Retribution_ The Battle For Japan, 1944-45 Part 14

THE U.S. U.S. ARMED FORCES' ARMED FORCES' Guide to the Pacific Guide to the Pacific briefed visitors to the Ryukyus, of which Okinawa is the main island, with unfailing facetiousness: "Those who wish a good memento of a stay in briefed visitors to the Ryukyus, of which Okinawa is the main island, with unfailing facetiousness: "Those who wish a good memento of a stay in Nansei Shoto Nansei Shoto should get a piece of the lacquerware for which the islanders are famous." In the spring of 1945 some 12,000 Americans and up to 150,000 j.a.panese found death rather than porcelain amid Okinawa's sixty-mile length of fields and mountains, or in the waters offsh.o.r.e. The island was home to 450,000 people, who possessed j.a.panese nationality while remaining culturally distinct. Before an invasion of j.a.pan's main islands could be attempted, it was evident to both sides that this southern outpost was likely to be contested. Its airfields, rather more than midway between Luzon and Kyushu, would have to be denied to the j.a.panese, secured by the Americans. At the time Operation Iceberg was launched in the spring of 1945, it was perceived in Washington only as a preliminary to the decisive battle that must follow, for j.a.pan's home islands. Likewise in Tokyo, the defence of Okinawa was deemed vital to j.a.pan's strategy for achieving a negotiated peace. If the U.S. could be made to pay dearly enough for winning a single offsh.o.r.e island, reasoned the nation's leaders and indeed its emperor, Washington would conclude that the price of invading Kyushu and Honshu was too great to be borne. They were correct in their a.n.a.lysis, but utterly deluded about its implications. should get a piece of the lacquerware for which the islanders are famous." In the spring of 1945 some 12,000 Americans and up to 150,000 j.a.panese found death rather than porcelain amid Okinawa's sixty-mile length of fields and mountains, or in the waters offsh.o.r.e. The island was home to 450,000 people, who possessed j.a.panese nationality while remaining culturally distinct. Before an invasion of j.a.pan's main islands could be attempted, it was evident to both sides that this southern outpost was likely to be contested. Its airfields, rather more than midway between Luzon and Kyushu, would have to be denied to the j.a.panese, secured by the Americans. At the time Operation Iceberg was launched in the spring of 1945, it was perceived in Washington only as a preliminary to the decisive battle that must follow, for j.a.pan's home islands. Likewise in Tokyo, the defence of Okinawa was deemed vital to j.a.pan's strategy for achieving a negotiated peace. If the U.S. could be made to pay dearly enough for winning a single offsh.o.r.e island, reasoned the nation's leaders and indeed its emperor, Washington would conclude that the price of invading Kyushu and Honshu was too great to be borne. They were correct in their a.n.a.lysis, but utterly deluded about its implications.

Twenty-five-year-old Captain Kouichi Ito was the son of a naval officer, brought up at the great Yokosuka naval base. Ito pa.s.sionately wanted to be a warrior. He was embarra.s.sed to find himself disqualified from service as a pilot or sailor, because he was p.r.o.ne to both air-and seasickness. Instead, he became a soldier, and pa.s.sed out near the top of his 1940 military academy cla.s.s. Anticlimax followed, however. For almost four years this fiercely ambitious young man found himself fulfilling garrison duties in Manchuria. While j.a.panese legions stormed triumphantly across Asia and locked themselves in combat with the Americans and British, Ito sat in his quarters reading endless books on the history of conflict-above all, about the First World War. Not until August 1944 did his unit, the 32nd Infantry, at last sail for an undisclosed destination. Only on their arrival did he and his comrades discover that they had joined the garrison of Okinawa.

The regiment, composed mostly of Hokkaidans, found the island strange and somewhat exotic, with its fields of sugarcane, unknown back home, its people's unfamiliar dialect. Okinawa is celebrated for a powerful local rice brew, awamori awamori, which proved most acceptable to tens of thousands of soldiers who now began to fortify themselves there. Likewise, when cigarette rations ran short, it proved useful that Okinawan farmers grew illegal tobacco. Month after month the garrison laboured, enlarging and exploiting a great network of natural caves, preparing slit trenches and bunkers. The work was done with their bare hands. "We had no machines," said Kouichi Ito laconically. He himself, having walked the length of the coast, was sure that no invader would land on his regiment's rocky coastal sector in the south-west; and that entrenching this wasted precious resources. Orders were orders, however.

By the spring of 1945, Ito had become a battalion commander. His unit was better equipped than most of those deployed on Okinawa, having brought a full inventory of weapons from Manchuria. There was still some debate in command messes about whether the Americans would a.s.sault their island or Formosa, further south, but the 77,000 defenders recognised the likelihood that they would fight a great battle. The young officer Ito understood that the war was going badly: "After Saipan fell, I realised that we could lose." His regiment had left behind in Manchuria one-third of its complement of Hokkaidans. Like other units, it was now made up to strength with locally recruited Okinawans, who inspired little confidence, but added 20,000 unwilling conscripts to the garrison's strength. Ito took comfort from his father's judgement. The old sailor had seen something of Americans during convoy escort service in World War I, and a.s.serted scornfully, "They have no idea of discipline." His son said: "I understood that the U.S. possessed enormous industrial resources, but I did not believe that in combat their soldiers could match the resolution of our men." After five years as a mere spectator of the war, the ambitious young warrior was eager to fight: "It seemed good to have a chance to take part in a real showdown with the enemy."

At last came a March morning when they awoke to behold on the sea before them a squadron of American warships, which soon began to bombard their positions. "Well, now we know," they said to each other. "It's us." Through the hours and days which followed, they sat pa.s.sive in their caves while the earth shook with relentless concussions. The Americans were sh.e.l.ling everywhere, to sustain uncertainty about their intended landing place. As the j.a.panese grew accustomed to the barrage, Ito periodically emerged from his headquarters bunker into the dust-clouded daylight. Having never before been under fire, he wanted to test himself. When his unit joined battle, he was determined not to be seen to flinch. He was pleased with his own resolution, and waited confidently for the Americans to venture ash.o.r.e.

AFTER D-D D-DAY in Normandy, American landings on Okinawa represented the greatest amphibious operation of the war. More than 1,200 vessels transported 170,000 U.S. soldiers and Marines of Gen. Simon Bolivar Buckner's Tenth Army, with 120,000 more providing logistics and technical support. The island's seizure was to be a navy-run operation, under Nimitz's auspices, though soldiers were playing a substantial role. Four divisions would make the initial a.s.sault, with three more in reserve. Vice-Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner's 5th Amphibious Force was supported by Admiral Raymond Spruance's Fifth Fleet, mustering more than forty carriers, eighteen battleships and almost two hundred destroyers. "We bombarded all day long in Normandy, American landings on Okinawa represented the greatest amphibious operation of the war. More than 1,200 vessels transported 170,000 U.S. soldiers and Marines of Gen. Simon Bolivar Buckner's Tenth Army, with 120,000 more providing logistics and technical support. The island's seizure was to be a navy-run operation, under Nimitz's auspices, though soldiers were playing a substantial role. Four divisions would make the initial a.s.sault, with three more in reserve. Vice-Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner's 5th Amphibious Force was supported by Admiral Raymond Spruance's Fifth Fleet, mustering more than forty carriers, eighteen battleships and almost two hundred destroyers. "We bombarded all day long714," wrote James Hutchinson of the battleship Colorado Colorado on 31 March. "We fired the sixteen-inch main battery about every three or four minutes all that time. It really gets to be a strain on a person's nerves after a while." Meanwhile, American units set about seizing several small offsh.o.r.e islands, preliminaries to the main a.s.sault. on 31 March. "We fired the sixteen-inch main battery about every three or four minutes all that time. It really gets to be a strain on a person's nerves after a while." Meanwhile, American units set about seizing several small offsh.o.r.e islands, preliminaries to the main a.s.sault.

On one of these, Tokashiki, twenty-two-year-old Lt. Yoshihiro Minamoto waited with his Shinyo suicide-boat unit. Minamoto was one of 2,200 cadets who graduated from Zama military academy in July 1944. As an engineer, he had completed three years' training-much more than American and British officers received at that time. Yet the most curious aspect of his ceremonial pa.s.sing-out parade was the distribution of a.s.signments which followed. Many newly minted lieutenants were promptly ticketed not merely for the possibility of death, but for its certainty. Some 450 were dispatched to train as kamikaze aircrew. Minamoto was among a further eighty posted to a seaborne special operations unit, whose mission was also explicitly suicidal. They were to man small boats laden with explosives, deployed to meet American amphibious landings. Minamoto, like his comrades, claimed to be untroubled: "At that time there was no choice." Suicide was now the pervasive theme among j.a.pan's armed forces.

Unblooded in combat, Minamoto was imbued with an instinctive condescension towards his foe, which did not long survive his Okinawa experience: "The naval bombardment was terrifying. It seemed to go on and on. The sound of those sh.e.l.ls in flight frightened me very much." Yet the invaders' demonstration of naval and air power made little physical impact on the defenders, sheltering underground. Minamoto emerged from his cave on 25 March to a scene of devastation-"Trees were torn apart, the ground blackened, all our quarters flattened along with the local civilian houses." However, the suicide boats which he commanded were safe in laboriously dug bunkers along the sh.o.r.eline. Glory and death seemed at hand for the two officers and thirty NCOs of his company, designated to pilot their explosive-laden craft against American ships.

Okinawa, AprilMay 1945 1945

But the crews on Tokashiki and its neighbouring islands never attacked. They were fifteen miles offsh.o.r.e, and U.S. escorts protected every route to the invasion armada. The j.a.panese had expected the Americans to anchor further south, allowing the suicide crews to strike them from the rear, on their seaward side. Now, instead, the vexed young commanding officer sought radio guidance from headquarters at Shanri Castle on the mainland, which was swiftly forthcoming: "Scuttle your craft." The order provoked a moment of hysteria among the crews. Many men burst into tears, denouncing their commanders: "Surely we haven't been through all this, to quit now!" The order was baffling, but was obeyed. Minamoto kept two boats intact, in case there was a new opportunity to launch them. The rest, almost a hundred craft scattered among three islands, were sunk in shallow water. Only a few of those on Okinawa itself were launched, to small effect.

On the morning of 27 March, American troops landed on Tokashiki. The suicide crews now lacked means to resist the invaders beyond swords, pistols and a few grenades. Minamoto ordered the c.o.xswains to withdraw immediately to the north end of the island, to preserve them for future actions. He himself led the maintenance crews, around a hundred strong, in a brief defensive action. The Americans made short work of them. After losing nine dead in the first half-hour, Minamoto ordered his survivors to retreat northwards. He rejected the notion of self-immolation: "I felt that I wanted to fight to the death with the enemy, rather than merely bring death on myself." In the event, he did neither. Minamoto became a pa.s.sive spectator of the first of the ghastly human tragedies which disfigured the Okinawa campaign.

Around nine hundred civilian farmers and families inhabited Tokashiki. As Minamoto and his men withdrew northwards into a jumble of rocks and caves, villagers left behind began to use grenades to kill themselves. Today, a revisionist movement among j.a.panese historians and nationalists seeks to argue that such civilian suicides were spontaneous acts, neither ordered nor condoned by the military. This is impossible to accept. Munitions had been supplied to many inhabitants, though it remains conjectural what orders accompanied them. On 28 March 1945 and in the days that followed, on Tokashiki 394 men, women and children immolated themselves. "Their actions reflected the spirit of the time," said Minamoto. "It was the consequence of all the reports about the fate of j.a.panese civilians on Saipan. Those islanders should not have been so hard on themselves. It wasn't as if the invaders were Chinese or Russians." This, however, was a sentiment of 2005 rather than of 1945. By a bleak irony, Minamoto and his fellow suicide crewmen survived in hiding, while more than a third of the civilians on Tokashiki perished. To the Americans, this little action represented only a skirmish, a minor objective seized at negligible cost. Yet for the j.a.panese, it was a foretaste of much worse to follow.

AT DAWN on 1 April, Sunday, code-named "Love Day," thousands of men of the two Marine and two army divisions which were to lead the a.s.sault on Okinawa crowded the decks of their ships, listening to distant automatic fire. Information about the landing beaches had been obtained from an eighty-year-old conchologist named Ditlev D. Thaanum, who collected sh.e.l.ls there before the war, and possessed a collection of photographs. An almost equally elderly colleague of Thaanum named Daniel Boone Langford was flown to the Pacific to share his expertise with Turner's 5th Amphibious Force. Langford described, for instance, the deadly on 1 April, Sunday, code-named "Love Day," thousands of men of the two Marine and two army divisions which were to lead the a.s.sault on Okinawa crowded the decks of their ships, listening to distant automatic fire. Information about the landing beaches had been obtained from an eighty-year-old conchologist named Ditlev D. Thaanum, who collected sh.e.l.ls there before the war, and possessed a collection of photographs. An almost equally elderly colleague of Thaanum named Daniel Boone Langford was flown to the Pacific to share his expertise with Turner's 5th Amphibious Force. Langford described, for instance, the deadly habu habu snakes on the island. Every soldier and Marine was briefed about them, though there was no subsequent record of any man seeing one. When the U.S. armada began the bombardment of Okinawa in the days immediately preceding the landing, navy frogmen cleared debris and obstacles from the beaches under the eyes of j.a.panese outposts. The enemy made no attempt to intervene. snakes on the island. Every soldier and Marine was briefed about them, though there was no subsequent record of any man seeing one. When the U.S. armada began the bombardment of Okinawa in the days immediately preceding the landing, navy frogmen cleared debris and obstacles from the beaches under the eyes of j.a.panese outposts. The enemy made no attempt to intervene.

The invaders were to land across a six-mile front on the south-west coast. Wallowing in the big transports, most men antic.i.p.ated the worst. Spotter planes circled above, directing the naval guns. Wariness was essential to their pilots to avoid being caught by sh.e.l.ls, especially from the high-trajectory five-inch destroyer armament. On the ships a huge cast of spectators, so soon to become actors, saw a sudden burst of light in the sky as a plane was. .h.i.t, then dropped blazing into the sea. "Everyone expected E Company715 to be literally destroyed," wrote a 5th Marines corporal, James Johnston. At 0530, the drivers of Lt. Chris Donner's unit went below to warm the engines of their amphibious tractors. The young 1st Marines' forward artillery observer heard a lone, ironic voice singing Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning." Donner descended to the LST's tank deck, and clambered aboard his vehicle, one among hundreds. They launched at 0630, dazzled by the brilliant sunshine after the darkness of the hold, deafened by the roar of aircraft and naval gunfire. Waves broke over the amtracs as they circled offsh.o.r.e, men sitting atop their craft and waving to neighbours with studied gaiety as they waited for the order to land. Sailors peering down from the steep side of a battleship called: "Give the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds h.e.l.l, Marines!" "Good luck!" Then the landing craft and tractors turned for the sh.o.r.e in serried ranks, their wakes whitening the water so that from the air it appeared that a host of sea slugs was approaching Okinawa. to be literally destroyed," wrote a 5th Marines corporal, James Johnston. At 0530, the drivers of Lt. Chris Donner's unit went below to warm the engines of their amphibious tractors. The young 1st Marines' forward artillery observer heard a lone, ironic voice singing Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning." Donner descended to the LST's tank deck, and clambered aboard his vehicle, one among hundreds. They launched at 0630, dazzled by the brilliant sunshine after the darkness of the hold, deafened by the roar of aircraft and naval gunfire. Waves broke over the amtracs as they circled offsh.o.r.e, men sitting atop their craft and waving to neighbours with studied gaiety as they waited for the order to land. Sailors peering down from the steep side of a battleship called: "Give the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds h.e.l.l, Marines!" "Good luck!" Then the landing craft and tractors turned for the sh.o.r.e in serried ranks, their wakes whitening the water so that from the air it appeared that a host of sea slugs was approaching Okinawa.

"There was no chatter now," wrote Donner. "Each man's face was tight, teeth set. Even above the roar of the amph's motors we began to hear the crackle of small arms...We hit with a jolt that tumbled us in a heap, ground up onto a coral shelf, then onto sand...I led the rush out." There was no firing in their immediate area, but one squad heard voices from a cavern, and used an interpreter to shout word to come out and surrender. When no response came, Browning-automatic gunners sprayed the mouth. Inside, Marines found the prostrate forms of several civilians: two men, a woman and a three-year-old boy. Only the child was alive, covered with his mother's blood. "They brought him back to us716," wrote Chris Donner, "and Monahan washed the blood off the boy, who had ceased to cry. My team carried him on their shoulders all the rest of the afternoon...So this was Easter Sunday warfare. It sickened me."

Corporal James Johnston ran up the beach nursing slender expectations for his own future: "I thought I might get to a pillbox717 and dump some grenades before they got me." The invaders were disbelieving in the face of their own survival. They encountered only a sh.e.l.l-torn sh.o.r.eline, a handful of dazed or dead peasants, negligible resistance. "I didn't recognise anything I saw and dump some grenades before they got me." The invaders were disbelieving in the face of their own survival. They encountered only a sh.e.l.l-torn sh.o.r.eline, a handful of dazed or dead peasants, negligible resistance. "I didn't recognise anything I saw718," said Lt. Marius Bressoud of the 3/7th Marines. "There were no pinned-down troops, no bodies." The Americans fanned out north and south, seizing two airfields, advancing in hours across miles of ground for which they had expected to fight for days. Admiral Richmond Turner, commanding the amphibious force, signalled Nimitz: "I may be crazy but it looks like the j.a.panese have quit the war, at least in this sector." Nimitz snorted back: "Delete all after 'crazy.'"

Yet through the first week of the invaders' residence ash.o.r.e, Okinawa appeared a deceptively innocent, strikingly beautiful tourist destination. For every American save those who had fought on Saipan, this was a first glimpse of the enemy's land and its people, unlike other battlefields they had experienced. There was no jungle, instead subtropical vegetation. Pines were the commonest trees-Nimitz asked for saplings to be shipped to Guam. There were large, bright, almost tasteless wild raspberries. Every inch of cultivable soil was tilled, hills laboriously terraced. Staff officers amused themselves by shooting pigeons. Units advanced in almost carnival mood, some men riding looted bicycles. One company captured two horses. A Marine broke an ankle falling off one, which in view of subsequent events probably saved his life. Soldiers made j.a.panese flags out of parachute flare silk, shooting holes in them to sell to sailors for $50 apiece.

Small boys emerged from peasant huts to beg matches, imitating the action of striking them. Marine general O. P. Smith was moved by the sight of an elderly Okinawan woman at the seaside, tearing a piece of paper into shreds then allowing the fragments to flutter away into the water. This was a local superst.i.tion: the paper represented a prayer, the force of which was supposed to double each time a fragment turned in the air before its immersion. New Yorker New Yorker correspondent John Lardner was fascinated by the tombs which studded every hillside, the relative tranquillity punctuated by desultory encounters with the enemy: "The roads were narrow and dusty, the villages poor and dingy, but the green island between them was a fine thing to see. Some ridges were so thickly terraced for planting that it was checkered with rice paddies and green squares of sugarcane. Potatoes, beans, garlic, onions, radishes, grew everywhere. The civilians, who were now feeling easier, were walking along the roads and saluting us." Lardner met a truck in which five Americans were sitting with a young Okinawan civilian wounded that morning. A good-natured Marine stuck a cigarette between the teenager's lips. After one puff, the j.a.panese shuddered and pulled back. Another man said: "What do you want to treat a j.a.p correspondent John Lardner was fascinated by the tombs which studded every hillside, the relative tranquillity punctuated by desultory encounters with the enemy: "The roads were narrow and dusty, the villages poor and dingy, but the green island between them was a fine thing to see. Some ridges were so thickly terraced for planting that it was checkered with rice paddies and green squares of sugarcane. Potatoes, beans, garlic, onions, radishes, grew everywhere. The civilians, who were now feeling easier, were walking along the roads and saluting us." Lardner met a truck in which five Americans were sitting with a young Okinawan civilian wounded that morning. A good-natured Marine stuck a cigarette between the teenager's lips. After one puff, the j.a.panese shuddered and pulled back. Another man said: "What do you want to treat a j.a.p719 so good for?" so good for?"

"Why not?" demanded the cigarette donor.

"Well, why don't they send some of them back to tell those other j.a.ps how good we treat them? Then maybe they would treat us good."

Tenth Army's commander shared Admiral Turner's surprise at the initial j.a.panese lack of resistance. Marines moving north overcame sporadic opposition without much difficulty. General Buckner was fearful that anticlimax might deprive him of the battle he was keenly expectant to fight. He had been at Kiska in the Aleutians "when the army troops had landed and to their embarra.s.sment had found no j.a.panese," wrote O. P. Smith scornfully. "He did not want to be involved720 in another Kiska." Spruance and Turner had wanted Holland Smith of the Marines to command Okinawa. They were overruled by Nimitz, because Smith had made himself violently unpopular among soldiers by sacking an army divisional commander on Saipan. in another Kiska." Spruance and Turner had wanted Holland Smith of the Marines to command Okinawa. They were overruled by Nimitz, because Smith had made himself violently unpopular among soldiers by sacking an army divisional commander on Saipan.

The subst.i.tute choice for command, however, inspired less than universal confidence. Simon Bolivar Buckner was fifty-eight, son of a Civil War Confederate general, "ruddy, heavy-set721, but with considerable spring in his step, snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes. His fetish was physical conditioning." During the preparations for Okinawa, the general's enthusiasm for PT had cost his staff sprained ankles, some broken arms and collarbones. He had spent the First World War training fliers, and thereafter filled mostly staff appointments. Smith wrote: "Buckner had surprisingly little troops' duty722. His methods and judgements were somewhat inflexible." This grudging view was shared by other officers on Okinawa, whose scepticism would deepen in the months that followed.

Nimitz was right, of course, to have dismissed local commanders' initial bubble of euphoria. After a week of cautious advances, army units in the south of the island were suddenly checked in their tracks by artillery and machine-gun fire. They had reached the first of the immensely powerful concentric lines with which the j.a.panese had fortified the southernmost six miles of Okinawa. Gen. Mitsuru Ushijima, commanding 32nd Army, charged with defence of the island, allowed himself to be persuaded that he could not stop the Americans on the beaches. Instead, he adopted the plan of his operations officer, Col. Hiromichi Yahara, for "sleeping tactics." One force was concentrated on the northern Mobutu Peninsula, where it offered stubborn resistance from 8 to 20 April. The princ.i.p.al j.a.panese positions lay in the south, around the capital, Naha, where Ushijima's men had created a chain of fortresses, the so-called Shuri Line. Including local militiamen, 97,000 j.a.panese were deployed there, crowded into one of the narrowest perimeters of the war.

Through more than two months that followed, U.S. soldiers and Marines a.s.saulted Ushijima's bunkers and trenches, paying with flesh for every yard they gained. The struggle proved more intense than any which U.S. forces had hitherto experienced in the Pacific. As usual, the j.a.panese had chosen their positions well. They possessed observation points on high ground, hidden machine guns, mines, and defences almost impregnable to frontal attack. Above all, they had guns and plenty of ammunition. The j.a.panese army, often short of fire support, on Okinawa possessed this in abundance. "The enemy tactic which impressed us723 most deeply was the intensity and effectiveness of artillery," wrote Marine captain Levi Burcham, "and the fact that this fire covered not only our front line area but also (an experience new to many) well back into rear areas, quartermaster dumps and the like." most deeply was the intensity and effectiveness of artillery," wrote Marine captain Levi Burcham, "and the fact that this fire covered not only our front line area but also (an experience new to many) well back into rear areas, quartermaster dumps and the like."

The U.S. XXIV Corps once received724 14,000 incoming j.a.panese sh.e.l.ls in twenty-four hours. The invaders' advantage of numbers counted for almost nothing, where the enemy could concentrate his forces to hold a front nowhere more than three miles wide, the breadth of the island. Buckner perceived no alternative to launching repeated frontal attacks, which resulted in repeated b.l.o.o.d.y failures. As heavy rain set in, tens of thousands of men competed for possession of a few score yards of mud. Sh.e.l.lfire churned human body parts, debris and excrement into a ghastly compound from which the stench drifted far to the rear. These were scenes more familiar to veterans of the First World War than those of the Second. After the first weeks, press accounts of the horrors of Okinawa inspired anger and bitter criticism back home in the United States. It seemed incomprehensible that with Germany collapsing, U.S. power triumphant almost everywhere in the world, young Americans should be suffering such an ordeal. How could it be that all the might of U.S. armies, navies and air forces was being set at naught in such a fashion? 14,000 incoming j.a.panese sh.e.l.ls in twenty-four hours. The invaders' advantage of numbers counted for almost nothing, where the enemy could concentrate his forces to hold a front nowhere more than three miles wide, the breadth of the island. Buckner perceived no alternative to launching repeated frontal attacks, which resulted in repeated b.l.o.o.d.y failures. As heavy rain set in, tens of thousands of men competed for possession of a few score yards of mud. Sh.e.l.lfire churned human body parts, debris and excrement into a ghastly compound from which the stench drifted far to the rear. These were scenes more familiar to veterans of the First World War than those of the Second. After the first weeks, press accounts of the horrors of Okinawa inspired anger and bitter criticism back home in the United States. It seemed incomprehensible that with Germany collapsing, U.S. power triumphant almost everywhere in the world, young Americans should be suffering such an ordeal. How could it be that all the might of U.S. armies, navies and air forces was being set at naught in such a fashion?

The parents of a man killed on Hector Hill wrote a savage letter, branding his officers as murderers for abandoning their son. There was speculation in his unit about what some soldier must have written home to cause the dead man's people to harbour such bitterness. Another letter, from the father of a wounded man725, excoriated the army for having put his son into combat without adequate training. Lt. Jeptha Carell of the 3/7th Marines came to believe that married men with children should not be allowed to serve in the front line: "The loss of the father is not only a reason for the family to grieve, it is an economic disaster." When one of his platoon was killed by an American rocket that fell short, Carell wrote to the man's widow, who responded with a pathetic letter saying that she now had five children to care for. The widow ended: "I hope you're satisfied!726" James Johnston wrote: "Oh! to see the folks727-and snow and city lights and girls and old friends and new ones-and the blessed hills of home. Oh! to eat Mom's wonderful cooking and to drink that cool clear water-and a gla.s.s of milk!"

En route to Okinawa, army lieutenant Don Siebert found himself sharing a C-47 "Gooney Bird" with a party of nurses. The girls kidded the young replacements somewhat unkindly, saying that they would see them again on a casevac flight in a couple of days. "Of course this was very, very comforting728," wrote Siebert, "but we were too gung-ho to heed the warning, and exacted their a.s.surances that they would give us special care." He himself was troubled, like most newcomers to war, about his own fitness for command: "Would the men accept my leadership? Would I have a problem getting to them?" He read field manuals a.s.siduously all the way to the front, where he joined the 382nd Infantry on line outside Shuri Castle. To Siebert's disappointment, he was a.s.signed to become a.s.sistant regimental adjutant and gas officer. He provoked amazement by requesting instead a posting with a line battalion, and was rewarded with a platoon of Fox Company.

The newcomer trudged through heavy rain to take over his woefully under-strength little command, just sixteen strong: "They were strange faces-dirty, drawn, tired, yet the men appeared to have high morale." He was plunged into combat, to see his platoon sergeant immediately evacuated after being wounded by mortar fragments. When another man was killed, Siebert felt ashamed that he had not yet discovered the soldier's name. A young lieutenant, Magrath, clambered out on a rock to take a look at his first battlefield. "Get your a.s.s down!" shouted a sergeant, too late. A bullet hit Magrath in the throat. As he was carried away, he kept asking earnestly whether he would still be able to play his trumpet in a dance band.

In Siebert's first encounter with the j.a.panese, he was shocked to see an enemy soldier keep running at him, despite being hit repeatedly by carbine bullets. Siebert discarded his carbine in favour of an M1 rifle. "One of the weaknesses of the American army729 in combat," he wrote, "was night operations. We did little fighting at night, almost no movement...The j.a.ps, on the other hand, used the darkness. They fought, moved and resupplied in it." Darkness caused every American soldier, huddled under a poncho to mask the glow of a cigarette, to become acutely sensitive to the risk of surprise. One night in the positions of the infantry company accompanied by gunner Chris Donner, a man panicked when he heard an unexpected noise. He began firing, and killed five of his fellow Marines before somebody shot him down. The company commander, wrote Donner, was thereafter "embittered over this needless loss in combat," he wrote, "was night operations. We did little fighting at night, almost no movement...The j.a.ps, on the other hand, used the darkness. They fought, moved and resupplied in it." Darkness caused every American soldier, huddled under a poncho to mask the glow of a cigarette, to become acutely sensitive to the risk of surprise. One night in the positions of the infantry company accompanied by gunner Chris Donner, a man panicked when he heard an unexpected noise. He began firing, and killed five of his fellow Marines before somebody shot him down. The company commander, wrote Donner, was thereafter "embittered over this needless loss730. The entire outfit moved heavily."

Wandering animals and civilians prompted alerts. White goats were mistaken for infiltrators. Don Siebert's men were dug in at the edge of a big field one night, when they heard rustling and movement. Flares revealed nothing, but there was certainly something out there. The lieutenant told his men to shoot, prompting moans and the squalling of a baby. Siebert was still fearful of j.a.panese soldiers trying to lure the Americans from their foxholes: "Much against my instincts731, I ordered the platoon to open fire; we must have killed the youngster, because there were no more cries. This truly depressed me. However, I believed that it was necessary to protect the lives of my men." And so perhaps it was.

"With afternoon came the order732 to advance," wrote Chris Donner. "A short round from another artillery shoot so jolted Captain Sweet that he had to be removed...As the units, each no more than twenty-five strong, converged on the brushy knoll to our front there was no firing of any kind. Then, walking erect, and only a few yards from the bushes, they were suddenly met by blazing light machine-gun fire, and mortars began raining upon them. There was no cover. They fell, squirmed, and were hit again. A handful managed to get back, including a lieutenant who trembled and shook with terrific sobs, murmuring over and over, 'It was awful, G.o.d to advance," wrote Chris Donner. "A short round from another artillery shoot so jolted Captain Sweet that he had to be removed...As the units, each no more than twenty-five strong, converged on the brushy knoll to our front there was no firing of any kind. Then, walking erect, and only a few yards from the bushes, they were suddenly met by blazing light machine-gun fire, and mortars began raining upon them. There was no cover. They fell, squirmed, and were hit again. A handful managed to get back, including a lieutenant who trembled and shook with terrific sobs, murmuring over and over, 'It was awful, G.o.d733, it was awful. They all died.' I felt awful myself."

The local mosquitoes were smaller than those of some other Pacific islands, but just as aggressive, and accompanied by a new pest, fleas. Insect life swarmed in clouds around every corpse. Men had plenty of water-too much, with the incessant rain. They supplemented rations with vegetables taken from peasant gardens. Most found that canned rations and stress combined to promote constipation, which they a.s.suaged with a home-brewed laxative made of iron-ration chocolate and canned milk heated on C-2 composite explosive. The princ.i.p.al factor in their lives and deaths, however, was daily attrition from snipers, machine guns, artillery: "When the bullet hit Gosman's head734, it sounded as if someone had hit a ripe watermelon with a baseball bat." Each day there were fewer men to sustain the lumbering advances from ridge to ridge. They had phrases for those who survived in body, but were lost in spirit: "the thousand-yard look" "the bulkhead stare" "going Asiatic." James Johnston wrote: "I thought of the old verse735 'I knew a lad who went to sea / and left the land behind him. / I knew him well-the lad was me / and now I cannot find him.'" A c.o.c.ky, aggressive replacement named Anderson joined them, and on the first day contemptuously shrugged off Johnston's warnings to stop wandering into caves. Johnston said resignedly: "I'm just trying to keep you alive." After a brief taste of combat on Okinawa, tough young Anderson reported sick, and was never seen again. 'I knew a lad who went to sea / and left the land behind him. / I knew him well-the lad was me / and now I cannot find him.'" A c.o.c.ky, aggressive replacement named Anderson joined them, and on the first day contemptuously shrugged off Johnston's warnings to stop wandering into caves. Johnston said resignedly: "I'm just trying to keep you alive." After a brief taste of combat on Okinawa, tough young Anderson reported sick, and was never seen again.

Johnston departed too, after being hit by mortar fragments in the Awahaca Pocket. At the field hospital, a voice suddenly called out: "Anyone here from Nebraska?" The Marine responded, and was amazed to find himself talking to a kid he knew from home named Kenny Yant, now a medical corpsman. Yant held Johnston's hand while a surgeon extracted the shrapnel from his body. A little nurse said: "Don't sweat it, Marine. The doc's about got it." Johnston wrote: "Her touch felt like an angel's736. She was close enough that I could smell her. She smelt like Camay soap." Discharged from hospital, he was told that he was eligible to go home, but his battalion would like to have him back. He went home.

Rashly exposing himself on Tera Ridge737, Lt. John Armiger suddenly cried out that he could see through his binoculars a j.a.panese sniper taking aim with a telescopic sight. Everyone ducked save Armiger himself, who was fractionally slow to move. A second later, he was fatally hit in the abdomen. On 26 April, a mortar bomb landed beside Lt. Gage Rodman, a company commander in the 17th Infantry: "I knew I was shot, but the only blood I could see was on my leg. Then I caught sight of what seemed like several yards of pink tubing on the front of my trousers...One of my a.s.sistant squad leaders walked over to me and breaking out his first aid dressing, he made a temporary covering for my exposed intestines...At the 102nd Portable Surgical Hospital, I was operated on for the removal of the majority of the sh.e.l.l fragments and the manufacture of a colostomy to replace my severed bowel function." For months Rodman's life was despaired of, though he persisted in attempting to rea.s.sure his parents: "You see, I am out of any possible danger738 now. I am in a rear-area hospital. I might as well tell you I will be out of action for some months to come. I hope you won't worry, because it is all convalescence from here on out." Only on 3 July was the young officer fit for evacuation to the U.S., where he began to suffer brain abscesses, and thereafter remained semi-paralysed. now. I am in a rear-area hospital. I might as well tell you I will be out of action for some months to come. I hope you won't worry, because it is all convalescence from here on out." Only on 3 July was the young officer fit for evacuation to the U.S., where he began to suffer brain abscesses, and thereafter remained semi-paralysed.

If the invaders were appalled by their predicament, that of the defenders was vastly worse. j.a.panese soldiers were dying at ten times the rate of Americans. Captain Kouichi Ito's battalion of the 32nd Regiment used a thousand mortar bombs in twenty hours on 27 April, when it faced its first American attack. Having spent months preparing deeply dug positions, they found themselves instead deployed where they had only hastily sc.r.a.ped foxholes. These offered pitiful protection against U.S. artillery fire, far heavier than anything Ushijima's batteries could put down. Then they met their first American tanks. Like the rest of the j.a.panese army, the 32nd Regiment was pitifully equipped to deal with them, possessing just two anti-tank guns. These were destroyed within hours by sh.e.l.ling. Thereafter, Ito's companies were forced to improvise, in the only fashion the j.a.panese army knew. Men were given a mine or sh.e.l.l, and ordered to detonate this against a tank as it approached. Ito tried to say personal farewells, solemnly shaking hands with each soldier designated for the task. Sgt. Kaoru Imai, an NCO whom the captain much liked, ran out after an American tank, clutching a mine, then suffered the humiliation of finding himself unable to catch it up. The turret traversed, the gun fired. Imai was gone.

The pace of attrition was dispiriting. Most of Ito's men had known each other for years. Now, each hour they vanished by scores. "We took three hundred casualties in the first two days739," said Ito. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Kashiki, made the dangerous circuit of their perimeter the first night, telling the men how well they had done. Yet all knew how desperate was their predicament. Ito reflected that his father had underestimated their enemy. One of his company commanders said ruefully down a telephone line to the command bunker: "You can't treat these Americans lightly."

The invaders achieved notable successes when defenders were rash enough to leave their positions and counter-attack. Again and again, j.a.panese efforts to regain ground or surprise the Americans were crushed by firepower. After early b.l.o.o.d.y failures, however, Ushijima became less obliging about exposing his units. He held them back in their deeply dug defences, leaving it to the Americans to pay the price for movement. Marines and soldiers alike found themselves trapped in an experience as h.e.l.lish as any of the war. Word of the death of their president, Franklin Roosevelt, on 12 April seemed as remote as a dispatch from the moon. "The news came as a shock740," wrote an infantry officer. "The word was pa.s.sed down to the men, but each had his own problems at the moment, the most important being to keep his hide in one piece." Only the few square yards of ground around them, the men in the next foxhole, possessed meaning. A new list of place-names entered the gazetteer of Pacific horrors: Sugarloaf Hill, Wana Draw, Awacha Gulch, Shuri Castle.

When Lt. Marius Bressoud's Marine company was ordered to undertake a new a.s.sault on Wana Ridge, he experienced "an immediate sense of melancholy, as I realised this was my day to die. I had been very zealous about brushing my teeth every morning. I had no toothpaste, of course, but I faithfully hung onto the toothbrush, using it with plain water. Out of habit, I took it out that morning and then said to myself: 'Why should I bother? I will be dead by nightfall.' But I had a second thought: 'Why not brush my teeth? I have time. I will do it, just in case I live.'" Bressoud indeed survived, but his unit's attack failed. "It was not possible to a.s.sault entrenched j.a.panese troops carefully. What were needed were a few nuts who didn't care whether they lived or died, and I Company's level of commitment that day stopped short of madness." One of Bressoud's young Marines was left lying wounded on the hillside, crying, "Mother, mother." The platoon's corpsman gazed forward in bitter frustration. Bressoud told him not to try any heroics, that there was no purpose in having two men rather than one dead or wounded. Finally, however, the corpsman said: "I can't stand it741. I'm going to go help him." He scrambled forward. Like the wounded man, he was never seen again.

"Small-unit combat was a continuous stream of decisions that can be agonizing and immobilizing," wrote Lt. Jeptha Carell of the 3/7th Marines. He started his own first action with a mistake. Advancing to attack, his platoon sergeant was shot in the stomach beside him, and a nearby corpsman fell dead. Carell forgot his command responsibility, and knelt trying to save his NCO: "Somehow I had never consciously742 thought about losing him, and had not adequately prepared myself. I worked over him frantically...I was mistaken to take so much time with Jones instead of moving on with the platoon. It reduced the speed and force of our a.s.sault on the ridge, and made the attack more difficult for the rest of the company." thought about losing him, and had not adequately prepared myself. I worked over him frantically...I was mistaken to take so much time with Jones instead of moving on with the platoon. It reduced the speed and force of our a.s.sault on the ridge, and made the attack more difficult for the rest of the company."

Tiny consolations meant much to men who lived as did those of Tenth Army on Okinawa. "Dear Mom and Dad," wrote twenty-year-old gunner Joseph Kohn to his family in New Jersey on 14 May, "every once in a while743 you come across a fellow who is really a swell Joe. A fellow who is in tanks just happened to start talking and before I knew it he invited me down. Somehow or other he had flour and baking powder, and before you knew it he was making pancakes for me and the rest of the fellows." you come across a fellow who is really a swell Joe. A fellow who is in tanks just happened to start talking and before I knew it he invited me down. Somehow or other he had flour and baking powder, and before you knew it he was making pancakes for me and the rest of the fellows."

Comradeship, love between men, is the only force that makes such circ.u.mstances endurable. Marine lieutenant Richard Kennard wrote to his parents on 13 May: "As the weeks go by I have grown to be very fond of my enlisted friend Jack Adamson, raised on a farm in north Wisconsin. He is a perfect Christian and in my eyes the most ideal American boy I have ever known. I have lived very close to him and so know just what I am saying. Jack is the cleanest, most meticulous lad I have ever seen. He is completely unselfish, and always thinks about his buddies in the gun section first. He has worked ever since he could walk. He doesn't smoke, drink or swear. You know a good Christian will always have many friends and yet be little appreciated because there are so few people today who understand what it is like." Kennard had a girlfriend back home named Marilyn, a successful model. If he himself was killed, Kennard asked his parents to see that Jack Adamson got whatever cash he had: "Marilyn won't need it." The claims of intimacy with a man beside whom he shared mortal peril seemed more pressing than those of a girl half a world away.

BUCKNER'S headlong a.s.saults on the Shuri Line rekindled familiar inter-service animosities. Marines thought soldiers lacked skill, drive, grit. "The Marines and the army headlong a.s.saults on the Shuri Line rekindled familiar inter-service animosities. Marines thought soldiers lacked skill, drive, grit. "The Marines and the army744 don't like each other," wrote corpsman Bill Jenkins. "...We thought they were a bunch of scaredycats." Marines relieving the army's 27th Division mocked the depth of their foxholes. A soldier said sourly: "You won't be laughing when 'whistling w.i.l.l.y' comes in." Sure enough, within a few hours the Marines were digging even harder for themselves. "We were permitted, if not encouraged don't like each other," wrote corpsman Bill Jenkins. "...We thought they were a bunch of scaredycats." Marines relieving the army's 27th Division mocked the depth of their foxholes. A soldier said sourly: "You won't be laughing when 'whistling w.i.l.l.y' comes in." Sure enough, within a few hours the Marines were digging even harder for themselves. "We were permitted, if not encouraged745, to believe that Army progress was slow because their troops weren't as courageous, capable and well trained as we were," wrote Marine lieutenant Marius Bressoud. "It was only when we ourselves came up against the Shuri bastion that we developed a proper respect for our fellow footsoldiers."

Marine senior officers, however, continued to believe that Buckner's generalship was unimaginative, almost sure to continue to fail, and absolutely sure to cost a lot of lives. They favoured a new amphibious landing in the j.a.panese rear, for which a reserve division still afloat was available. On 18 April, O. P. Smith told Vice-Admiral Turner that he thought Buckner much too optimistic about the ability of artillery to batter a breakthrough. The admiral agreed, but declared that it was impossible to intervene. "G.o.d bless you," Turner said to Smith, his customary farewell. G.o.d did nothing to bless Tenth Army, or its tactics, through the weeks which followed. Smith recorded his contempt for Buckner's lack of combat experience. The general, he said, spurned Marine experience of the value of creeping sh.e.l.lfire up to enemy positions, rather than bracketing them. Smith criticised army practice of holding positions as much as eight hundred yards from the nearest j.a.panese. Marines considered one to two hundred yards more appropriate.

Smith described a visit with Tenth Army's commander to the 27th Division, a formation no one thought much of: "The division was beaten down and did not know whether or not it wanted to fight...As General Buckner went round he asked different individuals what they wanted to do most. He was hoping to get the answer that they wanted to go into combat, but they were more interested in going home on furlough." Smith was disgusted to notice that 27th Division had not got around to burying its own dead. Yet the Marines were forced to concede that their own formations could make no faster or cheaper progress than the soldiers.

Fighting in the midst of civilians is always repugnant, never more so than on Okinawa. "On the ground746," Chris Donner recorded one day, "lay the body of a young Okinawan, a girl who had been fifteen or sixteen, and probably very pretty. She was nude, lying on her back with arms outstretched and knees drawn up, but spread apart. The poor girl had been shot through the left breast and evidently violently raped." It seemed unlikely that this was the work of j.a.panese soldiers. Not long after, several men of the infantry unit which Donner was accompanying fell to fire from unseen enemies on a clifftop. Suddenly, the Americans saw a j.a.panese woman clutching a baby. Convinced that she was spotting for enemy soldiers, some shouted: "Shoot the b.i.t.c.h, shoot the j.a.p woman!" There was a burst of fire. The woman fell, then struggled to her feet and staggered towards her baby. After more shots, she went down again and lay still. Donner wrote: "None of the men would own up747 to having fired...the ridge was a stinking mess, compounded of half-empty ration tins, dead j.a.ps and human faeces, all covered with hot flies...One corporal was dragged back and given a transfusion. His foot was gone at the ankle. When they could bring up a stretcher and start off with the man, he began to smoke a cigarette someone had given him. Then with his face drawn with pain he waved to us and shouted, 'Got mine, fellows. Gonna have liberty now. Good luck to you.'" Marine Eugene Sledge was struck by the sight of a j.a.panese machine-gunner still sitting at his post, lacking the top of his head. Overnight rain had collected in the open skull. As their unit sat nearby waiting to be relieved, one of Sledge's buddies idly flicked fragments of coral into this receptacle, prompting a splash each time one landed right. to having fired...the ridge was a stinking mess, compounded of half-empty ration tins, dead j.a.ps and human faeces, all covered with hot flies...One corporal was dragged back and given a transfusion. His foot was gone at the ankle. When they could bring up a stretcher and start off with the man, he began to smoke a cigarette someone had given him. Then with his face drawn with pain he waved to us and shouted, 'Got mine, fellows. Gonna have liberty now. Good luck to you.'" Marine Eugene Sledge was struck by the sight of a j.a.panese machine-gunner still sitting at his post, lacking the top of his head. Overnight rain had collected in the open skull. As their unit sat nearby waiting to be relieved, one of Sledge's buddies idly flicked fragments of coral into this receptacle, prompting a splash each time one landed right.

In a rear-area hospital, O. P. Smith inspected combat fatigue cases, of which Okinawa generated thousands. He watched a doctor treating a Marine in whose foxhole a mortar round had landed. "No man could have portrayed fear as this man did. He kept gurgling 'Mortar, mortar, mortar.' The doctor asked him what he was going to do now. He replied: 'Dig deeper. Dig deeper.' The doctor told him to go ahead and dig. The man got down on his knees and went through frantic motions of digging in the corner of the room." Another man, who had been recommended for a Silver Star, was overcome by guilt about killing so many j.a.panese. There were others occupying beds, however, for whom the Marine general evinced less sympathy. "I am afraid...there are many748 cases of so-called combat fatigue where the man should not have gotten back to the hospitals." What would Smith have said to a man like medic Bill Jenkins, whose platoon went through double its original strength before the navy man went to his sergeant, removed his pistol belt and said: "You can take this war and shove it cases of so-called combat fatigue where the man should not have gotten back to the hospitals." What would Smith have said to a man like medic Bill Jenkins, whose platoon went through double its original strength before the navy man went to his sergeant, removed his pistol belt and said: "You can take this war and shove it749, I quit"? The NCO gave Jenkins a mug of coffee and without protest tagged him as suffering from a "psychoneurosis anxiety state." He was evacuated to Saipan.

After their first two days in action, j.a.panese captain Kouichi Ito's battalion received only ration bread to sustain them. On 2 May they were ordered to partic.i.p.ate in a major counter-offensive against two hills held by the American XXIV Corps. At terrible cost, and almost without artillery support, they gained one summit, having driven a mile behind the American front. "We had done our part-but we wondered where everybody else was," said Ito, echoing the sentiments of many soldiers in many battles. Their neighbouring unit failed to capture the second hill. The consequence was that through the days that followed Ito's battalion suffered devastating losses as it strove to hold a salient on the Tanabaru Escarpment, dominated on three sides by the Americans and their artillery concentrations.

On 6 May, Ito was belatedly ordered to pull back. He consoled his men by quoting the German general Mackensen, in a desperate position during the First World War: "Don't think of this as a retreat, but as an advance in a different direction." They had no means of carrying out thirty badly wounded men. Ito moved among these, distributing grenades which should enable them to take some American companions into the next world. One man he knew well, Lance-Corporal Kurokawa, begged him again and again: "Take me away with you. Take me with you. Please. Please." Yet Kurokawa too was left to face death with his grenade. So many close comrades were gone-Ohyama, Mori, Otaki and a host of others whose names Ito forgot. Many more fell during their b.l.o.o.d.y break-out to a new line a mile back.

The ruins of Naha, Okinawa's capital, fell to the Americans on 27 May. Ushijima retreated to his final positions further south-west, on the Oruku Peninsula. Here, Ito and his men joined their commander, along with some thousands of other surviving defenders. By the first days of June, the captain found himself left with 135 men, out of the five-hundred-strong battalion he had led into battle: "We were exhausted, morally and physically. We faced the traditional predicament of j.a.panese warriors of old, with our backs to the wall." They were proud of the losses they had inflicted on the Americans, but understood that the defences were broken. Yard by yard, Buckner's persevering Marines and soldiers had ground down the j.a.panese 32nd Army. Ito and a few companions were among several hundred men who, rejecting surrender or suicide, took refuge in Okinawa's mult.i.tude of caves, scavenging by night for food, with help from local civilians.

The last days of the battle were rendered especially horrible by the presence of so many j.a.panese women and children among the defenders, some still eager to live, others determined to die. After Lt. Marius Bressoud's Marines blew open a cave mouth, a crowd of civilians emerged, whom he dispatched to the rear. Three remained, badly wounded: a child, its mother and grandmother. Platoon Sgt. Joe Taylor said: "We can't just leave these people, and we can't spare escorts." Bressoud knew the NCO meant that the Okinawans should be put out of their misery, like injured animals. He asked if there was a volunteer to do the job. n.o.body spoke. "'OK,' I said, 'I'll do it myself.' All three were lying motionless on their backs. Some very thoughtful person in the platoon had covered their heads with clean white cloths so that I did not have to look at their faces. I fired one round through each head." Yet the mother and grandmother continued to writhe. Bressoud, a devout Catholic, fired again and again. "By this time the cloths and the heads750 were a mess. It had not been a neat, gangland-style execution after all. I was overcome with emotion I cannot possibly describe...thoroughly ashamed, not because I had killed them, but because I did it in so emotional and unprofessional a manner." were a mess. It had not been a neat, gangland-style execution after all. I was overcome with emotion I cannot possibly describe...thoroughly ashamed, not because I had killed them, but because I did it in so emotional and unprofessional a manner."

Resistance petered out in the last weeks of June. Yet if Buckner's land campaign represented a shocking experience for American soldiers and Marines, it was matched, perhaps even outdone, by the struggle waged at sea. The battle off Okinawa cost more lives than any other fought by the U.S. Navy in the Pacific war.

2. At Sea

USHIJIMA'S 32nd Army represented the static defence of Okinawa. The hub of j.a.panese strategy, however, was an air a.s.sault upon the invasion fleet on a scale hitherto unseen in the Pacific theatre. The Americans were almost entirely dependent on carriers for fighter cover-the airfields captured ash.o.r.e remained for weeks within range of j.a.panese artillery, and could handle few planes. Marc Mitscher's task groups could sustain combat air patrols of not more than 60 to 80 fighters. Against these, the j.a.panese launched a succession of strikes of which the first, on 6 April, numbered 700 planes, 355 of them kamikazes. 32nd Army represented the static defence of Okinawa. The hub of j.a.panese strategy, however, was an air a.s.sault upon the invasion fleet on a scale hitherto unseen in the Pacific theatre. The Americans were almost entirely dependent on carriers for fighter cover-the airfields captured ash.o.r.e remained for weeks within range of j.a.panese artillery, and could handle few planes. Marc Mitscher's task groups could sustain combat air patrols of not more than 60 to 80 fighters. Against these, the j.a.panese launched a succession of strikes of which the first, on 6 April, numbered 700 planes, 355 of them kamikazes.

From the destroyer Howorth Howorth, Yeoman James Orvill Raines wrote one of many pa.s.sionate letters to his wife, Ray Ellen, back home in Dallas. "We are back up at Okinawa now, we came back very fast (can't tell why yet). Anyway its colder than a well-digger's seat in Montana but everything is OK. No sleep last night due to Bogies but things are squared away now. Bye darling. More later. Poppie." Raines, twenty-six years old, had been a somewhat rootless child of the Depression who settled into a career as a journalist just before the war came. On 6 April, a kamikaze ploughed into Howorth Howorth's gun director, killing sixteen men and blowing Raines, badly burned, over the side. He died in the water, in another man's arms. "Your husband,751" Howorth Howorth's captain wrote later to Ray Ellen, "was very popular among officers and men on board this ship. There certainly was no finer bluejacket to be found anywhere." It is to be hoped that Mrs. Raines never knew these were the same phrases offered to the families of every one of Howorth Howorth's dead. Yet how could a captain personalise such missives, when they had to be dispatched wholesale?

About four hundred j.a.panese aircraft broke through the CAP on 6 April. Six ships, including two destroyers, were sunk. Eighteen more were damaged, almost all by kamikazes. This was only the first round of a struggle which persisted throughout the ground campaign for Okinawa, and indeed after its ending. Radio warnings of imminent enemy attack announced "skunks" by sea, "bogies" by air. Thus, perhaps: "Bogey raid four, estimated fifty, bearing 185, distance 30 course 110, speed 300, estimated high, 1114, apparently circling fleet, out."

American defences inflicted fearsome losses. Balloons held aloft a forest of cables over the anchorage, to impede the enemy's approach. Each attack was met by a barrage of fire. Ships' five-inch batteries, firing sh.e.l.ls detonated by radio-guided proximity fuses, were joined by ma.s.sed 40mms and 20mms, filling the sky with black smoke b.a.l.l.s, littering decks with mountains of spent cases. Often, the gunners engaged at point-blank range. By scores, j.a.panese planes collapsed into the sea. But some always escaped, to crash onto their targets with appalling effect. Fighter direction had become a sophisticated art, yet it was also an imperfect one. Cmdr. Bill Widhelm752, operations officer of a carrier task group, described how radar detected one j.a.panese bomber a hundred miles out, at 22,000 feet, and tracked it to forty-three miles. The plane then vanished from every screen in the fleet, was briefly picked up again at sixteen miles, and thereafter only when "about fifteen feet off the stern of the ship."

Tens of thousands of American seamen who badly wanted to live were stunned by the onset of hundreds of j.a.panese pilots who seemed happy to die. "I don't believe I'll ever forget753 the noise a plane made as it came racing in," wrote an officer on the carrier the noise a plane made as it came racing in," wrote an officer on the carrier Bennington Bennington, "something like when a plane flat hats a field or a house. But instead of trailing away in the distance, it ends with a sudden startling 'splat!'" An officer watched one j.a.panese pilot fall without a parachute: "He seemed to float down754, arms and legs extended like a sky-diver, his flight jacket puffed out by the air, falling at such a slow rate that we wondered if he might be able to survive." The destroyer Luce Luce found itself with three j.a.panese aircrew prisoners, of whom one proved to be an ex-Berkeley student who spoke fluent English. An officer told a j.a.panese still eager to commit suicide: "You're out of the war now, you know," but the man seemed obsessed with the loss of his family honour. Another prisoner was Korean, a most reluctant kamikaze conscript, who had successfully averted his intended fate. found itself with three j.a.panese aircrew prisoners, of whom one proved to be an ex-Berkeley student who spoke fluent English. An officer told a j.a.panese still eager to commit suicide: "You're out of the war now, you know," but the man seemed obsessed with the loss of his family honour. Another prisoner was Korean, a most reluctant kamikaze conscript, who had successfully averted his intended fate. Luce Luce's crew were wryl