by King, Dan
As the work progressed, the officer read off only four names. When Koshimura heard his name he was filled with joy, yet felt pity for the others that were quickly trucked back to the field hospital cave.
At 9:30 a.m., the officer ordered Koshimura and the other three men to board the plane. Koshimura tried to hide his excitement as engines whined and sparked to life with a roar and a cloud of exhaust. No sooner was the hatch closed, than the plane began to rumble down the dusty runway. Back on the ground, Ensign Ōmagari's men pushed the stricken bomber to the edge of the airfield where it joined the growing pile of aircraft in the bone yard.
Despite being one of the lucky ones to leave the island, Koshimura was filled with guilt. After the war he discovered he was the sole survivor of the 288 men of the 2nd Independent Machine Gun Battalion.
Roughly two weeks after this mercy flight, Ensign Ōmagari was angered to read a message from Yokosuka to Admiral Ichimaru's command requesting that no more patients be evacuated to the homeland. The reason given was that the patients from Iwo Jima often died within four to five days of admittance to the Yokosuka Naval Hospital. The message claimed that it was bad for the morale of other patients in the facility, and a waste of resources. Ōmagari said that these same men who were described as a drain on resources had originally come to Iwo Jima healthy and fit. But within a few months of hard labor they were burnt-out hulks. With little medical care, or hope of evacuation, those admitted into Iwo Jima's field hospitals were offered nothing more than a cruel form of hospice.
At the end of December, a navy reconnaissance pilot arrived and told Ensign Ōmagari about a massive earthquake that devastated two Nakajima aircraft assembly plants in Handa city, Aichi Prefecture. The Nakajima Aircraft Company's Yamakata plant and Yoshino plant were both destroyed, and that aircraft parts, including pistons, rods, screws, nuts, bolts, and cables were now under tons of rubble. The plants produced Nakajima's B6N Tenzan Jill torpedo bomber, and the C6N Saiun Myrt reconnaissance plane. The pilot believed it would take six months to repair the damage and sort the parts. This brought a standstill to Nakajima's aircraft production of the Jill and Myrt, two key aircraft in the Navy's air arsenal. "I already knew the war was lost. Those in command must have known it, too. I don't know why we didn't sue for peace. It would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives," said Ōmagari. News of the incident was withheld from the public until after the war.72
By this time, all twelve of the Army's Oscar fighters from the 23rd Sentai had been destroyed. Army aircraft maintenance specialist Corporal Shinjirō Nishi was excited when he learned that four Peggy bombers would be arriving to evacuate the men of the 23rd Sentai. But, instead of four bombers, only two arrived at the end of December to take home a select number of pilots and senior maintenance men. Nishi was heartbroken when he failed to see his name on the boarding roster. He and sixteen other maintenance men were forced to wait for the next evacuation flight, that is, if there was one. Nishi felt he had been left to die.
After the pair of bombers departed, Corporal Nishi and the others were transferred from Captain Inoue's Nanpō Naval Air Group back to the Army. "That meant no more tasty navy chow for us. Instead, the army gave us stale hard tack to eat," said Nishi. "We were not incorporated into a battle plan, but shuffled away and told to wait for orders. On one hand, it was a blessing to be persona non grata because we were exempt from digging. On the other hand, with nothing to occupy ourselves with we became anxious," said Nishi. The night after the pair of Peggy bombers left for Japan, Nishi had a premonition of never seeing his mother again.
At about this same time, deep inside Admiral Ichimaru's 27th Air Flotilla Headquarters Communications bunker, one of the radiomen remarked to Akikusa, "Tomorrow is Christmas Day. The Americans are Christians so they won't bomb us, right?" Akikusa didn't have a clue, but hoped the man was correct. Akikusa was tired of the raids that kept everyone bottled up underground. Akikusa said that by this point he were ordered to make only the shortest of radio transmissions, because the enemy would home in on the transmission source and drop bombs right on top of their position. "There were times we were ordered to tap out only a predetermined code to signal that the island had not yet fallen," said Akikusa.
Ensign Ōmagari attended a year-end staff meeting at Kuribayashi's headquarters at which the various Army and Naval staff officers presented their status reports to Division. The staff officers unanimously requested a break for the exhausted troops. The men were collapsing from the hard labor and meager rations. The men were digging their own personal platoon-size bunkers as well as working on their HQ bunkers and fortifications.73 The heat and hard labor took a toll on the malnourished and perpetually dehydrated men. Some officers suggested that the Navy send bombers loaded with vitamin drinks, medicine, and high calorie foods to distribute to the men to celebrate the New Year. Ōmagari stood against the wall, listening in total agreement, but was stunned by Kuribayashi's complete refusal, "There will be no deviation from the plan." Ōmagari wondered, what is the point of digging bunkers if we all die before the enemy even lands?
Radioman Akikusa worked as usual on December 31st, but when his shift ended, he and the other radiomen celebrated the best they could by talking of home. They reminisced about the special New Years dishes that their families would be enjoying. Akikusa sweltered in the underground tunnels, dreaming of big fat snowflakes landing softly on his roof of his parents' home. His extended family would gather to eat the traditional New Year dish of mochi rice cakes carefully roasted over charcoal flames in the floor-set fireplace. The small flames licked softly at the rice cakes, resting on a metal rack causing them to blister and release a wonderful smell. His grandmother and mother were busy for days preparing the special New Year's dishes; ozoni soup, mashed sweet potatoes, sweetened chestnuts, sweetened black soybeans and other delicacies. And who could forget the toshikoshi noodles served on New Year's Eve? The noodles were a symbol of longevity. Akikusa remembered his grandmother's words, "It is bad luck not to eat noodles on this night."
Deep underground in the hot, foul smelling tunnels, Akikusa imagined the sounds of New Years Eve back home; starting at midnight the deep resonant tone of the temple's heavy bronze bell would begin tolling. In a ceremony called Joya no Kane, Buddhist priests across Japan would strike a large bronze bell 108 times. Japanese Buddhism teaches that humans have 108 earthly desires, which are the source of all suffering. Across the cities, farms and villages of Japan, the deep sound of the bells is as much a tradition as the Christmas bells in London.
On this night, another Iwo Jima defender was thinking of home. On New Year's Eve, Lieutenant Genichi Hattori wrote a letter to his wife Sawako. He penned four traditional one-line Haiku poems for her:
Our ‘Joya no Kane' is the air raid bell announcing another enemy attack.
We welcome the New Year in the shadow of enemy aircraft.
As 1944 passes, we welcome the New Year inside our bunkers.
A beam of light from the New Year's dawn strikes the entrance [of the bunker] as water drips from an Octopus tree.
In his letter, Hattori described the blessing of fresh water in the form of a heavy rainsquall that struck on New Year's Eve. There were no temple bells tolling for the redemption of the defenders; the island's modest temple had been destroyed in air raid.
Kuribayashi's Oath of Combat
On January 1, 1945, while monitoring the radio frequency used by the B-29 bombers, Akikusa was taken aback by the sound of a woman's laughter echoing through his headset. He could distinguish the sound of male voices and the high-pitched, melodic female laugh. Why did they have girls on their aircraft? he has wondered for decades. Akikusa claimed that on one occasion, US aircraft dropped empty 55-gallon drums,[47] and a high heel shoe over the airfield.[48]
Kuribayashi rang in the New Year with a mimeographed copy of his three-part manifesto: "Five Oaths (to) Properly Train (one's) Spirit"
(Hon Seishin Rensei Gosei); "The Oaths of Combat" (Kantō no Chikai); and twelve practical pieces of advice for "Courageous Soldiers to Remember in Combat" (Tanhei no Sentō Kokoroe).74
Bill D. Ross, a USMC combat correspondent who landed on Iwo Jima, and later authored Iwo Jima: Legacy of Valor, wrote, "Marines found copies (of the oaths) in the first destroyed bunkers on the beaches, and they would find others in caves, tunnels, pillboxes and other bunkers - and on the bodies of the enemy dead - everywhere on the island."
Each line of "The Oaths of Combat" is numbered as being the first since all are equally important, just like the five principles of a soldier's code of conduct. (Author's translation. The original Japanese text is in the endnotes as a reference.)
The Oaths of Combat75
1. We will wield all of our strength to protect this island.
1. We will carry explosives and pulverize the enemy tanks into dust.
1. We will rush into the enemy's midst as kirikomi-tai to annihilate them.[49]
1. We will hit our targets, killing an enemy with each shot.
1. We must not die until we have each taken ten enemy lives.
1. We will hold out using guerrilla warfare to harass the enemy.
If this cheery New Year's card from the island commander wasn't bad enough, the following day Akikusa and Kageyama were ordered from Admiral Ichimaru's heavily fortified headquarters bunker in the north back down to the Tamana-Yama Communications bunker. While Tamana-Yama was well defended, it was much closer to the invasion beach. By now the island had been bombarded and attacked relentlessly, so it was only a matter of time before the Americans landed. Akikusa said he much preferred the safety of Admiral Ichimaru's Headquarters. The good news was Akikusa and Kageyama made the move together.
On January 2, 1945, while Akikusa was making the move from Adm Ichimaru's headquarter bunker to Tamana-yama, another man was moving as well. Thirty-four-year-old Private First Class Mitsuru Higuchi, 2nd Mortar Battalion, fell gravely ill and was taken to the 2nd Mixed Brigade Field Hospital. The doctor, Captain Noguchi, diagnosed a thiamine deficiency known as beriberi, but, as medic Shūji Ishii noted, there was a shortage of all types of medication so none was provided to Higuchi. PFC Higuchi was carried the following day to the Independent 312th Infantry Battalion's "rest facility bunker" near Mount Suribachi. Higuchi succumbed to his preventable illness on January 5, 1945, leaving behind a wife and two sons, aged six and ten-years-old. PFC Higuchi's physical remains were never recovered, but he left behind his shaving kit, which was picked up by Corporal Owen Agenbroad of F Company, 2nd Battalion, 27th Marines, 5th Marine Division (F/2/27). Agenbroad picked up Higuchi's straight razor, a sharpening stone, an army-issue aluminum drinking cup and a beautiful cowry seashell. He presented the items to PFC Higuchi's grateful son, Yoshikazu Higuchi, on March 19, 2014, during the annual ceremony on Iwo Jima.[50]
A few days after Higuchi died from beri beri, Ensign Satoru Ōmagari was on the southern beach with his clipboard monitoring the unloading of a newly arrived Type-2 transport ship. In addition to food and ammunition, SB(T)154 was packed to the gills with hundreds of neatly twine-wrapped bundles of sticks to be used as kindling to cook rice. The ship's crew had lowered the bow ramp, and Ōmagari was busy ticking items off the manifest when from behind him a stern voice said, "His Excellency is calling for you." Ōmagari turned to see an army officer wearing a green staff aiguillette. Ōmagari saluted and followed the man who led him to a group of other staff officers. Ōmagari snapped to attention like a mousetrap as the oldest man spoke, "You there. What is all that?" The entourage of officers, the man's age, and the walking stick all pointed to one thing – this was none other than Lieutenant General Tadamichi Kuribayashi. The General pointed his walking stick at the wood-filled gaping maw of the vessel and repeated his query, "I say, what is the meaning of all that?"
Ōmagari was stunned into silence, and wondered as to the true intent of the rhetorical question. He wanted to reply, In the Navy we call it ‘firewood' sir. What does the Army call it? Instead he wisely said, "It's firewood, sir!" Kuribayashi shot him a look of disdain. The General demanded to know why firewood was showing up on his island when he needed more water, concrete, weapons and ammunition. Ōmagari's brain raced into overdrive trying to come up with an appropriate answer. No matter how factual, the reply of "Because Imperial General Headquarters sent it, sir" was not going to work. Instead, Ōmagari held his tongue and remained ramrod straight. Kuribayashi snorted in disgust and spun on his heels with his staff officers in tow.[51] Ōmagari's description of Kuribayashi's micro-management style dovetails with several other survivors' accounts.
On January 7, 1945, Army Corporal Shinjirō Nishi and sixteen other aircraft mechanics from the 23rd Sentai received great news, something that was in short supply on Iwo Jima; Peggy bombers were flying in the next day to take them home. That night, Nishi was too excited to sleep. Would the bombers get shot down on the way in? After a restless night, the small group of maintenance men assembled in front of their partially demolished wooden billet to wait for a truck to take them to the airfield. Nishi was not prepared to see Kuribayashi come marching down the road. As Kuribayashi and his staff walked past the mechanics, which were by now standing at attention, Kuribayashi turned and approached the senior man in the group and asked why they were standing around. The leader replied that they had been ordered back to Japan, and were waiting on ground transportation. Kuribayashi briefly addressed the men, thanking them for their hard work and sacrifices, and then continued on his way. This was the first and only time Shinjirō Nishi saw Kuribayashi, and was impressed that the supreme commander had taken an interest in the lowly aircraft maintenance men.
Shortly after this chance encounter, the trucks arrived to take Nishi and the others to the pair of Peggys that had arrived with supplies. Nishi and the other maintenance men boarded the aircraft along with several officers that Nishi had never seen before. As the bombers lifted off the runway, Nishi was thankful to be leaving, but at the same time, felt guilt-ridden about leaving the body of his friend Hirō Hachiya behind in an unmarked shallow grave.
Nishi spent the next few months continuing to work as an aircraft mechanic for the 23rd Sentai fighters that battled B-29s over Tōkyō. His premonition of never seeing his mother again was tragically accurate. On June 17, 1945, Nishi's hometown of Kagoshima was razed by B-29s from the 315th Bomb Wing on Guam. His mother, Hata Nishi, was one of 2,316 people killed in the air raid. Shinjirō Nishi said, "The 1,000 stitch belt she made for me is the only thing I have to remember her by."
Not long after Nishi and the other maintenance men were evacuated, Ōmagari's classmate Ensign Kaneko told him that the "eggheads" from the Yokosuka Naval Air Technical team would be testing their rockets, and that he should come watch the fireworks. The rocket-men were assigned to an area located about 300 yards from the beach, above the East Boat Basin. According to Ōmagari, about 200 men gathered to observe the maiden flight of the so-called "new secret weapon." The team used a block and tackle to lift a 250 kg bomb onto a "V" shaped wooden launching platform which was angled up at 45 degrees, pointed out to sea. Ōmagari said, "The device looked ridiculous." After the observers took cover, the engineers remotely ignited the rocket using wires attached to what looked to be a standard car battery. The switch was thrown and there were a few sparks, then nothing. Just when it seemed the rocket was a dud, it whooshed to life loudly belching a thick plume of smoke. The rocket screamed off the wooden trough and flew out over the sea leaving a squiggly trail of smoke. For a moment, it seemed to be held aloft by the "oohs and aahs" from the surprised onlookers. The rocket-bomb soared for several hundred yards before it wobbled, then tumbled end-over-end splashing into the sea without exploding. Ōmagari said he was one of many who sounded their disappointment.
Ōmagari witnessed three other tests that were conducted with similar results. The weapons seemed to
have a mind of their own, with unpredictable flight patterns and landing wherever they pleased. Ōmagari's personal opinion was, "The secret weapon was a joke. What kind of weapon travels through the air so slowly one can watch it with the naked eye?" He continued to rib Ensign Kaneko about the wonky-looking contraption. Other officers smirked too, but the engineers seemed strangely optimistic. Their goal in conducting the tests was to determine if a bomb could be delivered with an attached rocket. The rocket-bombs only needed to fly 1,000 yards to reach the invasion beach, and they didn't need to fly straight because there would be plenty of targets.
Not to be outdone by the Navy, the Army's Research Center No. 7 was busy developing similar rocket-bombs of their own. The Army's Type-4 20 cm rockets were designed to be fired from a tube, but could also be fired from an angled launching platform. The Army's larger 40cm rockets were fired from wooden platforms only. Both weapons were used on Iwo Jima and Okinawa.76
Shortly after the rockets were tested, something wonderful happened on February 1, 1945. Akikusa was sleeping under the stars when he was awakened by a soft tapping his face. "Rain!" he shouted as he ran into the bunker to share the good news. Hundreds of men spilled out of the various exits into the darkness carrying buckets, pans, trays, and tent shelters to capture the life-giving liquid. The rain sizzled hard through the leaves of the octopus trees as the men quickly and carefully put out anything that catch water.[52] The water was carefully handed back inside the bunker via bucket brigade. Thankfully, the rain lasted long enough to fill all of the canteens However, it was a mixed blessing since the heavy rain created a muddy sludge that tended to plug the caves' ventilation shafts, so great care was taken to ensure the surface points were cleared out.
The Last Flight Out
The defenders received some good news. On February 10th; Lieutenant Shigeru Hanazawa would lead an element of five Betty bombers bringing in special rations of fresh vegetables, red bean rice, ammunition, water, and mail.77 The planes were from the K704th Hikōtai Attack Squadron (752nd Naval Air Group) stationed at Kisarazu Airfield. On the return flight, each Betty would carry out fifteen wounded men and mail.