When you look around and see dead soldiers, their spent lives slap you in the face with questions, thoughts that still rumble through your mind long after the war is over. When night falls and none of the enemy appear to be creeping around, you think about these haunting enigmas. Were all those men heroes?
Some of them wound up with Bronze Stars or a Distinguished Service Cross. Silver Stars were given out and a few received the Congressional Medal of Honor. Unfortunately, those are often given posthumously. Such medals are symbols of the gallantry and bravery that saved our war effort. But I still wonder, weren’t all those men heroes?
Out there crawling through barbed wire and machine-gun blasts takes more guts than one could have thought possible back in those days in boot camp. To my way of thinking, they all should have received a medal for just showing up for duty.
As I listened to McQuiston and the men talk, I didn’t detect that anyone ever thought that we’d lose the war. The issue was whether they’d be around to see the end of it. The Japanese were fools to have started the clash. Once they bombed Pearl Harbor, their days were numbered. That wasn’t the problem. The struggle that my men faced was whether they would go marching down the street in a victory parade or end up in a graveyard on Okinawa.
After a day of fighting for the Crags, the problem intensified. We’d lost many good boys taking that hill and the Japanese were still on the reverse side. Sure, we’d knocked out obstacles in taking Tombstone and now had five companies on top of Nishabaru Ridge. Trouble was the Japanese hung on to the downhill side. They didn’t even let up when night came. Took a real hero to keep on going!
* * *
April 21 came drifting in with clouds that seemed to warn another dark day was ahead. The Japanese had never let up: kept fighting like crazy to capture Nishabaru Ridge. The town side of the Crags still had enemy dug in. The men in my artillery unit kept firing and our objectives remained the same. We were aiming to take the town of Nishabaru, but we hadn’t got the job done. One hell of a conundrum!
With all of that struggle boiling, we witnessed another display of heroism for sure. M Company moved into position and started up the steep slopes of the ridge with the big machine guns. The only way to get the guns up the incline was by dragging them, and the men had to pull the load. Not only was the weight of the iron choppers a problem, but moving such equipment left men exposed. The enemy didn’t stop firing.
A lead soldier at one of the guns shouted for the two at the back to push harder, but the damned thing still couldn’t get traction.
One of the two soldiers at the rear yelled they were pushing as hard as they could and to keep your pants on!
The lead man demanded more muscle to get the big blaster in place.
The three men had only gone a couple of yards further when the enemy opened up with constant machine-gun fire.
The lead man screamed, twisted, and tumbled backward into a clump of small brush.
The man at the rear leaped to one side, rolled, and crawled over to his buddy. He howled that the lead man had taken three shots in the chest.
One glance told Sergeant David Dovel he didn’t have time to set up his machine gun on the tripod. If he didn’t do something quick, they would be blown away. Grabbing the sixty-two-pound gun and holding it against his hip, Dovel began firing.
He screamed at his men to look out. The machine gun blasted instantly.
Dovel kept jumping back and forward, constantly changing positions so they couldn’t get a bead on him. The Japanese kept sending knee-mortar fire, but nothing hit him. Completely exposed, he kept the rapid fire exploding in all directions.
Sergeant John Arends’s machine gun got knocked out of action while Dovel was firing. Arends grabbed his automatic rifle. Motioning for Lieutenant John Stevens to join him, the two men charged the Japanese, firing those automatic rifles in the midst of a hail of machine-gun fire.
Stevens yelled to try a grenade or two. Leaping forward, he rolled and tossed a grenade straight in front of him.
The blast shook the group, but the enemy’s machine gun stopped. Arends and Stevens kept charging up the hill, hurling grenades in front of them and constantly firing their rifles. At the risk of their lives, the two men wiped out a truckload of Japanese.
* * *
We knew how critical the assault had become because we were getting low on ammunition. The howitzers had fired without ceasing. If we ran out of shells, the Japanese might figure out we quit firing because of running low. They’d quickly come swarming in. Heaven help us! Couldn’t have any of that!
Sergeant McQuiston shouted in my ear. “Ammunition bearers are hauling in another load. They also got to get ammo up to the front. They keep saying that they are getting close to running out.”
I nodded. “Keep firing till we hit the bottom of an empty box.”
McQuiston hurried away.
One of the guys that saved the day was Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Hartline. The West Point man had been a big-time football player at the Academy. He ended up in this fight becoming the battalion commander. You would have thought old Franklin was out there trying to earn his college letter.
The lieutenant colonel was hopping around, going from position to position, shooting any kind of gun that was lying there. Then Franklin switched and started hurling hand grenades like he was throwing a pass. He kept yelling at the mortar guys, directing where they should fire. Hartline turned up all over the battlefield and stopped for nothing. Must have scared the enemy to death.
Everyone in the encounter had been worn to the bone. I figured the Japanese would crater, but they didn’t. Around three fifteen, the enemy mounted another counterattack. Our walkie-talkie rang.
“Hit the front line with all you got!” the voice on the other end shouted. “The Japanese are coming at us with everything but the kitchen sink. We will keep feeding you the coordinates. Got to stop any counterattack!” They hung up.
I handed the phone to McQuiston. “Keep your ears open for a call giving us coordinate information. I’m going to do a little reconnaissance. Don’t let up unless ordered to do so.”
McQuiston saluted. I took off.
Didn’t take long to discover that battalions of the 383rd and 382nd were forging across the eastern end of the gorge that separated Tombstone and Nishabaru Ridge. The day before, the 382nd had taken a small hill and held it. What they didn’t know was that the Japanese were playing possum, waiting for the right opportunity to come out of hiding and start the fireworks. Abruptly, machine-gun fire opened up and the firefight was on. With binoculars, I could see the men hitting the ground but not stopping.
While this action unfolded, G Company pushed their way to the edge of the village, but as soon as it looked like a breakthrough, the Japanese cut loose with a torrent of mortar fire. The boys in G found themselves getting pounded from both sides. Being exposed from their two ends made them particularly vulnerable. In short order, they lost thirteen soldiers.
“Got to get out of here,” the soldier screamed in his walkie-talkie. “Give us immediate smoke cover. Now!” He slammed the phone down and started shooting.
Within minutes, airplanes zoomed in dropping smoke bombs. The curl of white smoke quickly created a ground cover that hid the soldiers.
“Get the hell back,” someone yelled. “We got to blow out of here.”
The men carefully beat a retreat, leaving the village behind. Hard to believe thirteen men had died there.
* * *
By the end of the day, the losses had not been for naught. With the heavy loss of their own lives, our soldiers had still taken Nishabaru Ridge except for the extreme western part. The grim shadow of Kakazu still hung over that end.
As night fell, the men of the 361st Artillery unit stepped back to allow the cannons to cool. No one was sad to see the sun go down. The day had been almost unbearable.
I thought about what we had all experienced and endured. Not one of our men had been spared the agony of the day. Yeah, in my book they were all heroes.