Japanese Couldn’t Stop This Marine With a Two-Man Weapon — Until 16 Bunkers Fell in 30 Minutes

The Battle for Hill 382

In late February 1945, Private First Class Douglas Jacobson crouched behind a volcanic rock, sweat mixing with the dust of Hill 382, Ewima Island. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, gunpowder, and death. The battle had been raging for days, and the once-hopeful invasion had turned into a nightmare. Company I, part of the 23rd Marines, had been trapped by the brutal Japanese defenses, and Jacobson was on the front lines. With no cover and enemy artillery blasting from above, Jacobson felt the weight of responsibility on his young shoulders. At 19, he had already seen the brutality of war, yet this was different. Hill 382, the fortified hill at the center of the enemy’s defense, had already cost too many lives.

Jacobson’s hands gripped his rifle tightly, and his heart pounded as he watched a bazooka team ahead take fire from a Japanese 20mm anti-aircraft gun. The bazooka, a weapon that should have required two men to operate, was now useless with both operators dead. The Marines had to neutralize that gun, or their mission would fail. The company had already lost 43 men in a matter of hours.

A decision had to be made.

Jacobson’s training screamed at him to wait for orders, to stick to the plan. But there was no time for plans anymore. He saw the dead bazooka, the rocket still lying in the dust. With no loader to help him, he made a choice that would define his legacy. Jacobson reached for the bazooka, determined to act alone. He ran across the open field, the Japanese fire biting at his heels. Bullets whizzed past him, the heat of the sun mixing with the fear in his gut. His heart raced, but he kept his eyes focused on the prize—the anti-aircraft gun.

The moment he grabbed the weapon, his mind cleared. The weight of the bazooka, the rockets, his gear—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to the enemy. He moved fast, but the Japanese defenders were ready, opening fire as soon as he exposed himself. Jacobson dove behind a rock, gasping for breath. His fingers shook as he loaded the first rocket, the familiar process of aiming and launching becoming instinctive, despite the odds against him.

He fired, and in a moment of fiery destruction, the anti-aircraft gun exploded. The blast sent a wave of dust into the air, but Jacobson didn’t stop. He reloaded quickly, firing again and again, each rocket knocking out Japanese positions, each shot bringing him closer to his goal: breaking through the enemy’s defenses. He took down the first two positions and then another. But the Japanese were relentless, and the hill was covered in treacherous terrain and fortified positions.

As Jacobson moved forward, the fire from the enemy’s pillboxes intensified. His body ached, and the weight of the bazooka was like a burden on his young frame. The Japanese were skilled, their machine guns keeping him pinned down. He moved carefully, calculating each step as he worked his way closer to the next machine gun nest. Sweat poured down his face, but his resolve never wavered.

He kept advancing, his body battered by the constant fire. The enemy tried to suppress him, but Jacobson wasn’t giving up. He fired at the next position, a reinforced pillbox that stood between him and victory. The rocket struck, and the explosion echoed through the mountainside. The position was neutralized, but there was no time to rest. The Japanese were still fighting, their last defense hanging by a thread.

With only two rockets left, Jacobson knew he had to make his shots count. He moved silently, flanking the remaining positions. His breathing slowed as he approached the final blockhouse, the last stronghold on Hill 382. The stakes were high. If he could take down this position, the Marines would have the high ground. It was the key to breaking the Japanese defense.

The blockhouse was heavily fortified. Its concrete walls were reinforced with volcanic rock. It was built to withstand naval bombardment, but Jacobson had nothing but his bazooka and determination. He advanced, moving quickly through the volcanic ash, always staying low, using every piece of cover. The pillbox had a narrow firing slit, and he knew this was his only chance.

The tank.

Then, out of nowhere, the sound of a grinding engine cut through the air. A Japanese tank emerged from the eastern base of Hill 382, its turret scanning for targets. The Marines below were unaware of the danger. The tank was moving to intercept them.

Jacobson had one last rocket. His fingers trembled as he loaded it, every part of his body screaming in exhaustion. He aimed, fired, and watched as the rocket hit the tank’s turret, disabling the gun. The tank was no longer a threat, but the fight wasn’t over. There were still positions to clear, and he had only one shot left.

He reached the final pillbox, the last stronghold that was standing between them and the summit. The rocket he had left was his only hope. If he missed, the Japanese would overwhelm him. But Jacobson didn’t hesitate. He fired the rocket, watched it detonate, and heard the explosion echo in the silence. It was over. The Japanese position had been destroyed. Hill 382 was now in American hands.

Jacobson had single-handedly torn through 16 enemy positions. He had destroyed every target in his path, and now the Marines were advancing to the summit. It was a moment of victory, but at a heavy cost. Jacobson’s body was bruised, bloodied, and exhausted, but he had broken through the enemy line. Hill 382 had fallen.

By the end of the day, the battle had taken its toll. The 23rd Marines had lost nearly 50% of their men. It was a brutal, costly victory, but it was theirs. Jacobson, 19 years old, had fought for two hours without rest, without water, and without hesitation. The hill had fallen because he refused to stop.

As the battle raged on, Jacobson was promoted to corporal. He was later awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery, a recognition of his extraordinary courage. But it wasn’t just the medal that defined his legacy. It was his determination, his willingness to fight until there was no fight left in him, and his refusal to let his brothers down.

Years later, Jacobson retired as a major, having served for over two decades. He never spoke much about the war, but the memory of his time on Hill 382 stayed with him. The men he had lost, the victory they had achieved, and the unwavering courage that had carried him through the toughest battle of his life.

Jacobson passed away in 2000, leaving behind a legacy of valor, sacrifice, and a lesson that would be passed down through generations: never give up, even when the odds are stacked against you.

Note: Some content was generated using AI tools (ChatGPT) and edited by the author for creativity and suitability for historical illustration purposes.