They Mocked His ‘Mail-Order’ Rifle — Until He Killed 11 Japanese Snipers in 4 Days | HO!!!!

They Mocked His ‘Mail-Order’ Rifle — Until He Killed 11 Japanese Snipers in 4 Days | HO!!!!

At 9:17 a.m. on January 22, 1943, in the steaming jungles west of Point Cruz, a 27-year-old American lieutenant crouched inside the ruins of a shattered Japanese bunker and prepared to do what an entire battalion had failed to accomplish in nearly two weeks.

He carried no standard-issue weapon.

No M1 Garand.
No Springfield sniper rifle.
Not even a military-approved optic.

Instead, Second Lieutenant John George of Illinois held a Winchester Model 70—a sporting rifle he had purchased with two years of National Guard pay, fitted with a mail-order Lyman Alaskan scope and a privately installed Griffin & Howe mount.

For six weeks, his fellow officers had mocked the gun.
His captain called it a “toy.”
Another lieutenant joked it was George’s “mail-order sweetheart.”

The armorer at Camp Forrest asked if he planned to shoot deer or Germans with it.

George calmly replied: “The Japanese.”

Now, inside a wrecked bunker overlooking a grove of giant banyan trees, those same Japanese were killing his men. Fourteen Americans in 72 hours had fallen to snipers hidden high above the jungle floor.

George was the battalion’s last hope.

And the next four days would make him a legend.

THE MAN THEY THOUGHT WAS A JOKE

To understand how John George became the most feared marksman on Guadalcanal, you must understand the man the Army nearly ignored.

He wasn’t a Marine scout sniper.
He wasn’t part of a special unit.
He wasn’t issued a precision rifle.

He was simply a state champion marksman from Illinois, the youngest shooter ever to win the state’s 1,000-yard competition in 1939—placing five rounds inside six inches at 600 yards with iron sights.

But none of that mattered in the Army’s bureaucracy.

When the 132nd Infantry Regiment shipped out, his rifle—the one he trusted—was still sitting in a warehouse in Illinois. George boarded the transport ship empty-handed, watching the other men clean their issued rifles while his sat in transit.

Six weeks later, on Guadalcanal, a supply sergeant handed him a wooden crate marked FRAGILE.

Inside was the rifle that would change the course of the campaign.

He carried it into combat the next day—against orders.

THE GROVES OF POINT CRUZ: A SNIPER’S PARADISE

Guadalcanal had been a nightmare for months.

The Marines had taken Henderson Field, but not the surrounding jungle. And now, as they withdrew to rest, George’s regiment—tired, underfed, ravaged by malaria—was ordered into the massive coconut and banyan groves west of the Matanikau River.

These groves were unlike anything in the U.S. Army manuals:
90-foot banyan trees with trunks wider than a truck, their branches forming natural platforms where a sniper could remain invisible from the ground.

The Japanese used them with devastating skill.

They worked in pairs:
– shooter
– spotter

They climbed before dawn, tied themselves into the branches, and fired from impossible angles. They could hit a man walking silently under the canopy, then vanish without a trace.

By January 21, the American battalion commander had lost more men to snipers than to disease or direct combat.

He summoned George.

“Make your rifle earn its keep,” he said.

THE FIRST SHOT — AND A BODY FALLING 90 FEET

At 9:17 a.m. on January 22, George saw movement—a branch shifting in a banyan tree 240 yards away. There was no wind. No animals. Only a human.

He settled his cheek against the stock.
Exhaled.
Squeezed.

The rifle cracked.

A dark shape tumbled through the branches, falling nearly nine stories to the jungle floor.

The camp laughed at his rifle no longer.

THE SECOND SNIPER: RUNNING DOWN THE TREE

Japanese doctrine demanded partners. George knew a spotter was close.

At 9:43 a.m., he saw a man descending a nearby tree trunk like a lizard retreating. George fired again.

Another body fell.

Two shots.
Two kills.

Before noon, he killed three more.

By sunset, the legend of the “mail-order rifle” was spreading through the regiment.

By sunrise the next morning, Japanese command knew his position.

And they sent in mortars.

MORTARS, MUD, AND A RIFLE THAT REFUSED TO QUIT

At 9:57 a.m. on January 23, enemy mortar rounds began to walk toward the bunker where George had taken position.

The first salvo hit short.
The second, closer.
The third would kill him.

He sprinted out the rear, diving into the undergrowth as the bunker erupted behind him.

Japanese snipers expected him to retreat.

Instead, he relocated, resettled, and killed two more by late afternoon.

Eight kills in two days.

By now, the surviving Japanese snipers knew his rifle’s sound. Its flash. Its rhythm.

They adjusted accordingly.

Still, George kept hunting.

THE RAIN, THE BAIT, AND THE DOUBLE KILL

January 24 opened with relentless tropical rain. When it finally broke, George spotted a sniper sitting unusually low—just 40 feet up a palm tree.

Too easy, he thought.

He scanned the area.

A second sniper sat 91 feet up, watching the palm as bait.

George took the bait shot first—dropping the decoy—and in the heartbeat of chaos that followed, swung his rifle toward the real shooter and fired before the man could turn.

Two more bodies hit the ground.

Ten snipers dead in three days.

The Japanese were furious.

They sent infantry.

THE WATER-FILLED CRATER: A BATTLE TO SURVIVE

At 10:28 a.m., six to eight Japanese infantrymen followed the tracks George left in the soft mud.

He had hidden himself in a flooded shell crater, submerged to his chin, rifle held upright to keep water out of the barrel.

A shadow appeared above him.

A soldier peered down.

Their eyes met.

George fired from the water—point-blank.

Chaos followed.

Two more soldiers rushed the crater.
George killed both.
Three rounds left.

He ran.
Dove behind a fallen tree.
Killed another soldier at 50 yards.
Another at 60.

Then he fled through the jungle, sprinting for nearly a minute before dropping into yet another crater.

He survived.

Barely.

But the point was clear:

One man with a mail-order rifle had eliminated an entire Japanese sniper unit.

THE FINAL TALLY: 11 SNIPERS IN FOUR DAYS

When George staggered back into the American lines at 11:13 a.m. on January 24, soaked, exhausted, and covered in mud, the Marines guarding the perimeter didn’t recognize him.

He reported to Captain Morris:

11 Japanese snipers killed
12 rounds fired
11 hits

Not one of his men had died since he took position.

THE ARMY FINALLY BELIEVED

His battalion commander called him “the best marksman I’ve ever seen.”
Regimental command summoned him.
Division command wanted to know if he could train others.

George agreed.

Fourteen Marine-leftover Springfield sniper rifles were delivered.
Forty expert marksmen were assigned.

Within a week, George had built the first effective Army sniper school on Guadalcanal.

His men killed 74 Japanese soldiers in the next twelve days—without losing a single sniper.

THE BURMA FRONT — AND THE FAMOUS RIFLE RETURNS TO WAR

The Army wasn’t done with him.

After Guadalcanal, George was sent to India to join a new experimental unit—5,300 hand-picked soldiers trained for deep-jungle, long-range missions.

History now knows them as:

Merrill’s Marauders

George brought the Winchester.

He used it sparingly—Burma’s jungles were too dense for long-range work—but when he did fire, he never missed:

– 412 yards
– 380 yards
– 290 yards

Three shots.
Three kills.

By the end of the 700-mile march, more Marauders died of disease than combat. George made it out—thin, fevered, carrying the same rifle that had saved a battalion on Guadalcanal.

AFTER THE WAR: A QUIET MAN WITH A DEADLY PAST

George returned home in 1944. He trained officers. He lectured. He earned a degree from Princeton, studied at Oxford, became an expert in African political systems, and later joined the State Department.

He rarely spoke of the war.

Most colleagues never knew.

But in 1947, he wrote a 400-page manuscript describing jungle combat tactics, the psychology of snipers, and the weapons both armies used.

It was published as:

Shots Fired in Anger

It is still considered one of the greatest firsthand accounts of small-arms combat in World War II.

He lived a long, quiet life.
No fame.
No medals displayed.
No boasting.

He died in 2009 at age 90.

THE RIFLE THAT SHOULD BE IN MOVIES

After his death, his Winchester Model 70—the rifle that killed 11 Japanese snipers in four days—was donated to the National Firearms Museum in Virginia.

Visitors rarely stop to look at it.

It sits on a simple stand.
No flash.
No glamour.
Just a wooden hunting rifle with a weathered scope.

But if you know the story, that rifle becomes something else entirely:

A symbol of skill beating bureaucracy.
A reminder that talent can come from anywhere.
A weapon that saved dozens of American lives.

And a testament to a man the U.S. Army almost ignored.

THE LEGACY OF SECOND LIEUTENANT JOHN GEORGE

John George did not become a Hollywood figure.
He was never interviewed on television.
No war movies featured his name.

But in the dark groves of Point Cruz, when an entire battalion was being bled dry by invisible killers high in the trees, he proved something the U.S. Army had forgotten:

One skilled marksman with the right rifle can change the course of a battle.

He changed more than that.

He changed the Army itself.

After George’s actions, the military formally revived sniper training programs. Rifles with optics were standardized. Sniper teams became core units rather than afterthoughts.

In a quiet, muddy battle on a remote island, a young lieutenant with a mail-order scope forced the entire U.S. Army to rethink modern warfare.

And he did it one shot at a time.