BATTLE NARRATIVE
Mortars. Iwo Jima: 22 February 1945
Nobody could tell where the big shells came from, but sometimes they could tell where they would land.
Doc Lyon was good at spotting them. Sometimes he could hear the thump as they were launched, then looked skyward for the wobbling monster coming through the air. He would instinctively look towards the front until experience taught him to look to the rear as well. The missiles moved slowly; Lyon had time to set up a few sticks, triangulate the likely impact zone, and at any “threatening sighting, I would say ‘go,’ and our corpsmen would then move and dig in again.” The lumbering shells worried him less than the randomness of death, as when a stray bullet drilled through the forehead of a man beside him. “It could have hit any of us, so silently and decisively it acts,” thought the surgeon, turning to his next patient before another thump set him looking skyward once again.[1]
The mortars were a persistent plague. “I can hardly remember a day when those grotesque ashcans didn’t come at us,” remarked the operations officer, Major Irving Schechter. “It didn’t seem possible we could ever blast out all their mortars.”[2] Battalion headquarters demanded answers of the intelligence officer, Lieutenant David Lownds: when could the battalion commander expect to learn the location of the launch sites? Lownds was unsure. A handful of scouts were summoned and quickly briefed: PFC Ed Curylo recalled his instructions to “look for a six-foot mortar that the Japanese had.”[3] They had only a vague idea of where to search, but even ambiguous information was better than nothing. With the practiced professionalism of veterans, they gathered their gear and prepared their patrol. In the distance, there was another thump.
Wounded Marines receive treatment at an aid station near the Quarry. USMC photo.
Holding Position
Corporal Alva Perry might have seen Curylo’s little group heading out for the hills. Had he known their mission, the veteran Able Company scout might have requested to go along. He hated the massive mortars that looked like trash cans tumbling end over end. Rumor had it that the technologically inferior Japanese fired these missiles with a hammer, like a strong man challenge at the county fair. Some mortarmen held that the launching apparatus was more like a catapult or a slingshot. They must have been strong indeed, thought Perry, as each shell weighed nearly four hundred pounds and could be startlingly accurate. “It made a little whisper just before it hit,” he recalled. “The wounds were always killing, and very few survived a near miss.” Of all the weapons Perry had encountered in previous landings, “the Jap’s 320mm spigot mortar was the most demoralizing.”[4]
Instead, Perry would spend another day along the Boat Basin. Able Company and their attached engineers had more mines to remove, more pillboxes to knock out, more ground to cover. The demolition teams had their method down to a science, and as their skills improved, Japanese resistance diminished. Sporadic rifle shots and knee mortars replaced the heavy Nambus and the accurate artillery. Still, Corporal Virgil McNutt went down with a wound, and PFC Andrew Loban died from a shell burst before Able dug in for the night in TA-166J.
The tired Marines of Baker Company also had a comparatively quiet day.[5] They were in reserve, and while that meant they could be called upon at a moment’s notice to cover any section of the line, it also meant that they could more comfortably shelter from the strong winds and cold rain that developed in the afternoon. Corporal Melvin Burzynski’s buddies welcomed him back to the line, while three veteran corporals trotted, limped, or were carried back to the aid station. Mortarman Paul Bloor lost his left ring finger. Horace Burger, a former Army man turned Marine drill instructor, was borne away with shrapnel wounds to his shoulder and hip. Thomas Underwood, whose face appeared on the cover of LIFE Magazine the previous year, was struck on the head and suffered a nasty contusion. Their losses were keenly felt – only Underwood would return, and then only briefly – but it was still the quietest day Baker Company had experienced on Iwo. And if the sounds coming from Charlie Company’s sector were any indication of the carnage taking place, they were glad of the respite.
Charlie Attacks
Life in reserve was already a distant memory for Charlie Company. They moved out slowly at 0835, gamely aiming for the far-off O-2 line – but the Japanese fought for every yard.
“In peacetime, it would be bad enough,” said Corporal Kenneth Imhof. “It was hell on earth…. Try and imagine yourself attempting to run through volcanic sand that rises over your ankles with every step. You plod a few yards and have to throw yourself down because you’re so tired you can’t lift your knees – but you can’t go down because the Nips, hidden everywhere, are throwing everything they can at you.”[6] Months later, the Division Report could dryly lecture that “defenses to the front were composed of a succession of mutually supporting pillboxes emplaced on the high ground… well protected on the flanks….” Charlie Company, 24th Marines, were among the first to discover these defenses. They also learned, and learned hard, that “only direct hits by major caliber weapons seemed to have any effect on them.”[7]
It seemed that the only ones scoring direct hits were the Japanese. A handful of Marines went down during the 200-yard advance through “harassing small arms and knee mortar fire.” Some were hurt seriously, others reappeared after just a few hours, their fresh white bandages making a stark contrast with the volcanic ash embedded in their skin.
A forward observer party from 1Lt. Murray Fox’s mortar platoon scurried forward to provide Charlie Company with some much-needed fire support. Their leader was massive 2Lt. Steve Opalenik, a former champion wrestler. His professional nickname, “Steve Brody,” was appropriate, for Opalenik was a natural risk-taker with an utter disregard for danger.[8] Early on in his Marine career, he played his “Brody” role to the hilt, loudly bragging to his buddies about how he’d personally teach Japan’s best jiu-jitsu experts how an American “rassler” could fight.[9] His bluster developed into genuine bravery when he saved a buddy’s life on Namur; for repeating the feat on Saipan, he received a field commission. Gone was the bombastic “heel” Brody; in his place was the hard-fighting and highly respected Second Lieutenant Opalenik.
2Lt. Charles R. Anderson was especially pleased to see Opalenik up on the front line. “Scooter” Anderson was a notable athlete in his own right – he was a starting halfback on the undefeated 4th Marine Division football team – and he’d followed the latest “rassling” news in the papers back home in Nebraska. Anderson headed Charlie Company’s machine gun platoon, and his men were taking a pasting from the Japanese mortars.
As Opalenik spotted targets, he was spotted in turn. A Japanese observer beat the wrestling champ to the punch. “A cluster of Jap mortar shells dropped in among us,” Anderson later told a correspondent. “Steve immediately started directing his men to take cover. While he was standing out in the open, some more mortars hit our area. That burst seemed to shell-shock Steve momentarily. A third group came sailing over and hit him – he was just heading for cover after seeing that his men were all right.” [10] Two tiny pieces of shrapnel tore into the giant man’s head and heart, killing him instantly.
The Japanese had the range and dropped a fierce concentration on Charlie Company’s exposed position. The executive officer, 1Lt. William E. Reynolds, was riddled with shrapnel; he would spend the next fifteen months in Navy hospitals, but ultimately survived. Less fortunate was Bronx-born Private Robert J. St. Pierre who died before he could dive for cover.
“Iron Mike” Mervosh, the “combat-oriented” platoon sergeant of Charlie Company’s machine guns, stopped a small piece of flying metal. He sliced open his trouser leg with his Ka-Bar, dusted the wound with sulfa powder and applied a battle dressing. A corpsman shot him up with morphine and tagged Mervosh’s forehead with “a big M…. It meant evacuation. I wiped that thing off,” recalled Mervosh. “I could see the beach and the LCVPs and LVTs going back to the ships with the wounded getting blown out of the water…. If I’m going to die, I don’t want to die that way. I’ll die here where at least I can do something.”[11]
For now, “doing something” meant getting out of the way of those damnable mortars, and Mervosh tumbled into a large shell hole with five other Marines. They were all veterans whom he knew well. Corporal Robert DeNunzio crouched next to PFC John Hasara and PFC Louis Naccarato, one of the division’s champion boxers. Everyone wriggled down as far as he could, except for PFC Michael Cusimano who kept poking his head over the edge of the hole.
“Black Mike” Cusimano was not the nervous type. On the contrary, the Italian boy from Hoboken was usually spoiling for a fight. A veteran of three battles and a handful of liberty brawls – one of which resulted in assault charges – Cusimano feared neither Japanese soldiers nor fellow Marines. However, even the best fighters were helpless against a barrage like this, and Cusimano’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. As the rounds continued to fall, something snapped. “I’m getting the hell out of here!” he cried. “It’s too hot for me!”
“Mike, you stay here!” barked Mervosh. “Where in the hell are you gonna go? It’s landing all over. Sure as shit, you go out, you’re gonna get killed.”
If Cusimano replied, Mervosh didn’t hear. There was the telltale whisper of a mortar shell, and then everything went blank.
I heard bells ringing, and I heard angels singing. I thought I was dead, but I opened my eyes… and I’m alive. And as soon as I open my eyes, I see this Marine right in front of me – DeNunzio. He’s got a big gash in the back of his head, and just on instinct I ripped open his first aid packet and grabbed the sulfa powder, put it on the wound, and bandaged him. We knew elementary first aid – stop the bleeding, protect the wound, prevent shock – that much we knew.
After the blast, I couldn’t hear anything. I picked up old DeNunzio, got him back a couple of hundred yards, and that’s when corpsmen picked him up with stretchers and evacuated him…. Everyone in that shell hole was a casualty except for me. All I did was lose my hearing. And a little sliver caught me on the eyelid. If I had my eye open, I would have lost the eye. But that was nothing. That’s not Purple Heart crap, you know?[12]
Mike Cusimano hesitated a second too long. The force of the explosion shattered his skull. DeNunzio, Harasa, Naccarato, and one other man were helped from the hole and bundled off to the aid station, joining a growing number of men awaiting evacuation. One Marine had to be led by the hand; he looked fine but was unable to see. Surgeons aboard the USS Hendry classed him as a special case of combat fatigue — hysterical blindness.
At the end of the day, the company could claim a gain of 200 yards. They suffered at least 21 casualties; some, like Mervosh, did not seek treatment and thus bled and suffered off the record — and in the grim arithmetic of Iwo Jima, one man for every ten yards gained was considered a substantial advance.
News of Steve Opalenik’s death sent a shockwave through battalion headquarters. Nobody could quite believe he was gone. “He was the strongest man I’d ever seen,” mourned Major Schechter. “But he wasn’t strong enough to stop a shrapnel sliver from going into his brain.”[13] A report from the intelligence section compounded the bad news: the Japanese mortar crews had eluded the search patrol. The futile effort resulted in serious wounds for PFCs Julian Cusey and Kye Harris, and the rest of the scouts were fed up with the whole business. “We reported to the CO, told him what we saw, of course,” remarked Ed Curylo. “Coming back, we got into it with a few of the Japanese, four or five or six or whatever. I think we shot a few of them. If we killed them, I don’t know; we didn’t stop and ask.”
Curylo, a former Baker Company man, spotted familiar faces up on the ridge. “All my buddies were up on the rocks, so I said ‘well, I’ll go up and see them guys,’” he recalled. “I got up there, we started talking, and then everybody hit the deck except me. A shell hit maybe three or four feet away. I went up in the air; I don’t know how far, but when I came back down, I was paralyzed. The only thing that moved was my right arm and my head. I could get my body up a little bit, but everything else was dead.”[14] Corpsmen and stretcher-bearers rushed over to the stricken Marine — Curylo was lucky to be alive, luckier still to be close to the aid station — and hurried him back to Doc Porter.
Corpsmen tend to a badly wounded man at this 4th Marine Division aid station. USMC photo.
The roads connecting the front lines to the beach showed much improvement during the day, and for the first time, jeeps were available to transport 1/24’s wounded to medical facilities at the beach. Until D+3, only a fortunate or desperate few got a ride to safety – if an LVT happened to pass by, the crews would usually take a wounded Marine aboard – but most of the wounded had to be hand-carried back to the beach. The rainy afternoon was threatening to storm, and high winds drove the surf too high for boats to land, leaving hundreds of wounded men waiting patiently for a ride.
Ed Curylo’s last night on Iwo Jima was spent on the beach, senses dulled by morphine and pain, listening to the roaring surf, the grinding of engines, the groans of the wounded. And the occasional thump as somewhere, out in the darkness, a Japanese soldier fired another mortar.
[1] Richards P. Lyon. Personal correspondence with the author. Compiled online. The name of the unlucky man is not known.
[2] Irving Schechter, “The Lawyer Who Went to War,” Semper Fi, Mac, ed. Henry Berry (New York: Harper, 1982), 224.
[3] Edward Curylo, oral history interview conducted by Brian Louwers, Veteran’s Oral History Project, 4 December 2013.
[4] Alva Perry, “The Men Of ‘A’ Company,” 2011. In fact, the mortar’s intended effect was more psychological than physically damaging.
[5] “B Company remained in position as landing team reserve.” –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), 122. Hereafter “Final Report.”
[6] “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.
[7] Fourth Marine Division Operations Report, IWO JIMA, 19 February to 16 March, 1945 (18 May 1945), 11. Hereafter “Division Operations Report.”
[8] Steve Brodie (1863 – 1901) earned popular notoriety for reportedly being the first man to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. To “do a Brodie” meant to take a potentially suicidal chance.
[9] Bob Considine, “Steve Brody, Rassler, Hero in Namur Fight,” San Antonio Light, San Antonio, Texas (12 April 1944), 15. This breathless bit of reporting may well have been exaggerated for readers at home, who were more accustomed to seeing Brody’s name in the sporting section.
[10] “Wrestler ‘Steve Brodie’ Killed Fighting On Iwo,” Marine Corps Chevron, vol. 4, no. 12 (31 March 1945), 9. By the time this issue was printed, Lieutenant Anderson was also dead.
[11] “Sgt. Maj. Mike Mervosh, USMC (Ret.)” in Gail Chatfield, By Dammit, We’re Marines! (San Diego: Methvin, 2008), 70-71. Mervosh is listed on the battalion muster rolls as “wounded, not evacuated” on 3 March; there is no mention of his adventure on 22 February. However, Mervosh insists that he was “at the Quarry” when tagged by the corpsman. His view of the beach corroborates this statement, as does the amount of Japanese fire hitting the landing craft. Finally, there is no debating the date of Cusimano’s death.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Schechter in Berry, 224.
[14] Curylo, 2013 interview.
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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Bloor, Paul Arthur | Baker | Corporal | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Amputation, left ring finger | Evacuated to USS Newberry |
| Braddock, John Cornelius | Charlie | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Burger, Horace Edward | Baker | Corporal | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left shoulder | Evacuated to USS Solace |
| Chisholm, James Leo | Charlie | Corporal | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Collins, Daniel Joseph Jr. | Charlie | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, right chest | Evacuated to USS Solace |
| Curylo, Edward | Headquarters | PFC | Bn-2 Scout | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion; shrapnel, neck & cervical cord | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Cusey, Julian Harrison | Headquarters | PFC | Bn-2 Scout | Wounded In Action | Blast concussion | Evacuated to USS Logan |
| Cusimano, Michael Salvatore | Charlie | PFC | Machine Gunner | Killed In Action | Direct hit by mortar shell | Removed for burial |
| DeNunzio, Robert | Charlie | Corporal | MG Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Multiple shrapnel wounds, head & neck | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Epperson, Albert Beverly | Charlie | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left leg | Evacuated to USS Bladen |
| Fotiades, Bill | Charlie | PFC | BARman | Evacuated | Hysterical blindness | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Hajost, Walter Robert | Headquarters | PhM3c | Corpsman | Wounded In Action | Unknown | Evacuated to USS Ozark |
| Harris, Kye | Headquarters | PFC | Bn-2 Scout | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right cheek & back | Evacuated to USS Logan |
| Hasara, John Jr. | Charlie | PFC | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Evacuated to field hospital |
| Hayes, Ernest Julius | Charlie | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Puncture, left shoulder | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Lane, Lorrin Frederick | Charlie | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Loban, Andrew | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Multiple shrapnel wounds | Removed for burial |
| Lucas, Norman Marcellus | Charlie | PFC | Mortarman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| McAdoo, Raymond Arthur | Charlie | Corporal | BARman | Died Of Wounds | Skull Fracture (Feb 21) | Buried at sea from USS Logan |
| McNutt, Virgil McAdoo | Able | Corporal | Demolitions | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left hand | Evacuated to USS Bolivar |
| Naccarato, Louis John | Charlie | PFC | Machine Gunner | Wounded In Action | Mortar shrapnel, back | Evacuated to USS Logan |
| Opalenik, Steven Henry | Headquarters | 2nd Lieutenant | Assistant 81mm Officer | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, heart | Removed for burial |
| Patterson, William Robert | Charlie | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Combat fatigue | Evacuated to USS Solace |
| Poole, York Dudley Jr. | Charlie | Private | BARman | Wounded In Action | Combat fatigue | Evacuated to USS LST-763 |
| Reynolds, William Eugene | Charlie | 1st Lieutenant | Executive Officer | Wounded In Action | Multiple shrapnel wounds; compound fracture right radius | Evacuated to USS Hendry |
| Sammon, William Donald | Charlie | Sergeant | Clerk | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shin; deafened | Not evacuated |
| Smith, William Thomas Jr. | Charlie | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| St. Pierre, Robert Joseph | Charlie | Private | Rifleman | Killed In Action | Shrapnel, chest | Removed for burial |
| Starns, Carl Edward | Charlie | Assistant Cook | Cook | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Stebbins, Richard George | Headquarters | PFC | Lineman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right hip | Evacuated to USS Samaritan |
| Underwood, Thomas Ellis | Baker | Corporal | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Contusion, head | Evacuated to USS Hocking |
| Wallace, Ivan Lewis | Charlie | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Strain, sacroiliac region | Evacuated to USS Mellette |
Could you please tell me why my father was in the hospital during the war (Melvin Burzynski) He was my father. Thank you MIchael Burzynski
Mr. Burzynski – I’m afraid I don’t know exactly why your father was hospitalized on Iwo Jima. The battalion muster roll I use for a source says only that he was “sick and evacuated” on February 21, 1945, returned to duty February 22, then was again “sick and evacuated” on the 23rd, returning to duty on the 26th. After that, he is present for the rest of the campaign.
I’ve seen “sick and evacuated” applied to everything from running a fever to a complete mental breakdown. If I had to guess, I would suggest that it might have been a mild case of “combat fatigue,” which was fairly common in all units on Iwo Jima, particularly in the first few days. But that’s only a guess.
The National Archives is no longer releasing veterans’ medical records to third party researchers, but you might be able to get them as you would be considered Cpl. Burzynski’s next of kin. I’d suggest filling out an SF-180 form and sending in the request to the Archives. Even if they don’t release the medical record, you’ll still get everything else in your father’s official USMC file – I’ve gotten a bunch of them for this project, and they’re really fascinating.
Cheers,
Geoffrey
THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR DEVOTING YOUR TIME TO THIS PAGE! It opened the door to a part of my family that wasn’t talked about. THANK YOU !!!
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