At the least, the downpour had significantly dwindled. We hoped the rain had stopped. Our men hated walking through the mud that was everywhere in our camp. We had covered some of the firing mechanisms of the howitzers with tarps, and nothing appeared to have been damaged. The men were ready to roll, but no orders had come through for where to aim.
G Company still struggled to hang on to their position on the crest of Conical Ridge. They were having a rough time doing so. The fight continued morning, noon, and night, which of course meant no sleep for the soldiers. Finally, we got orders to shoot the big guns. Turned out the Japanese had been ordered to make a stand and indeed they did.
The enemy had dug in halfway between the crest and the ridge base so we couldn’t get at them. Even the howitzers couldn’t pry them loose. The Japanese had dug a tunnel through the ridge that was actually a death trap for anybody who tried to enter it. Our adversary had truly burrowed in for the winter.
On the night of May 16, a company of Japanese came charging in led by an officer in polished black boots, white gloves, and the works. This commander looked like something straight out of the movies. With a stiff, high collar and officer’s coat that hung nearly to his knees, he wore a military hat encircled with a red band, and at his side dangled a samurai sword. Standing out like a flashing light in a dark night with American soldiers charging at him, the officer was inescapable and a perfect target.
Machine guns were firing everywhere. When the enemy tried to set up a nest on the ridge, one of our soldiers shot the Japanese and stopped that action. Another rifleman took aim and knocked the commanding officer off the ridge. In the midst of the attack, the black boots and white gloves went flying over the crest.
Eight of the Japanese commander’s men went after the body and we promptly knocked them off. We weren’t sure why the Japanese officer wore the prom-night dress getup, but something must have been going on. Here were our men in uniforms that hadn’t hit a washing machine in what seemed like years, and the other side came out like a prince going after Cinderella. Whatever . . . he was now dead.
All in all, the engagement actually wasn’t bad for us. The other side lost forty-five Japanese now sprawled all over the top of the hill.
When this skirmish was over, General Hodge wanted to send a good number of men down the coast to get behind the defenders of Shuri. General Bradley knew the 383rd had lost too many men to be in a position to pull this off. A considerable amount of arrangement and readjustment would be necessary to complete such an operation. To get some sense of what was ahead, Major Leon Addy sent a twelve-man patrol into whatever remained of Yonabaru. Sergeant Reeder, who had distinguished himself in the fight over Sawtooth Ridge, would lead the patrol. The sergeant rounded up his men and started down the road to see if they could take the city.
Yonabaru had been the island’s third-largest city. We had “softened” the town (if that’s the right word for what artillery did to the city): we’d blown the town into a mass of broken rocks, crumbled cement, and destroyed buildings. Trees had become toothpicks stripped of all leaves. The barren pile of rubble was depressing to see. The population had disappeared.
Three soldiers from another unit decided that they’d be the first in and see what souvenirs they might find in the rubble. They strolled in like conquerors. Immediately, Japanese took aim. Although the three men had been drinking and had to be on the slightly drunk side to saunter into such a vulnerable area, they instantly sobered up when bullets came flying past their helmets. All three hit the ground and wriggled behind a large chunk of broken concrete. Tucking their tails between their legs, they beat it back out the way they came in.
The truth was that we couldn’t afford to lose anybody. Even the three idiots crawling out of Yonabaru had an important place in the military assault. The First Battalion of the 383rd had hung on to Charlie Hill but sustained such losses that the unit had reached a grave point. The battalion had witnessed C Company being wiped out, and that left a mark. They knew the Japanese had not lost the ability to direct lethal cross fire against any of our attempts to move forward. We had made highly significant gains, but the Japanese were far from out of the game.
By May 20 we had lost more than three hundred men struggling to take Charlie Hill. Tanks had been disabled. Air support had not been called in because our lines remained so close to the Japanese. At best, we were only a hundred yards from the enemy, and still trying to defend Charlie Hill. An airplane attack would drop bombs on our own men.
Colonel Ed May had become frustrated with our inability to break free of this struggle but remained perplexed about how to proceed. Lieutenant Charles Hymer had an idea.
Hymer began by explaining that he’d been flying every day over the Charlie area in a small cub airplane. “I’ve come to know the area like the back of my hand.”
Colonel May studied the lanky pilot and waited.
“The sky,” Hymer went on, “gives one an unusual perspective, and looking down on the entire area of conflict, I’ve watched both sides move their men around.”
May began drumming his fingers on a map lying in front of them as if this conversation were going nowhere.
“I’m convinced that I could direct airplane strikes to the exact target they must hit without endangering our soldiers a hundred yards away.
May stopped drumming and leaned forward. Could he be sure of the exact target?
Hymers said, “Our dive-bombers function differently from artillery because we come down out of the sky. I’m suggesting a ‘backward’ air strike against Hill Charlie. I’ve flown over there so many times, I could direct it in my sleep.”
May wanted to know how he would suggest they proceed.
Lieutenant Hymer knew they had a relatively light force on Charlie. He would begin by withdrawing them for a short period. “There’s such a small Japanese force there, we could get away with a temporary retreat. Then I would send in eight carrier-based navy planes and probably about four marine torpedo bombers. I’d have them come straight in just above ground level and then swing straight up after releasing their bombs. I’ll fly in the lead airplane and direct the attack from the first plane that strikes. I think that could finish off the Japanese presence.”
Colonel May sat there staring at Lieutenant Hymer. Eventually, he spoke: he believed they had something! “Excellent. We can do it!”
Lieutenant Hymer flew in with Captain James Nauss, a marine pilot, at an altitude of only fifteen feet. When they came over the Japanese, Nauss released a five-hundred-pound bomb and then they zoomed vertically straight up to avoid crashing into the hill. Each of twelve airplanes made a similar approach, dropped a bomb, and then flew straight back up. The ground shook with the explosions.
As the airplanes flew away, the infantry immediately came back in. Captain John Van Vulpen led two platoons of B Company back in to take over. Suddenly, hellfire broke loose. Five men were killed and four disappeared somewhere on the battlefield. Smoke bombs had to be called in to cover their retreat. The bombing had been a great idea, but it simply didn’t do the job. The Japanese remained in control of the position where they could fire on us.
However, as the infantry had advanced covered by tanks, E Company discovered a Japanese soldier they decided had to be the most durable man of the war. When our air strikes hit, the guy holed up in a cave. After it was over, he came out and started down the road. The machine gunner on the lead tank saw him and opened up on him, but the gun jammed. The guy kept running. The tank gunner got the gun open and fired, blowing the soldier into the air, but he landed on his feet. A second blast once again sent him flying, but he landed right side up and kept running. The third round got him. Whoever he was, he deserved an award for endurance.
* * *
It certainly seemed like Love Hill was the wrong name. Something more like Dreaded or Slaughter Hill would have been more appropriate. Company G hung on to the western slope of Conical Hill, but the Japanese attacked constantly. In assault after assault, the enemy had been mowed down, but they kept coming. In four days, G Company killed 153 of the bad guys.
Trying to assess what was unfolding, General Claudius Easley stood on an observation post erected on Conical Hill to obtain a clear view of the unfolding conflict. General Easley had gained a reputation for being an amazingly accurate marksman with a rifle. He demonstrated his skill standing on the platform.
One day Easley saw something that needed to be fixed. He lowered his binoculars, pointed to the field, and asked the sergeant to loan him his rifle.
The aide handed him a rifle.
General Easley watched a Japanese soldier moving five hundred yards away, aimed, pulled the trigger, and the enemy slumped to the ground.
The sergeant gasped. The target was five football fields away.
Easley shrugged and winked. “That’s how you get to be a general.”