With the first light of dawn, the roar of engines and the clanging of tank treads plowing through the sand broke the silence. The completion of the invasion had already started in dead earnest. Bellows of black smoke curled up toward the blue sky and the scent of diesel fuel filled the air. We knew we had landed on Japanese soil and the enemy would consider that giant footprint to be the supreme insult.
Our earliest incursions had been in response to Pearl Harbor: we’d liberated the islands the Japanese had taken in their murderous assaults on innocent civilians. We had won conflicts like Midway and were confident we could finish the job in a fairly decent amount of time. At least, we hoped so.
Our men were battle-seasoned with their minds fixed on the task at hand. We clearly understood this was an “us or them” battle to the finish. They wouldn’t be taking prisoners and we could depend on their trying to slit our throats at every opportunity. Climbing such deadly hills with bombs flying down from the top made one realize there could be no fooling around about what we were doing. We had to be ready for any and everything.
Under the command of General Claudius Easley, by two o’clock, with the afternoon sun blazing down, the tanks and artillery were ashore. Resistance turned out to be so limited that the landing felt like a free ride. The 382nd Reserves came rolling in along with the engineers. Two hours later three light battalions were set up in firing position. We had completely outsmarted the Japanese expectation that we would land halfway up the island where they were fortified for bear. Their mistake allowed us to land, set up shop, and prepare to blow their pants off.
When the Ninety-Sixth Infantry hit the shore, they had their running boots on and guns loaded. Those guys didn’t stop for nothing. They had come ashore for an invasion and weren’t slowing down. They aimed for the village of Shimuku and weren’t going to stop until they got there. Unfortunately, that’s when good men started getting killed.
The Japanese Imperial Army had infiltrated every corner of Okinawa with propaganda declaring Americans were beasts with voracious appetites to devour the locals. Once we landed, every islander would be our target for brutal attacks, raping girls, killing children, and mutilating the elderly. The enemy left the locals terrified, believing death was better than capture by the American pigs. These poor people were terrified of what we might do to them.
“The Ninety-Sixth shore is moving on,” Sergeant Art McQuiston said. “We gonna have to get some artillery in behind them. Wanna follow the big guns up the road, Major?”
I thought for a moment. “Well, with the general and his staff onshore and the beach secured, we probably ought to follow them while our unit sets up shop. Yeah. Sure. Let’s go. Start the jeep.”
The Ninety-Sixth moved at a good clip through the flat fields. We rode behind at a slower pace with a couple of trucks pulling the howitzers. The day seemed pleasant enough and deceptively nice for an invasion, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before we got hit. Sure enough! The cracking of rifles meant that one of our companies had found Japanese land.
“Watch out!” the sergeant said. “Troubles ahead.”
I pulled the rifle from my shoulder and leaned it against the windshield. “Keep your eyes open,” I told McQuiston. “They’re out there in the bushes ahead of us.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You can bet that I’m payin’ first-rate attention.”
The shooting faded, which meant the enemy might have retreated—or of course it could mean nothing at all. Or they were getting ready to come running straight at us and cram it down our throats. Our forward movement came to a halt. An infantryman broke through the trees and came running toward us.
“Hey! We hit the jackpot,” the soldier said. “When we were setting up our big guns, we exposed a number of locals hiding underground and then turned up another batch in a local boneyard of some variety.”
“Interesting,” McQuiston said.
“Yeah,” the soldier said. “We got a machine gun set up in case some Japanese are hiding in there among ’em. Don’t know what to do next.”
I climbed out of the jeep. “Stay low, McQuiston. We don’t want our luck to run out.”
“You bet!”
We followed the soldier through a clump of trees and came out on top of a sharp ravine. At the bottom against the side of a cliff was the opening to a cave. The dark entrance didn’t reveal whether anyone was hiding, but of course they were.
“Just stumbled onto it, Major,” the soldier said. “We could hear talking inside, but thought it might be the enemy, so we didn’t walk in.”
I nodded. “Don’t suppose you’ve got anybody around that can speak to them.”
“You’ve got the dictionary business,” McQuiston said.
I looked askance at him. “You’re suggesting that I just walk in and start thumbing through the pages to see if I can find something to say?”
“Oh, no. No.”
“We got one man who grew up in Hawaii,” the soldier offered. “Worked there with the Japanese. He’s down there by the lookout. The man’s a private. Maybe the two of you could work something out.”
I took a deep breath. “Where is he?”
“Follow me.” The infantryman started down the side of the ravine and stopped near the bottom. “Hey, Higa! The major here can speak a little of the local dialect. How about you? You know some Japanese, right?”
The soldier stood up. “I can talk a little. Probably the rumble of our ships floating in sent the locals running for shelter. Maybe, if we each got on one side of the entrance, we could shout for them to come out.”
“Getting close to the entrance is more than a little dangerous,” I said. “We’d be out in the open.”
“Expect we’d have to crawl some,” Higa said. “But we know there’s nobody on the other side of the ravine. Already checked it out.”
“Look at what you got me into,” I said to McQuiston. “Any more bright ideas?”
The sergeant looked down and didn’t answer.
“Okay, let’s go.”
We worked our way through some trees and then edged along through the ground cover but found no resistance. When we got near the entrance, I could hear crying and mumbling.
“Americans will not hurt you,” Higa shouted in Japanese. “They will not harm women, children. Don’t kill yourselves.”
I’d been thumbing through my Ryukyuan section of the dictionary and shouted, “Friend! We friend!”
We listened. Seemed like a conference going on in there with women crying and children screaming. I yelled “Friend” a few more times. Finally, some man began shouting questions to Higa. For several minutes, the exchange went back and forth.
“He says they are willing to come out,” Higa said. “The Japanese gave them hand grenades to kill themselves, but they’re going to put them down. The leader says they got a truckload of people in there.”
“Tell ’em to come out single file with their hands up,” I said. “We don’t want any surprises.”
Higa nodded and shouted my message.
After about a minute, a man in a long brown robe tied at the waist with a piece of rope slowly stepped out. He looked around like maybe a tiger was going to leap on him and tear his head off. His crumpled brown hat with a flat top pulled down to his ears made his head look flat. The guy’s sandals were as worn as his eye. Terror was written across his forehead.
“Friend,” I kept saying in Ryukyuan. “Me friend.”
His face brightened. The locals waiting behind him started filing out. The women had poles across their backs with large sacks dangling from the ends. Their stringy black hair had been pulled tight at the back of their heads and tied with coarse string. Every last one looked mortified.
The line appeared endless. These frightened Okinawans kept marching down the ravine back toward the beach where we’d come from. Young girls hugged small children walking next to them and refused to look at us. I was sure the Japanese had frightened them severely enough to last a lifetime.
“My God!” Higa gasped. “I bet there’s a thousand of them in there. Can you believe it?”
“This won’t be the last time we see such,” I said. “I bet there’s caves all over this island.”
McQuiston waved from above us and yelled, “Lousy place to hide. Once you’re in, you’re a sittin’ duck for anybody aiming at the entrance.
“Afraid so,” I said.
* * *
After returning, we discovered the First Battalion of the Eighty-Third had landed on the wrong beach. Whoever messed this one up really threw the attack into confusion. The First wouldn’t move out until the correct direction to the southeast had been cleared. While the command was straightening the maps out, Company B ran into a hornet’s nest of Japanese. Bullets started flying in front of Sergeant Fred Hale’s unit. “Hit the ground!” he yelled.
The men dived into the bushes and waited for more fire. They didn’t have to wait long. Another round ripped through the trees, just missing our heads. Sergeant Hale rolled over and motioned for the men to spread out.
Some soldier lying near the front pulled out a grenade and slung it. While he missed the enemy, the blast sent another round of machine-gun fire back at Company B and clearly identified where the Japanese were.
Hale took a deep breath and screamed, “Charge those bastards!”
The unit inched forward with guns blazing. Finally realizing they had taken off a bite too big to swallow, the Japanese grabbed their weapons and started to retreat. They didn’t get five steps away before rapid fire dropped them.
Company A sent another squad of the elusive enemy on the run. Because they weren’t far from the town of Momobaru, they figured these bad boys would try to hide in a pillbox in front of their unit. They were right on target.
“The enemy are holed up in that pillbox over there,” the PFC explained. “We been shootin’ at ’em but getting nowhere. That cement fortress got no give in it. Gonna try a flamethrower.” He pointed to a soldier creeping toward the cement structure.
I watched as the fire eater carefully worked his way through ground cover toward the base of the gun turret. The Japanese kept firing but were too far above him to hit our man. The soldier swung the long black nozzle around and fire blasted out like a volcano erupting. The flames wrapped around the pillbox like a runaway blowtorch and sent the smell of smoke drifting through the trees. The flamethrower kept roasting the doorway, but nothing happened. The Japanese were just too well insulated and far back in the structure.
“Can’t get ’em!” the fire eater called out. “Gotta retreat.” He started backing away.
“I’ll fix those bastards,” the sergeant grumbled, and picked up the phone unit hooked to a radio box on the back of one of the soldiers. “Give me a round from one of them big boys! Give ’em hell!”
The Japanese opened up another round that kept everybody close to the ground. They weren’t budging an inch.
“You just wait,” the sergeant hissed. “You’re gonna see some real fireworks in a moment.”
Periodically the enemy fired off a round or two, but not much seemed to be going on until somewhere behind us a rumbling noise began increasing in volume. The sound of grinding wheels cutting through trees and debris shook the ground. An M4 Sherman tank rolled up and stopped.
“Get out of the way,” Hale warned. “Those steel monsters make quite a racket.”
We retreated into a clump of trees and covered our ears. I could see a long steel barrel leveling on the pillbox. The tank fired two quick rounds.
With smoke flying out of the crumbling rubble, the sides of the pillbox slid into a pile of broken concrete. No more gunfire erupted. Their guns were silenced.
The Japanese were finished.