by King, Dan
In his state of nausea it seemed that an eternity had slipped beneath the hull of the ship. Akikusa heard the cheery bugle tune of "mess call" but waved off the idea of eating; his mouth was dry and tasted of bile. His friends Kageyama and Kumakura went down to the galley, leaving Akikusa clinging to the windy railing like a bird on a wire. He was trying to suck in as much fresh, cool, sea air as possible.
The dawn revealed to Akikusa that they were part of a convoy, but he still didn't know the destination. In June and July 1944, US submarines were fattening their kill tallies with Japanese transport vessels culled north of the Ogasawara Islands. The Enjū Maru was one of six vessels being escorted to Chichi Jima in convoy number 3729, which was part of operation "I-go Sakusen Yusō."45 Sailing alongside the Enjū Maru were the transports Shōgen Maru, Tonegawa Maru, Ryūkō Maru, Hokkai Maru and Unkai Maru No. 7. From the deck of his flagship Matsu, Rear-Admiral Ichimatsu Takahashi commanded the 2nd Gōei Sendan escort destroyer squadron, which included Hatakaze, and three sub chasers: Kaibōkan 4, 12 and 51. Providing air cover for the convoy were aircraft from the aircraft carrier Zuihō's 931st Naval Air Group.46 The Zuihō had her own dedicated group of escort destroyers; Yamagumo, Nowaki, Akatsuki and Hatsutsuki.47
The lookouts were at their posts with binoculars, straining for signs of enemy submarines. The Enjū Maru's crew had good reason to be nervous because an American submarine had damaged their ship six months earlier in these same waters.[27]
Kumakura returned from chow call with two rice balls that he handed to Akikusa saying, "Here, you should eat something." Feeling grateful, yet unsure of himself, Akikusa gingerly took a small bite, and then another, carefully chewing. The second bite uncovered a familiar tiny, dark pink, salted plum that which helped ease his sour stomach.
The day passed without incident as they observed the color of the sea gradually change from green to bluish hues. Silvery flying fish popped out of the water for a brief moment, their gossamer fins giving them sufficient glide time to earn their nickname.
Shortly before sunrise on the following day, Akikusa noted the ocean had changed to a stunning blue color. The escort destroyers were no longer visible. A wave of panic came over him as a klaxon horn blared a staccato warning. A voice announced, "Battle Stations, Aircraft Alarm." There were two tiny dots far in the distance. The disembodied voice then bellowed, "Unidentified Aircraft. Distance, 10,000 meters." The crews manning the anti-aircraft guns trained their weapons on the incoming planes as the passengers dashed below decks for safety. Moments later one of the planes used a light to blink a simple coded message. A pair of Jake floatplanes from Chichi Jima's 901st Naval Air Group, assigned to escort duty, waggled their wings in a greeting and circled the convoy. Strict radio silence had prohibited the planes from identifying themselves prior to approaching the convoy.
Akikusa and the others returned topside and searched the horizon. Ever so slowly, something appeared on the horizon like a giant green turtle poking its head out of the sea. "That must be Chichi Jima," said Kageyama. A feeling of relief came over Akikusa as the island grew in size. Dolphins cavorted in the shockingly clear water and surfed in the ship's bow wake as if to congratulate the Enjū Maru for running the gauntlet. As the ship pulled up to the dock in Futami Bay, a shrill boatswain's pipe came over the loudspeaker followed by a voice, "Prepare to disembark!" It was 3:00 p.m., on Saturday, July 28, 1944. As the troops moved towards the gangway Akikusa peered down into the amazingly clear water to see aquarium-like brightly-colored tropical fish darting among the coral. Akikusa and the others walked down the gangway to the sound of the boatswain's pipe. The island had a sandy beach, was lush and green, and its air was filled with the songs of birds echoing in hills. This isn't so bad, Akikusa told himself.
A navy signalman wearing the older round rating rank insignia met Akikusa and the other radiomen at the dock. The radiomen hefted their sea bags and followed the signalman inland up a well-worn path for about 500 yards. Continuing upward past some papaya, palm and pine trees, they arrived at a grouping of two-story wooden homes, one of which would serve as their barracks. The signalman provided an orientation on chow and bathing arrangements and the location of their assigned air raid shelter. The house to the right was the barracks for the naval accounting and storekeepers, and acted as a galley for the troops in the immediate area.
After the briefing, the newcomers were left to their own devices. Kumakura picked a few semi-ripe papayas, which they shared in a circle sitting on the ground. After a few bites of the rare fruit, Akikusa's empty stomach began to rumble. He had not eaten much during the voyage. Outside the galley building, a sailor banged on an empty pot hanging from a tree; the universally welcome sound for chow call meant sailors stationed at the different barracks had to "come and get it." The designated "food-fetchers," usually the junior man, took metal cans of rice and soup back to their squads. After dinner, the sun dipped towards the horizon, providing a colorful display of colors for the radiomen who were happily fed and rested. I am going to like it here, Akikusa thought. "After we ate, Kumakura showed off his talent for blowing perfect smoke rings with his little brass pipe," said Akikusa.
A few uneventful days passed with no work assignments for the radiomen. One day, the air raid sirens began to wail, growing louder, echoing through the trees and bouncing back from the cliffs across Futami Bay. Akikusa stood motionless, lulled into a sense of security by the peaceful atmosphere of Chichi Jima, until several men pushed past, which startled him into action. Akikusa scrambled for his designated underground shelter, barely squeezing in before cracking thunder filled the air. Akikusa didn't see any enemy ships or aircraft and had no idea what was happening. He felt movement behind him; "I forgot something, I'll be right back," shouted a man as he wriggled towards the entrance. Moments later, he returned with two rifles and a leather belt, heavy with cartridge pouches. The man shoved his way back into the shelter and shouted over the din, "They will be landing soon. We'll need these." Akikusa looked at the rifles and grew worried, when will I get my rifle? The ringing in Akikusa's ears nearly obscured the all-clear signal.
As the occupants emerged from the dark shelter, Akikusa noticed his friends hadn't been with him. The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air as he scanned a smoking pile of wreckage that was formerly their barracks. The galley building was destroyed, too. Bent pots, pans and utensils were scattered about as though an angry wife had caught her husband cheating. A voice shouted, "Aki, are you ok?" His heart leapt as his two friends emerged from the galley crew's shelter. The radiomen nervously laughed and shared their impressions of their first taste of war. They picked at the broken rubble of their billet, but found very little they could salvage from their personal gear. Everything was burnt, bent, or full of holes. Even Akikusa's good-luck flag was gone.
Chichi Jima functioned as a radio relay and communication center, so the destruction of the radio stations was an important goal of the US Navy. One of these raids occurred shortly after Akikusa left Chichi Jima. Lieutenant (jg) George H.W. Bush was a pilot with Torpedo Squadron Fifty-One (VT-51) aboard the aircraft carrier USS San Jacinto (CVL-30). He was assigned to bomb a radio transmission center on Mount Asahiyama. Bush's TBM Avenger was struck by anti-aircraft fire and he was forced to bail out. Although Lt (jg) Bush was rescued by the submarine USS Finback (SS-230), the fates of Radioman Second Class John Delaney, and Lieutenant (jg)William White, USNR, who substituted for Bush's regular gunner, are unknown.[28]
After Akikusa's billet was destroyed, the three friends decided to make the best of the situation and assembled a makeshift roof out of the wreckage. Akikusa's only possessions were his uniform and the navy–issued tenugui (thin white cotton towel printed with a large anchor) that was draped around his neck.
The following morning, after eating breakfast supplied by another unit, the trio went into the small town and were impressed by a large tunnel sporting massive steel doors. Kumakura
said, "Too bad we weren't in there during the attack," the others grunted in agreement. The residents of Chichi Jima paid for the construction of the Ōmura Zuidō tunnel in 1936. It served as a corridor to connect the villages located on opposite sides of the island. The Japanese Navy later added huge steel doors, which transformed the tunnel into a massive air raid shelter suitable for trucks, small boats and thousands of men.
Akikusa and the others returned to the wreckage of their barracks and waited for orders. In the evening, a petty officer approached them and snapped, "Prepare to move out." He added the boilerplate follow-up command, "Don't forget your gear." That was easy; they no longer had any gear to forget.
That night, the trio walked to the bay and spotted a Type-2 SB(T) landing craft. It had a bow ramp, and was similar in appearance to American LSTs that were used to deliver vehicles, troops and supplies directly onto a beach.[29] Akikusa recalled seeing light reflecting off several 20 mm anti-aircraft guns mounted on blisters on both sides of the bow; he thought they resembled his grandfather's barren bonsai trees in winter. The crew of army sailors (senpaku hei) was making preparations to get underway. As Akikusa walked up the ramp, the grumbling bass of the engines and vibrating deck caused him to worry, I hope I don't get sick again. Cloaked in darkness, the Japanese LST chugged out of the bay to the sound of the "Leaving Port" bugle call. A few officers on the dock held a farewell salute.
Without even thinking, Yasuo Kumakura reached into his pocket and produced his pipe, but his ritual was interrupted by an unseen voice, "No smoking." An embarrassed Kumakura shoved the slender pipe back into his pocket and cracked his knuckles in smoker's frustration. The passengers were instructed to keep their eyes peeled for enemy submarines. The running lights were off, and there were no other ships in sight. Akikusa willed himself not to get seasick again as the ship pushed on through the swells. Over the grumbling of the engine, an army sailor said to no one in particular, "Welcome to non-stop service to hell." The engine chugged through the night, as the propellers churned up a beautiful blue-and-white phosphorescent wake of plankton.
The hours stretched on until the pre-dawn hue revealed an upside-down funnel-shaped island on the horizon. The date was Sunday, July 30, 1944. Akikusa said that the island resembled the pipe Kumakura carried. From their western side approach, to the right was the bowl of the pipe and stretching out to the left was the stem. The defenders called the volcano "Pipe Mountain" (paipu yama). At that time Akikusa didn't yet know the name, official or unofficial, of the semi-dormant 554-foot volcano that would become the setting for one of the world's most famous photos.
As the boat drew close to shore an authoritative voice called out, "Get ready to move fast." They would be landing on the western side of the island on what the Americans named "Purple Beach 1." It was on the opposite side of the island where the US Marines would be landing in 205 days. Akikusa looked over the gunwale and could see waves hitting the black sands of the beach. Without fanfare, the boat lurched and stopped. Even before the tip of the ramp cleared eye-level, the boat's crew was shouting, "Get out!" The men at the front began to scurry down the ramp, but much too slowly for an NCO screaming at the top of his lungs. Soldiers and sailors struggled to carry boxes, crates, sea bags and other gear off the boat. There were trucks on the shore, and soldiers and sailors helping to unload the supplies.
As Akikusa moved forward towards the ramp, he saw sand jumping up like water on a hot griddle. Enemy Aircraft! There had been no air raid siren. He instinctively looked up but didn't see anything, and was bum-rushed down the ramp by troops behind him. He heard aircraft engines growling amidst the staccato sound of gunfire that was coming from all sides. It was every man for himself as he fell to the sand. Akikusa leaped to his feet and ran for cover towards the volcano to the right. He threw himself to the ground in front of a rocky terrace. But a surge of adrenaline kicked in and he scrambled up and over the terrace, and then another, all the while imagining a bullet tearing through his spine. Please don't let me die, he prayed. He spotted a clump of tall pampas grass and sprinted for its camouflaging leaves. He squirmed his body into the center mass and gulped for breath. He looked up to see an airplane trailing a stream of white dots of smoke.
Gunfire erupted from the volcanic mountain to his right; it was the echo of gunfire bouncing off the mountain from nearby anti-aircraft guns. He tightened into a ball and prayed, Please hit me in the head, don't hit my arms or legs. The pace of gunfire slowed down, and then stopped as the sound of aircraft engines faded away. Akikusa suddenly noticed the oppressive summer heat and his thirst. He had no rations, canteen or weapon. He scouted the grassy area but saw no one. Did the others make it off the boat? He had moved inland so couldn't see the beach below. Akikusa struggled with what to do; Dare I return to the ship? No, what if the planes return and I get caught in the open?
Looking for a better place to hide, he moved to a cluster of small trees and bushes. He was startled by a guttural voice that roared, "Hey! You! Get the hell away from here!" He looked closely, and spied a dirty, deeply tanned man in the bushes staring back through large wild eyes under the brim of a cloth-covered helmet. The man was part of a navy anti-aircraft gun emplacement artfully disguised halfway below ground. It was covered with camouflage netting and surrounded by bushes. Akikusa asked, "Excuse me, is the Nanpō Shotō Naval Air Group unit close by?" The man jabbed his arm through the netting and barked, "Get out of here!" Akikusa meekly shuffled away in the direction the angry stranger had pointed. Welcome to Iwo Jima.
The Bunker
Akikusa made his way past the edge of an airfield and met someone who helped him find the Nanpō Shotō Shirei-bu (Southern Area Islands Naval Air HQ) bunker complex. Captain Samaji Inoue's Nanpō bunker was located about a mile north of the beach on the Motoyama plain at Mount Tamana-yama. The Nanpō bunker was said to be one of the largest tunnel complexes on the island as it would eventually house 800 men. The bunker had enough food, water and ammo to hold out for three months. But it was still under construction so many of the troops were sleeping in civilian homes, warehouses, and in tents.
Akikusa was met by a group of men who happened to be coming out of the entrance; someone in the back shouted, "Hey, Akikusa! Is that you?" It was Kageyama, with Kumakura in tow. The men shoved each other playfully as they exchanged greetings of, "I thought you were dead!" They had been separated during the strafing attack and took different routes across the island, but ended up at the right spot.
"What a welcoming committee we had, eh?" said Kageyama with a wide smile.
One of the other men in the group was PO1/c Kazuo Yamaguchi, a slightly older man who was also an alumnus of Yokosuka Communication School. "Let me show you boys around," said Kazuo Yamaguchi who was the senior man in the huddle.
Akikusa followed Yamaguchi into the hand-dug cave; it was bigger inside than the humble opening led him to believe. The entrance was built at a 90-degree angle to defeat bomb blasts and flamethrowers. Akikusa coughed at the sour stench that came swimming towards him on a current of dry hot air. It burned his eyes, which were still trying to adjust from the glaring summer sun outside. The complex had multiple ventilation shafts and entrances, but was still uncomfortably hot. The men passed a stash of bamboo poles, rocks and sandbags (made from burlap rice bags) that were used to plug the tunnel entrance from the inside. There were alcoves for lookouts and entrance guards. Illumination came from electric lights, small kerosene lamps and hurricane lamps resting in carved-out shelves.
PO1/c Kazuo Yamaguchi said, "This is our designated entrance, there are many others, but this one is ours." Akikusa wondered how Yamaguchi could stand the smell. They moved down a tunnel and approached a side room where Yamaguchi said softly, "This is where you'll be working." Inside the brightly lit anteroom sat a row of silent men wearing headphones, facing a bank of radio receivers. Akikusa recognized the Matsushita vacuum tube wireless key sets he trained with at Yokosuka. The
room also had the familiar short, medium and long wave Kawasaki transmitters, making Akikusa feel somewhat at home.
Yamaguchi led the men further down the tunnel, "Here is where the officers gather for strategy meetings." Further into the bunker complex were the gasoline-powered generators for radios and lighting. The men passed the Communication Chief's quarters, and the food supply storage area with wooden crates stacked to the ceiling. Further inside the bunker was a two-part toilet area about fifteen feet wide. On first inspection, it appeared to be a dry pit, but the rancid stench told Akikusa that the liquid evaporated as fast as it was deposited. There was a separate pit for the other business. Beyond that was a carved stairway leading up to an observation port.
They also passed by the morgue pit. There were bodies in the bottom of hole, packed in like sardines, waiting to be cremated. The tunnels were constructed so that the offensive odors from the latrine and morgue were confined, but the smells managed to waft their way out to mingle with the living.
The sides of the tunnels were lined with 55-gallon drums filled with various liquids: water, kerosene, or fuel oil for the generators. Akikusa estimates there were 500 steel drums, which served double duty as lumpy bunks for the troops, although some of the officers had metal spring beds with mattresses. According to Akikusa, at its deepest point the Nanpō bunker was 90 feet underground with an average ceiling height of 7½ ft and a width of 10-15 feet. Some of the tunnels were 100 yards long resembling an ant farm. The digging, which the radiomen were excused from, was backbreaking work that required rocks, sand, and other material to be carried out by hand in flat woven bamboo baskets.
After the tour, Yamaguchi escorted the wide-eyed freshmen to the main entrance that was nearly as wide as a small bus. The barrels of fuel and water had been trucked in through there. It was an impressive bunker complex, indeed.