Chapter Three (a)
Iwo Jima
Our advanced training came to an end the first week of January 1945, and we went aboard ship for Operation Iwo Jima. Our driver was backing our tank onto the LSM when the ship shifted in the tides and the fording stack (tank's rear) hit the LSM's ramp, knocking a hole in it. The ocean poured in and ruined the tank's engine plus salt water reacted with the battery acid, producing a toxic gas. The driver was overcome and was sent to the hospital in Hilo. By the time he was released, we'd gotten another driver, who himself had been left in the rear echelon after an appendix operation. Our original driver stayed behind. Our crew then went to Hilo to pick up another tank and new driver, then sailed with "A" company to Saipan, where we rejoined our company.
On 19 Feb. 1945 at about 0900, the Marines landed on Iwo Jima. The 5th Marine Division was on the left (nearer Suribachi Yama, the mountain on the southern tip of the island) and the 4th Marine Division on the right.
Our tanks were in the fifth wave, which landed at about 0915. We left the water line and went ashore about 100 yards when I spotted a large mine
in front of the tank. Before I could yell to the driver to stop, we hit the
mine, which blew the left track and front sprocket off. Later we looked at
the bolts holding the sprocket — all 12 had become unscrewed yet not
a single one was sheared off. We figured the explosion's shock
spun the nuts off.
The tank commander's hatch blew open and the force of the
blast hurled the tank commander out onto the ground. I was in
the gunner's seat just in front of the tank commander, looking
through my periscope. The blast blew me halfway out of the
tank. The ammo in the racks beneath the turret was blown
upward and struck the top of the turret on their points. The
loader caught six of them in his arms. Thank God they were
bore-safe because the ammo's brass casings became corrugated
like an accordion.
The tank was steered by two levers, each about two feet long,
located between the driver's legs. After the explosion the control
levers were bent like a horseshoe over the driver's legs, crushing
both. The assistant driver got flash burns on his face, but except for the driver everyone came through it all right. The rest of that day we carried wounded to the aid station set up on the beach. One strange phenomenon was that the worse the wound, the braver the man.
That night we were sent up to replace a crew that had
almost all been wounded when a 47-mm shell penetrated
their tank and exploded. Maintenance welded a piece of
steel over the hole to stop small-arms fire, but we still
didn't feel safe behind it. We had an outstanding
maintenance section. Each of our tanks averaged being
knocked out five times during our 35 days on Iwo.
We had an extra crew because we had some tanks out
either permanently or under repair, so we would spend
four days out of five on the lines. When we didn't have to
go out in a tank, we spent the day washing a set of
dungarees and socks, getting a bath, and souvenir-hunting.
One day Thomas Taylor, a close buddy of mine, and I
were walking across the Japanese-built airstrip, which was only about half secure. We were half way across when a Jap Nambu 7.7-mm machine gun opened up on us from the other end of the runway. We dived into a bomb crater and the Jap machine gunner started stitching around the crater's lip, stopping only to change 50-round magazines.
I told Taylor that the next time the gunner stopped I was getting out of there. Taylor said if I was going, so was he. The Jap stopped and I jumped out of the hole and took off for the runway's edge. I was about halfway
there when he got another magazine in and opened up on me. Taylor was about 10 feet behind, and the Jap must not have been leading me properly as the bullets were hitting about four feet behind me. I dove over the edge of the runway and slid about 50 feet to the bottom. The Jap then started shooting at Taylor, but he also made it to safety.
Near miss
Another time we were retrieving a tank that had been knocked out between our lines and the Japs'. I climbed up on the retriever when a bullet clipped my helmet strap off about half an inch from my ear. I wasn't even scratched. A bullet struck one man's helmet between the steel shell and the liner. It made a complete circle of his head, came out, deflected downward into a steel-sheathed New Testament, struck the steel sheath and turned back under his arm and exited his jacket in the back. He also didn't get a scratch.
One day I was walking along down a ditch when I heard a noise. I looked up and a Jap was jumping down on me with a bayonet on his rifle. I spun around and got my carbine up in time to deflect his lunge. He almost cut my fingers off, but I blocked him and emptied a 16-round clip of .30 carbine ammo into him. His rifle was empty, so if he'd had ammo the result would have been different.
We were at the foot of Mount Suribachi on the morning of 23 February when a platoon of infantry started climbing. We were firing just above their heads with .30-caliber machine guns and 75-mm cannons to keep the Japs pinned down. Eventually they got to the top and everyone on the island stood up and cheered when our flag was raised atop Mt. Suribachi. This was not the flag-raising captured in Joe Rosenthal's famous picture. That took place a little later — after the mountain was secure.
Our Battalion Commander on Iwo was LtCol William B. "The Ripper" Collins. During a briefing by the Commanding General (MajGen K.E. Rockey), someone was complaining that the tanks didn't seem to be doing all they could in support of infantry. A few days before, an order came down from division HQ that an infantry platoon commander could no longer call directly to tanks or even tank platoon leaders to fire on individual targets. This was cussed and discussed by both tank and infantry units.
An order to fire on a target was directed by division headquarters down to infantry regimental (to tank battalion) to tank company on down to platoon and individual tanks to fire. By the time this had taken place the target had either disappeared or the infantry had gotten disgusted and called in some other weapon. LtCol Collins stood up and, with all 5'8" of him trembling, said in his Arkansas hillbilly voice,
"Ef ya'll will let me use my tanks the way I want to use 'em and the way they should be used, I'll go up there and secure this god-damned i'land. But 'ef its gonna take an act of Congress to fire on one pillbox, you might as well let me pack up and get the hell off." The order was rescinded within 30 minutes after the briefing ended.
Bios of six flag-raisers:
SGT Michael Strank, USMC
CPL Harlon Block, USMC
CPL Rene Gagnon, USMCR
CPL Ira Hayes, USMCR
PM2Class John Bradley, USN
PFC Franklin Sousley, USMCR
