'FLAGS' SALUTE Despite memories, Iwo Jima veterans to see film

"It's hard to get off your mind, you know," said Aranda, 84, of Oklahoma City. "In fact, I have nightmares a lot. I wake up my wife sometimes. I'm moaning and I'm screaming, and sometimes I don't know why."

For decades, the former Marine has attempted to forget the things he saw on that tiny Pacific island in the waning days of World War II. He tries to push the horrific images out of his mind and finds most war movies too disturbing.

Even so, Aranda plans to watch "Flags of Our Fathers" -- Clint Eastwood's cinematic retelling of the battle for Iwo Jima. The movie comes out Friday.

Aranda and other veterans said they're looking forward to the film, even though they know art can never mirror the reality of what they survived. No fiction can compare with the truth.

On April 19, 1945, U.S. forces landed on Iwo Jima, a pork chop-shaped island little more than a speck on the map. The island's location was vital to plans to invade Japan. Iwo Jima is about 650 miles from Tokyo, close enough that bombers could launch raids without fear of running low on fuel.

Many expected the island to fall in a day, but those expectations were wildly optimistic. More than 20,000 Japanese troops were entrenched on the island, entombed in an extensive network of caves and tunnels. Japanese pilots launched kamikaze assaults on the vast U.S. armada, while artillery based on Mount Suribachi pounded American forces.

On Feb. 23, 1945, photographer Joe Rosenthal captured one of the most famous of all war-time photos: Marines raising the flag atop Suribachi.

The fighting didn't end for more than a month after that.

Buried in black ash
Aranda wedged himself into the tank with four other men.

He hated that thing.

For hours, he'd be stuck inside it, feeling the claustrophobic pressure of the other men nearby. The tank usually crawled along at 2 to 4 mph, its twin diesel engines eliminating any chance at stealth.

Aranda hadn't wanted to be a turret gunner. When he enlisted, he told anyone who'd listen he wanted to join the Air Corps and be a pilot. Flying was graceful, better suited to his athleticism. But he hadn't attended the requisite year of college, so he was sent to A Company, 3rd Medium Tank Battalion, 3rd Marine Division.

He ended up in a slow-moving can.

Even before his tank reached Iwo Jima, Aranda was almost killed by a kamikaze pilot. He and the crews of about two dozen tanks were eating dinner aboard a landing craft when they saw planes racing toward them. When some of the planes turned, Aranda realized they were Japanese.

"Before the first shot was fired, they hit us right at the waterline on the starboard side," he said. "The Navy guys had to shore up that hole or we would've sunk."

Eventually his tank reached land. He and his crew spent the night ashore, then climbed into the tank.

"It wasn't easy," Aranda said. "The lines were fluid. American troops would clean out one area, only to come back under attack from behind as they moved on. The island was catacombed with caves and holes. The fire came from everywhere.

"We got to the airstrip, and all hell broke loose. ... We had to evacuate through the escape hatch."

One day, he and his tank commander went for a walk. A shell struck so close to them that it injured the tank commander, embedding volcanic ash in his flesh, and knocked Aranda unconscious. He was buried so deep in black ash that searchers who rescued his wounded colleague didn't even see Aranda.

Artillery and suicide flights
John Cyphers didn't see much action at Iwo Jima, but he lost his brother and lived with the stress and terror that comes from fearing the worst every moment of the day.

An aviation machinist for the Navy, Cyphers, now 86, enlisted when he was 22 and served aboard the USS Anzio, an escort carrier.

"The whole entire invasion fleet was out there the whole time," said Cyphers, of Oklahoma City. "To look out and see ships as far as you could see was amazing. ... They were anticipating having 1,100 to 1,200 (ships) for the invasion of Japan, and they were just coming from everywhere."

Cyphers' older brother, George Cypher, died two days before the U.S. assault. He was aboard the USS Pensacola, a heavy cruiser.

"Pre-invasion, they were trying to clear the mines out so the landing craft could get in," John Cyphers said. "They were getting fired at from the shore, so the Pensacola went in closer to cover them. One of the shore batteries hit them" and the ship sunk.

From his position at sea, the fierce fighting on the island wasn't visible. The air battle took place overhead, though, as U.S. fighters tried to prevent enemy planes of all shapes and sizes from reaching the ships.

"By that time," Cyphers said, "the Japanese had stopped using normal tactics and had started using suicide bombers. There's a lot of phosphorus in the water there, and they'd find a wake and just follow it until they hit something. We just happened to be lucky that the (escort carrier) Bismarck Sea was off our right side, I guess maybe half a mile or a mile. And it got hit."

The stricken craft sank, taking 218 people with it.

'Never seen a bloodier battle'
Tad Beville, 79, also was at sea. A Navy signalman aboard the USS President Adams, an attack transport, he watched the combat from his spot on the bridge and recorded terse accounts in his pinup calendar.

Feb. 18 -- "Tomorrow is D-Day on Iwo with 3rd Marines on support to 4th and 5th. The island is only 4 by 2 1/2 miles, but is very heavily fortified."

Feb. 19 -- "Arrived at Iwo at 0845. ... Battleships, cruisers, cans and planes have the island under heavy bombardment. ... Anti-aircraft shells land around us all day."

Feb. 20 -- "Sea and air bombardment continues. ... All hell is breaking loose now."

Feb. 21 -- "Observed many explosions on beach. ... Jap planes shot down, but two of our carriers are damaged."

Feb. 23 -- "Marines raised Old Glory on Mt. Suribachi."

Feb. 28 -- "Underway from Iwo Jima to Saipan. ... Now that we have left, I can say that I have never seen a bloodier battle."

"It was just hell all the way through," Beville recalled Wednesday at his Oklahoma City home. "The poor guys were on the beach and just really getting a beating. What they'd take in the daytime, the Japs would take back at night."

Beville, who enlisted when he was 16, never really has left Iwo Jima behind. Maps hang on the walls of his home office, and wooden airplane models line a shelf high on the south wall. Miniature warships grace individual shelves. One was reworked to look as if had suffered a kamikaze attack after a cat damaged it.

For years, he kept in touch with other veterans, but lately he has found it too discouraging. He prefers to remember his colleagues as young and vital, the way they were before time moved on, and the younger members of his family don't seem interested in his war stories -- even though he doesn't want to forget.

"People talk about the black sand of Iwo Jima," he said, rolling a packet of rough black sand between his fingers and remembering the thousands whose blood stained the beaches there. "It's more red than black."