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Here are selections from the book:
Introduction
I was a landing craft officer with the US
Navy during World War II and took part in six invasions of Japanese-held islands. There were other invasions in the Pacific,
of course, in which I did not take part. I deal with both in this book because
I knew some who had been in those battles and they shared their experiences with me. This
book, then, is based on “original sources.”
I have long had questions about some of the battles
during the War in the Pacific. Was “island-hopping” the most effective, and the quickest, way of defeating the
Japanese? Why were some of the Japanese island strongholds by-passed and not others? Did we learn anything as we advanced
from one invasion to the next, especially in reducing our casualties? Those B-29’s
who “ditched” in the ocean near our transport group -- so their air crews could be rescued -- as we steamed en
route to the invasion of Iwo Jima. Was this unusual? Or was there something wrong with these big planes?
Much has been written about the War in the Pacific
by able historians – whose books I’ve consulted -- but I believe that some of my questions, including the foregoing,
haven’t been properly addressed. In this book I expand upon these questions from
the point of view of a participant and not a historian. Again, as a participant,
I have challenged the judgment of those who decided which battles should have been fought and when. No doubt,
some of my opinions will be regarded as unorthodox. My opinions are those of one
who saw at first hand the disastrous consequences of “orthodoxy.” I make judgments in these pages about many of
the our nation’s top war leaders that may be looked on as unduly harsh
and severe. My response: those I have taken to task made mistakes of monumental
proportions, causing many thousands of US casualties. Many of these mistakes arose from the seeming unwillingness of those
in command to prepare and to use alternate strategies to meet changing conditions.
These mistakes were truly “criminal.”
A number of
historians have written about the inter-service rivalries that dominated actions in the War in the Pacific. Indeed, two wars were being waged: the one against the Japanese; the other between the services. In my book I show
that the war between the services caused far more harm than has been recognized, especially
in the number of casualties that it produced. A vainglorious General MacArthur and a stiff-necked Admiral Nimitz were
the two primary combatants, each trying to “outgame”the other. While railing against the Navy’s “cabal”
against him, the General would importune Bull Halsey, Nimitz’s most senior Admiral,”Come with me and I’ll
make you greater than Nelson ever dreamed of.” Along with Admiral King, Nimitz would never consider allowing MacArthur to have command over “his”ships.
If,
early during the war, FDR had declared unequivocally who was in sole command
in that Theatre, the many casualties resulting from this rivalry would have been avoided.
Instead, late in the war Roosevelt would compound the confused command structure in the Pacific by overruling an essential, far reaching decision by the Joint Chiefs of Staff and siding with MacArthur, with
consequent casualties of many thousands more. There is good reason for believing that FDR did this because he wanted the General
to remain in the Pacific and not return home to compete with him for the Presidency
in the upcoming election.
President Truman would perpetuate FDR’s
bad judgment by allowing MacArthur, rather than, say, General Marshall, to take center stage by presiding over the Japanese
surrender ceremony aboard the USS Missouri – no doubt to the intense
discomfort of Admiral Nimitz, now a minor player, who must have given serious
consideration to staying away.
In view of the current interest in the Battle of Iwo Jima, here is a chapter from the book about
that battle.
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The Winter Soldiers—Iwo Jima
The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will,
in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country.
But
he that stands it now deserves the love
and thanks of man and woman.
—Tom Paine
WHO IS NOT STIRRED emotionally when viewing that great
statue
of the flag being raised on Mt. Suribachi, or by Joe
Rosenthal’s dramatic photograph? Try to sense those desperate
moments
and try to feel how the Marines of Fox and Easy
Companies felt while crouching in foxholes on the slope of
Suribachi,
when they were ordered to advance to the mountain
top to plant the colors—you and you and you and you.
It was
probably a wordless procession; nothing needed to be
said as the flagstaff was tilted upright and then thrust into
the
shifting volcanic soil. Besides, it was an achingly visceral
fear that each Marine was feeling now, knowing during the
ascent
that his whole body was exposed to enemy gunfire.
Each had steeled himself against the shock of a bullet tearing
into
his guts from a Japanese sniper. It’s not difficult to envision
the Japanese defenders leaving one of the many tunnels
on
Suribachi as the Marines advanced up the mountain.
Then along came Joe Rosenthal, who knew a great photo
idea when he
saw it. “Why not?” probably was the reaction
of the Marines and the Navy Corpsman.
They agreed to let Rosenthal
take a couple of photos, now
exposing all of them to enemy gunfire. All six would survive
the flag raising, but three
would die before victory.
Of the 70,000 Marines who attacked Iwo Jima, starting on
February 16, 1945, 7,000 would die
and 19,000 would be
wounded. Almost four of every ten Marines—not including
those who would survive with post-traumatic
shock—were
either killed or wounded. Iwo Jima would not be secured until
more than a month later, despite the
prediction by Marine
General Julian Smith that the island would be taken in ten
days. By then, there would be twenty-seven
Congressional
Medals of Honor awarded to the Marines who took part. That’s
more than a quarter of all the Congressional
Medals given
to the Marine Corps during World War II. Admiral Nimitz
said, “Among the men who fought on Iwo Jima,
uncommon
valor was a common virtue.” In Tom Paine’s ringing phrase,
the Marines at Iwo Jima were not “summer
soldiers.” The
island’s defenders fought virtually to the end, with 1,083 of
the original 22,000 captured.
The rest were killed.
As had been decided earlier at Palau, no longer was there
any
hope for victory for the Japanese. The battle plan for
General Kuribayashi, the Iwo Jima Commander, called for
“a
gradual depletion of the enemy’s attack forces.” He told
his troops, “Even if the situation gets out
of hand, defend a
corner of the island to the death!” Another order exhorted his
soldiers to “kill ten of
the enemy before dying.” In one of his
last letters to his wife, the General told her, “Do not look for
my
return.”
With such fanatical Japanese defenses, here and in earlier
battles, there may be grounds for speculating
that at least
some among the Japanese High Command believed that, with
the mounting American bloodbaths, America would
settle for
something less than complete victory. If this belief had been
entertained, it would have grossly underestimated
the deep
well of hatred many Americans harbored toward Japan, even
to the extent of accepting increasingly heavy losses
in the
Pacific War, almost anything to bring Japan to its knees.
The Japanese nevertheless had learned well from the
Palau
battle a year earlier how to improve upon the defenses
that were formidable even there. They would increase the
labyrinth
of tunnels and caves on Iwo Jima. This time, the
Japanese mixed the island’s abundant volcanic ash with
cement,
producing reinforced concrete from which they
created pillboxes, blockhouses, and command centers, many
with walls four
feet thick. These structures were common
throughout the island. Again, as at Palau, there would be
no suicide Banzai
charges. Attacks upon Marines would be
done at night—also like at Palau—from the rabbit warren of
tunnels
all over the island. Finally, like at Palau, there would
be no firing upon the approaching Higgins boats and LVTs,
as
this might disclose gun positions.
The important question to ask now was: What had the
U.S. commanders learned from
Palau? From Guam? From
Saipan? Once the decision was made to attack Iwo Jima, was
there any evidence that a thorough
review of landing tactics
had been undertaken? In all amphibious assaults before
this one, U.S. forces had always landed
in direct, massive
attacks on the beaches. “Operation Detachment” would be
no different. The assault on
Iwo Jima called for direct frontal
assault on this island’s 3,000 yards of beaches. Would one
or more diversionary
landings have tricked the Japanese into
revealing a number of their gun positions? What alternative
weapons might have
been equally or more effective? Would
intensive aerial reconnaissance have been successful in
finding weaknesses in
Japanese defenses? Would a series of
small-scale probing attacks have helped pinpoint major gun
positions? Would they
have uncovered command centers?
Marine General Holland Smith had urged sustained heavy
Naval bombardment prior to the
landings. When considering
the high esteem in which Smith was held by his fellow senior
officers, it seems incredible
that his advice was completely
ignored. If any of the foregoing essential strategies had been
used, and found to forewarn
disaster, then those in command
at least would have had the critically needed information
to decide whether to go forward
despite the cost. Or would
they abandon the “Bonin ladder” strategy toward Japan?
(Iwo Jima is one of the
Bonin Islands). There is no record
showing that any of the choices outlined above had even been
considered. Plan “B”
or “C”, if either was developed, has
never come to light. Tragically, the horrors of Palau would
be repeated
at Iwo Jima, except that there would be twice as
many casualties this time, and three times more deaths.
The reasons
for the battle of Iwo Jima may be summarized:
B-29s going to or returning from bombing runs on Japan
could use the island
as an emergency landing strip. The new
air base would also allow the stationing of long-range P-51s
to escort the B-29s,
guarding them against Japanese fighter
planes while over Japan’s skies. Iwo Jima’s conquest was
hailed as
evidence of America’s steady advance to Japan.
About the B-29s: This notoriously trouble-plagued plane
seemingly
was in constant need of an emergency landing site.
But was a speck of island 4.5 miles long and 2.5 miles wide in
the
vastness of the Pacific an appropriate site? Was the longrange
P-51 really needed to escort the B-29s—a pressurized
plane
with a ceiling of 33,000 feet, an airspeed of 350 mph,
and state-of-the-art guns? This speed and ceiling was far
beyond
the capabilities of all but a few of the Japanese planes
of that period, and those few needed to be stripped down in
order
to reach the B-29s at an altitude of five miles. Even so,
the interceptors could stay aloft only for a short time. Only
the
heaviest Japanese anti-aircraft guns were effective against
the B-29 onslaughts. How did the cruel arithmetic of battles
finally
work out? According to one report, in a zero-sum
game gone awry, 2,400 B-29s did in fact put down on Iwo
Jima. With
eleven crew members per plane, that meant that
the lives of 27,000 air crew members were saved. Thus, there
was a net
gain of 21,000 lives—after deducting the 7,000
Marine dead—assuming that the 17,000 wounded Marines
were
able to resume normal lives afterward, and ignoring
altogether the post-traumatic syndrome of all survivors.
The pilots
of the 2,400 planes that found a safe haven
in Iwo Jima is, by itself, significant. This was an incredible
number of
planes that were in urgent need of help. The 2,400
crippled or otherwise disabled B-29s need to be viewed in the
light
of the 3,000+ mile round trip involved between Tinian
and Japan. Given the history of this lousy plane, many air
crews
must have died in the Pacific, far from Iwo Jima or
their home bases. In these instances, they were following the
advice
of their Commanding Air Force General LeMay to
ditch at sea in the obviously forlorn hope of “being picked
up
by rescue submarines” rather than run the risk of being
“killed outright by Japanese civilians.” Of the
371 bombers
that were reported lost, there is no record of the number that
were lost at sea.
Besides saving the lives
of a number of B-29 air crews, all
that can be said about the conquest of Iwo Jima is that it was
a symbolic victory.
This was the first time Japanese soil was
taken by one of its enemies in thousands of years. Beyond this,
did the killing
of 21,000 Japanese defenders on an insignificant
island represent an important factor in that war? Rabaul,
Truk, and
other island redoubts had been bypassed and left
to wither on the vine. Was Iwo Jima really a special case?
It is highly
problematical to claim that it was instrumental
in the ultimate defeat of Japan, especially if there had not
been an
atomic bomb. In the final analysis, there were too
many unwarranted assumptions, too many risky projections,
and most
important, despite the recent Palau experience, an
incredible unwillingness by the area Commanders to adopt
alternative
battle plans. This is especially true of those in
command who recklessly and seemingly, deliberately, exposed
the attacking
Marines to death and wounds. The inescapable
conclusion is that a flawed plane was responsible for a
flawed strategy,
resulting in the tragic loss of American lives,
the many wounded, and—too often ignored in calculating
the toll
of battle—post-traumatic syndrome, no doubt, of
thousands more. The nightmare of Palau, which produced
these traumatic
shocks, would be compounded for those who
survived Iwo Jima.
In sum, there are many who contributed to the sad legacy
of
Iwo Jima: the Boeing Company, which delivered untested
planes to the air crews who would fly them; the U.S. Air
Force
whose procurement agents were complicit in the “make
ready” manufacturing of these planes, as will be explained
in
Chapter Five; to those in command who deemed the taking of
Iwo Jima to be essential in the defeat of Japan, while
ordering
a direct, frontal assault on an island they knew to be heavily
defended against such assaults.
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