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RENDEZVOUS WITH DESTINY
Well before dawn on 19 February 1945, the convoys of the Joint Amphibious Force arrived off Iwo Jima. All around the island, ships of every type dropped anchor in the predawn darkness. Sailors went to battle stations and began preparing for the coming battle. Meanwhile, the Marines who would soon hit the beach finished packing their 782 gear. Most of them had slept little in the night, and a ripple of expectancy swept through the ranks. Marines went to chow on the brightly lit mess decks. Eating the traditional pre-assault meal of steak and eggs, some quipped, "This is the only time we ever get decent chow." They chugged down canteen cups of steaming Navy coffee, swiped apples to eat later in the day, and then moved quietly to their debarkation stations. There wasn't much idle chatter, but some new men wondered out loud whether the battle might be a pushover since the Navy and Air Force had been pounding Iwo nonstop for months. No one who knew the score took this talk seriously.
In the LSTs, infantrymen, corpsmen, radio operators, and other Marines of 1/27 climbed down the steep ladders to the tank decks. Wearing workmanlike dungaree uniforms with camouflaged helmets, they moved clumsily, struggling to keep their balance in the rolling ships. Everyone found his assigned amphibian tractor and loaded gear and supplies. NCOs and officers called the final roll to account for all hands. Then, like always in the Marine Corps, it was hurry up and wait. Boat team leaders passed out white anti-flash cream to every Marine. Smeared onto the faces and hands, the cream was supposed to protect the skin from exploding gasoline drums that intelligence said were planted on the beaches. Pfc Chuck Tatum thought the cream gave him and his buddies a ghostly complexion, like men who were already dead. (1) Morning dawned bright and cool over Iwo Jima, but for the enemy troops couldn't see the sun. It was blotted out by heavy smoke and dust. Before dawn, the support ships had begun the final stage of the prelanding bombardment. A continuous barrage of shells, bombs and rockets pounded every known Japanese position as the invasion fleet prepared to land the landing force. For many days, an endless stream of explosions had been hammering the island's defenders. With many months to prepare, Japanese troops dug down into Iwo's volcanic soil, constructing a labyrinth of caves and tunnels. These defenders of Iwo had each vowed to kill ten Americans before laying down his life, and every Marine was about to face his moment of destiny. Landing Team 1/27 was assigned to land on a nondescript 500 yard strip of beach dubbed "Red-2." The far-right-hand beach in the 5th Marine Division sector on Iwo's eastern shore, Red-2 lay about 1,500 yards from the dominating heights of Mount Suribachi. LT 1/27 was to land and attack across the southern runways of Motoyama airfield #1, then push to the O-1 line. The team's other assignment was to tie in with 4th Marine Division units on the right flank. H-Hour was set for 0900. With no fringing reef, Iwo Jima's beaches were exposed to the ocean's full power. Heavy wave action rocked against the shoreline and swift undercurrents made boat handling difficult under the best circumstances. Close up on the beach, steep terraces from eight to twenty feet in height angled up toward the central plateau. Iwo's black sand was pulverized volcanic ash, almost like quick sand. It would play hell with men and machines in the coming battle.
At 0730 bow doors on the LSTs opened. On signal, each amtrac driver gunned his engine and launched his sixteen-ton vehicle out into the ocean. In a precise choreography, the amtracs formed into waves and began circling at staging points. Meanwhile, Marines in follow-on waves climbed down the nets of their transports into pitching boats to make the run-in to the beach. In their turn, the landing boats grouped into waves and began to circle, waiting for their signal to form into assault lines. Unlike many of the previous assaults in the Pacific, at first there was no Japanese fire directed against the fleet. Some Marines commented on this, but most watched in quiet awe as the support ships fired salvo after salvo at the enemy defenses. The morning wore on. Soon, control boats moved into position to shepherd the waves to the line of departure 4,000 yards from the beach.
The first wave crossed the LD at 0830. These were the LVT(A)-4 amtanks of the 2nd Armored Amphibian Battalion. Armed with 75mm howitzers, 11 of these vehicles were slated to land on Red-2 at H-Hour. Once ashore, the amtanks would provide close-in fire support during the final minutes before H-Hour. Two minutes behind the amtanks the second wave moved into assault formation and began heading shoreward. These were the amtracs loaded with the Marines of LT 1/27.
Every two minutes another wave lined up and left the staging area, forming into a line 500 yards wide. Once they passed the LD, it was thirty minutes to the beach. Inside the rocking machines most Marines were left to their own thoughts, trying to balance on the slippery decks. Some made their peace with God in that interval but others just waited. Boat team leaders passed the word to lock and load weapons.
Minutes before the amtanks touched down, rocket-equipped landing craft steamed ahead and loosed a salvo of over 9,000 4.5 inch rockets into the landing beaches. Sounding like ten thousand banshees, the explosions spewed geysers of smoke and dust into the sky. Still, the Japanese defenders did not answer. Pfc Chuck Tatum manned a .50 caliber machine gun on his amtrac. As it approached the shore line, he and the other gunner fired off several bursts to vent their frustration and let off steam.(2) On schedule at 0900, the dripping amtanks in the first wave emerged from the ocean up onto Red-2. Three hundred yards behind them, still churning toward the shore, came the second wave of amtracs full of Marines. Boat team leaders yelled for their Marines to get ready. Soon, treads began to bite against the hard beach sand and the first wave of infantry clattered ashore. It was exactly 0902, and for every Marine of LT 1-27, the battle for Iwo Jima was about to begin.
Sources for cited material: (1) "The Death of 'Manila John' Basilone" by Charles Tatum, Leatherneck Magazine, November 1988 (2) "The Death of 'Manila John' Basilone" by Charles Tatum, Leatherneck Magazine, November 1988 November 1988
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