As daylight slowly bled to darkness at the end of the first day at Iwo Jima, men like Carl in the 5th Marine Division Pioneer Battalion continued their work. A Higgins Boat landed on the beach and Carl, among others, quickly offloaded the medical supplies. Although the fighting subsided, nighttime provided a false sense of security. Marines shivered in the cold. It was believed the Japanese, at any second, would unleash a screaming banzai charge toward the American lines. Any movement, the slightest sound, or a flickering shadow brought angst to the Americans. D-Day was followed by a sleepless night on Iwo Jima.
Estimates vary, and under such conditions are impossible to determine accurately, but by the end of the first day of fighting, some 30,000 Marines had landed on Iwo Jima. This precarious toehold came at a huge cost. According to the Marines in World War II Commemorative Series by Colonel Joseph H. Alexander, U.S. Marine Corps (ret), battle casualties for that first day are as follows: 501 killed, 1,755 wounded, 47 dead of wounds, 18 missing, and 99 combat fatigue (Alexander, D-Day).
In the darkness, the Marines waited, but no Japanese banzai charge would come. Rather, the enemy quietly probed the lines, testing strength and gathering intelligence. A detachment of Japanese Special Forces attempted a beach landing, but was spotted by the 28th Marines and LVT crews. Every one of the infiltrators was killed. Sporadic, intermittent waves of artillery fire showered down on the Marines throughout the night, who continued to take casualties from an unseen enemy. The constant fire, infiltrating enemy, enveloping darkness, and pockmarked moonscape of Iwo Jima made for a surreal, unearthly nightscape. Adding to the eerie scene were swirling mists of sulfur that sent obscure, pulsating shadows across the ground.
Carl describes, "We didn't get any sleep that night because we were just scared, you know, or excited - adrenaline was high! Then the next day, the Japs opened up early." At daybreak, the never-ending artillery barrages were joined by the crack of rifle fire. Carl and his Pioneer Battalion went back to work, offloading supplies and loading the wounded onto the landing craft. There they stood, in one big long line, right on the beach and in the open, passing supplies by hand.
The noise of the beach was constant, never-ending and deafening. Incoming and outgoing ships would roar, belching plumes of diesel. Talking involved shouting. Different velocity shells and mortars, from small anti-personnel to anti-aircraft, exploded relentlessly. Here and there were the cries of the wounded. But, as Carl remembers, above the din was the crack of a rifle bullet. "I just can't believe how many shots I could hear, over all that artillery noise, I could hear the crack of that damn rifle bullet as it went past my head! It just had to be close, and we'd duck, but then we'd get up and do it all over again. It was all day like that."
The Pioneers worked, offloading some of the ships by hand, but most by using skids and tracks. Such visible movement drew immediate fire, and Carl even chuckled, "It was a miracle any of us got off that beach." By the third day, adrenaline had worn off. Carl had gone two nights without sleep, and had only meager K-rations for food. The third night, reprieve came rather unexpectedly:
Carl, with some men from the 5th Marine Division Pioneer Battalion, was offloading a ship when darkness set. The ship's captain came down, and announced that they would quit for the night - that was good enough. The ship simply would stay there, at the beach, until daybreak. There were nine Marines unloading the ship, including Carl, who were invited into the ship for supper and coffee. Carl laughs at the memory, "Oh, God that sounded good!" The nine men went up to the mess hall, had coffee, sandwiches, and were invited to spend the night in the ship, rather than on the beach. So, Carl and the Pioneers slept right there in the mess hall, on the dining tables! "We slept something fierce, we were so dead-tired that we just [collapsed]. It was so nice and quiet!"
The next morning, Carl and the Marines woke up to discover that they were "nine freaking miles from the island!" They were nine miles out, and after a restful night's sleep, all Carl could think of was desertion - how on earth were they going to get back to the beach without getting in trouble? Finally, to the relief of the Marines, the captain announced that the ship was going back in. The Japanese had targeted the ship with artillery during the night, forcing the vessel to move offshore. Carl laughs, "We never heard a thing!"
At about nine o'clock, the contingent returned to the beach. As worried as Carl had been about being charged with desertion, he returned to find out that no one had even missed them! The only person that noticed Carl's absence was a buddy, and there on the beach of Iwo Jima on the fourth day, the conversation went like this:
"Where the hell were you last night?"
"[You know], we had the best night in a long time!"
On the fourth day, Carl finally had his first direct contact with the enemy. In the afternoon "when all this hell was going on," he took a load of supplies to the front line, "rifle ready." There, by the airfield, were groups of Japanese. "We'd open up on them, but could never hit them! They'd duck and scatter so quick. ... We finally got unloaded and man I was glad to get back to the beach!"
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Estimates vary, and under such conditions are impossible to determine accurately, but by the end of the first day of fighting, some 30,000 Marines had landed on Iwo Jima. This precarious toehold came at a huge cost. According to the Marines in World War II Commemorative Series by Colonel Joseph H. Alexander, U.S. Marine Corps (ret), battle casualties for that first day are as follows: 501 killed, 1,755 wounded, 47 dead of wounds, 18 missing, and 99 combat fatigue (Alexander, D-Day).
In the darkness, the Marines waited, but no Japanese banzai charge would come. Rather, the enemy quietly probed the lines, testing strength and gathering intelligence. A detachment of Japanese Special Forces attempted a beach landing, but was spotted by the 28th Marines and LVT crews. Every one of the infiltrators was killed. Sporadic, intermittent waves of artillery fire showered down on the Marines throughout the night, who continued to take casualties from an unseen enemy. The constant fire, infiltrating enemy, enveloping darkness, and pockmarked moonscape of Iwo Jima made for a surreal, unearthly nightscape. Adding to the eerie scene were swirling mists of sulfur that sent obscure, pulsating shadows across the ground.
Carl describes, "We didn't get any sleep that night because we were just scared, you know, or excited - adrenaline was high! Then the next day, the Japs opened up early." At daybreak, the never-ending artillery barrages were joined by the crack of rifle fire. Carl and his Pioneer Battalion went back to work, offloading supplies and loading the wounded onto the landing craft. There they stood, in one big long line, right on the beach and in the open, passing supplies by hand.
The noise of the beach was constant, never-ending and deafening. Incoming and outgoing ships would roar, belching plumes of diesel. Talking involved shouting. Different velocity shells and mortars, from small anti-personnel to anti-aircraft, exploded relentlessly. Here and there were the cries of the wounded. But, as Carl remembers, above the din was the crack of a rifle bullet. "I just can't believe how many shots I could hear, over all that artillery noise, I could hear the crack of that damn rifle bullet as it went past my head! It just had to be close, and we'd duck, but then we'd get up and do it all over again. It was all day like that."
The Pioneers worked, offloading some of the ships by hand, but most by using skids and tracks. Such visible movement drew immediate fire, and Carl even chuckled, "It was a miracle any of us got off that beach." By the third day, adrenaline had worn off. Carl had gone two nights without sleep, and had only meager K-rations for food. The third night, reprieve came rather unexpectedly:
Carl, with some men from the 5th Marine Division Pioneer Battalion, was offloading a ship when darkness set. The ship's captain came down, and announced that they would quit for the night - that was good enough. The ship simply would stay there, at the beach, until daybreak. There were nine Marines unloading the ship, including Carl, who were invited into the ship for supper and coffee. Carl laughs at the memory, "Oh, God that sounded good!" The nine men went up to the mess hall, had coffee, sandwiches, and were invited to spend the night in the ship, rather than on the beach. So, Carl and the Pioneers slept right there in the mess hall, on the dining tables! "We slept something fierce, we were so dead-tired that we just [collapsed]. It was so nice and quiet!"
The next morning, Carl and the Marines woke up to discover that they were "nine freaking miles from the island!" They were nine miles out, and after a restful night's sleep, all Carl could think of was desertion - how on earth were they going to get back to the beach without getting in trouble? Finally, to the relief of the Marines, the captain announced that the ship was going back in. The Japanese had targeted the ship with artillery during the night, forcing the vessel to move offshore. Carl laughs, "We never heard a thing!"
At about nine o'clock, the contingent returned to the beach. As worried as Carl had been about being charged with desertion, he returned to find out that no one had even missed them! The only person that noticed Carl's absence was a buddy, and there on the beach of Iwo Jima on the fourth day, the conversation went like this:
"Where the hell were you last night?"
"[You know], we had the best night in a long time!"
On the fourth day, Carl finally had his first direct contact with the enemy. In the afternoon "when all this hell was going on," he took a load of supplies to the front line, "rifle ready." There, by the airfield, were groups of Japanese. "We'd open up on them, but could never hit them! They'd duck and scatter so quick. ... We finally got unloaded and man I was glad to get back to the beach!"
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
