Japanese Still Seek Remains Of Soldiers On Iwo Jima

IWO JIMA, Japan - Superheated sulfur steam hisses from hundreds of cracks and crannies on this death-haunted speck of black sand, bullet-pocked rock and tropical scrub 660 miles south of Tokyo.

Iwo Jima means "Sulfur Island," and a rotten-egg reek of volcanic vapor pervades the air.

Nearly five decades after Marines hoisted Old Glory atop Mount Suribachi - an act captured by an Associated Press photographer to become an immortal image of World War II - a grim hunt continues for the remains of thousands of Japanese infantrymen still unrecovered from the desperate clash that raged across the island.

The battle began on Feb. 19, 1945; the last Japanese troops, who were holed up in caves and miles of tunnels, were not killed or captured until mid-April of that year.

"It is pointless to debate whether the defense was suicidal or courageous," Lt. Cmdr. Kiichiro Tomita said. He is commander of flight operations for the garrison of 335 Japanese navy and air force personnel who, together with a 25-member detachment of the U.S. Coast Guard, are the sole inhabitants of the island. "It is enough to say that too many brave men died on both sides. And to me the whole island is sacred ground."

Searchers had probed caves where temperatures often exceed 130 degrees Fahrenheit, turned the earth with spades and picked through the rubble of blasted bunkers.

When the annual monthlong quest ended a few weeks ago, they had uncovered the remains of 197 bodies, only one of which could be identified.

That brought the total of reclaimed remains to 7,609 - fewer than half of the 19,900 Japanese fighters who lost their lives during savage fighting against an overwhelmingly superior force of U.S. Marines and Navy personnel.

This year, 100 volunteer searchers made the pilgrimage to the 8.5-square-mile island that usually is strictly off-limits to civilians. The expeditions began in 1952 and - in theory, at least - will continue until the last skeleton is discovered, cremated here in a Shinto ceremony and then transported back to Tokyo for burial in a cemetery dedicated to the war dead.

No one really believes that all the bodies will be found.

"It is an impossible task," acknowledged Lt. Cmdr. Isamo Kinoshita, a public-affairs officer stationed on Iwo Jima. "So many tons of shells and bombs rained down on every square meter that the shape of the island was actually transformed. Many soldiers were exploded into nothingness."

Yet respect for the souls of departed ancestors is so deeply rooted in Japanese culture that to abandon the quest is nearly unthinkable.

"The spirits of our fallen comrades cry out for return to their homeland," said Kazuyoshi Morimoto, a 91-year-old physician and former military medical officer who is among the battle's few survivors. "They should not remain in the cruel ground of Iwo Jima. They must be returned to their families."

Of the 20,933 Japanese casualties, a staggering 19,900 were deaths. Most of the survivors suffered either serious wounds or were close to death from starvation and dehydration.

"Our daily water ration was equivalent to half a teacup. There was some old bread, but our mouths were so dried and cracked we could not chew it," Morimoto recalled. "So we sucked on papaya roots, dandelion leaves and moss. When the Marines fired gas into the tunnel, we made masks of bandages soaked in urine to protect our lungs. In the final days, however, our bodies could produce neither urine nor saliva. It was then I knew we must surrender."

The Americans, too, suffered terrible losses: 6,821 dead, 21,865 wounded. The casualty ratio of one out every three Marine combatants killed or wounded was the highest in Corps history.

Morimoto, the military medical officer, together with 200 Japanese infantrymen and medics, spent 57 days in an underground "field hospital" - really just a complex of tunnels - under nearly constant assault from Marines. By April 13, only he and 50 comrades were alive, and they were out of water.

Although only a lieutenant, the physician was the highest-ranking officer. "I no longer cared for the Bushido code of honor. I cared only for saving the lives of the men," Morimoto said. "But when I argued that we surrender, saying that we would be needed to rebuild Japan, my soldiers accused me of treason and threatened to kill me."

For three sleepless days and nights Morimoto pressed his case for surrender. "It was probably the bravest thing that I did during the war," he said. "Finally, all but three saw the insanity of dying in the darkness when all was lost."

Those three soldiers committed "seppuku" - ritual suicide - with their bayonets. Behind a white flag made of bandages, Morimoto and his men crawled or were carried from the burrow on April 16.

"When my eyes adjusted to the bright, I could not believe how the terrain had changed." Morimoto said. "But what most astonished me was the kindness of the Americans."

Morimoto's "bed" - a large wooden box intended for the transport of medicines - still remains in the tunnel. He has returned many times to the island to search for Japanese bones.

"It is my duty," he said. "But now I am growing old. I don't think I shall ever see Iwo Jima again."