BATTLE NARRATIVE
Basin. Iwo Jima: 20 February 1945
The sun seemed ashamed to rise on D+1.
A leaden sky lightened almost imperceptibly; shadows shrank and shapes resolved; at last “the smoking lamp was lit” and thousands of nicotine-starved Marines added cigarette smoke to an already cloudy morning. Heavy cumulonimbus clouds hung low from horizon to horizon. It was raining, which made the air feel much colder than it was.[1] The moisture turned Iwo Jima’s volcanic ash into a gluey black sludge. It kept the lingering smoke from a pre-dawn mortar bombardment low to the ground. It kept the smell of sulfur, cordite, and blood down at the foxhole level. It made everyone uncomfortable, from the battalion commander in his command post to the Baker Company men who nested in their captured blockhouse, to Corporal Bartholomew Robert John Wanagitis, a quiet Catholic boy from coal-country Pennsylvania. His curly hair and comic timing reminded his buddies of William Bendix; they called him “Taxi” and fought beside him in the Marshalls and the Marianas as he rose to command a mortar squad in Able Company. Now Taxi lay dying from shrapnel wounds in his back, bits of metal that had killed or wounded several of those same buddies the night before. If Taxi lived to see the dawn, his last was a sullen one. Iwo Jima was socked in and seas were high. Air support, naval gunfire, and resupply by landing craft would be curtailed. A difficult day lay ahead.
The Command Post
From his foxhole near the battalion CP, Captain Frederic A. Stott assessed the grim new reality of life on Iwo Jima, comparing his current situation to past experiences on Saipan. Most of his observations involved Japanese artillery, and none of them were favorable. “Barrages began falling on areas throughout the entire beachhead,” he noted. “These barrages were carefully calculated, ranged, and observed, in contrast to the hit-or-miss artillery tactics often practiced by the Japs. Our holdings on Iwo presented a concentrated target subjected to battery fire which scarcely could miss. On Saipan, we received occasional salvos, but never the concentrations now dropping.” Out of curiosity, he staked out a space and started counting explosions. In the span of fifteen minutes, 250 missiles fell in a 600-square-yard area.[3]
Stott’s job as a battalion liaison officer was to facilitate communications from Major Paul Treitel‘s headquarters – whether passing orders down to the rifle companies, or coordinating fire support and reinforcements. The captain excelled at this work: he had a forceful personality (which earned him the nickname “Fireball”) and a deep well of determined courage to accomplish difficult missions. On Saipan, he coordinated a difficult tank-infantry operation by riding with the tankers until the vehicle was knocked out by enemy fire. Stott received the Navy Cross for this adventure, and as he listened to the organized chaos of the command post, he had every reason to believe that his work on Iwo would be tougher yet.
The CP staffers were absorbing all the information they could. Sound-powered phones were in constant use, as were the bulky SCR-300 radios tuned to the battalion net. Runners arrived, panting and nervous, with hand-written messages.[4] The news was generally bad. “As this pounding continued, the riflemen at the front were meeting infantry and mortar opposition, which made all gains meager and limited,” Stott recalled. “Protecting tanks were smacked with heavy anti-tank fire which knocked out many more than had fallen to such fire on Saipan. Unbelievable exploits transpired about these damaged tanks, as some that were overturned and caved in by explosions, still yielded up two, three, or four living crewmen.”[5] BLT 1-24 was well-trained in the art of tank-infantry cooperation, but Iwo’s rough terrain and shifting sands meant that tanks could not always get where they were needed. And when they did, they tended to draw unwelcome attention from the Japanese.
The battalion CP, probably located in a cluster of foxholes and craters, was a bustle of activity for much of the day. Demolitions men went out on missions of destruction, and most returned for additional loads of explosive or flamethrower fuel.[6] Communicators tinkered with the fickle radios and attempted to string landlines between essential positions. The intelligence men pored over maps, inspected smashed Japanese weapons in knocked-out emplacements, and collected souvenirs from the front lines.[7] Doc Porter’s aid station treated a steady stream of casualties, most of whom wound up back on the beach where they waited under fire for a boat to brave the swells and carry them to the safety of a hospital ship.
In the afternoon, the main body of HQ displaced forward to a new location in TA 166 F, on the fringes of the regimental assembly area.
The Right Flank: Able Company
Major William K. Stewart’s “Able Company” held the right flank of the line. Not just the battalion, the regimental, or even the division line – they were the right-most American unit on Iwo Jima. The veterans of Tinian knew how it felt to have nothing to one side but the sea. There, they’d held against one of the biggest banzai attacks of the war. Here on Iwo, they’d awaited such a charge but faced none. The assignment for the day sounded simple: they would hold position and “mop up” the immediate area and the rear.[9]
Many a new man took heart at the news. They hadn’t seen many of the well-camouflaged and fanatically defended Japanese emplacements in this sector, which extended along the shores of Beach Blue 2 and up to a blasted tangle of Japanese boats and sailing gear called the Boat Basin. However, they bore witness to the hell wrought upon the decimated companies of the Third Battalion, 25th Marines. Corporal Alva Perry described the scene well: plenty of dead Marines, no dead enemies. Nobody wanted to lead the charge into the killing zone.
“Mopping up” sounded like a breeze to the greenhorns, but veterans knew better. Assaulting units frequently bypassed difficult defenses, leaving them isolated but still dangerous. Designated units would have to hunt down the most determined Japanese, the ones who hid quietly in caves and burned-out bunkers, or among their dead, waiting patiently for their chance to take a Marine with them into the afterlife. It was deadly work, and before the day was out, Able Company would pay a steep price in the Boat Basin.
This terrain was a perfect proving ground for the battalion’s assault platoon, and the demolitions teams were busy throughout the day. A squad of flamethrower men under Sergeant Harlan C. Jeffery joined up with an Able Company patrol led by Corporal William Loutzenhiser. The well-armed group disappeared into a ravine to investigate a suspicious position. Their fears materialized in the form of a single, talented Japanese sniper. Al Perry admitted that “we were stopped in our tracks by sniper fire. These Jap snipers were the best shots I had ever seen. They hardly ever missed. They always hit the Marine in the head or neck, and the ones I saw hit died instantly.” [10]
PFC Raymond Lee Butler was the first casualty. The sniper sent a bullet tearing through Butler’s neck, and the nineteen-year-old Texan died without a sound. Private Domenick Tutalo watched in shock as one man after another fell wounded or dead. “This sniper just shot nine guys right out in the open,” he remembered in disbelief.[11] Tutalo heard his NCO calling for a corpsman, and winced as a bullet struck Harlan Jeffery’s helmet. However, luck was with the sergeant: the fiber liner deflected the bullet, which punched out the rear of the helmet and whined away. “I got so excited I started hollering ‘get a corpsman! Get a corpsman!’” Jeffery wrote in his diary. “In about [two] minutes, there was a corpsman patching up my head. He said I would be alright for the bullet only cut the skin. I told the corpsman to look at my buddy behind me, but he said it was too late, he was dead.” [12]
Sergeant Jeffery quickly regained his composure and took charge of the situation. Butler was dead and the draw was “too damn hot” to linger any longer. He called to PFC Russell Chambers to get ready to move; Chambers screamed back that he was hit. Jeffery chased down the corpsman, but it was too late; “after all that hell and pain,” Chambers died. Gathering the remnants of his team, Jeffery charged forward through a minefield and took cover behind a ridge.[13] Tutalo and another flamethrower man were right on his heels. “The only reason Jeffery and I survived was we made a run to a cliff where he couldn’t shoot us,” said Tutalo. “But we couldn’t do nothing, either. We were stuck there the whole night.” [14] Rifleman Philip Scally eventually hunted down the Japanese sniper; still, “that was many an hour we prayed to God.” [15]
A demolition team armed with flamethrower and explosive charges attacks a Japanese position.
USMC photograph by Sgt. Louis Lowry.
Farther down the draw, the squad from Able Company was also in trouble. Their leader, Bill Loutzenhiser, was shot in the back and died before help could reach him. Guided by hidden spotters, Japanese mortars started dropping rounds in the draw. One buried itself in the ash about twenty yards behind Al Perry, hissing and leaking greenish vapor. Someone yelled, “Gas! Gas! Gas!”
The words of their fathers, uncles, and hometown Great War veterans came back to them in a rush. Gas was the worst thing that could happen to a man. It left you blind, blistered, drowning in mucus. It meant choking to death in the bottom of your hole or going home with incurable skin diseases. It was to be avoided at all costs. Not twelve hours ago, they’d thrown away their protective masks as useless impedimenta. Perry watched in disbelief as “nearly everyone in the company got out of their holes and started to run for the beach where we had all dropped our gas masks. Many of these guys became targets for the snipers, and a number of them died.” Perry, a veteran of Saipan, might have identified the green smoke as picric acid, a key component in Japanese explosives. It was not gas, just “a bad shell.”[16] This knowledge came far too late for far too many men.
The ambush and the gas panic caused so much chaos that the company’s total advance for the day was less than 100 yards. “Their casualties were heavy having received five killed early in the mopping up process” is all the battalion’s official report offers by way of explanation. In all, eleven Able Company men were killed in action, making it the company’s most fatal day in more than a year of campaigning. It was hard to comprehend. Corporal Tommy Lynchard’s reaction was typical of many. He watched the patrol leave friendly lines, heard the sudden sounds of the ambush, and saw only one man reappear. As flamethrower tanks rolled up, “Lynch” realized that nobody else was coming out of the draw alive. He was severely shaken – those were his former squadmates. Had he not been transferred to a new squad en route to Iwo, he might have been among the dead. Compounding this feeling of shock was the grief of losing Bill Loutzenhiser, one of his closest friends.[17]
Above photographs from Iwo Jima Naval Gunfire Support.
The Bunkers: Baker Company
Baker Company got little rest during the night. Infiltrators appeared without warning; shouts and shots marked their discovery and demise. Tunnels led from gun emplacements to points unknown, and nobody fancied hunting the Japanese in the subterranean warrens. A sharp-eyed Marine spotted an air vent, conferred with his buddies, and solved the problem. “We borrowed a five-gallon gas can from the back of a Jeep, boosted him up on top [of the bunker] and passed the gas can up to him,” recalled PFC John C. Pope, who was frequently attached to Baker Company. “He poured all five gallons down the air vent pipe, and then he dropped a thermite grenade down the pipe to set them on fire. Almost immediately the big shells stored inside began to explode. After those explosions, we did not have to worry about them sneaking back in.” [18]
These blockhouses, reduced to shattered concrete and tangled rebar, were familiar sights to Baker Company by the end of D+1.
Photographs from Iwo Jima Naval Gunfire Support.
Unfortunately, the immolation of the ammunition bunker would be one of Baker Company’s only successes for the day. Their commanding position was highly visible to the Japanese, who mercilessly pounded the blockhouses with mortars and small arms. Going outside was not a welcome option, but orders were orders and the company gamely tried to advance. “We tried to get off the ridge and gain some ground, we would gain a hundred yards, and then we would have to fall back up the ridge where we had some protection,” recalled PFC Charles Kubicek. “A hundred yards was a big move back then.” [19]
A few managed to get out of the bunkers only to be pinned down in Japanese trenches and shell holes. One such Marine was PFC Stanley Cupps of Tulsa, Oklahoma. “Chick” Cupps was part of a demolition squad and felt he’d earned a brief respite after his busy morning. He rummaged in his pockets for lunch – a can of cold hash – and set the open tin on a nearby rock as he made himself comfortable, perhaps glancing up at an American fighter plane droning overhead.
From above, the pilot saw movement on top of the ridge. Believing them to be Japanese soldiers – despite the presence of marker panels that identified friendly troops – he pushed his plane over in an attack dive. His shooting could not have been better, nor could his mistake have been worse: his sights were set on Baker Company.[20] Rows of .50 caliber slugs ripped through the terrified Marines, followed by rockets and bombs as other planes joined in. Cupps’ can of hash disappeared, vaporized by a bullet that all but decapitated the man sitting beside him. In all, sixteen Marines within a few yards of Cupps were strafed.[21] “Right after the plane went over, a sergeant yelled, ‘Holy hell! How did that happen and any of you are still alive?’” he said. “Mistakes like that happen all the time in war, though. It isn’t like the movies.” [22]
As if to prove Cupps’ point, explosions began to blossom along Baker Company’s line – and it was soon evident that American artillery and warships were mistakenly targeting friendly positions. The entire tragedy played out in full view of the battalion aid station, which immediately began preparing for an influx of casualties. Lieutenant (j.g.) Richards Lyon winced as a blockhouse took a direct hit, and heard someone mutter, “There goes Bill Eddy and Baker Company.” The loyal surgeon shot back “Not likely! Bill’s too smart and experienced and takes nothing for granted. He’ll take cover.” Doc Lyon was right: Captain Eddy was OK, but 25 Baker Company men suffered wounds on D+1.
Doc Lyon was already impressed with the courage and proficiency of his team. “[The surgeon] “Big Dick” Porter (all of 6’5”) and most of the corpsmen were seasoned veterans of three previous landings… They knew their business and rules for survival, not the least of which was, ‘If someone calls for help, call for rifle cover, because the enemy marksman will be zeroed in on his hit and waiting for you.’ Think and act.” Lyon was no slouch in the medical profession; his degree from Stanford and an internship at Boston City Hospital were impressive credentials. Yet he found he had much to learn from the teenaged corpsmen, some of whom hoped to attend medical school when the war was over.
Many years after the war, Doc Lyon would modestly sum up his contribution as “just admiring the actions of our seasoned corpsmen.”
The Reserve: Charlie Company
Two hundred yards from the bombed and blasted blockhouses, Charlie Company crouched in battalion reserve. Corporal Glenn Buzzard was among those who watched in horror as the friendly fire drama unfolded:
While they hated to watch calamity befall brother Marines, Charlie Company was quite pleased to be in reserve. The cynics would mutter “Semper Fi, Mac” – Marine-speak for “better you than me” – while the realists understood the direct relationship between the number of Baker Company casualties and their own chances of being fed into the front line. Charlie Company did lose a few men wounded, including a junior platoon leader. Shrapnel hit 2Lt. Francis P. Cabrall, Jr. in the face and fractured his skull; although swiftly evacuated to the hospital ship USS Solace, “Sonny” Cabrall succumbed to his wounds three days later. He was BLT 1-24’s first officer fatality of the battle.
At 1700, the word came down to consolidate positions for the night. Baker Company remained near its blockhouses, while Able Company anchored itself on the beach. The Japanese, knowing the Marines would not be moving after dark, stepped up their mortar fire as suicide-ready infiltrators said farewell to their comrades, fingered their hinomaru yosegaki, and picked up the grenades they’d use in their night’s work. They did not expect to return, and the Marines were glad to oblige them.
Seventeen-year-old PFC Kye Harris was one of the youngest men in the battalion, and one of the most experienced. He’d joined the Marines at fifteen, carried ammunition for Charlie Company in three battles, and was now a scout with the battalion’s intelligence section. Harris was nodding off in his foxhole when a bright flare startled him awake. A burly Japanese soldier was silhouetted before him and closing fast; Harris could see the man’s bayonetted rifle aimed directly at his chest. “Lacking the time to use his own weapon, without pulling the pin, he threw a grenade which landed squarely on the Jap’s chest two steps away,” recorded Captain Stott. “It must have bewildered the Nip for he stopped short, threw his rifle at Harris, wheeled and fled.” Stott also heard of a Marine from Company A who was jumped – literally – by an infiltrator. “Having nothing but his hands, the Marine used them to grab the Nip’s neck, which he started to throttle. Whereupon the Nip let out such a weird unearthly screech that the startled Marine loosened his grip and the Nip made off.” [25]
Young “Chick” Cupps, who’d narrowly escaped death by friendly planes earlier in the day, was crouched in one of Baker Company’s bunkers. The blazing light of a flare showed a pair of Japanese legs – identified by their Japanese leggings – directly in front of him. Cupps leaned on his trigger and the enemy fell dead on his own sword. “Another Marine told me the guy was standing there with the sword over his head getting ready… I guess he was waiting for the light from the flare to try to chop my head off.” Cupps kept his head, along with the bloody Japanese sword, which he mailed home to Tulsa.[26]
PFC Alfred Eskildsen had a unique view of the battlefield. His buddies boosted him up to the top of a blockhouse, the best vantage point in the area. A bomb-blasted crater in the concrete roof provided just enough space for him to crouch with his best friend and assistant BARman, PFC Charles Brown. Just beyond their post, the ground dropped cliff-like into the depths of the Quarry. They couldn’t see much, but they could clearly hear Japanese voices talking, whispering, and occasionally screaming – some obviously in pain, others just as obviously drunk. The enemy was coming and going from caves in the Quarry, not fifteen feet away. Esky and Chuck “made ourselves as skinny and small as possible” and spent a long night staring into the dark.[27]
Daytime or nighttime, life on Iwo was already beginning to take on an unwelcome pattern that would define the battle in memories and histories for decades to come.
[1] Weather report of USS Ozark. The average temperature for February 20, 1945 was 67° Fahrenheit.
[2] Frederic A. Stott, “Ten Days on Iwo Jima,” Leatherneck Vol. 28, No. 5 (May, 1945); 18.
[3] Ibid.
[4] For all the difficulties of combat on Iwo, and despite the loss of both radio jeeps in the landing, 1/24 noted that their communications were generally excellent throughout the campaign. SCR-300 radios (“walkie talkies” carried in a backpack) connected the battalion to the rifle companies, while SCR-536 (“handie talkies,” self-contained handsets) were used for platoon-level comms. In the event of a failure, they could fall back on wire lines – which could be continually laid and maintained “due to the slow pace of the attack.” 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), 161. Hereafter “Final Report.”
[5] Stott, “Ten Days,” 18. Stott barely escaped a tanker’s fate on Saipan, bailing out of a burning vehicle and dodging machine gun fire in a race to safety. He readily sympathized with the unique dangers faced by the tank crews.
[6] The assault and demolitions platoon was an experimental unit dreamed up at Camp Maui and made up entirely of volunteers. Their main weapons were 16-pound satchel charges, M2 flamethrowers, and bazookas. This platoon worked so well in combat that it became part of the regular battalion structure.
[7] Personal souvenirs were supposed to be surrendered to the two intelligence men attached to each line company. The prizes were tagged with the new owner’s name, brought back to the Bn-2 section for analysis, and theoretically returned to the captor. Some of the choicest souvenirs “disappeared” into the collections of the intelligence section or rear echelon troops, which led to understandable reticence on the part of line troops to hand over their trophies. On Iwo, 1/24 curbed this practice, and “the line company personnel were very helpful in turning in dogtags and other captured material, especially when they realized that an effort was made to return same to them.” 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), 145. Hereafter “Final Report.”
[8] Alva Perry, “The Men Of ‘A’ Company,” 2011.
[9] The attack order called for 2/25 and 3/25 to swing to the north and east, then advance with 1/24 as three battalions abreast. As the maneuver would pivot to the right, the right-most unit (A/1/24) was to wait until the line was advanced. This took longer than expected due to heavy resistance in the 25th Marines area of operations. Lt. Col. Whitman S. Bartley, Iwo Jima: Amphibious Epic (Historical Section: Headquarters, USMC, 1954), 80.
[10] Perry.
[11] Domenick Tutalo in Larry Smith, Iwo Jima (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2008), 105.
[12] Harlan Chester Jeffery, unpublished diary entry dated 20 February 1945, collection of Domenick P. Tutalo.
[13] Ibid.
[14] Tutalo in Smith.
[15] Harlan Jeffery diary.
[16] Perry, “A Company.” On Saipan, many Marines noted that Japanese shell bursts emitted greenish smoke. There were several panics, particularly when an enemy ammo dump went up, until the source of the smoke was explained. While picric acid fumes are themselves toxic, this was not a deliberate attempt to introduce chemical warfare.
[17] Tommy Lynchard, telephone interview conducted by the author, summer 2015.
[18] John C. Pope, Angel On My Shoulder, Kindle edition, location 1491.
[19] Bill Crozier and Steve Schild, “Uncommon Valor: Three Winona Marines at Iwo Jima,” Winona Post, 25 October 2006. Online edition.
[20] Final Report, 148. The AAR is careful to note that “This unit did not call for this mission,” while praising the work of their own Air Liaison officer.
[21] “The battalion suffered five killed and six wounded as a result of this misguided effort.” Bartley, Iwo Jima, 82. Friendly-fire casualties are generally recorded as being simply “wounded in action,” making it difficult to identify individuals. This author has only identified one, Private William Lazzareschi, who was hit in the leg by a .50 caliber bullet.
[22] David Harper, “Month in Hell Lingers in Memory,” Tulsa World, 19 February, 1995. Accessed 15 February, 2015.
[23] Richards P. Lyon. Personal correspondence with the author. Compiled online.
[24] Glenn Buzzard in Larry Smith, Iwo Jima (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2008), 87
[25] Stott, Ten Days, 18.
[26] Harper, “Month In Hell.”
[27] Charles Brown and Alfred Eskildsen, oral history interview conducted by Ed Sutkowski, “Interesting People with Ed Sutkowski, Episode #404 – Chuck Brown and Al Eskildsen,” February 26, 2009.
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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Adams, James Henry | Able | Corporal | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left hand | Evacuated to USS Sibley |
| Barraclough, Arnold Ezra | Baker | PFC | Basic | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, right leg; shrapnel, right arm; stone fragments right eye | Evacuated to USS Lowndes |
| Bell, Norman Richard | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Unknown | Removed for burial |
| Bosworth, Hugh Humphreys | Able | Corporal | Mortar Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Bridges, Paul William | Baker | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion, back | Evacuated to USS Leo |
| Buchle, Otto Edward Jr. | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, arm | Evacuated to USS Rutland |
| Butler, Raymond Lee | Headquarters | PFC | Assault & Demolitions | Killed In Action | Gunshot, neck | Removed for burial |
| Cabrall, Francis Paul Jr. | Charlie | Second Lieutenant | Platoon Leader | Wounded In Action (Fatal) | Shrapnel, face | Evacuated to USS Solace |
| Calcutt, George Hampton | Able | Private | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right leg | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Chambers, Russell Arthur | Headquarters | PFC | Assault & Demolitions | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, head | Removed for burial |
| Chichester, Harmon Irving Jr. | Baker | Corporal | Mortar Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Chorzempa, Andrew Joseph | Baker | Corporal | Fire Team Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Cline, Lewis Junior | Baker | PFC | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Cummings, John Joseph | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, abdomen | Removed for burial |
| Cuthbertson, John Allen | Able | Corporal | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Contusion, right eyeball | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Dore, William Gerald | Baker | Corporal | BARman | Killed In Action | Unknown | Removed for burial |
| Duncan, Allan Browning | Able | Private | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, face & back | Evacuated to field hospital |
| Edwards, John Owen Jr. | Headquarters | PFC | Assault & Demolitions | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion | Evacuated to USS Knox |
| Etty, Charles Thomas | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, head | Removed for burial |
| Gilbreath, Ardith Wayne | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, throat | Evacuated to field hospital |
| Haloostock, Steve | Baker | Gunnery Sergeant | Senior NCO | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left lower flank | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Harrison, Raymond Jr. | Baker | PFC | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right leg | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
| Horan, Edward John | Able | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, neck | Removed for burial |
| Horn, John Anthony | Baker | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, back | Removed for burial |
| Jeffery, Ernest Mason | Able | Corporal | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Jeffery, Harlan Chester | Headquarters | Sergeant | Assault & Demolitions | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, scalp | Not Evacuated |
| Kirkpatrick, Arthur Eldred Jr. | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left leg | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Knight, Lewis Cecil | Headquarters | Private | Assault & Demolitions | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left large toe; blast concussion | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Lanois, Edmond Joseph | Baker | Private | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left arm | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Lazzareschi, William George | Baker | Private | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, lumbar | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
| Loutzenhiser, William Paul | Able | Corporal | Fire Team Leader | Killed In Action | Gunshot, back | Removed for burial |
| Mandemaker, Harn Luke | Able | PFC | Driver | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, abdomen | Removed for burial |
| McCurdy, Allan Ross | Baker | PFC | Basic | Wounded In Action | Compound fracture, right tibia | Evacuated to USS Lowndes |
| Middleton, Herman Conway | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, head | Removed for burial |
| Moorman, James Robert | Baker | Corporal | MG Squad Leader | Died Of Wounds (19 February) | Gunshot, abdomen | Died aboard USS LST 929. Returned to beach for burial. |
| Nelson, Philip James | Baker | First Sergeant | Company 1Sgt. | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, tongue & soft palate | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Newman, Herbert Bowers | Baker | Corporal | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left knee | Evacuated to USS LST 931 |
| Novak, Bernard Blaise | Baker | Corporal | Messenger | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, head & face | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Olliges, Lawrence Herman | Headquarters | Corporal | Assault & Demolitions | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left hip | Evacuated to field hospital |
| Olson, Kenneth Byron | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, head | Removed for burial |
| Perrault, Lewis John | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Compound fracture, left fibula | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Pittman, Loyd | Baker | Corporal | Fire Team Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Pritchett, James Harrell | Able | Corporal | MG Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left wrist | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
| Puliafico, Aniello Anthony | Baker | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Randolph, Oakley Brice | Able | Private | BARman | Killed In Action | Unknown | Removed for burial |
| Rau, Donald Wayne | Baker | Corporal | Fire Team Leader | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right hand | Evacuated to USS Leo |
| Remington, Jess Bennett | Headquarters | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left knee | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Rettagliata, Emil Joseph | Baker | Private | BARman | Wounded In Action | Compound fracture, left patella | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Rezendes, Edward Perry | Able | Private | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Compound fracture, left tibia | Evacuated to USS Hinsdale |
| Rooney, Joseph O'Neill | Charlie | PFC | Cook | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Rothe, Ervin Donald | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, head | Removed for burial |
| Salvaggio, Marshall | Able | First Lieutenant | Platoon Leader | Wounded In Action | Multiple shrapnel wounds | Evacuated to field hospital |
| Saunders, Russell Devenu | Baker | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Schafer, Everett Ellsworth | Baker | Sergeant | MG Section Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (serious) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Sherwin, Raymond Laurance | Baker | PFC | Basic | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left humerus | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Skora, John Frances | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, neck, lip & left foot | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
| Smith, Charles Wilbur | Baker | Private | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, chin | Evacuated to USS Sibley |
| Steele, Paul Kenneth | Able | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Bayfield |
| Taylor, Robert Lee | Charlie | Field Cook | Cook | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, leg | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
| Townsend, Charles Arthur | Baker | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Tyre, Randolph | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left buttocks | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Wallace, Jesse Calvin | Charlie | Corporal | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left hand | Evacuated to USS Pinkney |
| Wanagaitis, Bartholomew Robert John | Able | Corporal | Mortar Squad Leader | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, lower right back | Removed for burial |
| Webb, Samuel Sidney | Headquarters | Corporal | Lineman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| Webber, Howard Lawrence | Able | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, neck & left foot | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Wendte, Joseph Henry | Able | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not Evacuated |
| White, Billy Gene | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, abdomen | Evacuated to USS Deuel |
