by Daniel Wrinn
Enemy reinforcements funneled into the fight from the southwest. The Marines prepared for nighttime visitors at Horseshoe Hill. Japanese troops came in massive numbers: 700 sailors and soldiers smashing into Marine defenders throughout much of the night. Colonel Bruno Hochmuth’s 3/4 Marines had six artillery battalions in direct support of the attack and fifteen battalions at the height of the fighting. Throughout the crisis on Horseshoe, Hochmuth kept in radio contact with Colonel Bruce Hemphill, who commanded the support artillery battalions.
This exchange between commanders reduced the number of short rounds and allowed Marines to provide accurate fire on the Japanese. This hellish rain of shells blew massive holes into the ranks of every Japanese advance: Marine riflemen met those who survived with their bayonets. The enemy counter attackers died to the man.
The victory at Sugar Loaf lacked a climactic finish. There was no celebration ceremony here. The sniper-infested ruins of Naha loomed ahead, with Shuri Ridge in the distance. The 1st Marine Division sidestepped the last of the Wana defenses to the east. The 6th Marine Division crept west while the 4th Marines crossed the chest-high Asa River on May 23. The III Amphibious Corps stood primed on the outskirts of Okinawa’s capital city.
The Army’s XXIV Corps matched the Marines’ breakthroughs and success. On the east coast, the 96th Division secured Conical Hill (opposite Sugar Loaf on the Shuri anchor line) after weeks of fierce fighting. On May 22, the 7th secured Yonabaru.
Now, the Japanese Thirty-second Army faced a real risk of being cut off from both flanks. General Ushijima (this time) took Colonel Yahara’s advice. Instead of fighting to the death at Shuri Castle, the remaining Japanese troops took advantage of the awful weather. They streamed southward to their last line of prepared defenses in the Kiyamu Peninsula. General Ushijima masterfully executed this maneuver. While Allied pilots spotted and interdicted the southbound columns, they reported other columns moving north. General Buckner believed the Japanese were rotating units in defense of Shuri. But these northbound troops were ragtag units tasked with a suicide rearguard action. At this, they succeeded.
On May 29, a South Carolina company commander raised the “Stars and Bars” Confederate flag over the abandoned Shuri Castle. According to General del Valle: “every damn OP that could see that flag started telephoning me and raising Cain. I had one hell of a hullabaloo on the telephone. I agreed to replace that rebel flag with the Stars and Stripes, but it took two days to get it through the Japs rear guards.”
On May 31, Colonel Richard Ross, CO of the 3/1 Marines, raised the Stars and Stripes over Shuri Castle and then took cover. Unlike Sugar Loaf Hill, Shuri Castle could be seen from all over southern Okinawa. Every Japanese gunner within range opened up on the hated American colors. Even though the Stars & Stripes fluttered over Shuri Castle, and the formidable enemy defenses had been breached, the Japanese Thirty-second Army still remained as deadly a fighting force as ever. The enemy would sell their lives dearly for the final eight shell-pocked, rain-soaked miles of southern Okinawa.
Screaming Mimi
Withdrawing Japanese troops did not easily escape from their Shuri defenses. US Navy spotter planes found the southbound column and called in a devastating fire from every available attack craft and half a dozen ships.
Soon after, many miles of that muddy road were littered with wrecked field guns, trucks, and corpses. General del Valle congratulated the Tactical Air Force: “Thanks for the prompt response this afternoon when the Nips were caught on the road with their kimonos down.”
Still, most of General Ushijima’s Thirty-second Army survived and made it to their “Alamo” on the Kiyamu Peninsula. The Tenth Army missed an opportunity to end the battle a month early—stalled by heavy rains and deep mud—simply too encumbered to swiftly respond.
Allied infantry trudged south, cursing the weather but glad to be past the Shuri line. Every advance exacted a price in blood. A Japanese sniper killed Colonel Horatio Woodhouse, CO of the 2/22 Marines (and General Shepherd’s cousin) as he led his battalion toward the Kokuba Estuary. Shepherd grieved privately at the loss of his young cousin and put the battalion XO, Colonel John G. Johnson, in command.
As troops of the III Amphibious Corps continued south, Marines came upon a series of east-west ridges that dominated open farmlands. Colonel Snedeker wrote: “The southern part of Okinawa consisted primarily of cross ridges that stuck out like the bones of a fish.” In the meantime, divisions from the Army’s XXIV Corps carefully approached the towering escarpments in their zone. The remaining Japanese troops had gone to ground again along the ridges and peaks—lying in wait to ambush the Allied advance.
Rain and mud plagued the advancing Allied forces. In Eugene Sledge’s book, he described this battlefield as a “five-mile sea of mud.” PFC Sledge wrote: “The mud in camp on Pavuvu was a nuisance. But the mud on that Okinawan battlefield was misery beyond description.”
The 96th Division reported the results of a full day’s efforts under these conditions: “those on the reverse slope slid back and those on the forward slope down—otherwise no change.”
Marines chafed at the heavy-handed controls of the Tenth Army, which seemed to stall at each encounter with a Japanese outpost. General Buckner preferred a massive application of firepower and destroying every obstacle before committing troops into the open. Colonel Shapley, CO of the 4th Marines, disagreed: “I’m not too sure that sometimes when they whittle you away, ten to twelve men a day, that maybe it would be better to take a hundred losses a day to get out sooner.”
Colonel Wilburt “Bigfoot,” Brown, CO of the 11th Marines (legendary veteran artilleryman) believed the Tenth Army relied too heavily on firepower. “We dumped a tremendous amount of metal into those Jap positions. Nothing could have lived through that churning mass of roaring and falling shells—but when we advanced, the Nips were still there—and mad as hell.” Colonel Brown also had strong feelings about the overuse of star shells for night illumination: “It was like we were the children of Israel in the wilderness: living under a pillar of fire by night and a cloud of smoke by day.”
This heavy reliance on artillery support stressed the amphibious supply system. The Tenth Army’s demand for heavy ordinance grew to over 3,000 tons of ammunition per day. Each round had to be delivered to the beach and distributed along the front. This reduced the availability of other supplies, including rations. Frontline troops began to go hungry. Partial support came from the friendly skies when Marine torpedo-bombers air-dropped rations during the first three days of June.
Offshore, the fleet endured waves of kamikaze attacks. On May 17, Admiral Turner announced an end to the amphibious assault phase and departed. General Buckner now reported to Admiral Spruance. Admiral Harry Hill assumed command of the enormous amphibious force still supporting the Tenth Army. On May 27, Admiral “Bull” Halsey relieved Spruance. And the Fifth Fleet officially became the Third Fleet: same crew, same ships, different designation. Turner and Spruance began plotting their next amphibious assault—Operation Downfall—the invasion of the Japanese home islands.
General Shepherd appreciated the vast amphibious resources available and decided to inject some tactical mobility into this sluggish campaign. For the 6th Division to secure the Naha Airfield, Shepherd had to first overcome the Oroku Peninsula. The hard way of achieving this would be to attack from the peninsula’s base and scratch seaward. Or Shepherd could launch a shore-to-shore amphibious assault and surprise the enemy on their flank. “The Japanese expected us to cross the Kokuba,” Shepherd said. “I wanted to surprise them.”
Shepherd convinced General Geiger of the wisdom of this approach, but getting General Buckner’s approval took much longer. Eventually, Buckner agreed but only gave the 6th Marine Division thirty-six hours to plan and execute this division-level amphibious assault.
Colonel Krulak relished this challenge. Scouts from Major “Cold Steel” Walker’s 6th Recon Company crept across the statuary at night to gather intelli
gence on the enemy defenders and Nishikoku Beaches. Scouts confirmed a cobbled force of Japanese Navy units under an old adversary. The final opposed amphibious landing of the Pacific War would be launched against one of the last surviving SNLF (Special Naval Landing Force) commanders—Admiral Minoru Ota.
Admiral Ota was fifty-four years old and a graduate of the Japanese Naval Academy. A veteran of the elite SNLF service from as early as 1932 in Shanghai. Ten years later, he commanded the 2nd Combined Special Landing Force meant to assault Midway but was prevented by the catastrophic naval defeat suffered by the Japanese.
In November 1942, he commanded the 8th Combined Special Landing Force in the Solomons, defending Bairoko against the 1st Marine Raiders. By 1945, the SNLF had mostly disappeared. Ota was in command of a motley outfit of several thousand coastal defense and antiaircraft gunners, aviation mechanics, and construction specialists. Ota still breathed fire into his forces. He equipped his ragtag troops with hundreds of machine cannons from wrecked aircraft and made them sow thousands of mines.
Shepherd knew he was in for a fight and that he faced a skilled opponent; he also realized that he had the advantage of surprise if his forces could act quickly. The final planning details centered on problems with the division’s previously dependable LVTs. The hard-fighting onshore had taken a hefty toll on the tracks and suspension systems of these amphibious assault vehicles—and there were no repair parts available. Worse, the first typhoon of the season was approaching, and the Navy was getting jumpy. General Shepherd remained resolute in executing the assault on June 4, and Admiral Halsey backed him up.
Shepherd chose Colonel Shapley to lead the 4th Marines in the assault. Shapley divided the 650-yard Nishikoku Beach between the 1/4 Marines on the right and the 2/4 on the left. Despite the heavy rains, the assault jumped off on schedule. The Oroku Peninsula exploded in smoke and flame under the hammering of hundreds of naval guns, aerial bombs, and artillery batteries. Scouts secured Ono Yama island while the 4th Marines swept across the statuary. LCIs and LCMs loaded with tanks appeared from Loomis Harbor in the north.
The amphibious force achieved total surprise. Many of the busted-up LVTs broke down en route, causing delays, but enemy fire was negligible. Empty LVTs from the first waves quickly returned to rescue the stranded troops. The 4th Marines rapidly advanced with Colonel Whaling’s 29th Marines close behind. By dusk, Marines occupied 1,200 yards on Oroku Peninsula. A furious Admiral Ota redeployed his sailors to the threat from the rear.
This amphibious assault had been near-perfect and a model for future study in amphib ops. The typhoon blew through while the Marines occupied the peninsula and captured the airfield in two days. On June 7, when the 1st Division reached the southwest coast north of Itoman, Admiral Ota’s force had no chance of escape. General Shepherd ordered a threefold enveloping movement with his regiments—leading to the inevitable outcome.
The battle for the Oroku Peninsula was savage. Admiral Ota was no ordinary enemy commander. His 5,000 troops fought with a warrior’s spirit and were heavily armed. No similar size Okinawan force had so many automatic weapons or so effectively placed mines. Marines encountered devastating enemy weapons at short range—rail-mounted 8-inch rockets, “the Screaming Mimi,” and massive 320mm spigot mortars firing “Flying Ashcans.”
On June 9, the 4th Marines reported: “Stubborn defense of high ground by MG and 20mm fire. Character of opposition unchanged. L Hill under attack from two sides. Another tank shot on right flank, thinking 8-inch gun.”
Admiral Ota saw the end coming. On June 6, he reported to Tokyo: “The troops have fought valiantly in the finest tradition of the Japanese Navy. While fierce bombardments may have deformed the mountains of Okinawa, they cannot alter the loyal spirit of our men.” Three days later, Ota sent his final message to General Ushijima: “Enemy tank groups now attack our cave headquarters. The naval force will have a glorious death.” Ota committed ritual suicide—his duty now done.
General Shepherd had defeated a competent and worthy foe. In his Oroku operation after-action report he said: “In ten days of fighting we killed 5,000 Japanese and took 200 prisoners. Mines disabled thirty of our tanks. One tank was destroyed by two direct hits from an 8-inch naval gun at point-blank range. 1,608 Marines were wounded or killed.”
Wrapping up the Fight
When the 1st Marine Division reached the coast near Itoman, it was the first time the division had access to the sea in over a month. This relieved the veteran division’s extended supply lines. Colonel Snedeker, CO of the 7th Marines, wrote: “As we reached the shore we were helped a great deal by amphibian tractors that had come down the coast with supplies. Otherwise, there was no way in hell we could get supplies overland.”
The wide-open southern country allowed General del Valle to further refine the deployment of his infantry-tank teams. No unit in the Tenth Army surpassed the 1st Marine Division’s synchronization of these two supporting arms. Using those painfully learned tactical lessons from Peleliu, the 1st Division never allowed their tanks to range beyond the support of accompanying artillery and infantry. This resulted in the 1st Tank Battalion being the only armored unit in the battle not to lose a tank to Japanese suicide squads—even during the swirling close-quarter combat at Wana Draw.
General del Valle appreciated his attached Army 4.2 mortar battery: “My tanks had such good luck because the 4.2s were vital in Okinawa. We developed the tank infantry training to a fare-thee-well in those swales—backed up by the 4.2-inch mortars.”
According to Colonel “Bigfoot” Brown of the 11th Marines: “Working with Lieutenant Colonel ‘Jeb’ Stuart and the 1st Tank Battalion, we developed a new method of protecting tanks and reducing infantry vulnerability during the assault. We’d put an artillery observer in one of those tanks with a radio to one of the 155mm howitzer battalions. We used both packs of the 75mm, and LVT-As with the airburst capabilities. If any Jap [suicider] showed his face anywhere, we opened fire with an airburst and kept a pattern of pattering shell fragments around the tanks.”
On June 10, Colonel Jim Magee’s 2/1 Marines used similar tactics in a bloody all-day assault on Hill 69—west of Ozato. Magee’s Marines lost three tanks to enemy artillery in the approach. But they still took the hill and held it through a savage enemy counterattack that night.
Kunishi Ridge loomed beyond Hill 69. A steep coral escarpment dominated the surrounding grasslands and rice patties. Kunishi was longer and higher than Sugar Loaf, but equally honeycombed with enemy caves and tunnels. While it lacked cover with Half-Moon and Horseshoe on its rear flanks, it was still protected from behind by Masato Ridge—500 yards south. Fragments of the veteran 32nd Infantry Regiment defended the many hidden bunkers. This was the last of General Ushijima’s organized frontline troops. Kunishi Ridge would be as deadly a killing ground as the Marines would ever face in the Pacific War.
On June 11, enemy gunners repelled the first tank-infantry assaults by the 7th Marines. Colonel Snedeker had a different plan: “I realized, due to the losses of experienced leadership, we’d never be able to take Kunishi Ridge in the daytime. I thought a night attack could be successful.”
Snedeker flew over his objective and devised his plan. Tenth Army night assaults were rare in this campaign—especially Snedeker’s ambitious plan of deploying two battalions. But General del Valle approved his plan, and at 0330 the next morning, the 1/7 and 2/7 departed the combat outpost for the dark ridge. By 0500, lead companies of both battalions swarmed over the crest and surprised several enemy groups calmly cooking breakfast. Then, a brutal battle to expand the toehold on the ridge exploded into action.
As dawn broke, enemy gunners targeted relief infantry columns as Marines clung to the crest and endured showers of shrapnel from grenades and mortar rounds. According to General del Valle: “This situation was one of the tactical oddities in this type of peculiar warfare. We were on the ridge, and the Japs were in the ridge, on both the forward and reverse slopes.”
Marines on Kunishi desperately needed supplies and reinforcements. The growing number of wounded needed evacuation. Only the medium Shermans had the bulk and the ability to provide relief. Over the next several days, the 1st Tank Battalion (even losing twenty-two Shermans to enemy fire) made remarkable achievements. They removed two crewmen to make room for six replacement riflemen inside each tank. Once on top of the hill they exchanged replacements for wounded, but no one could stand without getting shot. So, all the exchanges had to take place through the escape hatch in the bottom of the tanks.
This became a familiar sight on Kunishi Ridge: a buttoned-up tank lurching up to besieged Marine positions while replacements slithered out via the escape hatch carrying ammo, rations, water, and plasma. Then, other Marines crawled under the Shermans, dragging their wounded on ponchos—manhandling them through the small escape hatch. For those severely wounded, they had the unsavory privilege of riding down to safety lashed topside behind the turret. Tank drivers provided maximum protection to their exposed stretcher cases by backing down the entire 850-yard gauntlet. In this meticulous way, tankers delivered fifty fresh troops and evacuated thirty-five wounded men the day after the 7th Marines’ night assault.
General del Valle was pleased with these results and ordered Colonel Mason to execute a similar night assault in the 1st Marine sector of Kunishi Ridge. This mission went to the 2/1 Marines, who accomplished it on the night of June 13 despite careless lapses of illumination fire by forgetful supporting arms.