Iwo Jima
It had been hours since our day started, and hours still probably lay ahead. The work was unending and exhausting. --I was pulled in every direction, barely had time to turn off my torch before the next disaster struck. In fact, my welding torch was blistered into my hand, after hours of holding it steady and never putting it down. It was now part of my hand.
But I walked the gangway between a destroyer and the Gear, with the legs of a 90-year old man. I had a few minutes reprieve--a mandate reprieve from the Captain-- to grab some grub and take a breath. Then it was right back to it. Just fifteen minutes, I thought as my feet landed back on the Gear's deck. I grabbed the sandwich handed to me by the Mess Crew, who had set up a make-shift kitchen on deck and were giving sandwiches and hot coffee to the whole crew. Most took the food and dropped to their knees right where they stood--everyone was feeling the strains of the day. I walked back to the guardrail of the Gear and sat up against it; looking at the island, for the first time in hours, looming ahead.
To the puffs of smoke, ash and cinder that enveloped the beaches.
The work was hard and backbreaking, but in that moment I was relieve to be sitting where I was and not on the hazardous beaches of Iwo Jima.
We arrived first to Iwo, towing a broken-down destroyer of Marines. It was hours before the fleet showed up, and we were already hard at work getting the hunk-of-shit we hauled up and moving. We were invading, everyone knew it. The Marines surrounding me were set to storm the beaches at a moments command, As I moved among them, I saw the looks on their faces--the adrenaline building, the excitement of a major battle, the fear as they looked towards Iwo. I could see the gears turning in their brains, that they knew death, victory or both lay ahead for each of them and they were powerless against it. That their lives were no longer their own, but forfeit to a bigger cause. To freedom and all they left at home. Young boys, turned into machines of war, for the sake and love of their country.
It almost made me angry.
I had to looks away from them and concentrate on the metal and mechanical issues that sit in front of me. Looking back, staring too long only made the guilt worse. That I may be the rat of the Naval fleet, but they were the pigs sent to slaughter..
I blocked out the chaos and worked. Just kept working.
Hours later, the fleet arrived and order were given.
"Give 'em hell! Fire every round you got. Kill every last one of those Jap scum! Make them remember this day! Make them regret ever fuckin' with America! This is what we've trained for. We are Marines!" I heard a Commander scream.
"HOORAH" was the overwhelming response. Arms raised in salute, boots stomps and screams of excitement echoes. The energy was contagious and the fear seemed to drift away. Then the chaos of movement started towards the landing crafts and over the side of ship. I stood up from what I was doing and watched them go over the side and on to their destinies; whatever they may be. I said a silent prayer as I watched the last man leave.
The entire fleet was doing the same.
The invasion began, as I stood from afar watching the whole thing. The landing crafts docked and the Marines jumped into the ocean and waded ashore. At least they tried. Bullets rained down on them from the waiting enemy. The tide turned red with blood, and the wind hissed with the sound of sailing bullets. Heads jerked and arms flailed as the bullets found homes. They dropped beneath the raising waters, never to stand back up.
It was a massacre. The screams were almost unbearable.
Still they raged on and fought their way to the beach; the ones who survived the first onslaught. Most dropped to their bellies and army-crawled to the dunes and safety. A few stagnant breaths was all they could take before they were ordered to push forward and into enemy territory. Tommy-guns and heavy artillery were set up, and let lose on the enemy. Grenades, heavy rounds and fire bombs exploded on every inch of the beach, turning up the ashy landscape and covering the island in a huge haze of smoke. And once it started, there was no stopping. There was no distinguishing where the rounds were coming from and whose side was where. It was complete chaos.
And I stood on a broken destroyer, powerless to it all. Looking out at the destruction and death around me, I doubted our victory. I doubted everything.
How can we win this? How?
And now I sat on the Gear, waiting for what came next. For the surrender? For the victory? Hours had passed and the battle seemed to have slowed. But still we had no way of knowing which way it all went. Our radio was silenced during the battle, so we just had to wait for a sign. I choked down my sandwich--it scrapped against my throat like sandpaper and hit my stomach like a ton of bricks. I put my head between my knees and closed my eyes; I needed to pretend I was somewhere else, somewhere safe and away from all this.
Then I heard the roar of cheers.
And the blaring of ship horns.
My head snapped up and I jumped to my feet. Everyone else had done the same and were darting to the other side of the Gear. I pushed my way to the front and saw it. I saw the flag. The American flag, with its blue and white stripes and stars flapping in the wind, being raised on the beach of Iwo Jima by Marines. And the waiting fleet reacted with cheers and "HOORAH".
It was the sign I needed.
"We're going to win this war," I said aloud.
And it was the first time I knew it.
*This is a story my grandfather recently told me, that is not included in my book. I thought it was appropriate given the holiday. Hug a veteran this weekend; thank them for their service*
*Click Here for a copy of my book*
