The WSJ has a great op-ed up today from historian Arthur
Herman on the sacrifices made on the beaches, and in the Grinder. After a
sustained pounding by naval gunfire and bombers, the Marines went ashore for
over a month of bloody
murder.
Even before the
attack, the Navy's bombardment of Iwo Jima cost more ships and men than it lost
on D-Day, without making a significant dent in the Japanese defenses. Then,
beginning at 9 a.m. on the 19th, Marines loaded down with 70 to 100 pounds of
equipment each hit the beach, and immediately sank into the thick volcanic ash.
They found themselves on a barren moonscape stripped of any cover or vegetation,
where Japanese artillery could pound them with unrelenting fury. Scores of
wounded Marines helplessly waiting to be evacuated off the beach were killed
"with the greatest possible violence," as veteran war reporter Robert Sherrod
put it. Shells tore bodies in half and scattered arms and legs in all
directions, while so much underground steam rose from the churned up soil the
survivors broke up C-ration crates to sit on in order to keep from being
scalded. Some 2,300 Marines were killed or wounded in the first 18 hours. It
was, Sherrod said, "a nightmare in
hell."
And overlooking it
all, rising 556 feet above the carnage, stood Mount Suribachi, where the
Japanese could direct their fire along the entire beach. Taking Suribachi became
the key to victory. It took four days of bloody fighting to reach the summit,
and when Marines did, they planted an American flag. When it was replaced with a
larger one, photographer Joe Rosenthal recorded the scene--the most famous
photograph of World War II and the most enduring symbol of a modern democracy at
war.
Yet, in the end, a
symbol of what? Certainly not victory. The capture of Suribachi only marked the
beginning of the battle for Iwo Jima, which dragged on for another month and
cost nearly 26,000 men--all for an island whose future as a major air base never
materialized. Forty men were in the platoon which raised the flag on Suribachi.
Only four would survive the battle unhurt. Their company, E Company, Second
Battalion, 28th Regiment, Fifth Marine Division, would suffer 75% casualties. Of
the seven officers who led it into battle, only one was left when it was
over.
This was my father's
generation, the tale of his time. He was a merchant marine officer on the New
York to Murmansk run, and saw some horrible things along the way - but nothing,
I am sure, to match the Hell on a small island that was Iwo.
But it was not just his tale, World
War II and the fight against fascism - from the current distance, viewed down
the lens of history it seemed to be national narrative. Somehow our national
participation has grown in size over the passing years - not quite as remarkably
perhaps as has the size of the French Resistance: Many more resistance fighters
were "active" members after the liberation was complete than ever were during
the years of Vichy collaboration. But in our national myth, everyone was there -
fighting if they were men, joining the nurse corps, or serving in factories
(remember Rosie the Riveter) or keeping the home fires burning if they were
women.
But it's not really true of
course - many fought, and the nation was at war, but life went on at home, even
with a draft. Even with millions of men under arms. One of my friends from
church is a member of that generation, and he was one of those who made his way
through the war in business, because the country didn't really stop while the
soldiers went to war. And my friend, when he talks about those times, nearly
always seems to regret that his part of the tale did not involve heroic service
in foreign lands. He is now over 80, and has accumulated a number of regrets -
but it is this I think, that he regrets most bitterly. And it is not that he
should, because the industrial capacity of the nation won the war nearly as
certainly as did her soldiers, Sailors, airmen and Marines.
I grew up in Virginia, which means
of course that I grew up within convenient range of many battle fields. I have
walked the Wilderness, looked down upon Fredricksburg from the heights over the
river, visited Appomatox Courthouse. I have been to Cold Harbor, looked up upon
the Little Round Top at Gettysburg and wondered how it could have happened that
men could shake out battle flags, form up lines and walk up that long field into
the plunging fire.
But all of that
is truly ancient history.
These World
War II veterans are among us still. We can still hear their voices. And they can
still teach us.
I have been to Iwo
Jima - when I was stationed in Japan, we used to fly down there to practice our
carrier landing patterns prior to going aboard ship for carrier qualification.
It is a small, small place to have held such death. One wonders that it did not
sink under the weight of the blood of 28,000 who died there on both sides. I
have walked up LST beach with Suribachi to my left, glowering down from its
fog-shrouded heights. Looked right and seen more rising terrain, an elevated sea
wall to the right. I have made the long climb through soft volcanic sand and
finally waist high grass, to get to an uncertain summit, and everywhere, seen
the mouths of cave and tunnel systems in which the fanatic hordes poured out in
counter-attack after counter-attack.
In nothing but tennis shoes and a
bathing suit, I have found myself panting and out of breath, and thought about
the men who waded ashore that day, 60 years ago today, with 80 pound packs and
the noise and their brothers falling all around them like blades of grass
beneath a mower. And I have wondered how they did it, and if we, whom they made,
are made of the same stuff.
After
Fallujah in November, I believe that at least some of us are. As for the rest,
perhaps in 60 years' time we will learn about how our great campaign to once
again liberate millions from tyranny and throw down fascism of a different
stripe was truly national in character. I am sure that if this great task we are
embarked upon is successful, that will be the
narrative.
Success, it is truly said,
has many
fathers.
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Update
- thanks to Oyster, for this pic, taken from Suribachi, looking down the
beach:
Posted @
03:57 PM
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Posted in
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Sendit
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Credo
"Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." - John Paul Jones
"Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Ceasar and Cleopatra"
"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friederich Nietzsche
