by King, Dan
Kumakura and another man helped Akikusa down a sloping passageway to a room full of radio equipment where Lieutenant Honda and Warrant Officer Matsumoto came to their feet to receive Akikusa's message. Kumakura reached out to steady Akikusa as he crumpled to the ground. Akikusa recalled that the lieutenant yelled at him to stand and deliver his report, but the voice sounded like a dog barking down a long street. "I didn't care, I just wanted to go to sleep," said Akikusa.
Akikusa heard Kumakura shout directly in his ear, "Buck up, man, you can do it." Akikusa stood up couldn't salute because his right arm was stiff and his right hand was gnarled into a fist. With Kumakura supporting him, Akikusa felt something well up inside; he lifted his face and recited the message, "The Tamana-yama Communications Unit is low on food and water. Ammunition supply critical. It will defend to the last man. End of message." Akikusa added, "I was with several others. Please help them." Lieutenant Honda snapped an order to search for the other runners.
Akikusa was carried in a daze to the medical section. Kumakura helped gently roll him onto a wooden table where a corpsman and a doctor examined his injuries. Luckily, the shrapnel that tore through his thigh had missed the main artery and the bone. Akikusa was grateful they weren't going to amputate his leg. The doctor turned his attention to his smaller injuries and then to Akikusa's right hand. Without the benefit of anesthesia, the physician deftly cleaved off three of Akikusa's mangled fingertips at the first or second knuckle. After the bandaging was completed, Kumakura helped Akikusa hobble back to his cubbyhole to rest. They moved past hallways lined with 55-gallon barrels filled with kerosene or water, and crates of ammo and supplies. Akikusa noted that three of his fellow messengers had came in after him and suffered superficial wounds. No one made an effort to talk. Akikusa closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.
Akikusa woke up to throbbing pain and feeling disorientated. He was lying on a blanket atop a row of standing 55-gallon drums. How long have I been asleep? His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
Yasuo Kumakura gently tapped him on the chest, "Sorry to wake you, your bandages need changing. I'll help you back to the aid station." Kumakura gingerly assisted Akikusa to his feet. His body was stiff, and he moved to the medical section like a squeaky tin man. Akikusa gratefully accepted a sip of warm, sulphur-tainted water from an aluminum cup
Sometime later, Akikusa was again awakened by the sound of Kumakura's voice, "Hey Aki, the other runners are returning to Tamana-yama." Akikusa's thoughts were of his buddy Shoji Kageyama who would be waiting for him to return. The pair had been through basic training, radio school, the shelling at Chichi Jima and now months of hell on Iwo Jima.
Akikusa said to one of the runners, "Tell Kageyama that I'm doing fine and will return to Tamana-yama soon." As the messengers climbed up through the narrow exit a kerosene lamp cast long shadows inside the bunker as they slipped out into the night.
Akikusa and the other sick and wounded men were packed tightly together like sardines on the tops of 55-gallon drums. Akikusa dozed off, and awoke to discover that his blood-soaked bandaged hand was stuck to a sleeping man's forehead. Akikusa carefully pulled his hand free, waking the man in the process. He apologized to the man, who then asked about Akikusa's accent. The man was named Miyashita and was from town of Takazaki which made them practically neighbors. Miyashita was a civilian postal worker who was conscripted into the military as a gunzoku civilian contractor. Miyashita was sent to Iwo Jima to work in the Motoyama Airfield Post Office and wasn't issued a weapon or given formal military training. Although wounded, he somehow managed to find refuge in the Nanpō bunker.
Miyashita asked Akikusa, "Do you think we'll make it home?" Akikusa reassured him that if anyone would make it home, it would be the lucky mailman. But Akikusa himself was losing hope.
Kumakura approached Akikusa and asked,"Hey Aki, how are you feeling?" Akikusa nodded an unspoken reply. "I brought you some food," Kumakura said as he extended his filthy hand in which rested a glistening ball of rice.
Akikusa choked back a tear of gratitude. He instinctively reached out for the rice ball with his dominant hand but it was bandaged into a tight fist. Akikusa rolled on to his right side and accepted the treasure with his left hand and a sincere expression of gratitude.
Over the next few days, thanks to a steady diet of a rice balls and pickled vegetables, Akikusa slowly regained his strength and was able to hobble around with the aid of a bamboo staff. It seems the supply of bamboo poles that Ōmagari rejected on the airfield had come in handy after all.
The following day on March 2nd, PFC Eric Ojerholm wrote a follow-up letter to his family, the first one since his missive dated February 9th. Out of respect, it is presented exactly as it was written:
March 2, 1945
"Iwo Jima"
750 miles from Tokyo
Dear Folks –
Hope you don't mind this V-Mail letter, it is the only thing available.
I'm very happy to be able to write this letter, and grateful to God that I'm alive and happy.
Hope you're all fine and well. I hope you received my pre-invasion letter as it should clarify matters some.
Was aboard ship quite some time. Landed Hr 12 on D"day, the 19th.
Just got relieved from the front lines yesterday, and it was hell! I consider myself luck to be safe.
I have very much to say but will tell you all later. Undoubtebly you at home know more about this "push" and the Tokyo bombings, etc. than any of us just from the radio and papers.
I have seen plenty of Japs, dead and alive and likewise Marines. It really is a shame to see such destruction of life, especially when it is the fellows you've lived with. Luckily, none of my real close friends were killed, although some were wounded. Lived off K rations for most of the time and didn't mind it a bit.
This afternoon was the first time I washed in 11 days, and it was in salt water! In fact, even got a letter from you dated Feb. 7th. I prayed and dug plenty all the time. I dope we don't have to go up again. We were the assault battalion of the 27th, and up on the front too long. Have only one good souvenir, a Jap rifle, and have neither the time nor the stomach for anything else.
Will try to write soon again.
With love to all,
/s/ Sonny
The Imperial Mum
Ōmagari's aircraft maintenance bunker was about 100 yards from the Nanpō HQ bunker where Akikusa was convalescing from his wounds. On March 5th, Captain Inoue called Ensign Ōmagari and the other junior officers for a briefing. Captain Inoue said there was to be a "General Attack" (Sōkōgeki).
Had Kuribayashi changed direction and now wanted a banzai attack?
Ōmagari didn't yet know that Captain Samaji Inoue and MajGen Sadasue Senda conspired to stage an unauthorized mass banzai attack. Despite direct orders from Kuribayashi, this pair of high-ranking officers put aside their Army vs. Navy differences and decided to do things their own way.
Ōmagari recalled disagreement on what day to conduct the attack, March 8th or March 10th. For the Navy, the number 8 was an auspicious number because the Pearl Harbor attack took place on December 8th (due to the International Date Line). Others suggested that March 10th would be better because it was Army Commemoration Day (Rikugun Kinenbi).[65]
Traditionally, the term "general attack" meant that a unit had a plan of action with a timetable to complete specific objectives. On the islands of Saipan, Guam, Anguar, Tinian, and now on Iwo Jima, the words "general attack" came to mean that the commanders had declared, "We are no longer able to conduct organized warfare so you must chose your own method of death."
Kuribayashi had expressly forbidden banzai charges, but this was technically not a banzai charge, but a general attack. Ōmagari said that it was mere semantics, but it was clear that it meant mass suicide.
For the attack, Lieutenant Hideo Koshi
planned to lead Ensign Ōmagari and the 3rd Company of aircraft maintenance men. The password was Kesshi (do-or-die); the countersign was Kantō (fight bravely). Lieutenant Koshi would take a route past the wreckage of the Iwo Jima Shrine, through the Uguisu area to the western shore, and then south past Chidori Airfield. From there, they would continue south to assault Mount Suribachi.
Rather than risk capture, the injured men who were unable to participate in the attack were to be given grenades with which to kill themselves. Lieutenant Koshi ordered Ensign Ōmagari and three other junior officers to return to their bunkers and pass the word to their petty officers. There was no need to tell the wounded men until the last minute.
The sixteen-petal imperial mum crest, called kiku no gomonshō, was considered holy and could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Everything bearing the crest had to be defaced or destroyed. In addition to burning documents, codebooks and personal correspondence, the men also burned paper money because it bore the imperial mum. Ōmagari said they were using files to deface or remove the imperial crests on the tops of their rifles.
The activity didn't go unnoticed by Akikusa. Shortly after this flurry of activity, Nakamura came to pay Akikusa a visit with a few pieces of hardtack. Akikusa asked, "Please tell me what is happening."
Nakamura led Akikusa to a secluded alcove and whispered, "There will be a general attack in a couple of days. You and the other wounded won't be allowed to join us. Don't tell anyone, it hasn't been announced yet."
Akikusa returned to his steel drum bed and squeezed in next to the mailman who asked, "What did he say?" Akikusa hemmed and hawed, trying to find the right white lie to tell the hopeful postman. In the end, he claimed no new word had come. This seemed to calm the worried letter carrier.
On March 7th, some of the wounded men heard about the General Attack. Bad news travels fast. The men pieced together that the Americans had cut off the bastion, creating two separate defensive zones. A banzai charge involving all units in the Tamana-yama area would commence on March 8th, at 6:00 p.m. That night, someone spread the word that US Marines had fought to within a dozen yards of the Tamanya-yama Communication Unit's bunker's main entrance. Akikusa grew worried about his buddy Shōji Kageyama who was still there deep inside. Akikusa knew that Kageyama would be going out on the general attack with the men from the Tamana-yama Communications Unit and wished to die alongside him. But there was no way for Akikusa to make it back to join his old friend.
On the same day, the third platoon from PFC Eric Ojerholm's D Company, 2nd Battalion, 27th Marine Regiment was having a tough time. According to Ojerholm's platoon leader, the third platoon was trapped between a small hill and a heavily battle-scarred sandstone cliff, caught in a deadly crossfire and pelted with hand grenades. The Marines were in an untenable position and needed covering fire so they could escape. Ojerholm attempted to move in to position to take over for a wounded machine gunner, but was shot in the head and killed instantly.
While the battle raged above them, the Japanese officers deep inside Captain Inoue's bunker issued water to the troops so the men could conduct a traditional farewell water toast. Akikusa said, "I begged them to take me with them. I even showed them how I could walk with the aid of my bamboo stick." Akikusa witnessed men smashing radio equipment, desks and tables, and burning documents. Akikusa said at 6:00 p.m., scouts in groups of six left the southern, northern and central exits to seek out weak spots in the American lines. Captain Inoue was in charge of the group that left through the central exit. The others were lined up in the hallways waiting their turn. A phone message for Captain Inoue came in from Kuribayashi's HQ stating, "A general attack is not approved. Control yourself." But it came too late; the arrow had left the bow.
Captain Inoue and MajGen Senda and had ordered the General Attack to commence shortly after midnight on March 8th, which was early morning on March 9th. There was no turning back.
Akikusa stood by a group of radiomen in the back of a line waiting to depart on their final mission. He looked at the faces of those he had served with; Suzuki, Kumakura, and the kindly Nakamura who brought him food every day. The radiomen shuffled forward, greeting Akikusa as they passed. As Kumakura passed Akikusa he pleaded, "Take me with you."
Kumakura replied, "Not with that leg, you'd only slow us down. I promised my parents I'd come home with a Golden Kite medal. I can't do it with you hanging on to me."
As Nakamura moved passed Akikusa he said, "Listen closely. The units in the north are not taking part in this attack. Don't follow us. Stay behind in the bunker." And with that, Nakamura handed Akikusa a grenade saying, "Take this as a keepsake. And remember to take care of that leg."
The others' farewell greetings became a blur as they disappeared up the rabbit hole into the star-shell illuminated night. They were followed by a request from Akikusa, "I'll be right behind you, be sure to wait for me at the Sanzu River."[66]
Akikusa felt useless and ashamed. "I tried to get up and follow them but didn't have the strength," he explained.
There was now an eerie emptiness inside the bunker. Where there had been shouts, movement of materials, and the clacking of rifle bolts, there were only the muffled sounds of gunfire slipping in through the small entrances. Akikusa crawled up to take a peek out of the exit and saw a hellish, smoke-filled landscape illuminated by ghostly flares and criss-crossed by red and green tracer fire. High-pitched shrieks and whistles accented the large and small explosions that echoed across the terrain.
From Ensign Ōmagari's viewpoint, he and Lieutenant Koshi broke out the last remaining stores of water to share with the men. Each man received a single hardtack biscuit and a piece of dried bonito as a last meal. Ōmagari's fellow "90-day wonders" Ensign Yutaka Nakamura and Ensign Kenichi Yoshida would lead their own platoons. Ōmagari and the other officers removed their rank insignia. He said, "When the attack started I left our bunker with my sword in hand for my last night on earth. I pondered how I would meet my end. Would it be a bullet or an explosion? Would it hurt much? Would my father know where I died?"
The Marines facing them were the Fourth Division's 23rd and 24th Marine Regiments, which had spent March 7th assaulting the area known as Turkey Knob. Despite all efforts by the Marines, the Japanese strongpoint held out, so the Leathernecks consolidated their lines for the night. In many places it was too rocky to dig in so they piled up rocks for cover. Company E, 2/23 and Company I, 3/24 manned long lines containing the Japanese bulge.109 They were on edge due to a noticeable increase in Japanese activity during the early evening. Something was brewing.
Lieutenant Koshi led Ensign Ōmagari and his men out into the open, right on schedule, but it was a struggle for them to stay together in the darkness. After advancing roughly 200 yards they were pinned down by an angry mortar barrage. Was it theirs or ours? Did it matter? Star shells then lit the night. There were several close calls as mortar rounds whistled, cracked and ka-rumped around him. Ōmagari pushed his body into the jagged rocks and waited for the end. After only a short time the barrage began to slacken so Ōmagari crawled to Lieutenant Koshi and shouted in his ear a request for orders. An illumination round revealed that Lieutenant Koshi's legs were horribly mangled. Koshi used feeble hand gestures to issue the order to continue the attack. Ōmagari acknowledged and stood up to relay the command to those around him. Ōmagari took over the group, which by now had become a jagged conga line that stretched hopelessly into the darkness through craters and gullies.
The advance was slow because the men had to drop to the ground whenever a flare erupted overhead. Each man in the long line of creeping figures had to watch the man directly in front of him to get the signal to drop. However, by the time the last man hit the deck, the front man was up and moving again. Crossing unfamiliar crater-filled terrain, Ensign Ōmagari kept looking back for his men but was unable to keep them together. It would be meaningless to yell out, so he pushed on.
According to US records, at 11:00 p.m., the 2nd Battalion 23rd Marines, and the 3rd Battalion 24th Marines, reported large-scale infiltration attempts along the regimental boundary. Then at 11:30 p.m., a full-scale counterattack (which Ōmagari claimed was an unintentional encounter) hit Company E, 2/23. Shortly after midnight, Company E reported a severe ammunition shortage. This company alone expended 20 cases of grenades, 200 high-explosive 60 mm mortar shells, 200 60 mm mortar illumination shells, and uncounted quantities of .30-caliber ammunition. The Navy's support ships expended 193 star shells during the night.110
Ōmagari and his men hunkered down under the glow of illumination flares wafting overhead and waited as the Marines fired seemingly endless amounts of tracer fire over their heads. This is suicide; perhaps I should take them back to the bunker. Ōmagari said that he pitied the men who looked to him for guidance. He knew nothing of ground combat, and his men were grossly out-gunned and out-numbered. Ōmagari tried to get his bearings by lifting his head to look for the dark shadow of Mount Suribachi, but didn't know in which direction to look. "I was totally lost," he said. During a lull in the firing, he was tempted to crawl up a small berm for a better look. But a few near misses convinced him it was a bad idea. He and his men were in a pickle the Japanese refer to as, "A carp on a cutting board." Just then, a large group of Japanese Army troops filtered silently through the area. Ōmagari didn't know where the troops were heading but decided to take his men and follow after them.