But when Hill returned to the stateroom he had shared with Lt. Hal Jackson, he received a shock. Most of his stuff was gone from his locker. Jackson had given away most of his clothes, thinking that Hill was dead.

That wasn't the worst part. He had also disposed of Hill's stash of whisky. It had been for a good cause, Jackson explained, because when they heard that Hill had been rescued by a submarine, they decided to celebrate. It had been a terrific party, Jackson told him. Windy should feel honored that he had so many friends.

As he did for every floating chrysanthemum operation, Admiral Ugaki stood on the tarmac watching the tokko tokko planes and the Thunder G.o.ds of the planes and the Thunder G.o.ds of the Jinrai Butai Jinrai Butai take off. It was May 11, the day of the sixth ma.s.sed take off. It was May 11, the day of the sixth ma.s.sed kikusui kikusui attack. attack.

With his dwindling inventory of airplanes, Ugaki could muster less than half the number he'd launched on the first kikusui. Kikusui kikusui. Kikusui No. 6 totaled only 150 warplanes. No. 6 totaled only 150 warplanes.

When the last of the tokko tokko planes had lifted from the runway at Kanoya, the admiral returned to his shelter, where he was moved to write a melancholy poem. planes had lifted from the runway at Kanoya, the admiral returned to his shelter, where he was moved to write a melancholy poem.

Flowers of the special attack are falling,When the spring is leaving.Gone with the springAre young boys like cherry blossoms.Gone are the blossoms,Leaving cherry trees only with leaves.

Most of the tokko tokko warriors would attack the usual targets-the picket station destroyers and the gunboats to the north of Okinawa. warriors would attack the usual targets-the picket station destroyers and the gunboats to the north of Okinawa.

But not all. Some were hunting bigger game. They were headed for the eastern side of the Ryukyus, where the American carrier force had last been sighted.

36

CHANGE OF COMMAND CHANGE OF COMMAND TASK FORCE 58

MAY 11, 1945

Mitscher hated the steel battle helmet. Almost as much as he despised wearing the helmet, he hated the kapok life preserver. The bulky life preserver and the tublike helmet made the skinny admiral look even more emaciated. It had taken the nagging of Arleigh Burke, Mitscher's chief of staff, to finally get him to wear the battle gear when he stood out on the exposed bridge wing of the carrier Bunker Hill Bunker Hill. Burke was concerned not only about Mitscher's safety but also about the example the admiral set for Bunker Hill Bunker Hill's crewmen.

The Bald Eagle had a routine. During combat operations, he would exchange his baseball cap for the helmet and life preserver and observe the action from the exposed bridge wing. If the kamikazes were getting uncomfortably close, he'd duck back into the heavily shielded flag plot, one level below the captain's bridge, and watch the battle through the bulletproof gla.s.s windows.

Mitscher looked wrung out these days. So did Burke, the rest of the flag staff, and, for that matter, most of the men on Bunker Hill Bunker Hill. May 11 was their fifty-ninth straight day at sea. They'd been in almost daily action since two weeks before the invasion of Okinawa.

Mitscher and Burke were both called into flag plot a few minutes after 1000. CIC had picked up incoming bogeys. An enemy formation appeared to have sneaked in behind a returning flight of Bunker Hill Bunker Hill's strike planes. A broken cloud layer was helping to hide them from the CAP fighters.

In the next two minutes, the radio speaker on the fighter frequency confirmed it: "Alert! Alert! Two planes diving on the Bunker Hill!" Bunker Hill!" Mitscher recognized the voice. It was Maj. Jim Swett, whom Mitscher knew from the Guadalca.n.a.l campaign, where the Marine had shot down seven enemy planes on one sortie and was recommended by Mitscher for the Medal of Honor. Mitscher recognized the voice. It was Maj. Jim Swett, whom Mitscher knew from the Guadalca.n.a.l campaign, where the Marine had shot down seven enemy planes on one sortie and was recommended by Mitscher for the Medal of Honor.

Swett's warning came just as the antiaircraft guns in Bunker Hill Bunker Hill's task group opened up. For many of the crew on deck-plane handlers, ordnancemen, pilots still in their c.o.c.kpits-there was no other warning, just the sound of the guns, then the blurred glimpse of a dusky shape hurtling toward them from astern. A trail of machine gun fire spattered across the deck, chewing up wood and pinging into airplanes.

Still in his dive, the Zero pilot, a j.a.panese navy ensign named Yasunori Seizo, released his bomb. The bomb hit a millisecond before the Zero, plunging through the wooden deck, through the gallery deck directly below, then into the hangar deck and piercing a hole in the portside bulkhead. With its delayed fuse, the 250-kilogram bomb didn't explode until it was 20 feet outside the carrier's hull.

The effect was almost as disastrous as if it had detonated inside the ship. The explosion mowed down gunners and crewmen along the carrier's port side. Shrapnel sliced into the hangar bay, setting fueled airplanes ablaze. The inferno leaped from airplane to airplane through the hangar bay.

Meanwhile, the wreckage of the Zero fighter glanced off the aft flight deck and skidded through the pack of airplanes waiting to be launched. Airplanes were hurled in every direction, bursting into flame, exploding like firecrackers. The blazing fuselage of the kamikaze snagged a Corsair and part of the catwalk filled with sailors and yanked them all over the side.

With Bunker Hill Bunker Hill's aft flight deck ablaze and sending up a dense cloud of black smoke, a second kamikaze appeared. The Zero was flown by an ensign named Kiyoshi Ogawa, a former student and the wingman of the kamikaze who had just crashed into Bunker Hill Bunker Hill.

This time the gunners had warning. For nearly half a minute, every available gun on Bunker Hill Bunker Hill and her escorts poured fire at the onrushing Zero. and her escorts poured fire at the onrushing Zero.

It wasn't enough. Even as shrapnel and 20-millimeter bullets shredded Ogawa's Zero and set it ablaze, he kept his aim straight and true. Like the first kamikaze, he released his bomb just before impact.

The effect was even more horrific than the strike of a few minutes before. The bomb hit amidships, drilling through the wooden flight deck and exploding in the gallery deck immediately below. An entire ready room full of fighter pilots was immolated. So were almost all the s.p.a.ces on the fragile gallery deck. Many on the gallery deck who weren't killed by the blast died soon after from burns or smoke inhalation.

The shattered kamikaze plane careened into the base of the island-the carrier's superstructure-sending a tower of flame leaping high above the ship. Deadly smoke, laden with poison and soot, gushed through the ship. The smoke poured into Mitscher's flag plot through the ventilators, forcing the admiral and his staff to evacuate. Standing outside, Mitscher paused to take in the scene around him. As he watched, a third kamikaze came diving toward Bunker Hill Bunker Hill. At the last moment, gunners sent him cartwheeling into the ocean.

Bunker Hill's agony went on for the rest of the afternoon. As flames and smoke continued to billow from the carrier, the cruiser Wilkes-Barre Wilkes-Barre and several destroyers came alongside to help fight the raging fires. Not until nightfall were most of the blazes extinguished. and several destroyers came alongside to help fight the raging fires. Not until nightfall were most of the blazes extinguished.

Though still under her own power, Bunker Hill Bunker Hill was out of the war. The attack cost 396 men aboard was out of the war. The attack cost 396 men aboard Bunker Hill Bunker Hill their lives, making it the single most deadly kamikaze strike of the war. Only their lives, making it the single most deadly kamikaze strike of the war. Only Franklin Franklin, which lost 724 men to a j.a.panese dive-bomber, suffered greater damage and casualties and still remained afloat.

At 1630 Mitscher and his staff gathered up their gear and transferred the task force commander's flag to the carrier Enterprise Enterprise. Mitscher seemed unfazed by what had happened. The fact that a kamikaze had come within 20 yards of obliterating him didn't show in the old Bald Eagle's piercing gaze. After three and a half years of war, it was his first close-up encounter with a kamikaze. Such a thing didn't seem likely to happen again.

But it did, three days later.

Mitscher resumed tactical command of Task Force 58 the next day, May 12. The situation on Enterprise Enterprise was far from ideal. His flag plot was stuck atop the captain's bridge instead of below it, as on was far from ideal. His flag plot was stuck atop the captain's bridge instead of below it, as on Bunker Hill. Enterprise Bunker Hill. Enterprise had been designated a night carrier, which meant that aircraft engines and catapults roared and hammered through the hours of darkness while the ship spent much of the daytime at general quarters. had been designated a night carrier, which meant that aircraft engines and catapults roared and hammered through the hours of darkness while the ship spent much of the daytime at general quarters.

The disaster on Bunker Hill Bunker Hill made one thing abundantly clear: made one thing abundantly clear: something something had to be done about the kamikazes. At the urging of his staffers, Burke and Flatley, Mitscher ordered his carriers north to carry out two days of strikes on the Kyushu airfields. had to be done about the kamikazes. At the urging of his staffers, Burke and Flatley, Mitscher ordered his carriers north to carry out two days of strikes on the Kyushu airfields.

As usual, the results of the strikes were hard to measure. How many kamikaze airplanes had been destroyed on the ground? No one knew for sure. But the airfields had been shot up and the runways damaged, even if only temporarily. If nothing else, the presence of the strike planes had the effect of delaying the next kikusui kikusui offensive. offensive.

But the strikes also put the carriers dangerously close to the kamikazes' bases. Soon after dawn on May 14, Mitscher was in his padded chair in flag plot when CIC reported twenty-six incoming bogeys on the radar screen.

By now it was a familiar ritual: the crew running to general quarters, anxious lookouts squinting into the sky, CAP fighters racing to intercept the raiders. Picking off the kamikazes one by one, the fighters managed to take down nineteen. Antiaircraft gunners accounted for another six.

Which left one. The lone remaining Zero was flown by a twenty-three-year-old lieutenant (jg) named Shunsuke Tomiyasu. He had been the leader of the group that took off from Kanoya at dawn, and he was the only still alive. Now Tomiyasu was dodging in and out of the cloud cover, looking for an opening.

Down below, gunners were straining to catch a glimpse of the single kamikaze. At 0656 they spotted him, breaking out of the cloud cover. Every gun aboard Enterprise Enterprise and her escorts opened up. and her escorts opened up. Enterprise Enterprise's captain had the carrier heeled hard over in an emergency turn.

Cmdr. Jimmy Flatley, Mitscher's operations officer, was standing out on the exposed bridge wing when he saw the kamikaze diving from the clouds. Knowing what was about to happen, Flatley darted back through the steel door to flag plot and slammed it behind him. He yelled for everyone to hit the deck. Seconds later came the concussion, followed by the clatter of metal pinging into the light armor of the flag bridge.

Then it subsided. Flatley raised his head from the deck and peered around. Mitscher was standing among the p.r.o.ne bodies on the deck, arms folded, a frown covering his face. "Flatley," said the admiral, "tell my task group commanders that if the j.a.ps keep this up they're going to grow hair on my head yet."

Then came the smoke. It was a replay of the scene three days earlier aboard Bunker Hill Bunker Hill. A cloud of noxious smoke came gushing in through the ventilators. Again the flag staff had to evacuate their compartment.

Down on the flight deck, flames were leaping from the hole where the bomb had penetrated. The concussion of the blast had hurled Enterprise Enterprise's forward elevator 400 feet in the air. Damage control crews had the fires extinguished in half an hour, but Enterprise Enterprise was too severely wounded to continue operations. was too severely wounded to continue operations.

The next day they held a burial at sea for the twelve crewmen killed in the attack. Then they held another, from the stern of the ship, for the remains of Lt. (jg) Shunsuke Tomiyasu. His name and rank they had learned from the business cards they found in his pocket. One of the cards was given to Mitscher as a parting memento.

For the second time in four days, the Bald Eagle and his staff packed up their smoke-permeated belongings and transferred Mitscher's flag to yet another carrier, USS Randolph Randolph. Like Bunker Hill Bunker Hill, the "Big E" had been knocked out of the war. It was her third kamikaze hit, earning her a footnote in history: she would be the last carrier of the war to be struck by a kamikaze.

Wearing his starched khakis and metal-rimmed spectacles, Kelly Turner exchanged salutes with his successor, Vice Adm. Harry Hill. It was May 17, and for the Alligator it was a day of mixed emotions. The job he'd begun back in March-the capture of Okinawa-was still not finished.

It was the Navy way, this periodic rotation of commanders, even in the midst of battle. Harry Hill had already taken charge of the 5th Amphibious Force, and today's ceremony completed the turnover, relieving Turner as commander, Task Force 51. In ten days, similar change-of-command rituals would be conducted on the flagships of the Fifth Fleet and the Fast Carrier Task Force when Raymond Spruance and Marc Mitscher turned over their commands to Bull Halsey and Slew McCain.

The disputatious Turner wouldn't be missed, at least by the officers who served directly under him. Turner's subordinates would not forget the tongue-lashings, the egotism, the peremptory rudeness of the man. They would long retain the image of those bushy eyebrows descending like a hood over the icy blue eyes, the signal that another volcanic eruption of temper was on the way.

But even those who most disliked Turner had to acknowledge his brilliance. Working for the Alligator amounted to a graduate-level course in meticulously detailed operational planning. It was hard to imagine a ma.s.sive amphibious operation without the masterful guidance of Kelly Turner.

Which, in fact, was why Turner was on his way back to Pearl Harbor. With the invasion of Okinawa now a fait accompli, the Alligator's specialized skills were needed for the greatest amphibious landing yet conceived-Operation Olympic, the invasion of Kyushu, the southern island of j.a.pan, which was scheduled for November 1, 1945. Turner would be the point man in the critical landings. To go with his new duties, he was pinning on a fourth star.

For the officers who had served under "Terrible" Turner, the change of command brought an abrupt lifestyle change. Their new boss, Harry Hill, was the opposite of Turner, a genial, mild-mannered officer who seldom raised his voice. Serving in Hill's flag plot on the Eldorado Eldorado felt almost like a vacation. For some, after the challenge of working for the Alligator, it even seemed boring. felt almost like a vacation. For some, after the challenge of working for the Alligator, it even seemed boring.

On the day Kelly Turner was turning over command of his task force, his fire support ships were busy doing what they'd done since the invasion began: bombarding enemy positions on southern Okinawa. One of the destroyers, USS Longshaw Longshaw, spent that night firing star sh.e.l.ls to thwart j.a.panese infiltrators creeping through the lines in southern Okinawa.

It was tiring, tedious duty, and like the rest of his crew, Longshaw Longshaw's skipper, Lt. Cmdr. C. W. Becker, was exhausted. On the morning of the 18th, during a bombardment mission along the coast, Longshaw Longshaw ran aground. She was stuck on Ose Reef, just off the Naha airstrip on the western sh.o.r.eline. ran aground. She was stuck on Ose Reef, just off the Naha airstrip on the western sh.o.r.eline.

Becker didn't need to be told he was in a dangerous place. He was dead in the sights of the very guns he had come to destroy. The only good news was that so far the j.a.panese had shown no inclination to fire their coastal defense guns at offsh.o.r.e targets. They didn't want to reveal their positions, saving their big guns to use against the American ground forces.

Now Becker just wanted to get the h.e.l.l out of there. He tried backing off, churning the water to a muddy froth with his propellers. The destroyer didn't budge. Then he ordered the crew to jettison everything that wasn't bolted down, to lighten the ship. They were still stuck. The destroyer Picking Picking arrived to give them a tow. The line was too light, and it parted. arrived to give them a tow. The line was too light, and it parted.

The fleet tug Arikara Arikara showed up to pa.s.s them a heavier line. Becker could see showed up to pa.s.s them a heavier line. Becker could see Arikara Arikara taking up strain on the line. In a few minutes, taking up strain on the line. In a few minutes, Longshaw Longshaw would be out of danger. would be out of danger.

It was then that the first sh.e.l.l exploded. Geysers of water began erupting around Longshaw Longshaw. A j.a.panese battery commander, observing the scene, had decided the destroyer was too tempting a target to pa.s.s up. Longshaw Longshaw's gunners fired back, more out of defiance than anything else. Tin can sailors knew their main defenses were speed and agility. Now they were trapped like a fox in a snare.

A salvo landed just short of Longshaw Longshaw, another a few yards long. The j.a.panese gunners had them bracketed. In rapid succession four sh.e.l.ls crashed down right on target. Longshaw Longshaw's gun mounts were shattered. The superstructure was ripped apart. A round detonated on the forward deck, touching off an ammunition magazine. In the explosion, the forward half of the destroyer was blown away.

Amid the chaos, the mortally wounded Becker shouted the order to abandon ship. Some men did, some didn't. With sh.e.l.lfire exploding all around them, going into the sea seemed as bad a choice as staying with the ship.

By the time the guns had stopped firing, eighty-six Longshaw Longshaw crewmen were dead, including the captain. Ninety-seven more were wounded. The ruined crewmen were dead, including the captain. Ninety-seven more were wounded. The ruined Longshaw Longshaw, still trapped on the reef, had to be destroyed by gunfire and torpedoes.

The ma.s.sed kamikaze attacks resumed on May 23. Instead of concentrating on the northern picket stations this time, most of the 165 planes of kikusui kikusui No. 7 tried an end run around the pickets and CAPs and went after the fire support ships. No. 7 tried an end run around the pickets and CAPs and went after the fire support ships.

Most of the tokko tokko planes arrived over their targets after dark, flying in the glow of a full moon. They managed to crash a destroyer-transport, planes arrived over their targets after dark, flying in the glow of a full moon. They managed to crash a destroyer-transport, Barry Barry, damaging her badly enough that her abandoned hulk would be towed out to sea to serve as a decoy for further kamikazes. A minesweeper, Spectacle Spectacle, was knocked out of action, as well as the destroyer Stormes Stormes and an LSM fire support ship. The destroyer-transport and an LSM fire support ship. The destroyer-transport Bates Bates, after taking two kamikaze strikes, made it under tow back to Hagushi, only to capsize and sink the same day.

The tokko tokko pilots weren't the only night raiders. At the j.a.panese base at k.u.mamoto, in central Kyushu, a daring mission called Operation pilots weren't the only night raiders. At the j.a.panese base at k.u.mamoto, in central Kyushu, a daring mission called Operation Giretsu Giretsu (Operation Faith) lifted into the sky after nightfall on May 24. Each of the twelve specially equipped Mitsubishi Ki-21 twin-engine "Sally" bombers carried ten special attack commandos. Their mission was to a.s.sault the Marine bases at Kadena and Yontan. (Operation Faith) lifted into the sky after nightfall on May 24. Each of the twelve specially equipped Mitsubishi Ki-21 twin-engine "Sally" bombers carried ten special attack commandos. Their mission was to a.s.sault the Marine bases at Kadena and Yontan.

Admiral Ugaki, who was still convinced that the Okinawa airfields were being used for attacks on his bases in Kyushu, had ordered the Giretsu Giretsu operation. The truth was, the first strikes on j.a.pan from Kadena and Yontan weren't flown until June 10, 1945. operation. The truth was, the first strikes on j.a.pan from Kadena and Yontan weren't flown until June 10, 1945.

A wave of conventional bombers went ahead of the commando-carrying Giretsu Giretsu aircraft, attacking Kadena and Yontan as well as the newly captured air base on Ie Shima. But like most tightly coordinated j.a.panese missions, this one unraveled early. Several of the aircraft, attacking Kadena and Yontan as well as the newly captured air base on Ie Shima. But like most tightly coordinated j.a.panese missions, this one unraveled early. Several of the Giretsu Giretsu aircraft became lost in the darkness. Several more developed engine trouble. aircraft became lost in the darkness. Several more developed engine trouble.

By 2230, when the commando-carrying Sally bombers arrived over the northern tip of Okinawa, they were down to only four airplanes. Directly ahead of them, illuminated in the pale moonlight, was the runway at Yontan.

And then they were spotted. The antiaircraft guns opened up, and within a minute three of the Sallys had gone down in flames. The lone survivor made it through the gunfire unscathed, lined up on a runway at Yontan, and belly-landed. While the twin-engine bomber was still sc.r.a.ping along the concrete surface, sending up a shower of sparks, pieces, and propeller blades, the hatch flew open and ten Giretsu Giretsu commandos tumbled out. commandos tumbled out.

For several minutes they had the advantage of surprise. Sprinting down the darkened flight line, the Giretsu Giretsu commandos threw hand grenades and phosphorous bombs into the rows of parked warplanes. Flames from burning Corsairs and transports billowed into the night sky. The surprised Marines on the base's perimeter defense reacted quickly, chasing down the raiders one by one. commandos threw hand grenades and phosphorous bombs into the rows of parked warplanes. Flames from burning Corsairs and transports billowed into the night sky. The surprised Marines on the base's perimeter defense reacted quickly, chasing down the raiders one by one.

It took most of the night. As dawn came to Yontan, the charred remains of seven warplanes were still smoking. Twenty-six other airplanes had been damaged, some irreparably. Two fuel dumps had gone up in flames, torching 70,000 gallons of precious aviation gasoline. The body of each Giretsu Giretsu commando lay on the tarmac where he had been shot. commando lay on the tarmac where he had been shot.

Two Americans had been killed in the action and eighteen wounded. Fifty-six j.a.panese commandos and bomber crewmen had been sacrificed. The audacious Giretsu Giretsu raid, if nothing else, was a graphic reminder that the spirit of raid, if nothing else, was a graphic reminder that the spirit of bushido bushido was still very much alive. was still very much alive.

Admiral Ugaki was running out of airplanes. For his next tokko tokko attack, attack, kikusui kikusui No. 8 on May 27, Ugaki could muster only 110 aircraft. It was the smallest number of airplanes so far in any of the floating chrysanthemum attacks. No. 8 on May 27, Ugaki could muster only 110 aircraft. It was the smallest number of airplanes so far in any of the floating chrysanthemum attacks.

Some of the tokko tokko aircraft were antiques, including flimsy Kyushu KIIW aircraft were antiques, including flimsy Kyushu KIIW Shiragiku Shiragiku trainers, with a top speed of only 100 mph. Even in a dive, they reached a maximum speed of no more than about 200 mph. trainers, with a top speed of only 100 mph. Even in a dive, they reached a maximum speed of no more than about 200 mph.

Ugaki had no illusions about their chances. "Apart from their use at night," wrote Ugaki in his diary, "they couldn't stand even one second against enemy fighter attacks."

Despite the decrepitude of the airplanes and their small numbers, kikusui kikusui No. 8 was deadly. Two Val dive bombers set the destroyer No. 8 was deadly. Two Val dive bombers set the destroyer Braine Braine afire, killing 67 men and wounding 103. Many of the tin can sailors died gruesome deaths in the water, devoured by sharks after they abandoned the burning ship. afire, killing 67 men and wounding 103. Many of the tin can sailors died gruesome deaths in the water, devoured by sharks after they abandoned the burning ship.

The next dawn, May 28, a twin-engine bomber, probably a Nick, managed to slip past two Corsair CAP planes and a wall of flak from the destroyer Drexler Drexler. The Nick was carrying a larger-than-normal kamikaze payload. When the kamikaze crashed the Drexler Drexler amidships, the cataclysmic explosion blew the sides of the destroyer out. She was gone in less than a minute, taking 158 crewmen with her. amidships, the cataclysmic explosion blew the sides of the destroyer out. She was gone in less than a minute, taking 158 crewmen with her.

The b.l.o.o.d.y month of May was drawing to a close. Ninety U.S. ships had been sunk or damaged to the extent that they were out of the war. More than a thousand Navy men were dead, with hundreds more injured, many from horrible burns. The Battle of Okinawa had become the costliest naval engagement in U.S. history. And it wasn't over.

These grim facts were hanging like a pall over the deck of the cruiser USS New Mexico New Mexico on the cloudy morning of May 27. Raymond Spruance, wearing his standard expressionless countenance, greeted his old friend Bill Halsey. In the s.p.a.ce of a salute and brief verbal exchange, Spruance turned over command of the world's mightiest naval armada. Once again the Fifth Fleet was the Third Fleet. Task Force 58 became Task Force 38, and every task group and unit changed its prefix accordingly. on the cloudy morning of May 27. Raymond Spruance, wearing his standard expressionless countenance, greeted his old friend Bill Halsey. In the s.p.a.ce of a salute and brief verbal exchange, Spruance turned over command of the world's mightiest naval armada. Once again the Fifth Fleet was the Third Fleet. Task Force 58 became Task Force 38, and every task group and unit changed its prefix accordingly.

Spruance had been a pillar of tenacity throughout the ordeal of Okinawa. Historian Samuel Eliot Morison observed, "A less serene and courageous man might, before reaching this point, have asked, 'Is this island worth the cost? Is there no better way to defeat j.a.pan?' But no such doubts or questions ever even occurred to Raymond A. Spruance."

On the same day that Spruance was relieved by Halsey, Marc Mitscher handed over Task Force 58-the Fast Carrier Task Force-to his counterpart, Vice Adm. John "Slew" McCain. As the two grizzled admirals met on the deck of Randolph Randolph, the years of nonstop combat operations showed in their haggard looks. Mitscher was fifty-eight, McCain not yet sixty-one, but each had the face of a man two decades older. Though McCain was just beginning another tour of duty, he looked as beat-up as Mitscher. Neither man weighed much over a hundred pounds, their khaki uniforms hanging like shrouds over their skinny frames.

Everyone was tired, including the flag staff officers. Several days later, when Mitscher and Burke and their staff lined up back in Pearl Harbor for an awards ceremony, they looked "like a parade of scarecrows," according to Mitscher's biographer. Of all the senior commanders, Spruance seemed to be holding up the best, his smooth face never showing signs of strain. Like everything about Spruance, though, it was hard to tell.

For the three commanders-Spruance, Mitscher, Turner-it was an unfulfilling end to the task they had begun back in March. None of them would have predicted then that two months later their forces would still be fighting for the last few square miles of Okinawa.

In the last week of May, the rain arrived. It came in torrents, dumping inches of water every day, turning gullies into rushing streams, making the landscape a sodden quagmire. Tanks mushed to a stop, their tracks clogged with mud. With no vehicles able to navigate the terrain, logistics ground to a halt. Not even amphibious tractors could shuttle supplies through the swampy terrain. Everything-ammunition, food, litters of wounded soldiers-had to be carried on the backs of weary troops through ankle-deep muck. The pelting rain and boot-sucking mud compounded the melancholy of the grunts in the foxholes.

The battle was still stalemated at the Shuri Line. Shuri had been pounded incessantly with naval gunfire, close air strikes, and artillery bombardment. The j.a.panese still showed no inclination to yield the ground. Simon Buckner and his division commanders were convinced that Shuri was where the j.a.panese would make their last stand.

They were wrong. In the bunker beneath the shattered ruins of Shuri Castle, their adversary was already making his next move.

37

RITUAL OF DEATH RITUAL OF DEATH SHURI LINE, SOUTHERN OKINAWA

MAY 27, 1945

Carrying his folding fan, General Ushijima led his soldiers into the darkness outside his headquarters. Flashes of artillery fire were glimmering off the low clouds, illuminating the landscape with a strobing yellow light.

The withdrawal from the Shuri Line had begun. Ushijima could only hope that the foul weather would last long enough for his army to reach its new positions on the southern end of the island before the enemy could cut them off On the winding path to the south, they stumbled across bodies of fallen j.a.panese soldiers. Shattered field guns and vehicles were strewn like discarded junk. Every few yards they had to take shelter from incoming artillery or mortar rounds. Star sh.e.l.ls from offsh.o.r.e destroyers burst over their heads, making them feel like rats caught in a spotlight. Mercifully, the low visibility prevented enemy airplanes from coming to strafe them, bomb them, and incinerate them with napalm, the deadliest new weapon in the Americans' a.r.s.enal.

Leading the next group out of the headquarters was Lt. Gen. Isamu Cho, Ushijima's second in command. Cho had stopped his strident talk about offensives or even of holding the Shuri Line. Both flanks were crumbling. It was just a matter of hours before the redoubt at Shuri Castle was surrounded and cut off. If Ushijima's force were trapped there, the Battle of Okinawa would be over.

With Ushijima on the darkened trail was Col. Hiromichi Yahara, who had given the withdrawal a quaint label: "offensive retreat." Ushijima liked the euphemism. In some small measure it dulled the bitter taste of defeat. In the nearly two months since the Americans landed at Hagushi, Ushijima had lost over 60,000 men, more than half his fighting force. His once formidable artillery group had been pounded into a small portion of its original strength. Ushijima knew that they were retreating into what would be a final trap for them all.