En-route to Stateside
Dear Dad and Family:
On February 15 of this year we lay in Saipan harbor, ready to get underway for our first invasion. Since last October, we had been on training maneuvers practically all the time in the area of the Hawaiian Islands. Our ship developed into one of the best assault transports in the fleet and we were well trained and fully-prepared for action.
Being in the Beach Party, I was on maneuvers with the Marines practically everyday on Maui Island in Hawaii. It was a rugged training cruise; but we were a well organized beach party.
In late January we left Pearl Harbor with 1500 Marines and a full load of assault cargo, ready to make the invasion on Iwo Jima, a small Japanese held island in the Northwest Pacific. After making a step at Eniwetok in the Marshall Islands for additional cargo and supplies, we made our last stop at Saipan. Three days before D-day, we left this island in our convoy which included approximately forty other assault transports, 20 A.P.A.'s and 20 A.K.A.'s and were escorted by a number of destroyers. Meanwhile our battle-wagons, cans and cruisers began to shell all parts of the island today, while minesweepers combed the beaches and carrier planes attacked from overhead.
Enroute to Iwo we encountered a few enemy subs and planes, but had no attack. We manned our battle stations frequently, however and received little rest. At this time, I was anxious to land on an enemy beach, but I have never felt that way since.
We were given a Briefing of all the known details of the nature of the island, the enemy defenses and positions and all information which had been obtained during the previous months. We were given the complete plan of our attack and operations.
Our Marine troops, veterans of Saipan, Tinian and Tarawa were cramped into the hot, non-ventilated close quarters of the troop compartments - 1500 of them. It was the last cruise for many of them. Everyday, I worked out with the Marines in Physical drills up on deck. Otherwise, I may not have been fortunate enough to be aboard this ship today, since I was never in better shape just before we landed on Iwo.
There were forty-three enlisted men and four officers in our Beach Party. We were scheduled to debark from the ship on February 20, or "D plus one". Our medical section consisted of Lt. (J.G.) "Doc" Eastham and eight corpsmen. Don Bowman, Ph M1/c, 26 of Pueblo, Colorado was our leader. Besides myself, our only other rated man was G. F. Buck, 19, a 225 lbs. Ohioan. Wes Follett, Jim Pierce, Jimmy Anderson, Norman Richards and Jerry Frieder completed the remainder of our medical section. We were all 19, except Pierce and Anderson who were 20 and 21 respectively and Bowman. With the exception of Buck, who had recently joined us, we had all been together for nearly a year - in San Luis Obispo and Oceanside and aboard the Lowndes since last September. They are the best bunch of guys I ever knew.
Iwo Jima is a tiny island between Saipan and the Jam homeland only five miles long and 21/2 miles wide at its widest point. We expected to capture the entire island within five days. We knew it was well fortified, but did not expected what was in-store for us.
On the way to Iwo, we prepared all our equipment for action. Besides our weapons and personal equipment, our medical gear alone consisted of about fifty packs and cases, averaging seventy-five pounds each.
We approached our destination early on the morning of February 20th. All battle-wagons, cans and cruisers, and smaller craft were pouring a continuous barrage of shells into every part island. From Mount Suribachi on the
southern tip of the island to the rugged mountains on the northern end, the entire
island was in smoke. Navy planes from our Carriers were strafing and bombing
likely targets. The Japs were replying with rocket and artillery at our ships,
but little damage was inflicted upon our fleet. While we were at Iwo, only one
of our ships were sunk. Very few of our planes were lost. I didn't see more
than ten of our planes get knocked down. The whole ocean around Iwo was covered with ships - nearly one thousand of them. We pulled in off the Eastern side of Iwo.
Two hours after daybreak, we had all our troops unloaded and into our boats. The waters around the A.P.A.'s were now completely covered with boats loaded with Marines. About 0900, the first wave of boats headed for the beach. By this time, there wasn't a piece of any Japanese ships still afloat around Iwo. At the Northern end of the beach was the Japs only boat base on the island. Every boat was completely destroyed by our shelling. Along the beach a few Jap luggers and landing ships were smashed to hell.
There were three airfields on Iwo, a big bomber field just above the beach, a fighter plane airstrip in the middle of the island and a new airstrip which was under construction. From here, the Nips were intercepting and attacking our B-29's headed for Tokyo, and were also making raids on Saipan and our other Mariana islands. But not one plane left the ground from Iwo's airfields. All 350 of them would soon be a heap of wreckage. The pre-invasion barrage of our warships continued throughout the invasion. All Jap mechanized equipment was totally smashed. Not a single building was anything more than ashes by the time I hit the beach. Even the super blockhouses with five feet thick concrete walls were blown apart. There wasn't anything above ground on Iwo which was left standing after three days of pounding.
But the Nippons were far from being defeated. They had held the island for over a century and it was now the strongest fortress in the world. The Japs knew we would strike at Iwo sooner or later. They never thought it possible, however, that all our troops could ever penetrate its beaches. The only possible landing place on the island was only about one - half mile wide. Besides the even smaller beach on the other side, the remainder of the shore line is a rugged cliff.
The Japs were very well prepared. The entire island was covered with blockhouses and pillboxes with gun emplacements from all sides. All the pillboxes were excavated deep into the islands with numerous compartments underground and were lined with concrete walls. There were no openings facing the ocean, making it impossible to score direct hits from our ships. We were not fighting men - they were rats. The volcanic Mount Suribachi was a giant blockhouse itself containing many dug-in pillboxes containing thousands of gun emplacements. From here, the Japs could set their artillery, mortar and rocket fire to reach and target anywhere on the beach or the whole island within a few feet. There were even more underground Jap emplacements in the northern hills.
Iwo Jima would never have been captured without an amphibious landing. All the ships of the U.S. fleet and our entire Air Force could not have taken the island by shelling and bombing. It had to be done the hard way.
The Japs would never surrender- it was necessary to kill nearly every one of the 22,000 troops. Fighting like rats in their holes, the yellow-bellies committed "hari-kari", their famous act of suicide, before being taken prisoner.
The first day (February 20), the 4th Marines landed on Iwo. Then the fireworks began. From everywhere the Japs opened up. About twenty yards from the beach of black sand, a jagged terrace had to be crossed. Many Marines were mowed down before they reached the top. Others were killed in the boats as they landed on the roughest beach I've ever seen. But through blood and shells, the leather-necks smashed through. After a rugged battle, the Marines had captured the first airfield and crossed the island on the first day.
Still aboard ship, we will land early tomorrow morning. At about 1000 (10 o'clock),
the first casualties were brought from the beach by our boats. We received about
forty seriously wounded Marines, Beach Party men and boat crewmen aboard ship
the first day. As we observed the condition of these wounds, while-giving plasma
and giving the best possible treatment, I realized we were going to have a rough
go when we hit that beach the next day. Ordinarily, even though we are having
a hard time, there's always a "bull session" or somebody's got something humorous
to say or a wisecrack to make. Today was different, everybody was silent and
serious. All day long and most of the night, we all worked like hell. The only comment (there wasn't many) any of the casualties made was. "That beach is hell." Tomorrow, I would discover that a truer sentence was never spoken. I can't remember very clearly what actually did happen. Anyway, I hope we never see another Iwo.
Before sunset, the battle was becoming worse all the time. Jap troops counterattacked and recaptured most of the airfield. There was no fixed battlefield. Every part of the island was a front line. But the hottest place on Iwo was the beach. From Suribachi and from the Northern mountains, Jap mortar and rockets exploded continuously. The beach was their best target. Here, our troops were pouring ashore. Boats, tanks and ducws jammed the beach. Our ammunition dumps covered the beach. Most of the troops were pinned down here.
A beach party like our own was also operating on every beach. (The beach was divided into seven "beaches".) But tonight there was no beach party remaining on "Yellow Beach One." They had been completely wiped out. Most of them were killed and I don't know what happened to the few who survived. It was our job to operate this beach now.
Early on Tuesday morning, our Beach Party went over the side. There were two boatloads with twenty-three of us in each boat. If one boat were lost, one-half of our outfit could still operate. In the first boat, I had three corpsmen with me, Follett, Anderson and Pierce. In the second boat, there were Bowman, Buck, Richards and Freider.
After loading both boats with all our equipment, the boats were lowered into the water and we went down the nets. From up above, some of the crewmen gave us some "Good Luck", "Take it easy", etc. Wishes, and we headed for the beach.
A steel helmet and liner, Marine greens, Marine jacket, field shoes and socks constituted my clothes. My field pack contained everything from rations and mess kit to tent canvas and poncho, but this soon disappeared after I hit the beach. I also carried a gas mask and decontamination bag and my "Unit #3", which is a field medical kit, containing sufficient material for the treatment of any emergency battle casualty. My dog tags and a few identification tags were my only personal effects. Two water canteens, a shovel, cartridge belt, carbine ammunition, a knife (the one Dad gave me last summer) and a carbine rifle completed my personal outfit.
Doc Eastham and Bowman were armed with .45 pistols while the remainder of our corpsmen, including myself had carbines. (One of these days, my ambition is to bag a deer with this same rifle.) The other fellows of our outfit were armed with Browning Automatic rifles and submachine guns.
The entire beach was covered with the remains of bodies, many of them blown to pieces. Some of them were Japs who were wiped out as we attacked the beach yesterday. But most of them were our Marines, beach party men and sailors from the landing craft. It was not possible to step very far without stumbling into these badly-mangled bodies, most of which were partly or completely buried in the sand.
Before we had landed, there was nothing left of our other beach party from another ship which had landed yesterday. The same catastrophe occurred on the other five beaches. There had been no one available to treat and evacuate the
hundreds
of casualties, which were now piled up on the beach. Some of them were killed
here after being wounded. As the terrific bombardment continued, additional
casualties were being produced all around us. Between the rounds of firing there
were groans of agony from our wounded men. We were going to have a hell of a
job - only nine of us in the medical section. The other men of our beach party
had a tremendous job also in the defense of the beach and handling the many
broached boats and ducws and bringing in the cargo and ammunition for our guns.
It was impossible to have any organization of our setup. Our only choice was to work like hell in giving the roughest and quickest treatment and evacuate those casualties off this damn beach in the quickest possible way and at the same time, we had to fight for our own skull.
In order to have a partially protected place to work, I began to dig some corruption from a mortar shell hole to use as a foxhole. But all I could do was dig into the skull of a dead Jap. On the beach, it was hard to locate any place beneath the sand without digging into a body.
In a few magazines, I noticed pictures of the cemetery at Iwo which was erected after the fighting had stopped. Upon each cross, the name of one of those who had his life inscribed. Beneath each cross, the name of supposedly the body of each man. I regret to say that this assumption is entirely false. There are no bodies under those crosses, except those who were killed in that location. After the fighting had almost ceased, some of our boys were probably buried there. But during the five days we were on Iwo, those who died remained where they were until covered by a shell hit or the bulldozer tractors which were put into operation to clear the beach. Most of our men who were lost were unidentified. It was impossible to examine or bury them. The battle was too intense for anything of that nature.
I think it was impossible for any correspondent to get the straight dope as to what actually happened on Iwo. When a battle is hot, there aren't going to be any photographers or news correspondents to make some close shots or jot down some fresh news. People just simply don't do such things - not on Iwo. I recollect one exception which seemed rather comical at the time. As a boatload of troops landed on our beach, some pressman dashed up on the beach with a portable typewriter and began clicking away. I don't know what happened to this poor chum, but a few minutes later a piece of this typewriter landed alongside of me. As far as photographers went, I didn't see any, except a couple of them who soon abandoned their cameras not long after they hit the beach. There were just too many other things to think about on Iwo.
I saw a few newsreels of Iwo Jima, but they seemed pretty vague. It was plain to see that none of the announcers had been there. I don't mean to criticize anyone on their viewpoints of Iwo, or the newsreels. In fact, they did a wonderful job in being able to pick up what they did. However, it is absolutely impossible for anyone to actually know what happened. Besides the things we individually experienced, one guy's opinion is as good as another. All I know are the things I actually experienced. Anything else other than these are merely my opinions, which may or may not be true.
There was no time to lose in taking care of all our casualties. I headed for the guy nearest to me which I remember was an unconscious Marine with one leg practically torn off. I cut the remaining cords off with my big knife, slapped on a large battle dressing over the stump after dusting it with sulfa powder, gave him a syringe full of morphine in the arm and Freider and I brought him out to one of the boats which had just beached. Bowman and all the rest of our gang were hauling other casualties in to the boat. We jammed all the stretchers we could into the boat, and every casualty who could stand up, we also piled in. It was a hell of a job loading one of those damn boats on that beach. There wasn't nearly enough boats to begin to handle our casualties and it was almost impossible to land them without broaching. After a boat once broaches, it didn't take long for the rough breaker waves or a mortar blast to smash it to pieces. Then too, there was hardly an open space to bring a boat in.
I don't remember how many casualties we handle that first day or the next three days. I can remember very few of them individually. All I do know is that it was a continuous rushing job for all of the guys day and night.
Our medical work on the beach would have better represented a slaughter house than a hospital. Every wound was covered and packed with the instruments, all we could use was our dirty field and jack-knifes. Sometimes it was necessary to sew up a chest wound to prevent air from escaping a punctured lung. Against all laws of surgery, all I had time to do was make a quick stitch, jam the needle though each side of the flesh and tie a knot with my fingers. It was never practical for us to sew a wound of any other kind. The main idea was to stop bleeding and pain and keep a guy breathing until he could be given proper attention aboard ship.
Battle dressings were used by the hundreds along with sulfa powder. They were the most important weapon against death we had. We gave every casualty a full shot of morphine, with the exception of a few with bad head wounds. We used plenty of plasma too, although we didn't have time to administer this blood-restoring fluid to everyone who required it. We didn't have time to immobilize any fractures on the beach. It was mainly a matter of keeping a guy living.
A number of Marines around us were killed the first morning. We had some of our casualties lying just next to the surf, waiting for boats to come in. Most of them were killed by a series of mortar shells and others were further wounded. From the middle of the island, the Marines continued to bring in more wounded men. Three of our beach party men were wounded before noon the first morning. Red Buzzard, a radioman, was seriously wounded in the gut. "Chips" Guimont, carpenter's mate, was hit through the leg. One of our officers, Lt. Laudesbach had a leg blown off. We evacuated all these fellows safely. There were a number of other minor casualties among our Beach Party that morning, including two of our corpsmen, Anderson and Pierce who received shrapnel wounds but stuct with us.
I don't know what happened to Buzzard or Lt. Laudesbach, although Guimont is back with us today.
Just after noon, things got hotter than ever before. Just behind us was a battered Jap pillbox which had been smashed in. but suddenly a Jap sniper poked his head out a hole and opened up fire with his rifle. Don Bowman was only a few feet away, giving plasma to a wounded Marine. Don never knew what happened. He had been our leader and performed a job that couldn't be surpassed by anyone. He gave the supreme sacrifice, but he won't be forgotten. I was just next to Don when he was hit. He fell against me and knocked me down. The Jap continued to fire and a couple other guys were wounded. Had it not been for Don, I would have been directly in his line of fire. Of course, the Nip didn't last long. Everybody who saw him opened up with their rifles. I grabbed my carbine, and even though about ten other guys must have hit him first, I kept my finger on that trigger until my ammunition clip was empty. I'll bet enough shells went into that Jap to keep every hunter from St. Louis supplied for one season. After we had ceased firing, I was so mad, I jammed the butt of my rifle into his face as hard as I could. That's where my gold tooth came from.
This occasion was my opportunity to fire my carbine, but she was a mighty handy baby. We had numerous other sniper attacks, even up until the fourth day. Some of our beach party fellows made some bags on other Nip snipers.
I'm going ahead a little, but I almost mistakenly killed one of my buddies the second night. Unidentified boats were spotted off the beach and we were on the lookout for Japs attempting to swim ashore and counter attack us. The Japs never came ashore but someone jumped down against me from off a smashed tank. My first thought was a Jap and I had my carbine against his guts. I couldn't say anything, but my finger was squeezing that trigger. The supposed enemy identified himself as one of my buddies. I'm thankful that something must have been wrong with that trigger. Due to the close battlefield on Iwo, there were numerous occasions where our men were killed in a manner similar to this.
In the same pillbox where we killed that first Jap, some of the Marines spotted
two more live enemy soldiers attempting to come out. They dashed back under
their holes and refused to come out. They couldn't be seen to hit with a rifle.
Then we put the flame-throwers into action. A shot was heard, which meant that
one Jap evidently committed "hari-kari". Another body, flaming with fire, soon
came rushing out. A barrage of shells brought the burning figure down. Another Jap sniper was seen setting up a radio inside the wreckage of a Jap ship buried into our beach. He had been directing the firing of Japanese mortar and artillery from the hills of Suribachi and the northern end of the island, enabling them to find our best targets. Other snipers made banzai charges against us on the beach, but all were wiped out. They did kill a few Marines and wounded a couple of our beach party.
However, it wasn't the snipers that really worried us. A sniper could be located and wouldn't cause much trouble. Our problem was dealing with a hidden enemy. They knew exactly where we were, but we couldn't possibly locate their positions. All we could do on the beach is hope that the next mortar shell would miss.
The mortars were blasting terrifically by mid-afternoon. Within two hours fifteen men of our Beach Party were wounded. Two more were killed and two missing. Norman Richards, while carrying a casualty out to a boat was killed along with the wounded man and the Marine on the other end other stretcher. Like Bowman, he had done a brilliant job and was a great loss. There was nothing we could do for either Don or Rick. Before Rick was hit, it seemed that he wasn't worried about anything. He just kept pitchin' in his quiet way.
I don't know what happened first or last - except that they did happen. Doc Eastham, our medical officer, had been right with us all the time. There was no way to apply his professional medical skill other than the same way the rest of us did. Eastham was 25, married with one baby, and hailed from Nebraska. He was giving plasma to a casualty during the heavy barrage. I was working on another guy next to him, while Pierce was mixing a bottle of plasma. The beach was now loaded heavier than ever with casualties. Between each blast, someone could be heard howling "Corpsman". Pierce and I just lifted up our casualty to drag him to the beach when a direct blast hit directly on the wounded man, sinking him in the ground. I didn't know whether I was still alive or not. I was covered with sand, but managed to force my way out. I don't know why, but I wasn't even scratched by shrapnel from the blast. However, I couldn't hear a sound for the rest of the day. The only way I knew a shell was blasting was when someone fell or made a dive for a hole.
Meanwhile, Doc Eastham had received a shell concussion from the blast. He wasn't hit either, but was so mentally affected that we later lost his services. Pierce received numerous shrapnel wounds on the back, but we evacuated him safely. Anderson was shot in the foot by another shell. We also lost the services of Buck, who was wounded alongside of one of our ammunition dumps which the Japs hit.
Pierce, Andy, and Buck have now recuperated and are back aboard ship with us. Doc Eastham still remains in a hospital. They performed a great job on the beach that first day. Even after being wounded, Pierce and Andy stuck right with Follett, Freider, and myself before we evacuated them. Buck was reported as missing in action, but fortunately he had been evacuated by some Marine corpsmen. Bowman and Rick gave more than all of us. But now there were only three of us left on that beach, Follett, Freider and myself. There was more work to do now than ever before. There would be no rest for a long time.
Besides our doctor and four corpsmen, whom we lost the first day, there were eighteen other casualties among other members of our beach party. Besides Bowman and Richards, a seaman named Morton was lost and another seaman is missing. We managed to evacuate all the other sixteen casualties, and as far as I know, all of them are living today.
After that first day, our beach party suffered only a few more casualties - in fact, only two minor ones. The Jap barrage kept up continuously, day and night, but that first afternoon on the beach was our worst experience.
However, our evacuation work for Jerry (Freider), Wes (Follett) and myself had
hardly begun. I'll never forget that first night. There were only three of us
to handle the days casualties from Iwo. All night long, however, the other members
of our beach party were serving as stretcher-bearers. Fresh Marines were helping
us all night, too. It was now absolutely impossible to land a boat on our beach.
All casualties had to be carried 500 yards down to the next beach where boats
could still land. It seemed like an endless procedure. There was a cold rain
all night long. It wasn't hard to see, however, as our ships rocketed starshells
over the island all night. Our ammunition dumps were burning all night too.
Wes and Jerry really went through hell in carrying out their job on the beach. So did everyone else. I'll never forget either of these boys. They had been in the beach party for one year and were not awarded a rate. It required an occasion like Iwo Jima before they finally were awarded a meritorious advancement to PhM3/c for their services on Iwo. I mean they earned their services on Iwo. I mean they earned it, too.
Wes was in bad shape all the time. He had a slight shell concussion and lost about twenty pounds, but refused to quit until our job was completed. It didn't seem to bother Jerry very much. His big, sloppy frame was the same as always when he returned to the ship.
When the flag went up on Suribachi the 23rd of February, we never realized it would be a historic occasion. No one did at the time. It was merely just another thing that happened.
It wasn't till the night of the 23rd that we were able to get some rest. The flow of casualties had decreased considerably by now. Most of the Jap gun emplacements had been knocked out and there wasn't too much mortar hitting our beach. The Fifth Marines had taken Suribachi after a bloody battle. The third and Fourth Divisions had the No. 1 Airfield well in hand and were smashing around No. 2. It was a costly battle all the way. Flame-throwers, rifles and hand-to-hand combat was necessary to exterminate the rats of Iwo.
It rained almost continuously all the time we were on the beach. We were cold and water soaked all the time. The odor from blood and bodies penetrated all through us. It would have been impossible for anyone to attempt to sleep the first three nights on Iwo.
However, I was able to dose off in my foxhole about an hour on the night of the 23rd. The three of us, Jerry, Wes and I crawled into a shell hole. We had one case of brandy left from our medical units, which we broke open and consumed that night. A case consisted of only twelve small bottles, containing about one-third of a pint a piece. It really pepped us up. I was then able to eat about three meals of K rations. Plenty of rations had reached us amongst the cargo which was continuously coming ashore. My appetite and general condition mentally seemed to be in good shape by this time. I suppose I just didn't give a damn anymore.
Cigarettes had also made their way ashore. Ordinarily, I seldom smoked even though cigarettes cost only a nickel per pack, but I "ate 'em" that night.
All Wes could do was smoke. At every shell burst he jumped and quivered. Even today, Wes becomes nervous at the sound of gunfire or an explosion. My nerves didn't affect me until after I had been aboard ship a few days afterwards. Jerry sprawled out as comfortable as he used to on his high school football field in Cleveland. That's the kind of guys a beach party needs on Iwo. A strong back and a don't give a damn for anything.
I don't know what kept us from being hit. With the help of God, the law of averages just didn't catch up with us. We stuck as closely together as possible. Some of our casualties whom we were carrying down the beach were killed on the stretchers. A number of Marines who were hauling casualties on the other end of our stretchers were killed and wounded. I was always wondering when it was our turn. But rotten eggs never seemed to crack- at least three of them didn't.
On the morning of the 24th, we were still waiting for our relieving Beach Party. By now, our Marines had all of Iwo Jima well in hand. New troops were heading to the front lines. Our artillery and other guns were blasting from all parts of the island into the Jap positions. Tanks and other vehicles were rolling across the sand. Bulldozers were plowing roads through the island and covering the remains of the beachhead battle. Our ammunition was being cleared from the beaches as quickly as the boats came in. The wreckage from all the beaches had been cleared and our boats were landing rapidly and easily. Our ships were concentrating their bombardment into the northern hills.
The Marines
were even bringing field ambulance trucks ashore now. An occasional Jap mortar
or rocket shell would hit near us, but opposition on the beach was almost over.
It would require over three weeks more to complete the battle of Iwo, but sooner
or later, every Nippon on the island would meet his fate - 22,000 of them. There
was still a big battle ahead for our Marines and there would be many more casualties,
but the worst of the fight was now over. On the morning of the 29th, we set up a real evacuation station- one such as we have been training and working at for the past eight months. The bulldozers went into action and we reinforced the sides of the dug-in station with sand bags. It was now the only evacuation station from shore-to-ship on the whole island. We lined up all on the medical gear on the ground, ready for immediate use. The casualties continued to come in, but we were now able to provide excellent first-aid attention and a smooth evacuation to the boats. One mortar blast hit our station, but little damage was done.
Finally, our relief Beach Party came ashore. We were a happy bunch of guys. I was so stiff and sore from cuts and scratches I could hardly walk. There weren't many of us left now- plenty of room to spare in this single boat. Wes, Jerry and I, of course, were the only corpsmen. I'll never forget the fellows who couldn't come back to the ship with us, and those whom we evacuated as well as we could. "Platoon 15 of Beach Battalion "A"", and later called the "U.S.S. Lowndes Beach Party" is one outfit I'll never forget.
The other beach parties, or at least most of them, who landed on Iwo included many guys whom I knew very well in San Luis Obispo and Oceanside. Many of them were lost on D-Day, the day before we landed on Iwo. Considering the heavy losses of those seven beach parties, we actually were quite fortunate. It was a hell of a job bringing my legs up that net on the side of U.S.S. Lowndes, but I could have climbed the Empire State Building. The old girl was heaven compared to that blasted island.
Souvenirs are something that everybody seems to want, but no one was interested in these things after he had been on Iwo. I never once thought of a souvenir while I was on Iwo, although I did bring back a Jap revolver I took from an enemy sniper, who was wounded at the time, and a few coins, cigarettes, and a couple bills. I still have the gun aboard and also my own carbine, and if I ever have a chance, will send them to you.
Everybody was happy to see us, as the rumors aboard ship had us tabbed as "cooked pigeons." That steel deck really felt good. Before I knew it, we were sitting on the Pharmacy deck with Chief Biggers breaking out a bottle of "Old Overholt". After a few shots of this delicacy, the rest of the gang had three trays of good chow from the officer's galley sitting before us. Even Wes had now regained his appetite.
After Wes, Jerry and I spent about half-an-hour under the hot shower, the Chief gave us two tabs of Sodium Amytol which put me to sleep for twenty-four hours.
While we were on the beach, our ship had been busy as hell too. It was one of the many A.P.A.'s around the island of Iwo which was taking care of the many casualties we were evacuating from the beach. About one-hundred seventy-five wounded Marines and sailors had been brought aboard when Wes, Jerry and I arrived. All the ship's doctor's and the thirty corpsmen attached to the ship had also been performing a big job, as well as the rest of the crew.
We worked night and day aboard ship, treating the wounds of our patients. Most of them were in serious condition and required constant attention. Most of the wounds were the result of Jap mortar fire- large, gaping wounds, ranging everywhere from the head to organs of the abdomen. But this was play compared to the nightmare on that blasted island.
Only eight or ten of our patients died before we arrived in Guam on the 10th of March. Our load of casualties was transferred to a base hospital on Guam. From here we proceeded back to Saipan. The U.S.S. Lowndes had weathered her first battle.
With the exception of Okinawa and a few of the other smaller Ryukus islands,
Iwo Jima is the only battle I saw. Considering the size of the island, I'm sure
there has never been a battle as navy as Iwo, and I hope there never will
be. I don't think I could take another one. Please pardon my writing, as I've been in a hurry, and keep this letter confidential, if you don't mind.
Love,
Fred.