_Sugar Loaf, western anchor of the Shuri defenses, and objective of the
22d Marines, is seen from a point directly north._]
Battlefield contour maps indicate Sugar Loaf had a modest elevation
of 230 feet; Half Moon, 220; Horseshoe, 190. In relative terms,
Sugar Loaf, though steep, only rose about 50 feet above the northern
approaches. This was no Mount Suribachi; its significance lay in the
ingenuity of its defensive fortifications and the ferocity with which
General Ushijima would counterattack each U.S. penetration. In this
regard, the Sugar Loaf complex more closely resembled a smaller version
of Iwo Jima’s Turkey Knob/Amphitheater sector. As a tactical objective,
Sugar Loaf itself lacked the physical dimensions to accommodate
anything larger than a rifle company. But eight days of fighting for
the small ridge would chew up a series of very good companies from two
regiments.
Of all the contestants, American or Japanese, who survived the struggle
for Sugar Loaf, Corporal James L. Day, a squad leader from Weapons
Company, 2/22, had indisputably the “best seat in the house” to observe
the battle. In a little-known aspect of this epic story, Day spent four
days and three nights isolated in a shell hole on Sugar Loaf’s western
shoulder. This proved to be an awesome but unenviable experience.
Corporal Day received orders on 12 May to recross the Asa River and
support the assault of Company G, 2/22, against the small ridge. Day
and his squad arrived too late to do much more than cover the fighting
withdrawal of the remnants from the summit. The company lost half
its number in the day-long assault, including its plucky commander,
Captain Owen T. Stebbins, shot in both legs by a Japanese _Nambu_
machine-gunner. Day described Stebbins as “a brave man whose tactical
plan for assaulting Sugar Loaf became the pattern for successive units
to follow.” Concerned about the unrestricted fire from the Half Moon
Hill region, Major Henry A. Courtney, Jr., battalion executive officer,
took Corporal Day with him on the 13th on a hazardous trek to the 29th
Marines to coordinate the forthcoming attacks. With the 29th then
committed to protecting 2/22’s left flank, Courtney assigned Day and
his squad in support of Company F for the next day’s assault.
[Illustration: _Amtracs, such as these, were pressed into service in
the difficult terrain to resupply the Marines on Sugar Loaf and to
evacuate the wounded, all the while under fire._
Department of Defense Photo (USMC) 123218
]
Day’s rifle squad consisted of seven Marines by that time. On the
14th, they joined Fox Company’s assault, reached the hill, scampered
up the left shoulder (“you could get to the top in 15 seconds”). Day
then received orders to take his squad back around the hill to take up
a defensive position on the right (western) shoulder. This took some
doing. By late afternoon, Fox Company had been driven off its exposed
position on the left shoulder, leaving Day with just two surviving
squadmates occupying a large shell hole on the opposite shoulder.
During the evening, unknown to Day, Major Courtney gathered 45
volunteers from George and Fox companies and led them back up the left
shoulder of Sugar Loaf. In hours of desperate, close-in fighting, the
Japanese killed Major Courtney and half his improvised force. “We
didn’t know who they were,” recalled Day, “because even though they
were only 50 yards away, they were on the opposite side of the crest.
Out of visual contact. But we knew they were Marines and we knew they
were in trouble. We did our part by shooting and grenading every
[Japanese] we saw moving in their direction.” Day and his two men then
heard the sounds of the remnants of Courtney’s force being evacuated
down the hill and knew they were again alone on Sugar Loaf.
Representing in effect an advance combat outpost on the contested
ridge did not particularly bother the 19-year-old corporal. Day’s
biggest concerns were letting other Marines know they were up there and
replenishing their ammo and grenades. “Before dawn I went back down the
hill. A couple of LVTs had been trying to deliver critical supplies to
the folks who’d made the earlier penetration. Both had been knocked
out just north of the hill. I was able to raid those disabled vehicles
several times for grenades, ammo, and rations. We were fine.”
On 15 May, Day and his men watched another Marine assault develop from
the northeast. Again there were Marines on the eastern crest of the
hill, but fully exposed to raking fire from Half Moon and mortars from
Horseshoe. Day’s Marines directed well-aimed rifle fire into a column
of Japanese running towards Sugar Loaf from Horseshoe, “but we really
needed a machine gun.” Good fortune provided a .30-caliber, air-cooled
M1919A4 in the wake of the retreating Marines. But as soon as Day’s
gunner placed the weapon in action on the forward parapet of the hole,
a Japanese 47mm crew opened up from Horseshoe, killing the Marine and
destroying the gun. Now there were just two riflemen on the ridgetop.
Tragedy also struck the 1st Battalion, 22d Marines, on the 15th. A
withering Japanese bombardment caught the command group assembled at
their observation post planning the next assault. Shellfire killed the
commander, Major Thomas J. Myers, and wounded every company commander,
as well as the CO and XO of the supporting tank company. Of the death
of Major Myers, General Shepherd exclaimed, “It’s the greatest single
loss the Division has sustained. Myers was an outstanding leader.”
Major Earl J. Cook, battalion executive officer, took command and
continued attack preparations. The division staff released this doleful
warning that midnight: “Because of the commanding ground which he
occupies the enemy is able to accurately locate our OPs and CPs. The
dangerous practice of permitting unnecessary crowding and exposure
in such areas has already had serious consequences.” The warning was
meaningless. Commanders had to observe the action in order to command.
Exposure to interdictive fire was the cost of doing business as an
infantry battalion commander. The next afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel
Jean W. Moreau, commanding 1/29, received a serious wound when a
Japanese shell hit his observation post squarely. Major Robert P.
Neuffer, Moreau’s exec, assumed command. Several hours later a Japanese
shell wounded Major Malcolm “O” Donohoo, commanding 3/22. Major George
B. Kantner, his exec, took over. The battle continued.
[Illustration: _Tanks evacuate the wounded as men of the 29th Marines
press the fight to capture Sugar Loaf. The casualties were rushed to
aid stations behind the front lines._
Department of Defense Photo (USMC) 122421
]
The night of 15-16 seemed endless to Corporal Day and his surviving
squadmate, Private First Class Dale Bertoli. “The Japs knew we were
the only ones up there and gave us their full attention. We had plenty
of grenades and ammo, but it got pretty hairy.” The south slope of
Sugar Loaf is the steepest. The Japanese would emerge from their
reverse-slope caves, but they faced a difficult ascent to get to the
Marines on the military crest. Hearing them scramble up the rocks
alerted Day and Bertoli to greet them with grenades. Those of the
enemy who survived this mini-barrage would find themselves backlit by
flares as they struggled over the crest. Day and Bertoli, back to back
against the dark side of the crater, shot them readily.
[Illustration: US 10th Army positions]
“The 16th was the day I thought Sugar Loaf would fall,” said Day. He
and Bertoli hunkered down as Marine tanks, artillery, and mortars
pounded the ridge and its supporting bastions. “We looked back and
see the whole battle shaping up, a great panorama.” This was the turn
of I/3/22, well supported by tanks. But Day could also see that the
Japanese fires had not slackened at all. “The real danger at Sugar Loaf
was not the hill itself, where we were, but in a 300-yard by 300-yard
killing zone which the Marines had to cross to approach the hill from
our lines to the north.... It was a dismal sight, men falling, tanks
getting knocked out ... the division probably suffered 600 casualties
that day.” In retrospect, the 6th Marine Division considered 16 May to
be “the bitterest day of the entire campaign.”
By then the 22d Marines was down to 40 percent effectiveness and
General Shepherd relieved it with the 29th Marines. He also decided
to install fresh leadership in the regiment, replacing the commander
and executive officer with the team of Colonel Harold C. Roberts and
Lieutenant Colonel August C. Larson.
The weather cleared enough during the late afternoon of the 16th to
enable Day and Bertoli to see well past Horseshoe Hill, “all the way
to the Asato River.” The view was not encouraging. Steady columns of
Japanese reinforcements streamed northward, through Takamotoji village,
towards the contested battlefield. “We kept firing on them from 500
yards away,” still maintaining the small but persistent thorn in the
flesh of the Japanese defenses. Their rifle fire attracted considerable
attention from prowling squads of Japanese raiders that night. “They
came at us from 2130 on,” recalled Day, “and all we could do was keep
tossing grenades and firing our M-1s.” Concerned Marines north of Sugar
Loaf, hearing the nocturnal ruckus, tried to assist with mortar fire.
“This helped, but it came a little too close.” Both Day and Bertoli
were wounded by Japanese shrapnel and burned by “friendly” white
phosphorous.
Early on the 17th a runner from the 29th Marines scrambled up to the
shell-pocked crater with orders for the two Marines to “get the hell
out.” A massive bombardment by air, naval gunfire, and artillery would
soon saturate the ridge in preparation of a fresh assault. Day and
Bertoli readily complied. Exhausted, reeking, and partially deafened,
they stumbled back to safety and an intense series of debriefings by
staff officers. Meanwhile, a thundering bombardment crashed down on the
three hills.
The 17th of May marked the fifth day of the battle for Sugar Loaf.
Now it was the turn of Easy Company, 2/29, to assault the complex of
defenses. No unit displayed greater valor, yet Easy Company’s four
separate assaults fared little better than their many predecessors.
At midpoint of these desperate assaults, the 29th Marines reported to
division, “E Co. moved to top of ridge and had 30 men south of Sugar
Loaf; sustained two close-in charges; killed a hell of a lot of Nips;
moved back to base to reform and are going again; will take it.” But
Sugar Loaf would not fall this day. At dusk, after prevailing in one
more melee of bayonets, flashing knives, and bare hands against a
particularly vicious counterattack, the company had to withdraw. It had
lost 160 men.
[Illustration: