_“Silence in the Gorge,” an acrylic painting on masonite by Col Charles
H. Waterhouse, USMCR (Ret), who as private first class was wounded
during the battle._]
That afternoon the fighting men of both sides witnessed a harbinger of
Iwo Jima’s fate. Through the overcast skies appeared a gigantic silver
bomber, the largest aircraft anyone had ever seen. It was the Boeing
B-29 Super Fortress “Dinah Might,” crippled in a raid over Tokyo,
seeking an emergency landing on the island’s scruffy main airstrip.
As the Americans in the vicinity held their breaths, the big bomber
swooped in from the south, landed heavily, clipped a field telephone
pole with a wing, and shuddered to a stop less than 50 feet from the
bitter end of the strip. Pilot Lieutenant Fred Malo and his 10-man
crew were extremely glad to be alive, but they didn’t stay long. Every
Japanese gunner within range wanted to bag this prize. Mechanics made
field repairs within a half hour. Then the 65-ton Superfort lumbered
aloft through a hail of enemy fire and headed back to its base in
Tinian. The Marines cheered.
The battle of Iwo Jima would rage on for another 22 days, claiming
eleven thousand more American casualties and the lives of virtually
the entire Japanese garrison. This was a colossal fight between two
well-armed, veteran forces--the biggest and bloodiest battle in the
history of the United States Marine Corps. From the 4th of March on,
however, the leaders of both sides entertained no doubts as to the
ultimate outcome.
_Assault Preparations_
Iwo Jima was one of those rare amphibious landings where the assault
troops could clearly see the value of the objective. They were the
first ground units to approach within a thousand miles of the Japanese
homeland, and they were participating directly in the support of the
strategic bombing campaign.
The latter element represented a new wrinkle on an old theme. For
40 years the U.S. Marines had been developing the capability for
seizing advanced naval bases in support of the fleet. Increasingly in
the Pacific War--and most especially at Saipan, Tinian, and now Iwo
Jima--they were seizing advanced airbases to further the strategic
bombing of the Japanese home islands.
American servicemen had awaited the coming of the B-29s for years. The
“very-long-range” bombers, which had become operational too late for
the European War, had been striking mainland Japan since November 1944.
Results proved disappointing. The problem stemmed not from the pilots
or planes but rather from a vexing little spit of volcanic rock lying
halfway along the direct path from Saipan to Tokyo--Iwo Jima. Iwo’s
radar gave the Japanese defense authorities two hours advance notice of
every B-29 strike. Japanese fighters based on Iwo swarmed up to harass
the unescorted Superforts going in and especially coming home, picking
off those bombers crippled by antiaircraft (AA) fire. As a result,
the B-29s had to fly higher, along circuitous routes, with a reduced
payload. At the same time, enemy bombers based on Iwo often raided B-29
bases in the Marianas, causing some damage.
The Joint Chiefs of Staff decided Iwo Jima must be captured and a U.S.
airbase built there. This would eliminate Japanese bombing raids and
the early warning interceptions, provide fighter escorts throughout
the most dangerous portion of the long B-29 missions, and enable
greater payloads at longer ranges. Iwo Jima in American hands would
also provide a welcome emergency field for crippled B-29s returning
from Tokyo. It would also protect the flank of the pending invasion
of Okinawa. In October 1944 the Joint Chiefs directed Fleet Admiral
Chester W. Nimitz, CinCPac, to seize and develop Iwo Jima within the
ensuing three months. This launched Operation Detachment.
The first enemy in the campaign would prove to be the island itself, an
ugly, barren, foul-smelling chunk of volcanic sand and rock, barely 10
square miles in size. Iwo Jima means “Sulphur Island” in Japanese. As
described by one Imperial Army staff officer, the place was “an island
of sulphur, no water, no sparrow, no swallow.” Less poetic American
officers saw Iwo’s resemblance to a pork chop, with the 556-foot
dormant volcano Mount Suribachi dominating the narrow southern end,
overlooking the only potential landing beaches. To the north, the land
rose unevenly onto the Motoyama Plateau, falling off sharply along
the coasts into steep cliffs and canyons. The terrain in the north
represented a defender’s dream: broken, convoluted, cave-dotted, a
“jungle of stone.” Wreathed by volcanic steam, the twisted landscape
appeared ungodly, almost moon-like. More than one surviving Marine
compared the island to something out of Dante’s _Inferno_.
Forbidding Iwo Jima had two redeeming features in 1945: the military
value of its airfields and the psychological status of the island
as a historical possession of Japan. Iwo Jima lay in Japan’s “Inner
Vital Defense Zone” and was in fact administered as part of the Tokyo
Prefecture. In the words of one Japanese officer, “Iwo Jima is the
doorkeeper to the Imperial capital.” Even by the slowest aircraft,
Tokyo could be reached in three flight hours from Iwo. In the battle
for Iwo Jima, a total of 28,000 Americans and Japanese would give their
lives in savage fighting during the last winter months of 1945.
No one on the American side ever suggested that taking Iwo Jima would
be an easy proposition. Admiral Nimitz assigned this mission to the
same team which had prevailed so effectively in the earlier amphibious
assaults in the Gilberts, Marshalls, and Marianas: Admiral Raymond
A. Spruance, commanding the Fifth Fleet; Vice Admiral Richmond Kelly
Turner, commanding the Expeditionary Forces; and Rear Admiral Harry W.
Hill, commanding the Attack Force. Spruance added the highly regarded
Rear Admiral William H. P. Blandy, a veteran of the Peleliu/Angaur
landings, to command the Amphibious Support Forces, responsible for
minesweeping, underwater demolition team operations, and preliminary
naval air and gun bombardment.
As usual, “maintaining unremitting military pressure on the enemy”
meant an accelerated planning schedule and an overriding emphasis on
speed of execution. The amphibious task force preparing to assault
Iwo Jima soon found itself squeezed on both ends. Hill and Blandy had
a critical need for the amphibious ships, landing craft, and shore
bombardment vessels currently being used by General Douglas MacArthur
in his reconquest of Luzon in the Philippines. But bad weather and
stiff enemy resistance combined to delay completion of that operation.
The Joint Chiefs reluctantly postponed D-day for Iwo Jima from 20
January 1945 until 19 February. The tail end of the schedule provided
no relief. D-Day for Okinawa could go no later than 1 April because of
the approach of the monsoon season. The constricted time frame for Iwo
would have grave implications for the landing force.
The experienced V Amphibious Corps under Major General Harry Schmidt,
USMC, would provide the landing force, an unprecedented assembly of
three Marine divisions, the 3d, 4th, and 5th. Schmidt would have the
distinction of commanding the largest force of U.S. Marines ever
committed in a single battle, a combined force which eventually
totalled more than 80,000 men. Well above half of these Marines were
veterans of earlier fighting in the Pacific; realistic training had
prepared the newcomers well. The troops assaulting Iwo Jima were
arguably the most proficient amphibious forces the world had seen.
Unfortunately, two senior Marines shared the limelight for the Iwo
Jima battle, and history has often done both an injustice. Spruance
and Turner prevailed upon Lieutenant General Holland M. Smith, then
commanding Fleet Marine Forces, Pacific, to participate in Operation
Detachment as Commanding General, Expeditionary Troops. This was
a gratuitous billet. Schmidt had the rank, experience, staff, and
resources to execute corps-level responsibility without being
second-guessed by another headquarters. Smith, the amphibious pioneer
and veteran of landings in the Aleutians, Gilberts, Marshalls, and
Marianas, admitted to being embarrassed by the assignment. “My sun had
almost set by then,” he stated, “I think they asked me along only in
case something happened to Harry Schmidt.” Smith tried to keep out
of Schmidt’s way, but his subsequent decision to withhold commitment
of the 3d Marines, the Expeditionary Troops reserve, remains as
controversial today as it was in 1945.
[Illustration: