When Pat Caruso landed on Iwo Jima in February 1945 as a Marine second lieutenant, he was sixth in K company's chain of command. Within an hour of the initial assault, with his senior officers and one-third of his company's 230 men dead or wounded, he took command. Fourteen days later, he was wounded and evacuated, one of only a dozen or so in the company to survive the campaign. Until then, he had never known the full meaning of the word grateful, and he felt compelled to keep alive what he had observed. From a hospital bed in Guam he began writing down his thoughts on discarded hospital reports, paper bags, and anything else he could find. What emerged is one of the great memoirs of that epochal battle of the Pacific War, where the U.S. Marine Corps suffered more casualties than they inflicted -- the only time in their history -- yet emerged victorious. Caruso's prose is concise and vivid, placing the reader on the black ash beach beside him. Enduring lonely, terrifying nights when the dawn seemed never to come, inhaling the stench of death while listening to the agonized cries of wounded comrades, sharing moments of introspection, he always thought his next step toward the enemy might be his last.
With many books available on Iwo, there is a temptation to wonder what else could possibly be said about this battle, this war. Yet Caruso's voice is an a cappella solo in that vast chorus, opening the fortunate reader's eyes just a bit wider, conveying images that only unique experience and gifted writing can create. His haunting account is laced with the brooding horror of the nightmare, yet he bears witness to the glory growing out of acts of heroism that soon became commonplace, andhe captures the essence of the battle without resorting to an up-the-hill/down-the-hill recounting that often mars war memoirs. For those who dare, this book will take the reader on an unforgettable journey.
