BATTLE NARRATIVE
Hell. Iwo Jima: 19 February 1945
0502. C. T. G. 53.2 assumed command of transport group BAKER.
0641. Arrived at transport area BAKER.
0644. Ordered by Commander Transport Squadron Fifteen to land the landing force.[1]
These businesslike words, entered in the logbook of the USS Hendry (APA-118) heralded the beginning of one battalion’s voyage through “Hell with the fire out” – a small volcanic island called Iwo Jima.
Approach.
The men of the First Battalion, 24th Marines, were ready for this moment. For more than four months, they’d hiked, dug into, or blown up countless acres of Maui; shipboard training and landing rehearsals took several more weeks. The battalion even had a special assault platoon, made up of volunteers from the rifle companies thoroughly trained in “executing firing problems with flame throwers, demolitions, bazookas, and small arms,” who would take out the heaviest bunkers.[2] Many of the old salts had new promotions, their reward for good work in previous campaigns, and a few now held field commissions. The replacements, assigned to fill the ranks following the bloody battles of 1944, had sweated through training and the effects of liberties alongside the veterans, and most felt at home in their squads, platoons, and companies. A few men skipped out on the sailing – they were now hiding from the MPs on Maui – and those who fell ill during the long voyage now rested at island hospitals along the route. The companies were slightly under strength, but their confidence was high.[3]
Every day aboard the Hendry, the platoons received briefings on a relief map of the island, lectures on field sanitation and chemical warfare, learned basic first aid from the corpsmen, stood weapons inspections, and did as much physical training as they could in the cramped space aboard ship. The battalion officers drilled the ship’s small boat officers relentlessly to make sure their men would get ashore safely.[4] In all, “the men were in excellent physical condition, were well indoctrinated, and morale was at its highest level” as they gathered their equipment, took breakfast, and reveled in their assignment as reserve troops.[5]
PFC Charles Kubicek, a machine gunner with the battalion’s Company B, summarized their role:
As the big guns thundered away and the day grew lighter, the boats containing the assault waves formed up in their proper circles before peeling off and heading for the beach. The bombardment intensified. Support ships moved into position as flights of aircraft dropped tons of bombs and thousands of bullets. H-Hour was set for 0900; the first landing craft touched black sand at 0902.[7] The display of firepower impressed even the most seasoned Marines. “The Navy was blasting with all they had, and dive bombers were flitting overhead like angry bees,” wrote PFC John C. Pope, a veteran of four major battles.[8]
These dramatic photographs of the 19 February bombardment were taken from the attack transport, USS Sanborn.
All are US Navy photographs by Lieutenant Commander Howard Whalen.
At first, there was little to do but watch the show. “The signal bridge of our transport was jammed with Marine and naval officers,” wrote liaison officer Captain Frederic Stott.
Stott noticed with dismay that the division line was “inching forward, if not halted, only a couple of hundred yards in from the beach.” His stomach turned as Japanese gunners found the range. “Optimism vanished quickly when you saw a large cluster of black dots one moment, and in the next, the dots were blotted out by the smoke from exploding shells,” he wrote. Good fortune changed quickly in the 4th Marine Division sector. The assault regiments were under heavy fire as early as 0920, and radio reports of casualties quickly outweighed news of movement. “Such reports put us to tightening gear and stomachs, for we knew our call was coming and that it would be a hurry call.”[10]
Corporal Alva R. Perry was also gazing at Iwo from the rail of the Hendry. The veteran scout and BAR gunner knew a thing or two about the Japanese – he’d fought them in three major battles over the last year, and on his dress uniform, he wore a Silver Star for breaking up a banzai attack on Saipan. He was not surprised when the Japanese batteries finally opened fire and concluded (correctly) that the disciplined defenders were wreaking havoc on the crowded beaches. Shortly before 1100, the spectating Marines could see a handful of landing craft hustling away from the beaches. Ten minutes later, a Higgins boat was unloading her sorry cargo: eighteen bloody, shattered victims of General Tadamichi Kuribayashi’s trap.[11]
A nearby Marine – “one of the new guys” – turned to the nineteen-year-old Perry. “What do you think?” he appealed, trying to conceal his nerves. “How long will it take to secure the island?” Perry thought about the promises of a three-day battle, a pushover campaign where the bombardment would kill every defender, where all he and his buddies had to do was walk ashore and put up a flag. He’d heard the same promises about three other islands, and he’d lost friends on each one. And there was every possibility that soon he’d be burying this new guy – or the new guy would be burying him.
“I lied,” Perry remembered decades later. “I said I thought we could take it in about one week.”[12]
Another Marine confided his fears to John Pope. “You think you are the only man on this ship scared? We are all scared!” Pope retorted. “This is my fourth landing, and I’m four times as scared as you are because I know what’s coming. When adrenaline takes over, you’ll get over it.”
“I can’t even remember what I’m supposed to do!” wailed the new man.
“Just do what everyone else will be doing,” snapped the prickly Georgian. “Jump into the first shell hole you come to, and if you see an enemy soldier, shoot the son of a bitch before he kills you.”[13]
While the combat veterans recognized their feelings of fear, they were also able to keep the emotion in check. “I won’t say I wasn’t scared before the battle – because I was,” reported Corporal Kenneth Imhof, a Charlie Company veteran of Roi-Namur, Saipan, and Tinian. “Marines are tough, but everyone gets that ‘feeling’ before going into combat. With most of the fellows who’ve been under fire before, it’s not so much the feeling of fright – but more of a nervous tension of uncertainty as to what’s going to happen.”[14]
Orders finally arrived for the Hendry’s boat group at 1448. BLT 1-24 was to proceed to Beach Blue 1 as quickly as possible, deploy, and support the efforts of RCT 25. While not unexpected, the official word was, as Captain Stott predicted, “a hurry call.” Marines swarmed over the deck, lining up in boat groups precisely as rehearsed, preparing themselves to climb down the swaying cargo nets and into the bobbing boats below. A Japanese gunner greeted them with a shell that splashed a few hundred yards from the port bow, directly on their beam. A second shell landed even closer, scattering shrapnel across Hendry’s deck.[15] Captain R. C. Welles decided the ship was too close to shore – the Hendry was standing in amongst the bombardment fleet – and the loudspeaker squawked his decision to haul off to a safer distance. The Marines booed. “That meant our ride in would last longer, extending our time as targets for their shore batteries before we could fire back,” noted John Pope. “A Marine yelled in the direction of the bridge, ‘You think that little shell is something? Go with us, and you’ll see lots of fireworks!’” Pope noted this bit of gallows humor was “not so heartfelt” as the traditional ribbing meted out to the sailors.[16]
The battalion’s assistant surgeon, Lieutenant (j. g.) Richards P. Lyon, marveled at the activity around him. Iwo was his first operation. “It was a melee as we tried to keep units together as we jumped from ladders into the whirling landing craft,” he recalled. “The number of battlewagons around us was dense and
hard to believe, and the firing noise constant as shells hit the island. I remember well our group – they were our corpsmen. I thought, kind of crazy to have us all together, for it would take just one hit, and the greatest damage would be done.”[17] Al Perry had more immediate worries. “[As] we went down the cargo nets into the landing craft, I had all I could do to keep from falling backward off the cargo net,” he said. “I had more than sixty pounds of gear on my back.” As his boat motored away from the Hendry, the young corporal “realized what a beautiful day it was. The sky and the water were blue; the sun was out; it was balmy.” Still, “we were going in to kill some Japs, we thought.”[18]
Like Perry, 1Lt. John Murray Fox was also making his fourth combat landing. Although relatively new to his leadership role with the battalion’s “base of fire” – the 81mm mortar platoon – Fox was a well-respected officer with previous service in Charlie Company’s weapons platoon. In the Tinian campaign last summer, he’d earned a Bronze Star for valor and a Purple Heart for wounds.The lieutenant felt he was in good shape for the coming battle. The men of his platoon were almost entirely veterans, “so well trained… they know exactly what to do and have no time to be scared.” His senior NCO, Gunnery Sergeant Jay Lohff, was a ten-year man with plenty of combat experience. And the assistant mortar officer, 2Lt. Steven H. Opalenik, was as bold as he was muscular. Before the war, Opalenik was a professional wrestler who performed as the notorious “heel” Steve Brodie. As a non-com in the Third Battalion, he saw close combat in the Marshalls and the Marianas – where he earned his commission as well as a reputation for rescuing wounded Marines from behind enemy lines. Fox had no doubt that every man in the mortar platoon could do their job well. And, as extra insurance, he had his pre-battle ritual of stockpiling his liquor ration. Instead of using it to fill his own “special” canteen (as he had in previous landings), Fox gathered his platoon and shared out the precious liquid. His planning paid off: there was a dose of extra courage for every man who wanted one.[19]
Ever the pragmatist, Platoon Sergeant Mike Mervosh dispensed with the dramatic gestures. “We had so many amphibious maneuvers and training, and a few of us had three battles already behind us,” he commented. “So this was more or less routine. Just another battle. The procedures were pretty well the same as far as landing craft, team assignments, debarkation, and station assignments.” Still, he was impressed by the shellacking inflicted on the island. “While we were coming in, [there were] 16-inchers, 12-inchers, 10-inchers, plus the artillery, rocket fire, dive bombers coming in and dropping their loads. I said, ‘Man, there’s not going to be much left when we get there, I’ve never seen so much thrown at it!’ The fact is I didn’t think there would be much of an enemy left after all that prep fire… the most I had ever seen at one time.”[20]
Private Joyce M. Slaton was among those making a first combat landing. His LCVP was pitching and rolling in the surf, and climbing down the nets from the Hendry was “real scary” for the nineteen-year-old South Carolinian. “One guy right close to me slipped and fell,” he recalled. “He sprained or broke his ankle. They got sort of a gurney type thing and lifted him back aboard ship.” Thus PFC Robert E. Kenfield had the unfortunate distinction of being the battalion’s first casualty of the operation. From his boat, Slaton could see a partially sunken Japanese ship – and a few demolished Higgins boats like the one he was riding. Bodies floated in the blue water.[21.1]
A Coast Guard camera crew rode ashore with a boatload of Marines from A/1/24.
The man with the radio and “412” on his helmet is Corporal Lenny Yush.
From all outward appearances, the actual ship-to-shore movement was just as Mervosh said: more or less routine. Fifty-seven minutes passed between the initial receipt of the landing order and the departure of the last of the Hendry’s landing craft, which took up their familiar circling pattern as they awaited orders. At 1612, the first wave of eight boats – four rifle platoons, two each from Baker and Charlie companies – peeled off and motored to the line of departure; the flag went down, and the trip to the shore began. Succeeding waves departed at five-minute intervals.[21] The final run from the line of departure to the beach itself took only ten minutes. It was “the briefest time we had ever spend in the boats in the transition from ship to shore, and the brevity meant we were urgently needed,” recalled Stott.[22]
Iron Mike Mervosh put it more succinctly. As soon as they reached shore, “that’s when the defecation hit the ventilation.”[23]
“...when I got there, the first wave was laying right there, waiting for us. Bodies everywhere, equipment couldn’t move."
Photo of Green Beach by Sgt. Louis R. Lowery. USMC photo.
Ashore
Every man who survived Iwo Jima remembers the moment he set foot on the island.
The black sand. Volcanic ash so soft your boondockers disappeared, that sucked at your feet, so you always felt you moved in slow motion, that slid back into your foxhole as soon as you could scoop it out. The fissures in the ground that belched sulfurous smoke, a rotten egg smell that never left your nostrils. The curious warmth of the earth when one burrowed into it for shelter. Seeing rows of men stretched out on all sides – some living, some dead – or turning in a full circle and seeing no one at all. Smashed jeeps, broached boats, blowing smoke, something on fire, burning rubber, burning gasoline, burning flesh, American or Japanese, it smelled the same. Piles of excrement marked where a man lost control of his bowels through fear, muscle spasm, or sudden death. Viscera. Blood. Discarded gear. Losing sight of a buddy and never seeing him again. Men running to and fro, piles of supplies, sandbags, a forward aid station, ammunition dumps, a mired bulldozer. No two accounts are alike, save for one common thread. Every man describes stepping into a version of Hell he’d never believed possible, or ever saw again.
It took thirty minutes for all of First Battalion, 24th Marines to come ashore on a few hundred yards of beach. They were a reserve battalion, spared for now the devastating casualties of the assault troops. A few remarked at how quiet it was. They saw only a fraction of the battlefield for only a few moments, but it was enough – it was their introduction to Iwo Jima.
I’ll never forget when we were on the way in. I had been promoted up to squad leader. Lieutenant [Jack C.] Manning, a platoon leader on his first operation, says to me, “What am I supposed to do?” “I’ll tell you what, if I was you, I’d let the platoon sergeant handle it, you just stay with him.”
“OK, I’ll remember that.”
But you know what’s funny is that platoon leader, every night we’d dig in on Iwo, he was in the foxhole with me.[24]
Cpl. Johana Parrish
Squad Leader, C/1/24th Marines
As we scrambled ashore, we weren’t greeted by rifle and machine-gun fire as we expected. A short distance from where we landed, we saw we were at the foot of a steep terrace of soft, gravelly volcanic sand. We scrambled to the top, expecting to be met by a horde of soldiers with bayonets screaming “banzai.”[25]
PFC John C. Pope
Machine Gunner, HQ/1/24th Marines
When we hit the beach, the front of our boat did not go fully down. I jumped to shore and suddenly felt a sharp pain in my back and left leg – two crushed disks, I found out years later. I had to continue, my buddies were depending on me, and nothing was going to stop me. The first things I noticed were the steep terraces of volcanic ash. As we tried to run up them, our feet dug down deep, and we had no traction. We would take three steps and go back one.[26]
Cpl. Alva R. Perry, Jr.
Scout, A/1/24th Marines
My men seemed to disappear as they spread out. I wandered about between vessels discharging tanks and munitions, but aware that being on the beach was a bad idea. All I remember is standing on sand at the water’s edge amid landing craft and looking for someone familiar. The beached ships were trying to deliver their goods as mortar blasts chipped away, the island’s defenders having perfected their aim on the beaches. The death toll was immense, for our positions could be anticipated by the enemy, and easily “zeroed in.” Buck [Schechter] found me, grabbed me, and yelled, “Doc, let’s get out of here. Follow me!"[27]
Lt (jg) Richards P. Lyon
Assistant Surgeon, HQ/1/24th Marines
We weren’t in the first wave, but if there was one island where that didn’t matter, it was Iwo. Once we went ashore, shells started to land all around us. One of our first men killed was a major who had always been in our rear echelon. He had reached a point where he couldn’t stand all his friends going into combat while he never got near the front lines. He actually begged for a combat command and finally got it. I don’t think he was on the beach five minutes before he was dead. I’ve never stopped thinking about that. He could have stayed aboard ship at Iwo, but he just couldn’t stand being out of things any longer.[28]
Major Irving Schechter
Operations Officer, HQ/1/24th Marines
On the beach, it was all volcanic ash. Moving was so terrible even us foot Marines were ankle-deep in ash. Our vehicles bogged down to their hubcaps. The tanks and artillery pieces couldn’t move. Thank God that we had volcanic ash because the artillery and mortar shells that hit that sand absorbed a lot of that shrapnel. If not, Marines would have taken it in their faces, their backs, legs, and arms. In the end, volcanic ash embedded itself in our skin, faces, necks, and hands – but hell, that’s better than shrapnel.[29]
Platoon Sergeant Mike Mervosh
MG Platoon, C/1/24th Marines
My first thought was this: why the hell didn’t they know the island was this way? We wasn’t just fighting the Japanese; we were fighting the elements, the island itself, the make of the island, worse than anything else…. We landed up at the boat basin, about as far away from Suribachi as you could get, in about the third wave. Everything didn’t go according to Hoyle…. I’m not trying to take any glory from any wave. I was not in the first, but when I got there, the first wave was laying right there, waiting for us. Bodies everywhere, equipment couldn’t move. The main thing was to get out of that boat and get the hell off the beach, three hundred feet in if you could. It wasn’t any safer, with every firing mechanism pointed at that beach. Nine thousand people put ashore the first day…. Maybe they were conserving ammo, but I don’t see any reason why they couldn’t have blowed us clear off that beach.[30]
Cpl. Glenn Buzzard
Machine Gunner, C/1/24th Marines
During the landing, we were getting shelled as we went in on Higgins boats. There were bodies all over the place. What did I feel? Scared. You had the fear, but you didn’t have it. I think it’s a stupid thing to say it, but whatever they wanted, you just did. There was no place to hide, and you have to function if you can control yourself. We got off the boats from the front and charged up the beach. There were cannons, artillery, machine guns, mortars. I’m not that good at relating what went on from there. A lot of stuff I forget. I don’t know.[31]
Pvt. Domenick Tutalo
Flamethrower, HQ/1/24th Marines
I finally reached hard rock to walk on. I laid on that sand all night and day. Scared? Yes. There’s no way that somebody’s going to tell me they weren’t scared. When we got into the firepower, the actual fight, we weren’t exactly scared. We did what we had to do. My sergeant, in training back on Maui, he says, “We’re sending you into the jaws of death, and we want you to bring back the jawbones.” And that was about it. You kill or be killed. It’s your choice.[32]
PFC Edward Curylo
Scout, HQ/1/24th Marines
We hit the beach about 3:30 in the afternoon, it was a sight one will never forget[,] dead marines everywhere. We moved up slowly under heavy mortar and artillery fire, about 50 yards to our left artillery had knocked out [two] of our tractors and about 15 yards to our right one of our light tanks knock[ed] out by a direct hit. Later we was pinned down by a Nip machine gun – that was about five-thirty in the evening, so we had to start digging in before it got dark.[33]
Cpl. Harlan C. Jeffery
Assault Squad Leader, HQ/1/24th Marines
I turned around to say goodbye to the guy in the Higgins boat, and he just waved and left! So we couldn’t go back. The ammunition cart for the 81mm mortars was quite heavy. It got stuck in the sand, so we’re told to abandon it, pick up the canisters under our arms, and go. We went to the top of the crest of the beach – now we observed the whole big show…. To the right of me was a bunch of Marines who looked like they just came out of boot camp. They’re all aiming their rifles towards the enemy, but they’re all dead. And I didn’t understand how that happened; it must have been a concussion bomb or something that got them.[34]
PFC William T. Quinn
81mm Mortars, HQ/1/24th Marines
I just wanted to get the hell out of that boat. You started to get seasick after a while. When I hit the beach, I had a 60mm mortar on my shoulder along with my pack, and I just kept going for about 200 yards and came to a big shell hole. I jumped in, and there were probably eight or nine other guys in there. One guy was laying on top of the hole in a prone position; he had his rifle in his hand. One of the other guys grabbed him by the pant leg and said, "You better get down here." It turns out the guy was dead. He had been shot right through the head.[35]
PFC Marvin E. Opatz
Mortarman, B/1/24th Marines
I remember there were a hell of a lot of dead. Some guys still floating on the water, a lot of messy pictures. A lot of dead littered the beach. I really thought – and I know a couple of our officers felt – that we were gonna get kicked off Iwo. That we'd have to pull back and get back on a ship because their defensive fire was deadly accurate. Deadly.[36]
Cpl. Robert D. Price
Radioman, A/1/24th Marines
My first view of the beachhead appeared like a fouled-up mass of smashed equipment, with a hail of Jap bullets coming from everywhere. A rifleman and group leader, I advanced forward and, with the rest of my outfit, tried to get settled.
I saw no trees, grass, or anything that looked like vegetation. Nothing but sand and rocks, wreckage, and the dead. It was very cold for the Pacific area. I hit the shore with a woolen shirt and coat, for the weather throughout my seven-day stay on the island never went above 40 degrees.
Cpl. Kenneth E. Imhof
Squad Leader, C/1/24th Marines
We couldn’t make it with the equipment, with the machine guns. We couldn’t get off the beach. We were on that damn beach, trying to move, and they’re yelling, “Move, move, move! You gotta move, the tanks are coming in, the 37s are coming in, you’ve gotta move, you’ve gotta move!” So, where you gonna go? You’re bitching, hollering back “What the hell! Why don’t you… where can we go?” But you make a break and go anyhow, and you’re losing men as you’re doing it. It’s not nice – it’s suicide.
Cpl. Edward W. DuBeck
MQ Squad Leader, A/1/24th Marines
Hover over a quote to pause the slides.
A reserve unit of the 4th Marine Division takes cover while awaiting their turn to advance. Mount Suribachi is visible at the left, American aircraft at top right, and the assault line is disappearing into the smoke. USMC photo by TSgt. H. Neil Gillespie. NARA.
Al Perry glanced around and “all I could see was dead Marines. These were violent deaths, men who had their bodies cut in half, men with no legs and arms.”[37] He was looking at the remains of the Third Battalion, 25th Marines. Seventeen officers and 270 men of that gallant battalion – more than a third of its strength – had been killed or wounded since coming ashore at 0902 that morning. King Company, 25th Marines, was already on its sixth CO, a captain who had begun his day as the assistant plans and training officer.[38] Lt. Col. Justice Chambers’ battalion clawed its way to the top of a ridge, but “it became increasingly apparent that unless relieved by a full-strength unit, our chances of holding the high ground against any organized assault by the enemy were exceedingly slim.”[39] Major Paul Treitel was instructed to conduct the relief, but he was still struggling to organize and orient BLT 1-24. Treitel sent a runner to locate the Company A skipper, Major William K. Stewart, with orders to proceed immediately to the front lines, but the runner got disoriented and the message failed to get through. Instead, Captain William A. Eddy, Jr. and Company B saddled up to find and relieve L/3/25th Marines.
Frontline.
The survivors of L/3/25 occupied a dominating position on a ridge that overlooked the Blue Beaches in one direction and the Quarry on the other. This ridge was crowned by “several gigantic concrete fortifications where the Nips had housed five-inch coast defense guns,” in the words of Captain Stott. “The tenants had been killed or driven out by the 14 and 16-inch shells which ripped gaps through solid masonry walls ten feet thick. This bare ridge above the quarry with its four destroyed pillboxes atop, was a key to the protection of the troops and supplies pouring into the Blue beach area.”[40] The objective was in sight, and the orders were clear, but between the relative safety of the beachside ash terrace and the ridge was a stretch of open ground—every inch of it covered by Japanese fire. Although the skies were darkening, the defenders scarcely needed to aim. Their guns were pre-sighted, and all they had to do was pull a lanyard or a trigger.
Accounts differ as to what happened during Baker Company’s first foray on Iwo. The battalion’s official history notes only that “after dark [“B” Company] moved into position on the high ground north of the quarry.”[41] Captain Stott recorded “almost without casualties, the rifle companies pushed up across the beach terrace in behind Chambers’ depleted lines.”[42] Yet PFC John Pope recalled a far more dramatic scene of racing for safety before the Japanese could spring their trap.[43]
Men began to fall everywhere I looked. Knees buckled, and they dropped – no Hollywood-type swan dive. At the same time, the Japs began to lay down the most terrible shell barrage I had ever come through. To say it was raining arms and legs is not much of an exaggeration.[44]
Lieutenant Murray Fox, whose heavy mortars deployed to support Company B, heard incoming fire and shouted for his platoon to hit the deck. Twenty shells rained down. Quick action and strong leadership were required. “Gunny!” barked the lieutenant. “Have the men drink the whiskey now!” Gunny Lohff rolled his eyes. “Fer Chrissake, they drank it before we left the ship.”[45] Miraculously, the Japanese shells caused no casualties.
Private William T. Quinn, one of Fox’s men, was experiencing battle for the first time. After abandoning a mired ammunition cart, the young Marine from Revere, Massachusetts, was struggling to hand-carry a load of shells. Each 81mm round weighed seven pounds. “We were told ‘let’s go, or we’re gonna get plastered with mortar bombs!’” he recalled. “We had these canisters [of ammunition] under our arms, and we would have been missing in action if they’d [hit] us. So we were told to take off – and we took off from bomb crater hole to bomb crater hole. I saw Marines all over in all conditions.”[46]
Baker Company’s corpsmen were busy. One bandaged the shoulder of the company’s First Sergeant Richard Murphy; despite his shrapnel wounds, Murphy ignored the sailor’s pleas to head for the beach. Corporal Harry Schueneman also refused evacuation for a minor wound. Evacuation to the rear was not a guarantee of safety: in a scene that would become all too familiar on Iwo, Japanese riflemen and machine gunners reappeared in blasted pillboxes. John Pope remembered clearing out some outposts with hand grenades, only to discover a series of tunnels linked the positions with dugouts deep in the Japanese rear.[47] After a few of these unpleasant surprises, Baker Company moved more cautiously. The relief of L/3/25 began at 1845 hours, was finally completed at 2330.[48]
Orders finally caught up with Able Company. At 2030, Major Stewart’s men reluctantly left their foxholes and headed for the extreme right of the Marine line. Night had fallen, and confusion reigned supreme. Corporal Al Perry, his back and left leg throbbing from his hard landing, got separated from his buddies. “Everything was in total chaos, there was dead and wounded everywhere, and I had to be careful where I walked,” he said of his odyssey. “I started calling out to Company ‘A,’ but nobody answered.” Luckily, a familiar captain pointed Perry in the right direction, and he reached his friends in the pitch dark. As Item Company hustled to the rear, a whoosh and a tremendous explosion signaled the arrival of a “spigot mortar” – a 320mm Japanese shell unlike any the Marines had yet encountered. “Never in my life have I seen such huge explosions,” Perry related. “That explained the horrible wounds we were taking. The first night was a night in hell. Utter chaos, men screaming for corpsmen, some calling for their mothers, wounded and dead all over the place….”[49]
Mortarman Bill Quinn concurred: “It seemed we were caught in a crossfire. The mortars were coming from Suribachi – there was no getting around it.” He didn’t believe a conventional mortar could fire shells so large and speculated that the Japanese were launching explosive-filled barrels by catapult.[50]
Charlie Company spread out in reserve, 200 yards behind a sector held by 2/25. Their sector was not fully secure; a demolition team led by Corporal Franklin Robbins discovered a Japanese machine gun set up in ambush; Robbins blasted the cave shut, sealing the enemy inside. A cold rain began to fall, surprising those Marines whose combat experience was on the arid islands of the central Pacific. “The island hadn’t had rain there in years,” complained Mike Mervosh. “I think all the shelling brought the rain. We broke out our ponchos. The rain was bone-chilling…. That cold rain and the incoming fire kept us awake.”
Something more dangerous began raining down.
Sergeant Harlan Jeffery scribbled an entry in his diary: “They threw everything at us, shrapnel was flying pretty close overhead, we just cuddled up as close as we could to mother earth praying we wouldn’t get hit. One piece came so close and made such a noise coming through the air that I thought it was an airplane crashing in my hole. That was about the longest night I ever stayed awake.”[52]
As midnight approached, the expectation of a banzai attack grew stronger. The attacks were simultaneously feared and welcomed; feared for the terror and casualties that always resulted, welcomed because the Japanese losses were always much higher. The battalion broke out picks and shovels as soon as they stopped, and when not ducking shellfire, “we were busy filling in gaps and strengthening the defense,” wrote Captain Stott. “Jap doctrine had been known to switch, but it was our expectation that a heavy counterattack would materialize that first night as at Tinian. And if it failed to crack the fragile toehold, then, as at Peleliu, the Nips could be expected to retire to their caves and pillboxes until rooted out. We dug deeper than ever before, and the digging was easy in the sandy soil already pocked with innumerable bomb and shell craters.”[53] It was fortunate that they did, as Corporal Harry Gunther discovered that night on the midnight watch. “A little after twelve, I heard a noise. Just then, one of our flares lit up, and I could see two men coming towards me. I did not want to shoot Marines, so I yelled, ‘Halt! Give the password!’” A Japanese grenade smacked him on the helmet, only to bounce off and explode harmlessly outside the foxhole.[54]
Veterans in the Able Company ranks knew what a banzai could do: on Tinian, they held the left flank of the landing force against hours of violent onslaught. Now on the extreme right flank, they anticipated a repeat performance. The officer in charge of the company mortars, 2nd Lieutenant Walter Russell, deployed his three 60mm weapons to cover the company front. If the Japanese came, the mortars would saturate the ground with shrapnel. Unfortunately, an enemy shell drew first blood, bursting near one of the tubes and wounding some of the crew. PFC Howard R. Pratt, a nineteen-year-old ammo carrier, ran up to help just as a barrage swept the position. Pratt threw himself across the body of a wounded buddy; the next shell decapitated him. Despite Pratt’s sacrifice, the squad was finished as a fighting unit. Privates First Class Ronald Bartels, John Casale, and Henry Schoenfelder would return five days later, but PFCs Richard McClanahan and Charles Ward were permanently out of action. The mortar section chief, veteran Platoon Sergeant Wilbur Plitt, was evacuated for combat fatigue.[55]
Between bunkers, bombardment, and infiltrators, Baker Company had a busy night. Captain Bill Eddy personally rallied his troops to hold their line. At the same time, the wounded First Sergeant Murphy circulated among the foxholes “under the enemy’s incessant shellfire to distribute grenades among his men and encourage them to remain steadfast in the face of imminent counterattack.” The twenty-five-year-old “topkick” was hustling between foxholes when shrapnel struck him in the chest and ended his life. Murphy was written up for a Silver Star medal.[56] PFC Eugene Andree was killed outright, and Corporal James Moorman and PFC Eugene Nesbit were evacuated with wounds that would prove fatal.
Still, this was not as bad as it might have been. Captain Stott remarked, “Evidently we guessed wrong as to current Jap strategy, or the brilliant illumination and drumfire from the warships close offshore forced a change in strategy, for the uncertain lines were not challenged throughout the night. The small arms fire, which we had expected to be unceasing in the early dawn, was sporadic or non-existent, and there were no new gaps needing repair in the morning.”[57]
“All I can remember is digging my hole. No Spam or C-rations for the moment,” concluded Doc Lyons.
[1] Commanding officer, USS Hendry, “Report of Operations in the Invasion of Iwo Jima, Bonin Islands, 2/19-25/45,” (5 March 1945), 3.
[2] Ibid., 114. There was no “assault platoon” in the current Marine Division T/O, and the existence of this unit sounds very much like an experimental idea. Volunteers were an even mix of veterans and new men; Platoon Sergeant Harry Koff organized and led the unit.
[3] Major Charles L. Banks, “Final Report on IWO JIMA Operation, Battalion Landing Team 1/24,” in Annex George to Fourth Marine Division Report on Iwo Jima: RCT 24 Report (20 April 1945), 113. Hereafter “Final Report.” “The rifle companies were somewhat under strength when planning and preparation for the IWO JIMA operation commenced. Headquarters Company and the 81mm Mortar Platoon were up to strength at this time…. Each rifle company was approximately twenty (20) men under Tables of Organization strength.”
[4] Ibid., 116. Evidently, the Hendry’s final landing rehearsal, which took place off Saipan on February 16, did not inspire much confidence. “Poor control by the Boat Officers” was cited as a major factor, hence the “extensive schooling” that followed. This turned out to be an excellent idea.
[5] Ibid., 117. The 24th Marines was designated as Division Reserve for the Fourth Marine Division; the 23rd and 25th would make the initial assault.
[6] Bill Crozier and Steve Schild, “Uncommon Valor: Three Winona Marines at Iwo Jima,” Winona Post, 25 October 2006. Online edition.
[7] Lt. Col. Whitman S. Bartley, Iwo Jima: Amphibious Epic (Historical Section: Headquarters, USMC, 1954), 53.
[8] John C. Pope, Angel On My Shoulder, Kindle edition, locations 1396-1398. “They thought they were preparing the beach for our landing,” Pope added sourly. “Actually, all they were doing was rearranging the sand.”
[9] Frederic A. Stott, “Ten Days on Iwo Jima,” Leatherneck Vol. 28, No. 5 (May 1945); 18.
[10] Ibid.
[11] USS Hendry, “Report of Operations,” 3.
[12] Perry, “A Company.”
[13] Pope, location 1409.
[14] “Corp. Imhof, First Davenporter To Return From Iwo Jima, Describes Bloody Battle For Volcanic Isle,” The Davenport Democrat and Leader (Davenport, IA), 11 April 1945.
[15] USS Hendry, “Report of Operations,” 3. The report notes this event as occurring at 1500 hours—fortunately, there were no casualties.
[16] Pope, location 1409.
[17] Richards P. Lyon. Personal correspondence with the author. Compiled online.
[18] Perry, “A Company.”
[19] J. Murray Fox, oral history interview conducted by Nicholas Elsbree, “Honoring our Marin Veterans,” June 22, 2011.
[20] Mike Mervosh, oral history interview conducted by The National World War II Museum, “Oral History Part 2,” March 19, 2008.
[21.1] Joyce M. Slaton, oral history interview conducted by William Hines. Joyce Martin Slaton Collection
(AFC/2001/001/103297), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[21] Wave 2: supporting platoons and headquarters units of Baker and Charlie companies (6 boats)
Wave 3: Able Company, landing team reserve (7 boats)
Wave 4: Battalion HQ Company (6 boats)
Wave 5: Assault Platoon and 81mm Mortar Platoon (5 boats)
Call Wave Able: 1st 37mm anti-tank platoon (attached)
[22] Stott, Ten Days, 18.
[23] Mervosh, oral history interview, March 19, 2008.
[24] “Sgt. Maj. Joe Parrish, USMC (Ret.)” in Gail Chatfield, By Dammit, We’re Marines! (San Diego: Methvin, 2008), 207
[25] Pope, locations 1427-1430.
[26] Perry, “‘A’ Company.”
[27] Lyon.
[28] Irving Schechter, “The Lawyer Who Went to War,” Semper Fi, Mac, ed. Henry Berry (New York: Harper, 1982), 224.
[29] “Sgt. Maj. Mike Mervosh, USMC (Ret.)” in Gail Chatfield, By Dammit, We’re Marines! (San Diego: Methvin, 2008), 68.
[30] Glenn Buzzard in Larry Smith, Iwo Jima (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2008), 85.
[31] “PFC Domenick Tutalo” in Gail Chatfield, By Dammit, We’re Marines! (San Diego: Methvin, 2008).
[32] Edward Curylo, oral history interview conducted by Brian Louwers, Veteran’s Oral History Project, December 4, 2013.
[33] Harlan Chester Jeffery, unpublished diary entry dated 19 February 1945, collection of Domenick P. Tutalo.
[34] William T. Quinn, interview conducted by the Patriots Point Naval & Maritime Museum, “Heroes of Iwo Jima: 70 Years Later,” 5 March 2015.
[35] Ron Bracken, “Uncommon valor: A common tribute,” in Replays (State College, PA: Nittany Printing and Publishing Company, 2003), 174.
[36] Robert D. Price interview.
[37] Perry, “‘A’ Company.”
[38] Headquarters, Third Battalion, 25th Marines, Operation Report, Iwo Jima, Volcano Islands (1945), 2.
[39] Ibid., 3.
[40] Stott, 18.
[41] Final Report, 120.
[42] Stott, Ten Days.
[43] In his memoir, Mr. Pope occasionally combines the events of several days into a single incident, or recollects incidents in an order that does not jibe with official reports. He is certainly to be excused for any confusion: few survivors of Iwo Jima claim to accurately place events after the first several days of the battle, as they were numbed by shock, exhaustion, and wounds. The author has divided Mr. Pope’s narrative into quotations based on comparing the veteran’s words with the official record, but has no doubt that Angel On My Shoulder is written precisely as Mr. Pope remembers.
[44] Pope, locations 1435-1440. It should also be noted here, as in the Saipan narrative, that while Mr. Pope’s on-paper assignment was HQ Company, the vast majority of the names and incidents he recollects are clearly associated with Company B. The author believes Pope’s team or particular assignment caused him to be attached to Company B when in combat.
[45] Fox, oral history interview, June 22, 2011.
[46] Quinn, oral history interview, 2015.
[47] Pope, location 1440.
[48] Bartley, Amphibious Epic, 63.
[49] Perry, “‘A’ Company.”
[50] Quinn, oral history interview, 2015.
[51] Mervosh in Chatfield, By Dammit, 68.
[52] Harlan C. Jeffery diary.
[53] Stott, 18.
[54] Harry R. Gunther, letter to The Lakeside Press Retired Employee’s Club, July 2011. Much later, Gunther would quip “the Jap must’ve taken a lesson from Bob Feller.”
[55] Pratt received a posthumous Silver Star for his actions, the citation for which provides the only known account of this incident. However, the assignments of the men make it very likely that this was one entire squad. Bartels, a four-campaign veteran, was the gunner; Casale, who can be seen in other pictures taken on Iwo, was probably the assistant. Pratt, McClanahan, Schoenfelder, and Ward were newer men and likely carried the ammunition. Furthermore, a mortar squad leader – Corporal Bartholomew R. J. Wanagaitis – was also hit by shellfire, and died of wounds the following day. The loss of an entire squad at one fell swoop, including two of his long-time comrades, is presumably the trigger for Plitt’s combat fatigue.
[56] Eddy’s actions on the night of February 19 would be mentioned in his forthcoming Navy Cross citation.
[57] Stott, 18.
[58] Lyon.
Battalion Daily Report
Casualties, Evacuations, Joinings & Transfers
KIA/DOW
WIA & EVAC*
SICK
JOINED
TRANSFERRED
STRENGTH
Out of an original landing strength of 893 officers and men.
* Does not include minor wounds not requiring evacuation from the line.
| Name | Company | Rank | Role | Change | Cause | Disposition |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Andree, Eugene Martin | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Killed In Action | Unknown | Removed for burial |
| Bartels, Ronald Paul | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right buttocks | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Casale, John Andrew | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left side | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Cassel, Kenneth Ray | Headquarters | Private | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (serious) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Glogowski, Robert Louis | Able | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, forehead | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
| Goldsborough, Albert Price | Charlie | Corporal | Fire Team Leader | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, right hand | Evacuated to USS Rutland |
| Kenfield, Robert Eugene | Baker | PFC | Basic | Wounded In Action | Fracture, right ankle | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Letcher, Clyde William Jr. | Headquarters | PFC | Radioman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| McClanahan, Richard Lafayette | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Moorman, James Robert | Baker | Corporal | MG Squad Leader | Wounded In Action (Fatal) | Gunshot, abdomen & multiple shrapnel wounds | Evacuated to USS LST 929 |
| Morrison, John Wilson | Headquarters | PFC | Lineman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left shoulder | Evacuated to USS Rutland |
| Murphy, Richard Harding | Baker | First Sergeant | Company 1Sgt. | Killed In Action | Shrapnel wounds, chest | Removed for burial |
| Nesbit, Eugene Martin | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action (Fatal) | Gunshot, left chest | Evacuated to USS Ozark |
| Papciak, Frank Peter | Charlie | Corporal | Basic | Wounded In Action | Combat Fatigue | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Plitt, Wilbur Ellsworth | Able | Platoon Sergeant | Mortar Section Sergeant | Wounded In Action | Combat Fatigue | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Pratt, Howard Ralph | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Killed In Action | Decapitation | Removed for burial |
| Schoenfelder, Henry Dewey Jr. | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Schueneman, Harry Robert Jr. | Baker | Corporal | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Ward, Charles Russell Jr. | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel wounds in right neck, ear, and head | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
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My mother’s fist husband was killed his name was Eugene Martin Nesbit. She received a telegram when my brother Mike was a little boy. God Bless him and all of the fallen.
I marched in a small parade today in Sanford, Florida for him and all the fallen with my fellow Daughters of the American Revolution. Ladies.
Thanks for your research about the battle of Iwo Jima. I’m Thomas and I come from Taiwan, Thomasbug is my nick name and Chen is my last name. I’m doing my master degree essay about battle of Iwo Jima know and I have searched relative information on the Internet for a year. It’s amazing when I found your research! My master drgree essay is focus on Clint Eastwood’s movie, then I will do something about Public History research among Eastwood’s movie and battle of Iwo Jima’s history. Although I can’t explain my perspective clearly now, I’m very appreciate that I can find your research. Actually, I think your research is true in detail because the memory of veteran is usually accurately. So I’d like to beg you that I can quote your research in my master degree essay if you allow it. I’m very apologized for my poor English that I can’t do my best interpretation in my words. Thank you!
Chen
,Thomas
Hi Thomas,
Thanks very much! Please feel free to quote anything you like for your thesis – the topic sounds fascinating.. I finished mine two years ago; it’s a ton of work but worth it in the end!
If you have any questions, you can contact me at missingmarines@gmail.com
Cheers,
Geoffrey
For Geoffrey:
Thank you very much for your approval that I can quote it in my essay. I will quote your research, clearly mark it at footnotes and references. Geoffrey, I plan to complete my essay four months ago, then I will try to translate my abstract in English and send one for you. I’m really appreciated for your assistance ! Good luck and all the best !
Chen,
Thomas
Thank you for this research. My father was in the 24th Marines, 4th Marine Division. I have been trying to find supporting information to our family stories. I am confused about how I could track my father’s movements. Do you have any suggestions? My father made it until 26 Feb when he was hit by mortal shell shrapnel during the night. He survived even though his injuries devastated his body. He lost his best friend, his best buddy, who was shot in between the eyes while looking out of a shell crater or foxhole. I wish I knew his name. All I know is that he was Mexican and that he was a musician, like my father. Any help finding lists of names would help me…point me in that direction!!!
Hello Lynn,
Marine Corps muster rolls are partially indexed on Ancestry.com – if you have an account there, it’s a great place to start. They also have rosters of Marine casualties, though the information contained in those is somewhat limited. The most detailed information would be found in your father’s Official Military Personnel File (OMPF) which should be stored in the archives at St. Louis.
If you could send me your father’s name, I can put together a basic profile and possibly put you on track to find his friend’s name. If he was a musician, he should be relatively easy to find as each regiment only had a handful of such trained men.
Cheers,
Geoffrey
Thank you so much for the enormous work you have put in to this site. My Dad didn’t talk much about his experience, but like many he lied about his age and joined early under an alias. He passed many years ago of lung cancer ( he was a heavy smoker), and hadn’t talked much about his experience. Your comments from the men that were there have filled some gaps and given me an appreciation of what he and they went through as very young men.
Steve Sempert
Father William E Sempert
I had not received any emails lately and love to read the history as my mom’s first husband was fatally wounded in Iwo Jima and low and behold the latest email I received actually listed her husband Eugene Michael Nesbit. God bless all of the marines and researchers of this great site. It gave me even more information regarding him being the Bar man. I pray for all the living and the dead. He lost his life Feb. 23rd 1945. The telegram my mom received was as follows: Deepky regret to inform you that your husband, Pfc. Eugene M. Nesbit , USMCR died 23 February 1945 of wounds received in action in Pacific area in performance of his duty and service of his country. When information is received regarding burial you will be notified. Please accept my heartfelt sympathy. Private Nesbit was a runner in the Fourth Marine Division , one of the three Marine Divisions announced in news dispatches as being in action in the conquest of Iwo Jima which was invaded on February 17th, six days before his death. He had been in the service less than a year. My mother was never notified if his remains were returned. How can I try to find out it if anyone reading this might know it would be greatly appreciated.
Kindest regards,
Brenda
Brenda Dubs Gebhart Steigerwald
Hi Brenda,
PFC Nesbit was wounded in action on 19 February 1945, the day he landed on Iwo Jima. He was quickly evacuated for emergency treatment to the attack transport USS Ozark, and from there to the hospital ship USS Samaritan. Sadly, he died of his wounds while the Samaritan was en route to medical facilities, and he was buried when the ship arrived at Saipan.
In 1948, the 604th Quartermaster Graves Registration Company and 9105th Technical Services Unit traveled to Saipan to remove all servicemen interred in Saipan’s three cemeteries. They had disinterment directives for each individual stating where the remains were to be sent for permanent burial. PFC Nesbit was reburied in the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Honolulu, Hawaii, which is where he rests today in Section C, Grave 660.
It is interesting that your mother was never notified, as the decision of where to bury a deceased serviceman had to be made by a member of the family – usually the next of kin. If she was remarried at the time, the responsibility might have been passed to PFC Nesbit’s parents (not an unusual circumstance). However, you’d need his personnel file to really find out who it was.
I hope this helps!
Geoffrey
Thank you so much. I am assuming she was not notified and her sister my Aunt who will be 87 in May was not sure. You have provided so much valuable information I am so grateful to you and your hard works. When you have time perhaps you can give me the instructions on how to proceed for his file.
Kindest regards,
Brenda
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