Bitter Anklo type Iwo Jima Story

Satoru Omagari was ordered to the defense of Iwo Jima
http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/fl20060813x3.html
2006-08-14

Satoru Omagari was a sub-lieutenant in the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Force
when he was ordered to the defense of Iwo Jima in 1944. Here, published for
the first time in English, are some of his recollections of the battle of
Iwo Jima. -- At 18:00 on March 8, 1945, 20 days after American forces had
landed on Iwo Jima, we were ordered to launch a full-scale attack on Mount
Suribachi. I was leading a group of 100 troops. We wandered into Commander
Nishi's Tank Unit Bunker Headquarters, and I was persuaded by Nishi to stay
and regroup his units. The unit had already lost all its tanks from mortar
attacks and the Americans' M4 combat tanks.

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Satoru Omagari was a 23-year-old mechanic and a sub-lieutenant in the
Imperial Japanese Navy Air Force when he was ordered to the defense of Iwo
Jima in 1944. Before he was drafted into the military he was a university
student. Here, published for the first time in English, are some of his
horrific recollections of the battle.

At 18:00 on March 8, 1945, 20 days after U.S. forces had landed on Iwo Jima,
we were ordered to launch a full-scale attack on Mount Suribachi.

I was leading a group of 100 troops. We wandered into Commander Nishi's Tank
Unit Bunker Headquarters on the way there, and I was persuaded by Nishi to
stay and regroup his units. The unit had already lost all its tanks from
mortar attacks and the Americans' M4 combat tanks. We organized the men who
had gathered at the bunker into five to eight groups of three or four people
and hid ourselves at 4 a.m. at points where we expected the enemy the next
morning.

While waiting, we collected the dead bodies of the Japanese soldiers around
the area, cut open their bellies and pulled out their guts. We undid the
buttons of our jackets and pushed the guts through the holes into our own
chests, and dangled the guts from the bottom of our pants. Then, we waited
for the enemy in the pile of dead soldiers.

I didn't feel fear anymore, but I could sense the dead. Their wide-open eyes
became 1,000 sharp arrows, piercing my skin, my flesh and my bones. I tried
hard to stay calm, clenching my teeth, fighting against nausea caused by
this inhuman, brutal ordeal. Even the dead were being forced to fight. Lying
among the bodies, I waited for the enemy tanks. I floated in and out of
consciousness and didn't know if I was alive or dead anymore.

Suddenly, maggots crawling around my neck and face brought me to myself. I
became one with the bodies that had their guts taken out. I could be one of
them tomorrow. "This is war," I told myself, cursing. Having to perform such
an operation is a sign that the end is close.

We attacked the tanks but to no avail. The U.S. troops soon caught on and
began setting fire to the piles of corpses.

As the weeks passed from the order for the full-scale attack, the Japanese
troops no longer fought in an organized way with commanders. We moved in
groups of three or four with soldiers we met randomly.

Guards stood in front of the bunkers and shelters, trying to prevent
friendly forces from entering inside. We had to negotiate for water. "One
mouthful" meant we were allowed to gulp the water. "Half" meant we had to
stop before the throat made a sound. It was a naturally made rule. Surviving
in those shelters became more serious than fighting battles.

We became obsessed with water. If the situation outside didn't allow us to
leave the shelters, it became impossible to collect water. So we couldn't
give even a drop of water to the soldiers dying next to us. Soldiers became
extremely careful not to let the water in their canteens make a sound when
they walked around the shelters. When they heard that sound, some soldiers
tackled the owner of the canteen, and sometimes it developed into murderous
fights.

No one cared about the injured. If they groaned, they were told to shut up
or were strangled. No one said anything about this because survival was
everything. Now, the enemy was not only the U.S. troops but our own troops.

On May 10, two months after the full-scale battle order, I went looking for
a shelter. I found one, but the guards stopped me going in.

I was calm because by then this was a natural reaction. I said, "I am
Lieutenant Omagari from the Southern Air Command," and a soldier with me
repeated it, saying "This is the chief of our squad." After that, they let
us in.

I was surprised to find about 130 soldiers inside. Some opposed letting us
join the group, but we were helped by others. As may be expected at the
headquarters bunker, they said there were still 60 to 70 drums full of
water. There was food too, although it was just one rice ball every two
days.

Since I was no longer desperate for water and food, I felt I regained some
humanity. But even here, a few soldiers were tossed out once every two or
three days to reduce the population. This was called kirikomi-tai (death by
a squad of sword-wielding soldiers). The rule was that those who left the
shelter were never allowed back in. Before leaving, they were given two
grenades, a canteen of water and a pack of dry bread. The grenades were to
commit suicide.

One day, some officers started to talk about stealing a U.S. aircraft to go
back to the mainland, and they left the shelter. Everyone was happy to see
them go because they thought that they wouldn't be ordered to do
kirikomi-tai anymore. But the officers returned in an hour.

When Commander T tried to re-enter, a group of soldiers blocked the entrance
and said: "You drove our colleagues out, saying it is the rule of this
shelter that once you leave, you cannot re-enter. How hard those soldiers
asked you to allow them back, crying and getting down on their knees. But
they died elsewhere. For their sake, we cannot allow you back inside for any
reason. This is a rule you created yourselves."

Commander T called to me and I intervened, but the other soldiers said I was
a newcomer and shouldn't interfere. But I persuaded them, quoting a proverb,
Bushi nimo nasake (even a samurai is merciful), and saying "Why don't you
allow them in for one night only." That worked. The next morning, there was
no option for the commanders but to leave the shelter. No one knows their
fate.

The U.S. troops attacked us on a regular basis, from around 10 a.m. to
around 4:30 p.m. every day. They sometimes poured water into the shelter.
First, we were stupidly pleased to see the water coming in, but then found
that it was sea water. They were using pumps and hoses to bring the water in
from the coast.

One day the water came in without notice and breathing became difficult. We
thought it might have been leaks of volcanic gas after a squall, or perhaps
the air holes had become clogged with mud. Within an hour, the water was up
to our waists and the dark cave fell into a panic. Everyone scrambled for
higher ground in the ant-nest-like shelter, wading through the corpses, and
an enormous amount of garbage and filth. Soon after, the water stopped and
the inside of the shelter turned into a sea of flame. I was not sure, but
the U.S. troops might have poured in gasoline and set fire to it. I could
see the outlines of dozens of people in the flames who had failed to make it
to higher ground. Their screams filled the shelter. It was an inferno. A
soldier waded up to me and hung onto my neck, screaming "Water! Water! Give
me water!" But he died unattended.

Finally, I ran out of the shelter. I was dehydrated, exhausted, suffering
from dysentery and had no energy to go back inside, so I just lay there as
the sun came up. Around noon, I heard an American soldier call my name to
surrender. He probably got my name from my captured colleagues.

I became a hostage, but I felt nothing; no shame, sadness or any other
emotion. I was an empty, worn-out husk. Later I would think about what I had
done on the island, to the dead and the living. I still have nightmares but
I don't want to talk about them.

After his capture, Omagari was taken to the United States via Hawaii and was
a prisoner of war there until his return to Japan in early 1946. He later
worked as an engineer in a medium-size factory in rural Fukushima
Prefecture. He now lives in Tokyo with his only daughter and her family.
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