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Previously, on World War II in HD.

Bullets hit six inches to my left, six inches to my right,

and I swear I can reach out and touch a hundred of them.

Journal Robert Sherrod storms the beaches of Tarawa with the Marines,

and barely survived the bloodiest battles of the pacific so far.

It's hard to stomach.

I count at least 100 dead Marines, but they just keep coming.

Meanwhile in the European theater:

"Soldiers, sailors, and airmen, you are about to embark upon the great crusade..."

Lieutenant Charles Scheffel prepares ultimate test in his young military life:

D-Day.

Our division is gonna go in the 2nd wave.

Waiting to go into battle is sometimes as tough as the fight itself.

The eyes of the world are upon you.

We will accept nothing less than full victory.

I think everybody was asking "How in the hell did I ever get in this situation?

And how do I survive it?"

Grant us a common faith that men shall know bread and peace,

that he shall know justice and righteousness, freedom and security;

An equal opportunity and an equal chance to do his best,

not only in our own lands, but throughout the world.

I think from the standpoint of our enemy, we have achieved the impossible.

We have broken through their supposedly impregnable wall in northern France.

We have established a firm foothold.

True, we still have a long way to go to Tokyo.

But carrying out our original strategy of eliminating our European enemy first

and then turning all our strength to pacific,

we can force the Japanese to unconditional surrender,

or national suicide much more rapidly than has been thought possible.

We are waiting for the show to start, when the lieutenant makes an announcement.

The invasion of Europe has begun.

The sailors and Marines stand up and let out a great cheer, but it doesn't last long.

They are all too worried about winning their particular war here, half an earth away.

"Time Life" magazine correspondent Robert Sherrod

is on Enewetak Atoll in the Marshall Islands.

After his heroine experience covering the Marines

on Tarawa, Sherrod returns to the States,

and spend several months working at the magazine's New York office.

Now, he is back in the central pacific, preparing to head into action once again.

Commanding officers tell me this next operation is going to be tough.

One predicts that a week from today, there will be a lot of dead marines.

I think back to Tarawa, and I'm afraid that he's probably right.

Sherrod will be landing on Saipan in the Mariana Islands,

a volcanic archipelago situated only 1,300 miles south of Japan.

Capturing the Marianas will army to build forward

airfields within striking range of Tokyo.

The battle for Saipan is likely going to be bloody.

Over 30,000 Japanese defenders are dug in to the rocky ridges of the 12-mile-long island.

Further complicating the situation is the presence

of 30,000 native, Korean, and Japanese civilians.

The Americans don't want to harm them,

but modern warfare against a determined opponent may make collateral damage unavoidable.

In four days, we will hit the beaches of Saipan.

This is by far the biggest invasion yet attempted in the pacific.

And command doesn't want to take any chances.

Sherrod is traveling with an armada of 800 ships,

nearly 1,000 planes, and 127,000 Marine and army ground troops.

The assault force is nearly as large as that sent into Normandy only days earlier.

An air of quiet confidence permeates the conversation.

Every man considers the possibility of death, but nobody speaks of it.

Death is something that happens to the other fellow.

If men don't believe that, they will be more reluctant to go into the battle.

For me, I've got to concentrate on capturing the story.

0545, on the dot.

The battleships, cruisers, and destroyers... already at work

for two days, begin their final softening up of the beaches.

It's thrilling to see the waves of planes appear out of the east

and the north, sweep down on the island, and loose their bombs.

The island looks like a glowing furnace through the haze.

But I fear all the smoke and the noise doesn't mean that many Japs have been killed.

Men in holes are hard to hit.

At 0745 hours, Sherrod climbs into his landing craft and prepares to head to shore.

He is with the same men he followed into battle on Tarawa,

the 6th Marine regiment of the 2nd Marine division.

These guys feel like family to me after what we went through on Tarawa.

These men are all facing a crisis such as no

man should have to face often in his lifetime.

Within a few minutes, they will either be dead or alive.

Fate alone makes the decision.

A man could not stand it if he didn't believe that to be true.

But for me, that old feeling of anxiety is still here.

I can't help but wonder: "will I ever see this ship again?

Will I ever make it all the way down that long, watery road, and ship to shore?"

The battle's been going on all afternoon.

Destroyers and cruisers are pouring shells toward the shore.

I can feel the rumbling every time they hit.

Two days after the initial Normandy landings, 1st lieutenant Charles Scheffel

and the 39th infantry regiment are on a transport ship in the English Channel.

The Oklahoman is one of 250,000 troops scheduled

to land in the 48 hours since the invasion began.

Their mission is to reinforce the beachhead and push into the interior.

Enemy artillery just blew two of our landing craft right out of the water.

Soldiers on nearby ships scramble over the sides and

down nets into landing boats bobbing in the waves.

Through my field glasses, I could watch the battle.

And while I'm standing there on the side of the deck

with the sergeant and here come this Messerschmitt flying

over, and he's standing right there next to the rail.

I grabbed the sergeant to get to cover, and I could see them shooting at us.

I could see the bullets coming in, and a whole stream of those bullets hit the ship.

And a stream of them hit right in front of us.

I was wounded all over.

In 1943, I visited the Brooklyn navy yard.

The country, at that time, was going full bore with

building battleships, all types of ships for the navy.

They were coming off the waves all over our country in the navy yards, and it was just,

it made you feel, "Boy, the United States is powerful.

We're going to make a change in this, in this war. We are gonna win this war.

And it was a few weeks later when I went down and enlisted.

This is it, the start of my navy career.

I can't take my eyes off those huge ships, the big guns,

towering masts, I mean, big everything.

Queens, New York native Jack Yusen is finally

getting his wish: He's going off to the war.

Yusen was just 15 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor,

and though he wanted to sign up the next day, he was too young.

Now 18, he is a newly trained sailor arriving in Boston harbor to meet his ship.

We pull up anchor at 0730.

Even though I've only had six weeks of training, I feel calm, feel ready.

I'm on a fine ship with a fine crew.

This is great.

We are really going to sea.

Yusen is assigned to USS Samuel. B. Roberts, a destroyer escort in the Atlantic fleet.

Their first mission is to provide protection for a convoy headed to North Africa.

Their route will take them across waters where German

u-boats have been hunting Allied ships for four years.

Since the war started, over 3,000 Allied ships have been attacked.

While much of the transatlantic route is patrolled by ground-based aircraft,

a gap remains in the mid-Atlantic region where ships

must rely on sub-hunting destroyer escorts like Yusen's.

I'm assigned to a watch station on a 20-millimeter gun.

My CO tells me to keep a lookout for periscopes and planes.

It's a simple task but an important one.

Just keep scanning: Eye on the sky, eye on the ocean.

Eye on the sky, eye on the ocean.

Six hours into the voyage, Yusen completes his shift on watch and heads below decks.

The Samuel. B. Roberts is only about 150 miles off the coast of Maine.

Sailors, to your battle stations. Sailors, to your battle stations.

All hands on deck. All hands on deck.

We all rush up to the deck to see what just happened.

Feels like a torpedo hit us.

Turns out, a whale hit us.

A big whale hit us on our port screw and knocked

off the propeller and knocked off the shaft.

We just couldn't believe it. You know, well, a whale.

And we could only go on one engine, and we can't keep up with the task force.

So we get a signal from the carrier.

They're ordering us back to Norfolk for repairs.

I guess my first chance at sea will have to wait.

I'm on Saipan, the closest any American in this war has come to Japan.

"Time Life" correspondent Robert Sherrod is part of

the massive American force that has landed on Saipan.

He and the troops have come under a steady rain of fire from

Japanese positions concealed in the island's central mountain.

Casualties are 1,500 already, mostly shell fragments from those damn Jap mortars.

They can lob shells right down our throats,

pounding the beaches while we unload supplies.

We're in a grim position.

As Sherrod and the Marines struggle to make headway on land,

450 miles north in the Philippine sea,

a Japanese armada including 9 carriers armed with 430 warplanes steams toward Saipan.

They are spotted by American submarines, which

alert the US 5th fleet, stationed just off Saipan

On June 19, 1944, this American force of 15 carriers

and 900 warplanes goes to meet the Japanese head on,

setting the stage for the largest aircraft carrier battle in history.

Mayor 9,1,3. This is tower. You are affirmed to land.

American fighter pilots nickname the lopsided

engagement "The Great Marianas' Turkey Shoot".

The following day, American forces shoot down another 65 Japanese planes.

By the end of the battle, three Japanese carriers have been sunk.

What is left of the Japanese fleet turns and retreats.

The battle of the Philippine sea is a rousing American victory.

Back on Saipan, the Japanese defenders are under siege, with no relief in sight.

Their only option is to remain dug in to their fighting positions

and kill as many Americans as they can before being overwhelmed.

Guys are calling this place "death valley".

Robert Sherrod is with the 6th Marine regiment.

They have advanced inland to the base of Mount Tapochau at the center of the island.

Above them, Japanese soldiers are burrowed into the rocky ridges,

inflicting heavy casualties on the Americans in the valley below.

Mortar shells splash down on the slopes.

The Japs are up in the caves, fighting the way they like

to defensively and killing as many of us as possible.

To combat the Japanese, Marines bring in flame throwing

tanks that spray a petroleum-based flammable gel.

As the substance leaves the wand, it ignites,

unleashing a scorching stream of molten fire that burns at 1,000 degrees.

All around, you can see the destruction.

On the way back down the hill, I see a group of

civilians who've been fetched out of the caves.

MP is shepherding them back to a civilian

enclosure, where they will be sheltered and fed.

Two children are crying.

Two others are being nursed by their stoical mothers.

None flinch, even as shells burst not far away.

One marine looks at me and says: "damn, does war have to come to this?"

It's enough to make a man weep.

The pain is excruciating.

First lieutenant Charles Scheffel is en route to

a military hospital in England for treatment.

While anchored off the Normandy coast, his ship was strafed by a German fighter plane.

Scheffel was hit below the waist by exploding shells.

The British doctor wants to take a look, and as he's

loosening the bandages, I ask him how bad it is.

"You're gonna be okay," he said. He doesn't think that I'm gonna lose any vital parts.

Well, I tell him: "Doc, everything is vital down there."

The truth is, compared to some of these guys in here, my wounds are pretty minor.

Which means it's just a matter of time before they send me back to the war.

According to Army regulations, only soldiers with injuries

involving actual or potential loss of life, limb, eyesight,

or paralysis are sent home.

If deemed fit to be returned to action, soldiers rarely rejoin their former units.

Instead they are assigned to whichever unit has the greatest need.

The last thing that I want to do is join another unit as a replacement officer.

I'll be damned if I have to fight the Germans with a bunch of rookies.

So I go to the general, and I tell him that I want to rejoin my old unit.

And he looks at me, he says: "I have never done that."

I said: "I know you can. You're my superior officer. I would like for you to do that."

He looks at me, he says: "if that's what you want, I will do that."

We hitchhike down to the port at Southampton and get ourselves

on board a navy ship heading out with a convoy to Omaha beach.

We'll be there soon.

The whole area is a mass of stinking bodies, guts, and brains.

War correspondent Robert Sherrod is surveying a grim

scene of utter carnage on the pacific island of Saipan.

Until this morning, the battle had largely been cave warfare.

But that has since changed.

Ordered to sacrifice themselves for "the glory of the emperor",

3,000 Japanese troops charged the American lines during the night.

I'm told they came from the beach, the woods, and the

railroad tracks carrying clubs, swords, bayonets.

It was a savage, primitive charge.

But it almost worked.

They were only stopped when a Marine artillery unit fired point blank at them,

bouncing high-explosive shells right into their ranks.

Two days after this final banzai charge, American

commanders declare Saipan officially secured.

With the island's airfields under American control, b-29

superfortresses are now within striking distance of Tokyo.

But the cost of taking Saipan is staggering.

There are over 14,000 American casualties, more

than in any other previous pacific battle.

Out of the nearly 40,000 Japanese troops, less than 1,000 surrender.

The other 39,000 die either in battle or by their own hand.

They said there are 20,000 more civilians on this island.

Right now, we've only got about 13,000 in custody back in the stockades.

Everyone is wondering: "Where are the rest?"

Back home already.

So much for our first tour of duty.

Sailor Jack Yusen is at Norfolk navy base.

His ship, the USS Samuel B.

Roberts is under repair for damage it sustained

after colliding with a whale in the Atlantic Ocean.

While mechanics fix the broken propeller, Yusen and the

other sailors receive new orders: repaint the ship.

Light gray above decks and a pattern of ocean gray and black beneath

and navy-issue camouflage for the pacific.

Looks like the Sammy B. is being sent to fight the Japs.

Yusen and the Samuel B. Roberts head south from Norfolk,

where they rendezvous with a convoy of supply and warships near Florida.

Then, to get to the pacific, they cut through the Panama Canal.

The strategically important waterway shaves weeks off the voyage

between the Atlantic and the pacific and reduces their exposure to enemy submarines.

It's impressive to see so many ships moving through the locks.

And there's no worrying about u-boats here.

This is the most guarded place on the planet earth.

It's just like I read about in my studies back in school.

There are thousands of antiaircraft guns going through the isthmus.

Planes flying over 24 hours a day, keeping the passage safe.

We arrive in the pacific.

Right away, everyone is feeling a little more tense.

We all watch the water a little more carefully.

We all know how real the threat of the Japanese fleet is.

I hear the guys getting excited.

Our sonar guy is picking up a Japanese sub.

It's about 10,000 yards out and closing in on our ships.

We pull out of the line and pick up speed. We're making a run for it.

I race up to the bridge to see what's going on.

And one of the guys yells: "Right on top of..."

We start dropping the depth charges, and they're blowing up in the water.

And a spout of water, I mean, it's like a "boom, boom,"

you know, and it's cracking like, you feel like your teeth are coming apart.

All this stuff floats up: crates, debris, even clothes.

We are shaking hands, patting each other on the back.

I remember one of the officers coming by and

saying: "Good job, fellas, good job, you know."

We were glad that we did our job, that we got the enemy.

They didn't get us, or they didn't hit one of our convoy ships.

We got that sub before it could do any damage to any of our ships.

It makes me feel like we're definitely gonna get this war won.

We wade onto a beach littered with burned-out tanks from the invasion six weeks before.

Smashed equipment clogs the landing area.

It's hard to imagine the utter carnage that took place here.

I guess I'm back in the war now.

After persuading a general to break regulation and send him back to the 39th infantry regiment,

Charles Scheffel finally rejoins his unit at the front, along a major road west of Saint-Lo.

Despite having spent seven weeks fighting in Normandy, the

Allies have only advanced roughly ten miles from the beach.

They are bogged down in the bocage,

a patchwork of pastures bordered

by high-packed earthen walls thick with deep-rooted vegetation.

Allied troops must fight field by field through the heavily defended hedgerows.

The pace is painfully slow and perilous.

According to command, the Germans are right on top of us.

We can hear the unmistakable faint squeal of tracks, the muffled grinding of gears,

and the diesel growl of tanks moving in the distance.

Just as Scheffel rejoins his men, Allied command launches an operation

designed to finally allow their tanks to break out of the bocage.

18,000 Planes are ordered to bomb the German positions on the other side of the road

and create a breach in the enemy defenses.

We watch as the formations of bombers fly overhead.

They're unloading too early.

They're gonna kill us all.

The ground shakes under the barrage.

I suck in the dirt, and I choke trying to breathe as more bombs fall.

There's nothing I can do but pray.

Approaching the target area from behind the American positions,

some of the bombers in later waves were confused by

the billowing smoke below and unloaded too early,

unleashing their deadly cargo on their own men.

Over 100 American soldiers were killed and another 500 wounded.

When it's finally over, I can barely crawl out of my foxhole.

Craters cover the area.

It's utter destruction.

Dead bodies and parts of bodies are everywhere.

I have to hold a cloth over my nose.

When I get back to the command post, they tell me the 9th

division has lost half a company to our bombing raid.

I am luck to be alive.

A correspondent from the "Chicago Times" just

returned from the northern tip of the island.

The stories he tells me are almost too horrific to believe.

Three days after Saipan is declared secured,

correspondent Robert Sherrod is making his way to a spot called Marpi Point.

There, on the island's northern tip,

Marines are attempting to clear out the remnants of the Japanese military

and round up nearly 4,000 panic-stricken civilians who fled the American advance.

But what should have been a routine operation has taken an unexpected and desperate turn.

When I arrive, I ask a Marine about the stories I heard.

He tells me: "you wouldn't believe it unless you saw it.

There were hundreds of Jap civilians, men, women,

children, jumping off the cliffs to their death."

At the edge of the 200-foot cliffs on Marpi Point,

I look down, and I see bodies, seven of them.

"This is nothing," the Marine says.

"There are hundreds of them further down."

The Marines have come to expect almost anything in the

way of self-destruction from the Japanese soldiers,

but none are prepared for this epic self-slaughter among civilians.

The civilians on Saipan are committing mass suicide out

of fear instilled in them by the Japanese military.

Fear that the American troops are monsters who will rape,

torture, and murder every single man, woman, and child.

The civilians have been conditioned to believe that taking

their own lives is the only way for them to escape brutality.

Around me, Marines are trying to rescue civilians,

saving them from themselves and the children

from the hands of their own mothers and fathers.

They set up loudspeakers and ask a surrendered civilian

to convince the others to come out of their caves.

He tries to assure them that they, too, will be well-treated.

But only some heed his words.

There are stories of fathers who slit their

kids' throats before tossing them off the cliff

and about a mother who drowned herself while giving birth.

Some civilians go through great ceremony before snuffing out their own lives.

Families cluster together, then pull the pins of the grenades pressed to their chest.

Whole families wade out to sea, drowning themselves rather than surrendering.

A child's body floats by, followed by that of a woman and then a man.

This is war at its grimmest.

What does all this self-destruction mean?

What will the really fanatical civilians do when our armies invade Japan?

Do the suicides of Saipan mean that the whole

Japanese race will choose death before surrender?