The Pacific War in Color (2018): Season 1, Episode 7 - No Surrender - full transcript

In 1945, Allies are closing in
on Japan

We used bazookas, flamethrowers,

and it was a slaughter.

Americans find a bloodbath
on Okinawa.

Australians move in on Borneo.

And rescued POWs reveal
a nightmare in Thailand.

In almost no time
we have become skeleton men.

With rare behind
the scenes film...

and color combat footage...

hear the voices,
and feel the fight.

We knew that we were
going to be in for trouble.



We just knew it.

General Douglas
MacArthur is coming home.

This is Corregidor
in the Philippines,

where MacArthur
made his last stand

before defeat three years ago.

Now he’s back to
address the paratroopers

that just helped liberate it.

The battle is so fresh,

the chutes are still
blowing in the trees.

The capture of Corregidor

is one of the most brilliant
operations in military history.

Prone to overstatement,

MacArthur is also
prone to emotion.

The Philippines are flying
the American flag once more.



I see the old flagpole
still stands.

Have your troops hoist
the colors to its peak,

and let no enemy
ever haul them down.

But the flag is flying
over a territory in tatters.

The grand city of
Manila is gutted.

Official buildings
are reduced to rubble.

Neighborhoods are razed.

But weeks after liberation,
Manila is on the mend.

British war journalist
William Courtenay

tours the city on a
horse drawn carriage

and captures the
sights with his own camera.

Filipinos are on the rebound.

Between bombed out buildings

is a sure sign
that war has moved on.

The USO has moved in.

Courtenay’s camera
rolls as Hollywood stars

and servicemen and
women meet face to face --

7,000 miles from home.

Comedian Joe E. Brown has
come to boost their morale.

His comic rubber-faced
expressions

translate all the
way to the back row.

Throughout the Pacific,
the USO brings laughter

to places that only
recently knew horror.

Touching down on this
dusty airstrip on Tarawa --

another celebrity.

By now Bob Hope has
logged over 30,000 miles

across the Pacific.

At every stop he and his troupe

are escorted to
thousands of fans

eagerly awaiting
"the show of a lifetime."

Here he is -- Bob Hope!

By now, Hope knows the
reality of life in the Pacific

almost as well as the men.

Thank you. How do
you do, ladies and gentlemen?

This is Bob
Mosquito Network Hope.

I hope you enjoy our show today.

We have a nice show with Frances
Langford, Jerry Colonna,

Tony Romano, Patty
Thomas and Bonnie Dean.

I know you’ll enjoy the girls.

You remember girls.

Yes, they’re doing very fine.

On some of these
Islands, these girls

have been the first to land.
Won’t Eleanor be mad, huh?

Hope is not the only one

putting smiles
on American faces.

There are plenty of big stars

and thousands of
lesser known names.

They perform show after show

for homesick troops
all over the Pacific.

Wherever there’s a
USO show, war has passed.

But in these pre-dawn
waters, it’s only beginning.

Here, the stage is set
for a very different show.

No laughter. Just
a nervous silence.

It’s Easter Sunday, 1945.

Many of these men think it might
be their last day on earth.

The morning light
reveals a stunning sight --

the largest amphibious
assault of the Pacific War.

A line of steel almost eight
miles wide is closing in --

on Okinawa.

I have never in my
life seen so many Navy ships.

The aircraft carriers were
lined up as far as I could see.

Fifteen hundred ships.
Half a million men.

Tarawa. Saipan. Iwo Jima.

All had beaches
covered in blood.

Now Americans are
wiser and wearier.

They expect an 80
percent casualty rate.

Among the faces
is David McFadden,

a kid from Ohio who
remembers the fear.

There were hundreds of boys.

The only thing you could
hear was the ship’s organ

playing "Nearer,
My God, to Thee."

And boy, don’t you
think there weren’t

a lot of them thinking that.

Young boys, really young.

This is the last stop

in the island-hopping campaign
toward the Japanese mainland.

From Okinawa,
Americans can stage

a massive
invasion of Japan itself.

It is 70 miles long.

In square mileage it’s no bigger
than the city of Los Angeles.

Its terrain features craggy
clusters of small mountains,

including ridgelines
that run east to west,

creating a natural
barrier to southward travel.

Americans have limited
intelligence going in.

Aerial reconnaissance is lacking.

They can only guess
at what lies ahead.

This Japanese film offers clues.

For three years,
Americans have been

pushing them back
across the Pacific.

Okinawa is their last stand.

The Allies expect
a final showdown.

Before the invasion,
the United States

unleashes ferocious firepower.

Aerial and naval
bombardment shreds the island

to soften defenses.

The Japanese nickname
it "the typhoon of steel."

It is three months
of solid pounding.

Invasion day, Easter
Sunday, is nicknamed L-Day.

Go! Go! Go!

The men coming
ashore expect the worst.

I was thinking,

well, maybe in an hour from now

I won’t have to worry
about anything anymore.

But instead of enemy fire,

they meet an eerie silence.

They move cautiously,
expecting a trap.

But there’s no
sign of the enemy.

Some wonder if they’ve
landed on the wrong island.

First Lieutenant
Charles Kilpatrick

is as surprised as anyone.

We were expecting
the usual welcome committee

from the Japanese,
and it didn’t happen.

We didn’t hear a shot fired.

The only Japanese
soldiers they see

are already dead, usually
lying near a bomb crater.

Word gets back to the fleet
-- there is no one to fight.

Subsequent waves of
troops come ashore.

They calmly grab their gear and
walk upright onto the beach.

Within hours,
thousands of men unload

a city’s worth of infrastructure
onto the beaches of Okinawa.

Inland, things move as smoothly
as a training exercise.

Many keep their guns stowed, and
never have to dig a foxhole.

The invasion presses forward.

In the first few days,
Marines march unimpeded

through the midsection
of the island

and secure it coast to coast.

They tick off
military objectives

like a grocery list --

all while enjoying a
fine stretch of weather

on a subtropical island.

One general says to the press,

"I don’t know
where the Japs are,

and I can’t offer
you any good reason

why they let us
come ashore so easily."

Americans think 100,000
Japanese are defending Okinawa.

The question is -- where?

For troops that
expected to be in hell,

Okinawa feels like heaven.

Instead of an invasion,
it seems like a vacation.

Soldiers pick ripe
tomatoes along the road.

They commandeer local
horses and take joyrides.

They avail themselves
of the local livestock

and try to one-up
each other’s barbecue.

One soldier recalled
such a cookout

to be one of the
best meals of his life,

on what was supposed to be
the battlefield of his death.

So far, the battle of
Okinawa is a cakewalk.

In charge of the invasion

is General Simon
Bolivar Buckner Junior.

He is straight
from central casting --

tall, silver-haired,
and no-nonsense.

He is surprised things
are going so smoothly

and wonders what
the enemy is thinking

in a letter to his wife Adele.

Everything is now going well,

and so far my opposing
general has not displayed

any noticeable degree
of military brilliance.

I hope he keeps this up.

Buckner’s Japanese counterpart

is Lieutenant General
Mitsuru Ushijima.

He is respected by his men --

cut right from the
Samurai tradition.

A tradition that includes
fighting to the death.

Do not suffer the shame
of being taken prisoner.

You will live for eternity.

The Japanese will soon
reveal their strategy --

suddenly, and lethally.

By the third day
of the invasion,

there is still no sign of the enemy.

Commanding General Simon Buckner

sends a message to the Marines.

All restrictions removed

on your advance northward.

Men and materiel move
up the island

and into the Motobu Peninsula,
a mountainous no-man’s land.

They approach a high, craggy
mass called Mount Yae-Take.

Suddenly, fire
comes from everywhere.

Americans are pinned down
by mortars and machine guns

no matter where they go.

Companies get split
up running for cover.

They barely know
where to return fire.

After days of easy
and rapid advance,

casualties pile
up by the hundreds.

And just as this reality
hits on the ground,

a fury comes from the sky.

April 6th dawns quiet
in the waters off Okinawa.

The calm did not comfort
Ensign Doug Aitken.

We knew that we were
going to be in for trouble.

We just knew it.

On the nearby islands,
the Japanese

had been gathering every
usable plane and pilot

remaining in their arsenal.

Some are inexperienced,
but no less devoted.

They call this mission Kikusui,
or "floating chrysanthemum."

They take off in waves --

and begin a kamikaze spree

that dwarfs anything
before or since.

In the next two days,
over 350 enemy planes

wreak absolute havoc.

American pilots try to stop them
in roller-coaster dogfights.

Navy gunners try to derail them

in white-knuckle
high-speed combat --

sometimes close enough
to see each other’s faces.

On April 6th alone,
three ships are sunk outright.

Another 15 are hit and damaged.

The attacks leave a flotsam
of twisted steel and blood.

But it’s only the
beginning of Kikusui.

In the midst of this nightmare,
news reaches the front lines.

The flag flies at half staff

as a grief-stricken
nation mourns the death

of Franklin Delano Roosevelt,
President of the United States.

For 12 years, he steered the nation

through some of
its darkest hours.

The troops on Okinawa
grieve publicly.

Many of them are so young

that Roosevelt is the
only president they remember.

You’d see grown men
crying like babies,

because we had lost somebody
who was a father figure to us.

We also wondered, now what?

Roosevelt was our man.
Who is this guy Truman?

Back at Mount Yae-Take

it’s been week
of uphill fighting,

and there is little to show for it --

besides blood and bandages.

It is an uphill slog

against what one officer
calls "a phantom enemy."

For four more days, they
slowly move up the mountain

under withering fire.

Then, Marines finally take
the top of Mount Yae-Take --

and take a look around.

Two thousand Japanese bodies

litter the peaks,
trenches, and tunnels.

Almost to a man, they
had fought to the death.

This one mountaintop cost the
Marines almost a thousand men.

It is their first test

against the Japanese
defenses on Okinawa...

and they wonder if they’ve
only scratched the surface.

There have to be
more Japanese somewhere.

Americans move cautiously.

Suddenly, near
the village of Shuri,

troops come under intense fire.

They answer with
volleys of their own.

But when the Japanese charge

with machine guns
and flamethrowers,

Americans have to retreat.

Soon after, another company
endures a hailstorm of mortars

coming in at more
than one per second.

They lose 45 men.

US forces find themselves pinned
down by unrelenting fire.

They have run
into the Shuri Line,

a defensive colossus
built into a mountain range.

It is a masterstroke
of military design.

The Japanese are entrenched
on the reverse slope --

invisible to approaching Americans.

Every Japanese position
supports another.

Every American is
caught in crossfire.

Mount Yae-Take was a single hill --

and it took a week to conquer.

The Shuri Line is
an eight-mile-wide

coast-to-coast killing zone.

The worst elements
of Pacific warfare

all rolled into
a single nightmare.

This is where America
realizes the brutal truth --

the Japanese are no
longer fighting to win.

They only want to turn
the conquest of Okinawa

into a drawn-out bloodbath --

and give America second thoughts
about invading mainland Japan.

As April turns to
May, it’s working.

What started as a cakewalk
has become a meat grinder.

The Shuri Line has stalled
the American advance --

and spilled rising
amounts of blood.

So far there are
20,000 casualties.

More than Tarawa
& Saipan combined.

Medical units scramble
to treat every injury.

Back home, officers
escorted by chaplains

will knock on countless doors.

Okinawa is becoming the
Pacific theater’s black hole.

Then, from the European
theater, news breaks.

Throughout the world

throngs of people hail
the end of the war in Europe.

The world celebrates.

Hitler is dead,
Germany surrenders,

and Europe is at peace.

But on the other side of the
world, Japan still won’t budge.

The battle for Okinawa
has already dragged on

longer than Iwo Jima or Saipan.

The war seems endless. Combat
fatigue spreads like a disease.

Some units are on
the front lines for

almost four straight weeks
-- under constant bombardment.

Through May, nearly
14,000 troops are pulled back

with what the military
calls "non-battle" injuries.

We had a lot of people

who had what we call a
"thousand-yard stare."

Just looking off and
not thinking anything.

We lost a few that were
just completely gone.

First Lieutenant
Charles Kilpatrick

sees one officer hit the wall.

And he just broke down.

He said, "I can’t do it anymore.

I can’t send any more
boys out there to get killed."

Until they crack
the Shuri Line,

they’re trapped
in a slaughterhouse.

Overlooking the city of Naha is
a close triangle of small peaks

-- Horse Shoe, Half Moon, and
the now infamous Sugar Loaf.

On May 12th, a company
of Marines starts to climb.

The higher they get,
the more fire they take.

Half the company is wounded
or killed on the first day.

They retreat -- though
Marines like Thomas Durham

claim not to know that word.

The Marines didn’t retreat.

We made a rapid
advance to the rear.

Those Japs are damn good fighters,

and they were ready to meet
their honorable ancestors.

We were not.

The Americans realize
that Sugar Loaf is the

western anchor of the Shuri
Line -- the defensive wall

they’ve already been
pounding for a month.

They can’t break through
until they win this hill.

On Okinawa, civilians
can’t escape

the armies torching
their home island.

Their lives are
turning into ashes.

Seeking shelter from
the storm of combat,

they stream into burgeoning
refugee camps --

sometimes more than 1,000 a day.

They have no kinship
with the Japanese,

no loyalties to the Americans,

and no idea how to
get through it alive.

General Buckner writes:

A few Okinawans had
been given guns.

They don’t know either how
to fight or how to surrender.

They shoot a few rounds
and go into caves

but won’t come out
and have to be killed.

The only life they ever knew
has been blown apart.

They are shell shocked.

Children are most vulnerable.

If they aren’t directly
injured, they are malnourished,

and surely confused
and terrified.

In one instance, Americans
come upon a girl

who refused to retreat
with Japanese troops.

As punishment, they
cut off her foot.

It will take a long
time for Okinawans

to recover from
having their island

turned into a killing field.

Elsewhere in the Pacific,
Americans have help.

On Borneo, Australians
lead the invasion of Labuan.

It’s a big Japanese supply hub.

From here they’ve been
shipping local oil and rubber

back to Japan.

Journalist William
Courtenay is filming

from the open hatch
of an Australian bomber.

Gunners inside take aim.

They target the ships first.

Here a long plume of black
smoke pours from an oil tanker.

The waist gunner tries to
finish it off, tracers blazing.

They leave dozens of Japanese
transports burning on the beach.

Then, 90 American
and Australian ships

get into position.

With one signal,
the barrage begins.

Rockets arc into the beachhead.

Twenty-millimeter
shells pierce the air.

We blasted the island

with everything we
could possibly throw at them.

Yankee gunners clear the way

as Aussie troops brace
themselves for combat.

To say we were scared
would be an understatement,

but we were joking
amongst ourselves,

which steadied our nerves.

Finally, they land -- unopposed.

The pre-landing
bombardment does its job.

The Australian troops
stroll onto Labuan.

It’s like Okinawa, an eerie calm.

Just hours later, two
commanders come ashore --

Australia’s Lieutenant
General Morshead

and America’s General MacArthur.

MacArthur never likes to
be seen breaking a sweat.

On Borneo in June, he relents.

They survey the scene --
including dead Japanese.

Most, they learn, are
dug in further inland.

It will be up to the
Aussies to dislodge them.

They heave shells
into the rugged interior

with a British field gun.

It’s a start, but they know

they’ll have to go in themselves.

When they do, they pay the price --

mostly from landmines
and booby traps.

The Japanese fight to the end,
preferring death to capture.

Only 200 survive
out of 2,000 troops.

But civilians carry
the biggest scars.

Under Japanese occupation, they
were neglected, if not abused.

Now they welcome
Australian troops,

hoping the big men in the funny
hats signal better days ahead.

The boys from down under
are taking back Borneo

and bringing back peace.

On Okinawa, peace is
still a pipe dream.

Americans are throwing
their biggest hardware

at the Shuri Line -- Japan’s
colossal line of defense.

It’s an unknown
underground maze.

A surprise attack could
come from anywhere,

so Americans don’t
take any chances.

Explosions stun anyone inside.

Often, the enemy stumbles out.

Other times, it is civilians.

From Sugar Loaf Hill all the way
across the Shuri Line,

progress is agonizingly slow.

One general estimates there
are 70,000 Japanese

holed up underground.

"I see no way to get
them out", he says,

"but to blast them
out yard by yard."

The sluggish pace of the
ground war on Okinawa

doesn’t make things easy at sea.

As the weeks drag on,
Admiral Chester Nimitz

increasingly views his
fleet as sitting ducks.

The pressure of war takes its toll.

And kamikazes keep coming.

At their peak, attacks
kill an average

of 30 sailors per day.

There is no end in sight.

A Zero is filmed
heading straight for

.

Six hundred are
killed or injured.

She has to retreat from duty.

A hospital ship also gets hit.

The plane rips
through three decks

and explodes in the surgery bay,

killing doctors,
nurses, and patients.

For sailors like Howard Jones,

the horror is
burned into memory.

The smoke went down in the ship

and so many guys suffocated.

Seeing the dead didn’t
bother me too much,

but the wounded,

when they’re lying there
suffering and moaning...

that’s what really hit me.

I just couldn’t take that.

Japan intentionally
crashes 1,900 planes

in suicide dives around Okinawa --

the most intense
kamikaze attacks

of the entire Pacific campaign.

They sink 26 ships
and damage 164 more.

The Japanese consider
it noble sacrifice.

The Americans consider
it inhumane warfare.

The next day... the worst
part of my life was...

we all had to get all
these guys together

in, you know, the bags.

You can’t identify people.

The right thing to
do is bury at sea.

It is the greatest
concentration of Navy losses

since Pearl Harbor.

Since the first failed attacks,

Okinawa’s Sugar Loaf Hill
has become a massacre.

With Japanese holding the
other two hills nearby,

there is crossfire no matter
where the Americans charge.

Two days into it,
Marines charge up again.

After 48 hours of
nonstop fighting,

they are back where they
started -- less 400 casualties.

They try again, this
time with 1,200 men.

Same result.

By now, the equivalent of two
full regiments have attacked --

and gotten nowhere.

For days on end they
fight over the same hill.

Marines throw grenades
from one side...

and take incendiary
fire from the other.

At times their trenches
are only 25 yards apart.

On a single day, the
crest of the hill

changes hands 11 times.

As dead and wounded
are carried off,

new troops rush in with no
idea what they are in for.

David McFadden remembers the chaos.

They commandeered as many boys

as they could muster.

Instead of a company
or battalion,

they threw them all together,

’cause they didn’t have
enough to go around.

But the enemy has no
replacements, no supply lines.

Eventually, the Marines
wear them down.

After 10 days, Americans finally
climb Sugar Loaf Hill --

and hold it.

They stand on the shoulders of
more than 9,000 fallen comrades.

A military historian
would later call the battle

"unmatched for closeness
and desperation."

Some regiments lose
two-thirds of their men.

It is one of the costliest
pieces of ground

in Marine Corps history.

We didn’t have much celebration.

They just wanted to go home,
and you couldn’t blame them.

With the Shuri Line about to fall,

the exhausted Americans hope

they are nearing
the end of combat.

But just when Americans think
the Japanese are on the run,

rain soaks Okinawa – almost
12 inches in 10 days.

Heavy rain has stopped our tanks

and is impeding
supply just at a time

when rapid progress
is most desirable.

What is already
difficult terrain

becomes nearly impassable.

Roads become rivers.

Camps become swamps.

And war becomes impossible.

The mud got so deep

that suddenly we stopped
getting supplies.

We weren’t getting any
shells, any hand grenades,

any food, any water.

Even bulldozers
would sink as much as

three feet down in the mud,
so they couldn’t haul it to us.

Troops have to lug ammunition
to the front by hand.

Wounded have to be carried
all the way back

to rear medical units.

Sanitation measures break down.

Morale sinks.

The Japanese could retreat into

the relative comfort
of their caves.

The Americans could only wait
it out in cold, wet misery.

As it rained, the foxhole

would start filling up with water.

Everybody smelled.

You had blood on you and
parts of bodies on you.

Everybody got
diarrhea or dysentery.

For more than a week, it
appears to be a standoff.

But the Japanese are not
standing still.

When the weather finally
breaks on Okinawa,

the Americans mobilize.

The Japanese defenses on the
Shuri Line are crumbling.

US troops have been pounding
away at this one ridgeline

for two bloody months.

So far 20,000 Americans
have been wounded

and 50,000 Japanese killed
-- just to crest its heights.

Now they are closing in
on the enemy’s headquarters

at Shuri Castle --

where they hope General
Ushijima himself

is holed up for the final showdown.

They find the castle blown
to bits by American artillery.

They must have shot a
million dollars’ worth

of shells into that thing
just kicking it up in dust.

Troops find it unrecognizable,
undefended...

and abandoned.

The Japanese have vanished. Again.

American troops raise a flag,
but the victory is hollow.

By now they realize the
enemy is building up

another line farther south,

to extend the war
as long as possible.

For the soldiers on Okinawa,

June is an exhausting slog
to the bottom of the island.

The Americans slowly advance
against weakening resistance.

The retreating soldiers
are being killed

at a rate of one
thousand per day.

Yet they manage
to make Americans

pay for every mile they gain.

Cave defenses are still a threat.

Americans fire streams
of liquid flame

to incinerate anyone inside...

then use explosives
to seal the cave shut.

General Buckner
calls this method

"blowtorch and corkscrew."

Okinawa is now about
killing, not capturing.

At sea, it’s the same equation.

Kill first, take
prisoners later.

Far from Okinawa in
the South China Sea,

USS patrols the area

after torpedoing two
distant Japanese ships.

Four days later they
spot desperate survivors

clinging to floating wreckage.

The submarine commander
gets a shock.

They were speaking English.

My eyes were paining with oil,

but we got a rope and
were taken aboard.

These men are

Australian and British
prisoners of war.

We had a devil of a time

trying to get them on board.

They were too slick to pick up.

Two thousand of them
were crammed onto

two Japanese cargo ships,

when they were torpedoed
by the Americans.

Most of the POWs are dead
-- sunk by their own side.

The lucky ones
survive -- barely --

after four days on the open sea.

One hundred and fifty are rescued.

They were very thankful.

They said, "You bloody Yanks,

you sink us one night
and pick us up the next."

But they said they were
darn glad they were sunk,

and that they would cheer
every time hit their ship,

because they wanted to
see the sons-of-guns go down.

Can you imagine the shock we got?

Water, tomato
soup and crackers --

something that we never
had in two and a half years.

The crew gave them clothes

and wrote letters for them.

It was amazing to see
their brotherly spirit.

As the survivors gain strength,

they unspool a story
that defies belief.

They come from a secret
prison camp deep in Thailand

with enough POWs to fill a city --

a quarter of a million men,

including 60,000 British,
Australians, and Dutch --

and at least 1,000
missing Americans.

They were brought
here to build a railroad

from Thailand to Burma
across the river Kwai.

The men are beaten and tortured,
forced to live as slaves.

Reuben Kandler -- a British
POW -- describes the horror:

The appalling conditions
have made us dangerously thin.

We have no beds, inadequate
shelter, atrocious diet

and no sanitation.

We have lost all
our clothes, shoes,

and have taken to wearing
our shirts as loincloths.

In almost no time we have
become skeleton men.

Nearly one third of the POWs
die in captivity.

Survivors have no end in sight.

All they see are their
own comrades wasting away.

Back on Okinawa, exhaustion
is crippling both sides.

Less than a third of
the Japanese Army is left,

and they form a last line
of defense by the sea.

It’s not nearly as strong
as the Shuri Line.

But this is where General
Ushijima makes his last stand.

The present position
will be defended

to the death, even to the last man.

Needless to say,
retreat is forbidden.

The Japanese are running out of

soldiers, ammunition, and land.

They have their
backs to the sea.

Americans try to
persuade civilians

to surrender rather than die.

In one case, they lure 600
Okinawans out of a single cave.

They are less forgiving
to the enemy.

Some refuse to take any
Japanese prisoners at all,

killing them on sight,
white flag or not.

By June 17th, the
Japanese on Okinawa

have only eight square miles
left, with few places to hide.

Americans can see the coast,

and they are burning
their way to the sea.

Japanese leaders are
huddled in seaside caves.

It is so cramped
that General Ushijima

cannot stretch out his legs.

He receives a message
from General Buckner --

an offer to enter
negotiations for surrender.

You understand as
clearly as I that

the destruction of all Japanese
resistance on the island

is merely a matter of days.

Ushijima laughs if off
and does not reply.

Soon after, a cameraman
captures General Buckner

visiting a forward
observation post

to see the final days for himself.

Minutes after this
footage is taken,

a shell explodes on a
rock right next to him.

A piece of it tears
through his chest.

In just 10 minutes,
General Buckner is dead.

He drifts off to sleep

as a Marine private
holds his hand, saying,

"You are going home, General.
You are homeward bound."

As Americans approach the coast,

General Ushijima sends
his final message to Tokyo.

We are about to deploy

all surviving soldiers
for a final battle --

in which I will apologize to
the Emperor with my own death.

On a ledge overlooking the sea,

Ushijima performs the
Samurai ritual of hara-kiri,

plunging a saber
into his own stomach.

The battle for Okinawa is
the only contest of the Pacific

to cost the lives of
both commanding officers.

Eighty-two days after L-Day --

when Americans came
ashore to wrestle Okinawa

from an unseen enemy --

they can finally declare victory.

The island is theirs.

In Okinawa, the war was over.

And there wasn’t anything
easy about any of it.

There is much to celebrate.

But also many to mourn.

The United States loses
12,520 lives in Okinawa.

More than 36,000 are wounded.

The Japanese toll is astounding.

Americans count more
than 100,000 bodies,

with the actual
number probably higher.

And about a third of the
Okinawan people are dead --

another 100,000 --

unable to survive two vast
armies warring on their island.

America is now at
Japan’s doorstep.

But the body count on Okinawa
makes the military shudder

at the thought of
invading Japan itself.

They increase their casualty
estimate for the invasion --

to a million men.

President Truman will have
to weigh those numbers

against a new option --

one that will forever change
the course of warfare.