Once the 2d Marine Division became corps reserve, it was obvious to General Smith that the time was ripe for a banzai attack. He duly warned all units to be alert, and paid a personal visit on 6 July to General Griner, of the 27th Infantry Division, to stress the likelihood of an attack coming down the coastline on the flat ground of the Tanapag Plain.
General Saito was now cornered in his sixth (and last) command post, a miserable cave in Paradise Valley north of Tanapag. The valley was constantly raked by American artillery and naval gunfire; he had left only fragmentary remnants of his troops; he was himself sick, hungry, and wounded. After giving orders for one last fanatical banzai charge, he decided to commit hara-kiri in his cave. At 10 a.m. on 6 July, facing east and crying “Tenno Haika! Banzai! [Long live the Emperor! Ten thousand ages!],” he drew his own blood first with his own sword and then his adjutant shot him and Admiral Nagumo in the head with a pistol, but not before he said, “I will meet my staff in Yasakuni Shrine 3 a.m., 7 July!” This was to be the time ordered for the commencement of the final attack.
The ultimate outcome was clear to Saito: “Whether we attack, or whether we stay where we are, there is only death.”
The threat of a mad, all-out enemy charge was nothing new to the troops on Saipan. A rifleman recounted one such experience:
Whenever we cornered the enemy and there was no way out, we faced the dreaded banzai attack. The 23d Marines had a few of these during our Saipan adventure, as did all the other outfits. I dreaded these attacks and yet welcomed them, which is quite a paradox. They generated a great deal of fear but, when it was over, that particular sector was Jap-free.
For hours, we could hear them preparing for their banzai attack, as it was the end for them and they knew it. Because it was against their heritage, their training, and their belief, they would not surrender. All that was left was a final charge, a pouring in of all their troops in one concentrated place with their pledge to take as many of us with them as possible.
Department of Defense Photo (USMC) 81846
Navy corpsmen risked their lives daily to treat wounded Marines.
His account continued with a dramatic description of the tense waiting he endured, while he listened to the enemy “yells and screams going on for hours.” The noise increased as Marine artillery and mortars, pounding in the direction of the Japanese sounds, added to the deafening din. The Marines were waiting in their foxholes with clips of ammo placed close at hand so that they could reload fast, fixing their bayonets onto their rifles, ensuring that their knives were loose in their scabbard all in anticipation of the forthcoming attacks. Listening to the screaming, all senses alert, many of the men had prayers on their lips as they waited. Unexpectedly, there was silence, a silence that signaled the enemy’s advance. Then: