The Stand on Saipan: How Three Ordinary Americans Turned the Tide of the Largest Human-Wave Assault in the Pacific War

A Battle Before Dawn

At 4:45 a.m. on July 7th, 1944, the humid air over the Tanapag Plain in northern Saipan trembled—not with artillery or aircraft, but with voices. Thousands of Japanese soldiers were chanting, singing, and shouting in the darkness. Lieutenant Colonel William Joseph O’Brien, a seasoned officer with 24 years of service, stood in the middle of his thinning defensive line and understood exactly what was coming.

Moments later, 4,500 Japanese soldiers surged forward in the single largest massed infantry assault—often described as a “banzai charge”—faced by American forces in the Pacific.

For O’Brien’s 1st Battalion, 105th Infantry Regiment, it was the final test in a brutal three-week struggle. The battalion had landed on Saipan on June 16th, tasked with capturing the island so American B-29 aircraft could reach targets deep in the Japanese homeland. What followed was some of the fiercest fighting of the entire war.

By the night of July 6th, O’Brien’s combined battalions were exhausted. Ammunition was low; rifle companies had dwindled to half their strength. Some platoons counted only a dozen men still able to fight. Reinforcements were spread thin across the island. And a significant gap lay exposed between the 1st and 2nd Battalions.

O’Brien knew the coming attack aimed directly for that weakness.
He also knew his men could not fall back.

“Hold the Line”

When the Japanese attack arrived, it did not come as a coordinated military maneuver—it crashed forward like a tidal surge of humanity. Officers led from the front with swords raised. Soldiers carried rifles, spears, sticks, stones, or nothing at all. Many were wounded but still marched. Others were civilians pressed into the line.

O’Brien grabbed his two .45-caliber pistols and ran toward the sound of the collision, firing left and right while shouting encouragement. He moved among his men in the darkness, steadying the line as close-quarters fighting erupted across the plain.

Bayonets collided in the dark. Entrenching tools swung like axes. Rifle butts cracked against helmets. Foxholes became scenes of desperate hand-to-hand combat.

When his pistols ran dry, O’Brien seized a rifle. When that rifle emptied, he grabbed another. A bullet tore into his shoulder and spun him halfway around—but he refused evacuation.

The line held, but only barely.
And the waves kept coming.

The Jeep, the Machine Gun, and a Moment of Decision

Fifty yards behind the front sat a Willys Jeep equipped with a .50-caliber Browning machine gun. Its gunner was already down. O’Brien sprinted to the vehicle, shoved the fallen soldier aside, and hauled himself onto the rear platform.

He stood completely exposed.

The .50-caliber thundered to life in his hands, shaking the Jeep with each burst. Tracer rounds streaked into the advancing mass as O’Brien swept the weapon across the plain. The heavy machine gun cut wide lanes through the attackers—each bullet powerful enough to tear through multiple bodies.

Still, the charge did not stop.

The barrel glowed red. The weapon jammed. O’Brien, wounded and losing blood, jumped down, found another rifle, and returned to the fight. When enough time had passed for the machine-gun barrel to cool, he climbed back onto the Jeep, chambered a new round, and continued firing.

He would not abandon his post.

Three Men, Three Last Stands

The battle did not hinge on O’Brien alone. Across the battlefield, two other soldiers from the same regiment made stands that would echo through history.

Private Thomas Baker

Already wounded twice, Baker refused evacuation. Knowing he would slow down anyone who tried to carry him, he ordered his fellow soldiers to leave him behind and propped himself against a tree with a loaded pistol. When his unit retook the area, they found him still sitting upright. The pistol was empty. Eight enemy bodies lay at his feet.

Captain Ben Solomon

A dentist by training, he had taken over the battalion aid station. When the position was overrun, Solomon fought hand-to-hand to protect the wounded before taking control of a machine gun outside. He moved the weapon four times as attackers pressed in, continuing to fire until he was killed. Nearly 100 enemy bodies were later found in front of his final position.

Three men.
Three different corners of the battlefield.
Three choices to stand and fight when retreat meant collapse.

The Turning of the Tide

By mid-morning, the assault began to falter—not because of lack of courage, but because of mathematical inevitability. The Japanese had thrown nearly every able-bodied fighter into the final charge. American artillery resumed firing at point-blank range. Marines moved in on the flanks. Tank destroyers rolled forward and began launching high-explosive shells into the dense clusters of attackers.

The human wave finally broke.

By the end of July 7th, more than 4,300 Japanese soldiers lay dead across the plain. American losses were devastating as well: over 400 killed and more than 500 wounded in the 105th Infantry Regiment alone.

But the line had held.

Saipan would be secured two days later.

The Cost—And the Legacy

The consequences of the battle extended far beyond the island. With Saipan captured, American long-range bombers were within striking distance of Japan itself. Shortly after the loss, Japan’s prime minister resigned—an acknowledgment of the island’s strategic importance.

For the men on the ground, however, the war’s broader implications felt distant. They remembered only the faces of their comrades, the sound of their colonel’s voice shouting, “Don’t give them an inch,” and the moment they realized the attack had stopped.

O’Brien’s body was found surrounded by dozens of enemy soldiers, the .50-caliber still mounted behind him. Nearby, the tree where Baker made his final stand remained marked by bullet holes. Solomon’s machine-gun position, battered but still intact, documented a defense that saved countless wounded men.

All three were nominated for the Medal of Honor.
All three eventually received it—two posthumously.

Their awards marked the only time in American history that three Medals of Honor were earned by members of the same regiment during the same battle on the same day.

Lessons Written in Fire

Military historians later analyzed the battle in detail. They concluded that four key factors turned the tide:

Heavy machine-gun firepower—especially the .50-caliber Browning—proved decisive against massed infantry attacks.

Visible leadership under fire, exemplified by O’Brien, significantly increased the resilience of frontline units.

Flexible ammunition doctrine, including rapid barrel changes and increased supply, became standard practice.

Elimination of defensive gaps, the very vulnerability exploited at Saipan, became a core principle in Pacific-theater defense.

These lessons saved lives in later battles.

A Memory Preserved

Today, memorials in Troy, New York, and in several national museums commemorate the actions of O’Brien, Baker, and Solomon. Their stories are preserved in training manuals, tactical studies, and historical exhibits. But the most enduring legacy is intangible.

It lives in the testimonies of the men who survived because three others chose not to fall back.

A sergeant who fought near O’Brien put it plainly:

“He was one of us that day. He stayed on the line and fought until he couldn’t anymore.”

In war, medals are awarded for acts of valor.
But legacy is earned through the lives saved beside them.

Lieutenant Colonel William O’Brien, Private Thomas Baker, and Captain Ben Solomon earned both.