A string of boats loaded with rough-and-ready U.S. Marines marked time off the shores of Iwo Jima on the morning of Feb. 19, 1945. The first wave of soldiers to hit Blue Beach were under heavy fire from the Japanese forces waiting for them. The next wave wasn't supposed to go ashore until 4 p.m.
"Before we could even eat lunch, we were in the boats," said Huntsville native Keith Renstrom, 73, who was a Marine gunnery sergeant.Renstrom, or "Gunny" to his Marine buddies, knew what he'd be doing in 10 minutes.
"In 10 more minutes I will be fighting for you," Renstrom said, recalling a phrase popularized during the war. Once the signal to move came it took that much time to reach the shore.
"The 3rd Battalion had been hit so bad, we were replacing them on the line."
Japanese mortar shells peppered the water as Renstrom sloshed to dry land. They scrambled over volcanic ash to a man-made bluff just ahead of the next salvo.
"We were fortunate going ashore without losing any men that particular day," Renstrom said.
But many Marines died that day and in the days to follow during some of the bloodiest fighting of the war. U.S. commanders expected to take the eight-square-mile volcanic crag in a few days. Nearly 7,000 Americans and 20,000 Japanese died in what became a five-week battle. Never had so many engaged in mortal combat in so small a space.
"It was just a knockdown, drag-out fight," said Renstrom, who received two Purple Hearts and two Bronze Stars in his six years as a Marine.
In the end, four Marines raised the Stars and Stripes on top of Mount Suribachi, a scene that became the enduring symbol of World War II.
During his 11 days on Iwo Jima, Ren-strom watched some of his foxhole mates miraculously survive. He saw others brutally killed. Renstrom himself took shrapnel from a Japanese hand grenade.
Renstrom recalls seeing a Marine named Masi get hit, tumbling head over heels as soldiers took their position in a rocky area known as the quarry. The fallen man was yelling, apparently in jubilation, "Not any blood, not any blood" when Renstrom reached him. A thin, palm-size piece of shrapnel had struck Masi flat on the back pants pocket where he carried a cribbage board. The wooden board saved his life.
Then there was Sgt. Cobb, whose foot was blown up by a small mortar round. "Gunny, help me. Gunny, help me," Renstrom remembers the sergeant moaning.
"I held him in my arms while the corpsman worked on his foot. We shot him with morphine and got him evacuated back to the beach," he said.
Another Marine whom Renstrom shared a foxhole with wasn't as fortunate. Renstrom implored a soldier from Oklahoma to stay down. But a bullet struck a spoon he had in a pocket, spraying metal through his body.
"We actually saw him die before he hit the ground," he said.
Renstrom also tiptoed through a mine field, dodged bullets and hauled supplies. "My legs were so wobbly I could hardly stand up," he said.
So ended Renstrom's first day on the island.
On the 11th day, March 1, a Japanese soldier lobbed a "seven-second" grenade in Renstrom's direc-tion.
"As he threw the grenade, I shot him," Renstrom said.
Marines knew the grenades detonated about seven seconds after the Japanese triggered the explosives by banging them on their helmets. American soldiers some-times were able to toss the grenades aside before they exploded. This one became stuck in a crevice.
Shrapnel from the explosion embedded itself in Renstrom's back, upper left arm and chin. Most of the metal remains lodged in his body, including a piece 21/2 inches from his heart.
Memories of war shoot into Renstrom's head as rapidly as bullets from the Tommy gun he fired in battles on the Western Pacific islands of Iwo Jima, Saipan and Tinian. Any World War II two veteran could probably do the same.
But few could regale with tales spiced with authentic pieces of military hardware for visual effect. There's a story behind each item Renstrom has in his vast collection, now unboxed and spread across the living room of his Orem home for a visitor.
On the back of a weathered map of Iwo Jima Renstrom jotted the names Yager, Kucipak, Larson. He wrote them down during the battle to remind himself that they were wounded. One of his duties was to escort wounded from the front lines to the beach each day and return with replacements and supplies.
Renstrom demonstrated how a .45-caliber pistol and a Japanese bayonet he picked up served as his nighttime defense. He slept with his arms across his chest, the half-cocked gun in the right hand, the knife in the left.
A tattered Japanese flag Ren-strom pulled off a dead soldier is riddled with faded blood-stained bullet holes. Japanese soldiers wore the flags under their uniforms.
About the only thing missing from Renstrom's collection is the Tommy gun. He wasn't supposed to have a Thompson submachine gun in the first place. That was an Army-issue weapon. Renstrom says he "acquired" it, making him the envy of Marines throughout the Western Pacific. Renstrom passed the gun on to another soldier before heading back to the States.
Somehow during the chaos of the first few hours on Iwo Jima a photographer snapped a shot of Renstrom and his company commander, Capt. Henry V. Joslin.
The photo and three others made the front page of the Feb. 23, 1945, Oakland Tribune under the headline, "Marines Battle Fiercely on Iwo Jima Against Japs."
Some of those who battled fiercely died. Some lost legs or arms or eyes. Renstrom, who will be reunited with some of his buddies at Camp Pendleton, Calif., this weekend, feels fortunate to have survived.
"I am grateful that I had the privilege of living through it, but I would not look forward to doing it again."