Shredded Meadows

It was hot. It was humid. It was 1:00 p.m when 170 cannons, spread over a line 2 miles long, belched fire and smoke, and vomited iron hail upon the enemy. The defenders answered with cannons of their own…and for two hours, the respective cannons roared. The hills behind the defenders were crowned with flame and smoke, which, while obscuring the battlefield, also indicated that the invaders cannons were overshooting their targets, and thus, were mostly ineffective.

After a couple of hours, the field of battle was covered with billowing clouds of smoke and dust…the cannons lapsed into silence…and the invaders prepared to advance. Did they run, charging across the field, yelling and screaming toward their enemy? They did not. They formed up into a line, an orderly line over a mile long…12,000 men stretched out…and marched…marching silently through the meadow, marching almost a mile to the fight. The defenders, who had not seen this behavior during the entire war, stood and gazed in awe and wonder at the sight.

Of course, gazing at the sight and repelling the invaders were two different things. When the invaders got within range, the sound of cannon filled with grapeshot and rifles and pistols filled the air…ripping and tearing great holes through the once orderly lines. The once majestic line of infantry became a mass of dismembered bodies and bloody dying soldiers that quickly shrank from a mile to a half mile…but the invaders continued on. When they got close enough, the invaders stopped, raised and fired their rifles and commenced a bayonet charge, screaming and yelling.

Hand to hand fighting, close range shooting, stabbing with bayonets…for an hour, the two armies engaged in a raging battle, with hundreds on each side falling, leeching gouts of blood into the shredded greenery of the meadow…the once clear waters of a nearby creek turned pink, then light red as the day wore on. Finally, the defenders were the recipients of much needed reinforcements, and the invaders were forced to withdraw…leaving 7,500 behind, dead and dying.

This skirmish was the last of a battle that had lasted three days…the blood of thousands had watered meadows ripped by horses hooves, running soldiers, cannon and rifle. Total casualties from both sides were over 52,000…good soldiers all. As the invaders retreated, they were forced to leave their dead behind on the field…a field littered with the bodies of the men and 3,000 horses. The dead of the invaders were gathered, transferred the hundreds of miles to be buried by the cultures of the invaders. The defenders bodies were gathered up, laid to rest on the field of glory…and a military cemetery was born.

Four months after the battle, two men arrived at the site to officially dedicate the new cemetery. The first arose, walked to the podium, spoke for two hours of the glory and the honor that had taken place there. He returned to his seat and the second man stood. He spoke for two minutes, and this is what he said:

Today, Gettysburg is a National Military Park. The cemetery contains 1328 monuments and markers, with the remains of thousands of Union soldiers buried there. The Park is re-establishing croplands, pastures and fencing as it was in 1863. Historic Orchards are also being re-planted. On July 3, 1938, during the 75th Anniversary celebration of the battle of Gettysburg, President Franklin Roosevelt dedicated the Eternal Light Peace Memorial.

Earth Hits Sun…Details at 11

Yashika Ofumi was a normal, happy six year old girl sliding down the slide in the park on that warm summer morning. She was at the playground with her friends and all of their mothers for a morning of fun and relaxation, and she took full advantage of it. Laughing and running, she went from the slide to the swings, back to the slide, laughing all the way. Looking over, she saw Mr. Katsu, the old shopkeeper, out sweeping the walk in front of his shop. Laughing and calling his name, she waved…he looked up, smiled a tired smile, waved, went back to tiredly whisking his broom back and forth.

Giving up on Mr. Katsu, Yashika was looking around for others to play with when she first heard the drone. Looking up, she saw three planes…small dots really…flying far overhead. Happily, she called and waved, hoping against hope that they might see her…but they didn’t. Then, one of the planes hesitated, seemed to stall, hiccuped…and something fell off the plane…a chunk of metal, falling slowly to the earth. The plane recovered, sped away. Yashika watched with delight as the chunk of metal tumbled over and over, falling almost in slow motion…Fifty-seven seconds later, the chunk hit the altitude of 1,900 feet above the earth…and at 8:15:57 AM, the earth hit the sun…

The first indication was a bright light, brighter than the sun…and only 2,000 feet away…but no one below saw that light because with the light came the heat. The area below the blast was immediately bathed in 7,000 degrees of fiery hell…and Yashika and her friends and their mothers and Mr. Katsu and everyone else within a mile…well, their internal organs boiled, their bones turned to brittle charcoal, they were vaporized into dust, and the dust was blown away by winds up to 624 miles per hour…all within a few hundredths of a second…but they left behind reminders…in the initial blast of light and heat, their shadows were imprinted on the asphalt around them…and those shadows are still there…

As mentioned earlier, the temperature instantly went up to 7,000 degrees…melting and liquifying asphalt, concrete, steel…all of which ran in rivers and rivulets across a scarred and charred landscape…that land was totally sterilized…80,000 people vaporized or killed…of which 52,000 were under the age of nine…countless animals…microbes…germs…every living thing was obliterated for a square mile outward from the blast…fires erupted over 4.4 square miles, further destroying people and buildings…90% of the city was destroyed or severely damaged…and above it all, a massive column of smoke and dust and debris and ash and heat and radiation billowed up, soaring 11 miles above the destruction…where if billowed out, flared out, folded back in…forming a gigantic mushroom rising over the ruin and rot and destruction of the city of Hiroshima, Japan…which had ceased to exist in ten seconds. The date was August 6, 1945…

As stated, 80,000 died instantly…and by the end of the month, the death toll stood at 140,000. Several of the survivors decided to leave the city…and so they did. They fled to another city farther south…on the coast…a quiet city…called Nagasaki…where, on August 9, 1945, the second bomb finished the work of the first…

In Nagasaki, part two of the A-bomb scenario took place at 11:01:43, resulting in the immediate deaths of 40,000…by the end of the month, the toll was at 80,000…and the destruction was just as complete. The United States planned on dropping another bomb on or around August 18, with three more to come in September, and three more after that in October. After the first bomb in Hiroshima, President Truman announced, “If they do not accept our terms, they may expect a rain of ruin form the air the likes of which have never been seen on this earth.” He was on his way to fulfilling that promise when Japan surrendered on August 15, 1945…

The survivors of both cities were bathed in waves of radiation that for years afterward caused cancers and other diseases which continued to take lives…memorials in Hiroshima and Nagasaki contain lists of names of the hibakusha (‘explosion-affected people’) who are known to have died since the bombings…as of August 2008, more than 400,000 hibakusha have died…258,310 in Hiroshima and 145,984 in Nagasaki.

The bomb? Comparing those bombs to the weapons of today would be like comparing a match to those first bombs…in fact, the force of those first bombs are used today as detonation devices…to set off the weapons of today…why, with what we have today, we could completely obliterate every living thing…wipe the earth clean…sterilize it…and probably not think twice about it…

Red Sands Monday

Monday

“Damn…what a crappy place to have a war…”

Brian Cooper hunkered down behind absolutely nothing and hoped the Japanese were lousy shots.

“No grass…no trees…not even a goddamn rock to hide behind. Who the hell came up with this bright idea, anyway? Nothin’ here but volcanic sand…can’t dig worth crap…can’t hide…shit!”

A bullet slapped the sand an inch from his face, spraying dirt into his mouth and nose. He gasped, coughed, hawked, spat…looked around for something to shoot at…anything at all…there was nothing. Brian was in the second wave to hit the beach that morning in February. The first wave met almost no opposition…which they later learned, to their detriment, was basically a trap. As they advanced off the beach, they were suddenly met with withering fire from concealed bunkers and tunnels, and mowed down like sheaves of wheat. The second wave was a little more cautious.

Brian glanced behind him, saw the carnage, shuddered, moved forward a few feet more through the mud and the sand.

He saw his buddy up ahead, laying stretched out, rifle up, aiming down the barrel, looking for…anything. Brian jumped up, ran a bit, flopped down beside him.

“Joey…how you doin’?’

No answer…Brian looked over, saw his friend sighting down his rifle with sightless eyes, a trickle of red escaping from under his helmet, slithering down his face…Brian turned away, gagged, retched onto the sand beside him. An obliging wave rolled in, gathered up the vomit, rolled away…God, he would kill for a dry pair of socks right now. He reached over, removed Joeys’ dog tags, jumped up, and ran…ran for all he was worth, finally dropping behind a destroyed truck, looking left and right, looking ahead, just looking.

“Goddamn somsa bitches! Gotta get off this damn beach…gotta move up the hill…gotta find me something to kill…”

Ahead of him were jumbled, twisted piles of metal…landing craft, trucks, tanks…scrap metal turned into art…the art of war. He reached down, picked up a handful of sand, idly sifted it through his fingers. The black sand fell away…the red that had soaked into it stayed on his fingers. He brushed off his hands and looked ahead. The shooting stopped…the men started to climb off the beach…up toward the interior of the island…Brian joined them…and began to tour Iwo Jima. It was Monday, February 19, 1945. It was eleven o’clock. Brian stood up, started walking with his comrades up the hill…

Friday

Billy Preston stood at the top of Mount Surabachi and looked down toward the airfield. The Americans held the mountain, but they also knew that there were a couple of thousand Japanese directly below them. A vast network of tunnels crisscrossed the island, and the mountain (ha!…all of 545 feet) was a virtual maze of tunnels and bunkers. Getting the Japanese out of there was going to be a chore.

“Well, hell…here we are in the middle of a major battle, and the Secretary of The Navy shows up…Whasshe think? This is some kind of damn tourist attraction? Idiots! We’re being led by idiots!”

He sighed, picked up his rifle, started walking cautiously down the hill…

“What I wouldn’t give for an effin’ tree…some kind of shade…”

He continued down the hill, knowing, for the most part, where most of the bunkers were…knowing that even after they were cleared, the Japanese could re-man them through the tunnel system.

“Stupid! These people are stupid! This war is stupid! Just one, big, stupid fu…”

He stopped, dropped, aimed down the hill…there was something there. Slowly, he inched down the hill, until he came to…a body…an American soldier. As he approached, a cloud of flies buzzed up, swarmed around, settled back on the body. He turned him over, saw the gaping hole in the guys’ belly, saw the maggots feasting on the juices of his intestines deep in the wound, turned away, retched into the dirt. He reached down, took off the dog tags, glanced at the face…just a kid. Glanced at the tags.

“Brian Cooper…well, Coop, I guess it’s over for you…RIP, Marine.”

He got up, headed down the hill…

FACTS:

The battle of Iwo Jima lasted from February 19 to March 26, 1945. Total American Forces: 110,000 Marines. Total Japanese Forces 22,000. For 35 days the island of Iwo Jima became the most populated 8 square miles on the planet.

Total Japanese casualties: 20,703…1,083 were captured during the fighting. Many of the casualties came from ritualistic suicide rather than surrender.

Total American casualties: 27,909 Marines…300 Navy seamen (from kamikaze bombings on the ships). The number of American casualties was greater than the total Allied casualties on D-Day, and this was the only U.S. Marine battle where the American casualties exceeded the Japanese.

Post Script

The photographs shown were taken by Vic McKee. They are reproduced here with the gracious permission of his daughter, Sherri McKee.

Gold ‘N Boats ‘N Katherine

It was hot, it was dry, it was dusty, it was…oh, hell, it was just flat out-and-out thirsty out there. S.C., as he was known, wiped the sweat from his eyes, glanced up at the sun pounding down on him, muttered a curse and hupped his horses into action once again.

He was a teamster, a driver of a wagon loaded with ore, which he was taking from the Sheepstrails Mine to the mill, down near the Colorado River. As he drove, he noticed a solitary granite knob protruding up from the flat gravel plain, and he figured that would be a good place to stop, eat, rest the horses, maybe find a spot of shade. While the horses rested, he panned out a few samples from the outcropping…and immediately started making plans.

It was the dawn of a new century, late summer of 1900, and ol’ S.C. figured to become rich. He delivered his load of ore, went to the land office, and placed a claim on the knob of rock he had found. He decided to sink a mine on the knob, and name it after his daughter. Thus, the mine of S.C. Bagg, now known as The Catherine Mine was born.

Mining had begun in this area some 30-odd years earlier, in the 1860’s, with the discovery of gold. By the time S.C. Showed up, there were several mines operating in the area, including the Pyramid, Gold Cycle and Sheeptrails Mines in Arizona, and the Homestake Mine, across the river in Nevada. The ore was processed at a mill built near the Colorado, at a settlement named Pyramid. The processed ore was shipped out on steamboats that made regular trips up the Colorado from Port Isabel in the Gulf of California.

S.C. Wasted no time working his claim at Catherine. He mined about 2000 tons of ore between 1900 and 1903, which was processed at the Sheeptrails Mill. Then, in 1903, he decided he had had enough, and leased out the mine. It closed in 1904. Later that same year, the mine was sold to the Arizona Pyramid Mining Company, which re-opened the mine in 1907. It operated for two years, and once again closed in 1909.

In 1915, gold was discovered in the area of Oatman, a few miles away. The boom that followed soon reached the area around the Catherine Mine, where numerous claims were staked, and shafts were sunk with little reason and even less chance of success. Interestingly, most of these new shafts adopted the name Catherine: Catherine Extension, Catherine Treasure Vault and Catherine Midway. None of these new mines recorded any production, and all were shut down by the onset of the Great Depression in 1929.

Somewhere in the shrouded mists of history is the answer to the question of why the first letter changed, but no one is really looking for that answer. All that is known is that in 1919, Catherine Mine re-opened, only under the name of Katherine Gold Mining Company. A 950 foot vertical shaft was sunk, and in 1925 a cyanide mill was completed that could process up to 250 tons of ore per day.

With the boom came the promotion of a couple of town sites. The town of Catherine was a couple of miles east of Catherine Mine, and the town of Tri-state was a bit downstream, and across the river on the Nevada side. Both towns lasted more or less until 1929, with the town of Catherine even boasting a post office for a couple of years. Keeping in mind the fact that these towns were strictly in the middle nowhere, and the summer temperatures reached into the 130’s, it didn’t exactly sound like a major vacation destination of the times.

The mill ran constantly through 1927. Then, in 1928, things slowed down, and in 1929, the Katherine Gold Mining Company declared bankruptcy. The mine was closed, but the mill continued to process ore from the other mines until 1932. During the period of 1933 and 1934, the price of gold rose. This made it profitable to begin the mining of gold again, and many mines were re-opened. In 1933, the Gold Standard Gold Mining Company acquired the water rights to the Katherine Mill and Katherine Mine. The mill was started up, and processed ore until a fire damaged it in 1934. It was quickly repaired and put back into operation. In 1935, the same company obtained the title to the Katherine mine, and it was put back into production, operating from 1937 till 1940, when it was closed for the final time. The mill continued processing ore from other mines until it was closed by the War Production Board in 1943. At that point, the mine died, the mill died, the town died…but Katherine did not die…

A treaty with Mexico in 1944 required the construction of a dam in Pyramid Canyon, 67 miles downstream from Hoover Dam for the regulation of water to be delivered to Mexico. That put the dam just a wee bit downstream from the now dead towns of Catherine and Tri-state. David Dam, named for Arthur Powell Davis, who was U.S. Director of Reclamation from 1914 to 1932, was completed in 1953, and the lake (Lake Mohave) began to fill. Catherine survived, but the town of Tri-state disappeared under the rising water.

And so, to the resurrection of Katherine…when the lake was full, it was decided to build a place to launch boats and to use as a recreation area for the citizens of Laughlin, Nevada and Bullhead City, Arizona, which were right across the river from each other a half mile below the dam. This boat launch area became known as Katherine’s Landing, and is today one of the most popular spots on the lake. It’s become pretty much an oasis in the middle of nowhere, as seen in the following pictures:

And so…the name of S.C. Baggs’ daughter continues to live, although both S.C. And the original Catherine are long gone. Its a fun place to visit, hotter than he– in the summer, but a very comfortable 70 to 80 degrees in the winter.

Sharks and Bombs

The big battle cruiser slipped silently through the waves at a speed of 17 knots that warm night. The sky was overcast, the sea was moderate, and visibility was poor, but improving. She had delivered her top secret cargo, was bound for gunnery practice and refresher training. There was no escort…after all, she was in the backwaters of the war…safe waters, controlled by her own country…no need to fear here…

A mile or so away, a submarine swept through the water, as Captain Mochitasura Hashimoto scanned the surface, looking for ships. The sub, designated I-58 also had a passive sonar, listening for the tiniest of sounds…and finally, it heard one. The Captain waited as they drifted closer…and finally he could see the ship in his periscope. A heavy battle cruiser! A lovely target! Shouting out orders, he positioned his boat, checked his figures…and fired six torpedoes in a fan shaped pattern.

At 12:14 AM, on the morning of July 30, the first torpedo struck the cruisers’ bow…and blew it off. Within seconds, 3 SOS messages went out, and three different commanders received them…but…one of the commanders was drunk, and ignored the warning…the second had gone to bed early, and left orders not to be disturbed for any reason…and the third thought it was a prank, being played by the enemy…psychological warfare, if you will…he ignored it too.

Seconds later, the second torpedo struck, on the starboard side, near a powder magazine and one of the cruisers’ fuel oil bunkers. The resulting explosion blew out the side of the ship. The ship, now dead, continued to plow ahead through the water, sending thousands of tons of water through the missing bow and the gaping hole in her side. She began to roll, slowly…orders were yelled…all hands to abandon ship. Hundreds of men jumped…others threw burned and wounded comrades into the dark sea. Twelve minutes later, the ship rolled over completely and went down…

The ship carried about 1197 men…and about 320 died in the explosions. About 880 men went into the water, badly burned, maimed, wounded, but alive…for now. The men were scattered over thousands of square yards of open sea. They had no water. They had no food. Some had life jackets; most did not. Oil from the ruptured tanks coated both the men and the water, making many of them violently ill. However, optimism abounded…they had sent out SOS’s…people knew they were in trouble…rescue was imminent.

Even with the optimism, despair raised its’ ugly head. There were screams and curses as the salt water seeped into wounds, abraded burns. Massive thirst set in, terror came out to play. Blood oozed into the water, spread out, dissipated. Many of the men, wounded, burned, tired, scared, gave up the struggle, slipped beneath the waves. Prayers were heard, curses…toward God and Navy…were screamed out. The struggle of man versus nature took shape.

Five miles away, a large Oceanic Whitetip Shark is cruising through the ocean. It’s sense of smell is causing it to twitch and hesitate…it smells something…very faintly. It turns, begins to swim rapidly toward the smell…it was a large brute…thirteen feet long, 370 pounds…and it swam quickly toward the possible source of food. It arrived at the site in rapid order and found several other sharks arriving also…all of them immediately moved in…peeling off and going after the hundreds of men in the water. Hard snouts ram into soft abdomens, teeth rending flesh, seeking food, blood flowing, entrails floating out…screaming, cursing, frantic efforts to escape the death from below…hundreds of sharks gathering…and the terror begins.

Help did not arrive…for three days the sailors floated, being taken by sharks, floating without food, floating without water, the salt starting to poison their bodies. For three days, the sailors went mad, hope faded, terror took its’ toll on their minds, many began to hallucinate. By the end of three days, only about 400 men remained alive…480 men had died in the sea, victims of thirst, wounds, sharks. Dead men littered the seas for thousands of yards.

At about 10:25 AM on the morning of the fourth day, Lieutenant Chuck Gwinn was flying on a routine antisubmarine patrol. He glanced out of the plane, noticed a huge oil slick below him. Thinking it may be a submarine submerging, he dropped down several hundred feet, opened his bomb bay doors for a depth charge run…glanced out his window again…and saw several hundred men spread out, waving at him. He gained altitude, radioed in…he was not believed…they thought it was a prank.

Finally, about three hours later, a flying boat was dispatched. As the pilot flew toward the site, he overflew the Destroyer USS Cecil Doyle…whose Captain was a friend. He informed the Captain of his mission, and the Captain decided, on his own initiative, to lend assistance. When the pilot arrived at the location,he dropped down and began dropping rafts and supplies to the men below. As this was happening, it was seen that the men in the water were being attacked and eaten alive by sharks. The pilot decided to ignore the standing order against landing in open seas. He landed the plane, taxied to the nearest group and began taking survivors aboard. Some of the men in the water were so weak, that when they slipped out of their life jackets, they drowned while attempting to swim to the plane. When the plane was full, the crew carried men onto the wings. They managed to save 56 men that day.

Responding to the pilots calls for help, three Destroyers and three Auxiliary Ships arrived at the scene. Finally, all the remaining living men were pulled from the sea. One thousand, one hundred ninety seven men left port on that ship…eight hundred eighty living men went into the water after the explosion…three hundred seventeen men came out of the water…eight hundred eighty men died on those four days of dehydration, their wounds, giving up the will to live, and sharks…on the last voyage of the U.S.S. Indianapolis, sunk July 30, 1945.

A couple of days later, the top secret cargo delivered by the Indianapolis was loaded into the belly of a B-29, flown a few hundred miles, and dropped…out of the Enola Gay…onto the city of Hiroshima…