by Toland, John
Admiral Ichimaru was equally opposed to Kuribayashi’s plan, and that afternoon he and three other naval officers confronted the general in Horie’s presence. Commander Hijiri Urabe of the Third Air Fleet made it clear that he was conveying the opinions of the Navy General Staff, not his own. “The Navy wants to build pillboxes around Chidori [Airfield No. 1] and is ready to send about three hundred twenty-five-millimeter machine guns as well as the necessary building materials. The enemy can land only near Chidori. Therefore, if we defend it with pillboxes in depth, Iwo Jima will be impregnable.”
It was the visitor from Chichi Jima who responded, not Kuribayashi. “How long did our guns last along the beaches at Saipan and Guam? Will you please show me just how effective the beach pillboxes at Tarawa were? Frontal defense against hundreds of naval guns and aircraft is futile. The lessons we learned at Saipan, Guam and Tinian have taught us beyond any doubt that the best defense is to snipe at the enemy from caves. We must realize we can’t defend a beach.” Besides, Major Horie added, the enemy’s big naval guns could blow up any pillbox. “Under the circumstances, how long could we hold out on Iwo Jima?” He suggested that Navy guns and materials be utilized to strengthen the defenses of Mount Suribachi and the Motoyama area.
“I agree with Major Horie,” said Kuribayashi curtly.
Urabe asked the general to reconsider, then turned to Horie with a forced smile. “I’m particularly surprised that Major Horie, who has always been considered friendly to the Navy, opposes me.”
“If I hadn’t read the battle reports from Guadalcanal, Saipan and Guam, I might have agreed with the Navy without hesitation. Now my conscience doesn’t permit me to do so.”
Kuribayashi remained opposed to strong defense of the beaches, but he needed the Navy’s co-operation as well as their supplies and weapons, particularly dynamite, cement and machine guns. The next morning he suggested a compromise: the Navy could use half of the material for beach pillboxes if the remainder went to the Army. Commander Urabe more than welcomed the suggestion. “Yesterday I promised to send you enough building material for three hundred pillboxes,” he said. “As soon as I return to Japan I will make every effort to get enough for three hundred and fifty.”
Kuribayashi summoned all his commanders and formally announced his battle plan: they were neither to fire at landing craft nor to oppose the landing on the beaches without orders. Once the enemy pushed inland five hundred yards, automatic weapons near the airfield as well as artillery on Suribachi and the Motoyama plateau area would open up. General Osuga and Colonel Hori still contravened Kuribayashi but he overrode them. “Once the enemy invades the island,” Kuribayashi said, “every man will resist until the end, making his position his tomb. Every man will do his best to kill ten enemy soldiers.”
The garrison of 21,000 troops—14,000 Army, 7,000 Navy—was distributed into five sectors with 1,860 men assigned to Mount Suribachi, where they would fight independently, delaying the enemy as long as possible. Numerous caves had been dug into the slopes facing the beaches, their entrances angled as protection against blasts and flamethrowers. Inside the mountain, work was almost completed on a vast storied gallery—complete with steam, water, electricity and plastered walls.
The rest of the island was studded with thick-walled pillboxes. Many had additional protection: fifty-foot piles of sand. Big Navy coast guns were sited to enfilade the beaches, and antiaircraft guns were emplaced so that it would take a direct hit to destroy them.
The northern part of the island was a rabbit warren of natural and man-made caves; they were labyrinths of chambers and connecting tunnels, vented at the top for steam and sulphur fumes to escape. One, Brigade headquarters, located near Motoyama, could hold 2,000 troops; it was seventy-five feet deep and had a dozen entrances.
The first main line of defense—a network of dug-in positions for artillery, light machine guns and even buried tanks—ran along the southern edge of the plateau between the two airfields. A second line ran just beyond the second airfield through Motoyama.
Kuribayashi wrote home regularly. He chided his wife for visiting so much, and his eldest daughter, Yoko, for poor spelling and penmanship. When Mrs. Kuribayashi complained that life in Tokyo was getting unbearable, he pointed out that Iwo Jima was much worse.
… Our sole source of supply is rain water. I have a cup of water to wash my face—actually, my eyes only, then Lieutenant Fujita [his aide] uses the water. After he is through with it, I keep it for toilet purposes. The soldiers, in general, don’t even have that much. Every day, after I’ve inspected defense positions, I dream in vain of drinking a cup of cool water. There are a lot of flies. Also many cockroaches crawl all over us. They are very dirty. Fortunately, there are no snakes or poisonous reptiles.
On September 12 he started preparing her for what he knew was coming.
… The enemy may land on this island soon. Once they do, we must follow the fate of those on Attu and Saipan.
Our officers and men know about “Death” very well. I am sorry to end my life here, fighting the United States of America but I want to defend this island as long as possible and to delay the enemy air raids on Tokyo.
Ah! You have worked well for a long time as my wife and the mother of my three children. Your life will become harder and more precarious. Watch out for your health and live long. The future of our children will not be easy either. Please take care of them after my death.
He also warned Yoko and his only son, Taro, that they both faced a dismal future.
… The enemy landing on my island is merely a question of time. If the defense of this island fails, then Tokyo will be raided day and night. It is beyond words to describe the chaos, terror, heavy damage and confusion of an air raid. Those who live idly in Tokyo can’t even imagine what it’s like. Therefore, in case of a raid, the most important thing is to keep the family together. Anyone cut off from the family can die on the roadside. This actually happened in the great Kanto earthquake of 1923. You must work for your family with your mother as the central figure.
Regardless of school regulations, you must protect your home first. You don’t have to obey the regulations scrupulously because the situation will be too serious to worry about the safety of a schoolhouse. Suppose you tried to go to your school to save it and your own home was destroyed and your mother killed? What would you do then? You must share the fate of your mother.
To begin with, once Tokyo is raided it means that Iwo Jima has been taken by the enemy. It means your father is dead. In other words you—fatherless brother and sister—must depend on your mother. It’s pitiful enough to be fatherless children but what happens if you lose your mother? And from now on you must reconcile yourselves to living without a father.
A little later he wrote Taro a separate letter underlining his duties as the only son.
… The life of your father is like a flicker of flame in the wind. It is apparent your father will have the same fate as the commanders of Saipan, Tinian and Guam. There is no possibility of my survival. Therefore, you must be the central figure of our family and help Mother. Until now you have been a boy brought up in a hothouse. When I was in Tokyo I tried to give you a kind of Spartan training but perhaps you didn’t realize it was done with a father’s real love. In the future, you may understand.
He advised Taro to read, study, quit smoking, avoid drinking, joke at home to keep everyone in good spirits, and use both sides of a page without indentations or spaces when writing future letters.
By the end of November the underground fortifications and batteries—some eight hundred guns in all—were ready for battle. Airfield No. 2 was operational and construction was initiated on a third strip, another mile to the north. Kuribayashi had also rid himself of dissent within his own staff. He relieved his outspoken chief of staff, the mustachioed Colonel Hori, and the commander of the 2nd Mixed Brigade, General Osuga, and sent them both to an underground hospital on the island “to regain their health.”
&nb
sp; On January 21, 1945, Kuribayashi told his wife to stop praying for his return. He was destined to die on Iwo:
… I don’t care where my grave is located. My ashes will not be returned home and my soul will remain with you and the children. Live as long as possible and please take care of the children.
He also admonished his brother to protect him from publicity.
… Please put a stone on my grave with these simple words: “Tomb of Lieutenant General Tadamichi Kuribayashi.” Don’t let any newspapermen or magazine writers play me up in their stories.… I would like my name kept clean even after my death.
2.
For six weeks Iwo Jima had been bombed daily by B-24’s from the Marianas with occasional help from Superfortresses. But the most intensive attacks came from the sea, and by February 15, warships had bombarded the little island with 21,926 shells. Remarkably, there were relatively few casualties; the defenders had moved underground. The following dawn six battleships, four heavy cruisers and a light cruiser arrived off Mount Suribachi. Destroyers and destroyer escorts darted in front of them, and a dozen jeep carriers (“baby flattops”), fifty miles south the island, sent out combat air and antisubmarine patrols.
The correspondent and author John P. Marquand (who had not only won a Pulitzer prize for The Late George Apley but created a famous Oriental detective, Mr. Moto) wrote that it would have been hard to mistake Iwo “for anything but a Japanese island, for it had the faint delicate colors of a painting on a scroll of silk.”
The battleships and cruisers began the initial bombardment. The shelling “turned out to be a slow, careful probing for almost invisible targets, with long dull intervals between the firing.” It reminded Marquand of “the weaving and feinting of a fighter watching for an opening early in the first round. To put it another way, our task force was like a group of big-game hunters surrounding a slightly wounded but dangerous animal. They were approaching him slowly and respectfully, endeavoring to gauge his strength and at the same time to tempt him into action.”
Except for a few unauthorized rounds, the Japanese held their fire. Then an overcast settled over the island like a protective cloak, and though the bombardment continued spasmodically until late afternoon, the damage was negligible.
To the north, the homeland itself was under attack from the sea. Planes from Mitscher’s Task Force 58, which had boldly closed to within sixty miles of the mainland, were striking at plants near Tokyo producing aircraft frames and engines. The next morning, February 17, his bombers went after the Musashino plants, already the target of B-29’s. Just before noon, however, the weather closed in, and Mitscher headed back toward Iwo Jima to back up the landing forces, cheered by the results of his foray, particularly the showing against the Japanese air defense: 341 enemy planes had reportedly been shot down and 190 destroyed on the ground, at the cost of only 49 aircraft.
At Iwo Jima the weather had improved and visibility was good. Minesweepers 750 yards from shore drew scattered fire from the island, and the heavy cruiser Pensacola moved in to help. This target proved too tempting for one battery commander. His guns hit the cruiser six times before she retired with 17 dead and 120 wounded. Destroyers closed in to cover gunboats armed with rockets which were a thousand yards offshore. Speedboats loaded with frogmen passed through this line.
The Japanese were shaken, as much by the enemy’s nonchalance as by his display of power. Popular music floated across the water, as if from a group of people on an excursion, and they could see American sailors with towels around their necks gawking at the island like tourists. Kuribayashi had no longer any doubt that this was the landing. At 10:35 A.M. he ordered several batteries to open up on the gunboats, which retaliated with their rockets. This, in turn, brought on a barrage from big guns hidden at the foot of Mount Suribachi and at the northern end of Iwo. Several gunboats were hit, and planes laid a smoke screen while destroyers fired white phosphorus shells. The speedboats, which had continued undeterred toward the island, arced sharply near the shore line, and about a hundred frogmen flopped into the surf. They found no underwater or beach obstacles and a single mine, which was detonated.
At Airfield No. 2 there were two operable Zero fighters, armed with 60-kilogram bombs, concealed in a concrete revetment. Their pilots had been ordered to ram the largest ship they could reach, but one of them balked. “You’re going to die, anyway,” said a friend. The pilot insisted that his head hurt. His commander turned to a group of pilots and asked for a volunteer. One hoisted himself into the plane. The camouflage was whipped off, and the two Zeros taxied smartly from the revetment onto the strip. They managed to get into the air, but as they skimmed over Suribachi both were caught in the artillery fire and tumbled into the sea.
The second day of bombardment ended, and Kuribayashi, thinking he had repulsed a landing, radioed of his success to Tokyo. Admiral Toyoda of Combined Fleet sent his congratulations to Admiral Ichimaru:
DESPITE VERY POWERFUL ENEMY BOMBINGS AND SHELLINGS, YOUR UNIT AT IWO COOLLY JUDGED THE ENEMY INTENTIONS AND FOILED THE FIRST LANDING ATTEMPT AND SERENELY AWAITS THE NEXT ONE, DETERMINED TO HOLD IWO AT ANY COST. I AM GREATLY ELATED TO KNOW THAT, AND I WISH YOU TO CONTINUE TO MAINTAIN HIGH MORALE AND REPULSE THE ENEMY, NO MATTER HOW INTENSE HIS ATTACKS, AND SAFEGUARD THE OUTER DEFENSES OF OUR HOMELAND.
The two-day shelling caused few casualties but had uncovered Kuribayashi’s hidden batteries and the extent of his defenses, enabling the Americans to revise effectively their bombardment pattern for the final day. Fire would be concentrated on the area around the southeast beach, the one the Marines would storm.
The morning sky was cloudy with bursts of rain. “Close beach and get going,” ordered the commander of the Gunfire and Covering Force at 7:45 A.M. For the first time the shelling was devastating; photos indicated that half the pillboxes and most of the blockhouses on the beach had been torn from their foundations.
That evening the Marines of the 4th and 5th divisions, who had left Saipan on LST’s and transports on February 15 and 16, filed their way through the chow lines, checked their gear, packs and weapons. There was no apparent tension or edginess. Everyone looked the same as the day before.
In his cabin on the command ship, Eldorado, “Howlin’ Mad” Smith was reading the Bible. His men would suffer severe casualties when they hit the beach in a few hours. He was a Methodist but he wore a St. Christopher’s medal blessed by the Pope. Several weeks earlier he had written to Lieutenant General Alexander Vandegrift, who was now Commandant of the Marine Corps, that he felt taking a fortress like Iwo Jima wasn’t worth the heavy casualties his men would suffer.
… On two separate occasions I protested that naval gunfire is insufficient, with the result that it has been increased to some extent, but not enough, in my opinion, to suffice. I can only go so far.
We have done all we could to get ready … and I believe it will be successful, but the thought of the probable casualties causes me extreme unhappiness … would to God that something might happen to cancel the operation altogether.
At 3:30 A.M. on D-day—February 19—the Marines had steak for breakfast. By the time they moved out on deck to the debarkation nets it was light, and through the mist they saw, looking lonely and abandoned, the island of Iwo. Mount Suribachi disappeared ominously into a low cloud.
John Marquand was atop the air lookout station on his ship. Iwo Jima had “never looked more aesthetically ugly … or more completely Japanese. Its silhouette was like a sea monster with the little dead volcano for the head, and the beach area for the neck, and all the rest of it with its scrubby, brown cliffs for the body. It also had the minute, fussy compactness of those miniature Japanese gardens. Its stones and rocks were like those contorted, wind-scoured, water-worn boulders which the Japanese love to collect as landscape decorations.”
The transports and landing craft jockeyed over the calm waters toward their disembarkment positions. At 6:40 A.M. seven battleships, four heavy and four light cruisers began t
he heaviest pre-H-hour naval bombardment of the war. Five minutes later nine gunboats—LCI(R)’s—showered the Motoyama plateau with rockets while other gunboats—LCI(M)’s—pumped mortar rounds into the slopes of Suribachi. At 8:03 the bombardment let up to allow 120 carrier planes to blanket the southeast beach, Suribachi and Airfield No. I with rockets, napalm and explosive bombs. They climbed away as abruptly as they had appeared and the shelling resumed. This time ten destroyers joined in. The island seemed to shimmer through the burgeoning pall of dust and smoke. More planes swooped down, hosing the black sands with streams of bullets. It was the most “terrifying” bombardment the correspondent Robert Sherrod had ever witnessed. “Though I’ve seen this many times,” he recorded in his notebook, “I can’t help thinking, ‘Nobody can live through this.’ But I know better.”
Huddled in their pillboxes, blockhouses and caves, the Japanese endured the concussions, fingers jammed into their ears. Their final instructions from Kuribayashi had been explicit:
Above all else, we shall dedicate ourselves and our entire strength to the defense of this island.
We shall grasp grenades, charge enemy tanks and destroy them.
We shall infiltrate into the midst of the enemy and annihilate them.
With every salvo we will, without fail, kill the enemy.
Each man will make it his duty to kill ten of the enemy before dying.
Until we are destroyed to the last man, we shall harass the enemy by guerrilla tactics.
From the mouth of his cave on Suribachi, Pfc. Kiyomi Hirakawa—a former government official—watched entranced as the vast flotilla of enemy ships waddled into place. How systematic and beautiful! he thought. It was the massed equipment that awed him, not the enemy himself. He knew all about the American fighting man from propaganda lectures and pamphlets. “They call themselves brave soldiers,” read one such pamphlet entitled The Psychology of the Individual American, “yet they have no desire for the glory of their ancestors or posterity, nor for the glory of the family name. They as individuals want to be known as brave and to be given publicity. They are people who love adventure and danger. There are accounts of Americans who tried to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel.… They fear death, but being individualists, they do not think much about what will happen hereafter. Rather, when doing something adventurous, they are not afraid to die. They are expert liars. They are taken in by flattery and propaganda. Their desires are very materialistic. They go into battle with no spiritual incentive, and rely on material superiority.”
