything they said in the way of training and we learned a lot. We learned how to live. Once we hit Okinawa we knew it was either kill or be killed. That’s the way we lived.”

One of the toughest aspects of training for Butler and Burchette was wearing shoes all the time. Both were used to going barefoot on their farms and the new Army boots they were forced to wear were uncomfortable.

Every chance they got they took off those boots and walked to the PX where they always won bets by displaying how tough their feet were.

“I could light a match on my heel and step on (lit) cigarette butts,” said Butler. “We’d go to the PX and (win) a lot of beer that way.”

After basic training the men were told they were being sent to Europe where the Battle of the Bulge was still in doubt for the Allies. But eventually the company was loaded on a train and sent to the West Coast before being shipped to the Pacific.

Burchette didn’t care what theater of war they were headed for but Butler was saddened by the change of orders.

“I had a little bit of a preference,” said Butler. “I was a history buff and wanted to see all those places in Europe.”

On the way from Alabama to California the company had a short layover in New Orleans. The memories of those crazy hours spent in the Big Easy still make both men smile.

“I wish I could do as much in a month as I did in that town,” said Butler. “We hit New Orleans like a storm.”

After short stays in Ft. Ord, CA and Vancouver Barracks, WA, Burchette and Butler spent 30 days undergoing amphibious training in Hawaii. Then they were loaded onto a troop transport headed for Okinawa.

“We had no idea where we were headed,” said Butler.

Butler and Burchette were assigned as replacements for L Company of the 383rd Regiment, 96th Infantry.

As the invasion of Okinawa got underway, the two friends waited at sea for orders to go ashore. “We didn’t know what was happening,” said Butler. “We were on a ship waiting to go in.” They would wait on that ship for nearly 10 full days. Operation Iceberg

Butler and Burchette were better off not knowing what awaited them on the island of Okinawa. The invasion, dubbed Operation Iceberg by the Allies, began on April 1, 1945 and didn’t conclude until late June. During that time the Allies, mostly Americans, suffered over 12,500 dead and nearly 39,000 wounded. The Japanese losses were staggering with an estimated 110,000 killed and less than 10,000 captured. Adding to the horror was the death of tens of thousands of Japanese civilians.

The fighting on the 60-mile long island was horrific. The deeply entrenched Japanese fought fanatically and American soldiers and Marines matched the enemy’s courage, determination and ferocity.

Brutality was commonplace and death a constant companion. The putrid stench of dead people and animals hung in the air constantly.

During the day, the Americans advanced slowly against Japanese hidden in trenches, pillboxes and caves.

At night, the Japanese would attempt to infiltrate enemy lines and kill Americans with knives and swords. The tenacious nature of the close quarters fighting quickly wore many men down. Some lost their minds while others simply lost their humanity.

The war turned good, honest men on both sides into merciless killers on the battlefield. Neither side asked for quarter nor was any given. Taking prisoners was rare; killing the enemy without a pang of regret was not.

The bloodletting of the last major battle of World War II etched a legacy of cruelty and savagery on a massive scale.

On April 10, Butler and Burchette were ordered to enter this ghastly world. Young, eager and naïve, neither felt any fear as they landed on the beach and made their way toward the front lines.

“Going into combat didn’t frighten me,” said Butler. “Now, after I got in it I got a little frightened.”

“After all that training I wasn’t frightened,” said Burchette. “I also never thought that I could get killed.” The two men were replacements for L Company, which only had 38 men remaining out of over 100. Butler was placed in a rifle squad while Burchette was assigned as a machine gunner.

“I was the 13th man in the (12-man) Third Squad, which meant I was a roamer,” said Butler. “I carried a lot of messages and stuff early on.”

It didn’t take long before Butler came in possession of a Browning Automatic Rifle, a weapon he cherished from the moment he held it.

“I got to be a BAR man because there was a company moving through our lines to take our place and they had a guy with them who was shaking like a leaf,” said Butler. “He had a BAR and he couldn’t change the firing pin, which was a pretty simple operation. He begged me to trade (weapons) with him. I told him I could fix that thing for him and he said he didn’t have the time but he would trade me. So we switched bandoliers of ammo and guns. I kind of liked it and kept it.”

But just as Butler was beginning to get used to his BAR he was ordered to carry the company’s flamethrower. He hated every minute of lugging around the over 60-pound weapon on his back.

“When I got that flamethrower I had to let someone else keep the BAR for me,” said Butler. “My daddy used to talk about being (exhausted) from work. I never knew what he meant until I carried that flamethrower a couple of days. It was tough.

“Of course, the Japanese didn’t like them. They are an awesome weapon. So they killed anyone (carrying a flamethrower).”

Butler suggested that three-man rotation should be used for carrying the flamethrower but the idea was quickly dismissed.

“They said, ‘Ah, you’re doin’ alright,’” recalls Butler. “I said, ‘You put this damn thing on your back and jump in a rice paddy up to your knees and you’ll see how alright it is.’”

Two of Butler’s scariest moments on Okinawa came while he was toting the flamethrower. The first incident occurred as he approached Japanese soldiers in a cave and prepared to fire the weapon. Much to his astonishment the only thing shooting from the flamethrower was unlit fuel.

“I was going to use it one time and the guy who had it before me ran out of igniters,” said Butler. “All I did was spray some (Japanese) with it. That was a shocking surprise to me. I dropped down to the ground and headed back for some igniters but they already had that situation cleared up when I got back.”

The second incident also involved a cave. Butler was ordered to go inside and take care of anyone he might find.

“It was the most scared I ever was,” said Butler. “They had bamboo stuck on the ground and you had to ease your way through. If you kicked one of them it would make a noise and alert (the Japanese). I was carrying that flamethrower through there but there wasn’t anybody in that cave. That was the scariest thing I ever did, I guess.”

As the days progressed Butler looked for any possible opportunity to get rid of the flamethrower. He soon found a person happy to take over his duties.

“There was a guy in the company, Reynolds, who was a scout,” said Butler. “He didn’t want any part of being a scout. I said, ‘Reynolds, if you take this flamethrower I’ll scout.’ He grabbed it from me.” Butler retrieved his cherished BAR and prepared to go out on his first scouting mission when he was told to change weapons.

“They told me, ‘You can’t scout with a BAR’ and I said, ‘Nobody is going to separate me from this weapon. I like it,’” said Butler. “So, I may have been the only scout in the Army with a BAR.”

While Butler moved through different assignments Burchette was becoming a master with his light machine gun. As the company advanced toward Japanese positions they increasingly relied on his marksmanship and cool head under fire.

“The squad leader said, ‘Don’t let no one fire that weapon but him,’” said Burchette. “I had such a touch on that machine gun that I could fire it one bullet at a time.”

“I fired machine guns but I don’t think I could ever have done that,” said Butler.

Burchette’s machine gun was an effective weapon but it also drew heavy fire from the Japanese nearly every time he used it. He quickly became a discerning machine gunner, knowing almost instinctively when to let loose and when to hold his fire.

“Every fifth bullet on the belt was a tracer,” said Burchette. “That’s how you could zero in on a target that was 200 or 300 yards away. But I told them, ‘I’m not going to fire unless I absolutely got to because I ain’t going to start with an automatic weapon that is going to draw fire.’ Those anti-tank guns would start to fire at us. Whoosh … bang!”

As the battle wore on Burchette became desensitized by nearly everything the war threw at him. Even the thought of killing became nearly meaningless.

“I shouldn’t say it,” said Burchette as he slowly shakes his head. “Toward the end it got to be fun. Ain’t that sad? You get immune to doing something you don’t want to do. It ain’t best for you to do it but you got to do it. It was kill or be killed and it got easier.

“To me, now, I think it’s terrible. How could I’ve shot a person? Then it was a different story.”