At 0330 hours on April 13th, 1945, Technical Sergeant Bowford Theodore Anderson stood inside a tomb carved from Okinawan limestone. The chamber measured 8.5 m wide, 2.4 m tall. The walls were usum, irregular stones fitted without mortar. Anderson held a 60 mm mortar shell in both hands.

M2 high explosive projectile 1.38 kg. The shell had no tube, no base plate, no trajectory calculator, just Anderson, the shell, and a decision that would define the next two hours of his life. The M49 A2 projectile was designed to be dropped down a steel tube, strike a firing pin and arc toward a target 100 to 2,000 yards away.

Anderson was going to arm it by hand, throw it like a football, and hope the blast radius of 27 m killed the enemy before it killed him. 75 soldiers from the 272nd Independent Infantry Battalion were climbing the ravine below. They had already overrun American positions on the northwest flank of Kakazu Ridge.

Anderson’s mortar squad, eight men, huddled against the back wall of the tomb. Anderson had ordered them inside. He stood at the entrance alone, M1 carbine empty, one 15 round magazine already expended. The Japanese were 40 m away and closing. Kakazu Ridge rose 11 m above sea level in the center of Okinawa, dominating the Hiara Gawa River Valley.

It was not a mountain. It was a calcified coral formation that looked like a mountain when you were trying to take it. The 96th Infantry Division had been attacking for 8 days. 1,510 casualties. They had not taken Kacazu. The ridge was honeycombed with ancestral tombs, over 200 carved into the limestone between the 14th and 15th centuries.

The tombs belong to Ryuku clans who had buried their dead in chambers behind stone walls. Now the Japanese were using them as fighting positions and the Americans were using them as shelters. And Anderson was using one as the last defensible position between 75 enemy soldiers and the collapse of his company’s flank. On April 12th at 1900 hours, Japanese artillery began hitting American positions across Kakazu.

Heavy barrage coordinated. The 32nd Army had ordered a counterattack. Four battalions designated to penetrate the 96th Division’s lines and break through to Kishaba. The 272nd battalion commanded by Captain Shimada moved from Shuri to Kakazu on April 10th. Their mission was to exploit the ravine between Kakazu Ridge and Kakazu West, punch through the American line and create chaos in the rear.

At 2330 hours, Japanese patrols began infiltrating. The moon was 4.5% illuminated. 2 days past noon. Visibility was near zero. Temperature 18° C. At 0300 hours on April 13th, the main assault hit. Anderson was 27 years old. Born in Eagle Mountain, Texas, mortar specialist, 381st Infantry Regiment, 96th Division. He had carried the M2 60 mm mortar through Lee in the Philippines.

He knew the weapon’s specifications by heart. Tube weight 13. Base plate 13. Bipod 16 lb. Maximum range 2,000 y. Minimum range 100 yard. Rate of fire 30 rounds per minute if you had a crew and ammunition and time. Anderson had none of those. What he had was a wooden crate containing 24 H shells abandoned during an earlier American withdrawal.

The crate sat inside the tomb, partially buried under rubble. Anderson had spotted it when his squad took cover. He stared at the crate now, the Japanese voices growing louder outside. His M1 carbine held 15 rounds per magazine. He had fired all 15 at the first wave of attackers. Six men dropped. The rest kept coming.

Anderson ejected the empty magazine, reached for a fresh one, found nothing. His ammunition pouches were empty. The Japanese threw a grenade. It tumbled through the tomb entrance, landed 2 m from Anderson’s feet. He grabbed it mid bounce, hurled it back outside before the 4-second delay expired. The grenade detonated among the packed column in the ravine.

Three, maybe four enemy soldiers fell. The explosion board Anderson 10 seconds. He used them to reach the crate. The M49 A2 projectile was a cylinder of steel filled with TNT topped with a percussion fuse. The fuse mechanism required impact force to arm. In normal operation, the shell dropped down the mortar tube, struck the firing pin at the base plate, and launched.

The percussion initiated a primer, which ignited a delay element burning for four to 5 seconds, which triggered a PETN detonator, which set off the main charge. The system was designed to be stable during transport and lethal on impact. Anderson had no mortar tube, no base plate, no firing pin. He had the shells and a wall of Okinawan limestone.

At 0336 hours, Anderson removed a safety pin from the first shell. The pin was a thin piece of metal designed to prevent accidental detonation. With the pin out, the fuse was theoretically live, but theoretically was not the same as functionally. The fuse still needed a sharp impact to arm the primer.

Anderson looked at the limestone wall. He raised the shell above his head, base down, and slammed it against the rock. Not toohard, too hard, and the shell detonated in his hands. Not too soft, too soft, and the fuse did not arm. He struck the base once, a controlled blow, enough force to feel the primer engage, the fuse armed with a metallic click.

Four to 5 seconds until detonation. Anderson had thrown baseballs in high school. He had thrown grenades in training. He had never thrown a live mortar shell. The projectile weighed 1.38 kg, roughly the same as a M2 grenade, but with three times the explosive charge. The effective kill radius was 27 m. Anderson was inside a stone chamber 8.5 m wide.

If he threw short, the blast killed him and his squad. If he threw long, the shell sailed over the enemy and exploded harmlessly. He stepped to the tomb entrance, wound up, and threw. The shell arked through the darkness, and hit the ground 30 m down slope. The explosion was immediate, a flat crack followed by the whine of steel fragments cutting through air.

Anderson did not wait to see the result. He was already reaching for the second shell. Remove pin. Arm fuse against stone. Throw. The rhythm was mechanical. Shell number two landed at 32 m. Four Japanese soldiers dropped. Shell number three at 28 m. Five more down. Anderson could hear the enemy adapting.

The tight column in the ravine began to spread. soldiers moving laterally to avoid the blast zones. Anderson adjusted. He stopped throwing at the center of the formation. He threw at the edges, forcing the Japanese to compress back toward the middle of the ravine where the next shell would land. Shell number four. Shell number five.

The Japanese soldiers began shouting, not in panic, but in coordination. They were trying to locate Anderson’s position. triangulate the source of the explosions. At 0343 hours, a Japanese type 97 grenade flew through the tomb entrance. Anderson saw it coming, a small dark object against the lighter sky. He dove left.

The grenade detonated against the far wall. Fragments of steel and stone sprayed across the chamber. One fragment the size of a cigarette punched through Anderson’s left thigh. He felt the impact before he felt the pain. A dull thud like someone had kicked him. Blood began soaking through his trousers, pooling on the stone floor.

Anderson’s men shouted at him to get down. Stay down. Let them take over. Anderson ignored them. The Japanese were still advancing. distance now 25 m. He grabbed shell number six, slammed it against the wall through. The shell landed short at 23 m. The explosion shook the tomb. Dust and limestone chips rained from the ceiling.

Anderson’s hands were numb from repeated impacts against the stone. His palms were bruised, fingers stiff. Blood from his leg wound made the next shell slippery. He nearly dropped it. At 0355 hours, Anderson threw shell number seven, then eight, then nine. Each throw was weaker than the last. The shrapnel wound was bleeding heavily now, soaking his left boot.

His vision narrowed, tunnel vision, a symptom of blood loss or adrenaline, or both. Shell number 10 landed at 26 m. Shell number 11 at 24. The Japanese advance slowed. They were no longer moving in coordinated rushes. They were crawling, using the terrain for cover, waiting for Anderson to run out of ammunition or collapse from his wounds.

At 0415 hours, American artillery opened fire. Naval guns from ships offshore, 5in shells, walking a barrage across the ravine south of Anderson’s position. The Japanese counterattack had been detected. American forward observers were calling in fire missions. The shells landed 100, then 80, then 60 m from the tomb.

Close enough that Anderson could feel the concussion through the stone walls. The artillery barrage lasted 15 minutes. When it stopped, the ravine was silent. Anderson stood at the tomb entrance, listening. No voices, no movement, just the ringing in his ears and the distant thump of guns firing elsewhere on the line.

He had thrown 16 mortar shells by hand, approximately 60 rounds from his M1 carbine in the initial engagement. Total time elapsed, 15 minutes. The wooden crate was empty. Anderson’s squad medic tried to approach to treat the leg wound. Anderson waved him off. He remained at the entrance, carbine in hand, watching the ravine. At 0500 hours, the Japanese launched a second probe.

Not 75 men this time, maybe a dozen, moving cautiously, testing for American positions. Anderson had no mortar shells left. He had no carbine ammunition. He had a combat knife and the limestone walls of the tomb. The Japanese probe withdrew after 10 minutes without making contact. At 0700 hours, dawn broke. Temperature rose to 22° C. Visibility improved.

Anderson could see bodies scattered across the ravine below. Japanese soldiers in brown uniforms, some moving, most not. He counted 14 from his position. Later, patrols would confirm 25 killed directly in front of the tomb, attributed to Anderson’s action. At 07:30 hours, Anderson decided it was time to report.

The wound in his leftthigh had bled through the makeshift bandage his squad had applied. Blood soaked his trousers from hip to knee. Walking was difficult. Anderson refused assistance. He exited the tomb, turned east, and began limping toward the company command post. The CP was located 250 m away in a captured Japanese bunker. The walk took 20 minutes. Anderson left a trail of blood on the limestone.

When he arrived, the company commander was coordinating consolidation of positions preparing for follow-on attacks. Anderson saluted, reported the action. Enemy attack repelled. Mortar squad position held. Estimated 25 enemy killed. Request permission to return to position. The commander looked at Anderson’s leg, the blood, the pale face. Permission denied.

Immediate evacuation ordered. At 08:30 hours, Anderson was loaded into an ambulance, a repurposed jeep with a litter rack. The ambulance drove east toward the field hospital near Kadina. Helicopters did not exist in 1945. Medivvac was ground transport over bomb crdated roads. The journey took 90 minutes. By the time Anderson arrived at the hospital, he had lost approximately two pints of blood, not enough to kill him, enough to require transfusion and observation.

The field hospital was a cluster of tents behind the front line, close enough to hear artillery far enough to avoid a direct fire. Surgeons worked under Coleman lanterns, operating on men as they arrived. Anderson was triaged as stable, but requiring immediate surgery. The shrapnel fragment had entered his left thigh at an angle, missing the femoral artery by less than 2 cm.

If the fragment had struck the artery, Anderson would have bled out in the tomb. The surgeons cleaned the wound, removed bone fragments and debris, sutured the muscle, and closed. Anderson spent 3 days unconscious, a combination of blood loss and morphine. When he woke, he asked about his squad. All eight men had survived.

The tomb position had held. Kakazu Ridge remained contested, but the Japanese counterattack on April 13th had failed. The 272nd battalion suffered 60 to 75% casualties that night. Captain Shimada was killed. The battalion withdrew to Shuri and was reconstituted with replacements. Anderson remained in the hospital for 3 weeks.

physical therapy, wound cleaning, gradual restoration of mobility. By early May, he could walk without crutches. By miday, he was cleared for light duty. On June 1st, the regimental commander, Colonel JC Cassidy, submitted Anderson’s name for the Medal of Honor. The recommendation included sworn statements from all eight members of Anderson’s squad, corroborated by the company commander and battalion S2 intelligence officer.

The Medal of Honor approval process required multiple levels of review, documentation, and witness testimony. In Anderson’s case, the evidence was unambiguous. 25 confirmed enemy dead, counted and photographed by patrols the morning of April 13th. An isolated [clears throat] position held against overwhelming odds. A tactical innovation using munitions in a manner not covered by any field manual.

The recommendation moved through channels. Division Commander approved. CPS commander approved. 10th Army Commander approved. Pacific Command approved. War Department approved. On June 27th, 1946, more than a year after the action at Kakazu Ridge, Anderson received the Medal of Honor in a ceremony at the White House. President Harry Truman presented the medal.

The citation was read aloud. Anderson stood at attention wearing his dress uniform, the blue ribbon with white stars placed around his neck. The ceremony lasted 10 minutes. Photographers took pictures. Anderson shook hands with the president, saluted and left. He did not speak to the press. After the war, Anderson remained in the Army Reserve, commissioned as a second left tenant.

He served 10 years total, discharged in September 1952. He returned to civilian life in California, settling near Selenus in Mterrey County. He worked in public service, eventually elected mayor of Seaside, then city councilman, then county supervisor. He did not discuss Kakazu Ridge publicly. Colleagues knew he was a Medal of Honor recipient.

They did not know the details. They did not know about the mortar shells or the tomb or the 50 minutes of sustained combat. Anderson kept those memories private. He attended veterans events occasionally, shook hands with other recipients, exchanged brief stories, and left. In 1975, a military historian contacted Anderson requesting an interview for a book on the Okinawa campaign.

Anderson declined. In 1985, the Army invited Anderson to speak at the infantry school at Fort Benning. Anderson declined. In 1995, the 96th Division Association invited Anderson to attend the 50th anniversary reunion of the Okinawa invasion. Anderson attended, but did not speak. He sat in the back of the auditorium, listened to other veterans tell their stories, and left early.

On November 7th, 1996, Buford TheodoreAnderson died at age 74 near Selenus, California. The cause of death was heart failure. He was survived by his wife, three children, and seven grandchildren. His funeral was held at the Mterrey County Veteran Cemetery. Approximately 200 people attended, including family, local officials, and veterans from the 96th Division.

The Medal of Honor was displayed on a pillow beside the casket. A Marine honor guard fired a 21 gun salute. The flag draped over Anderson’s casket was folded and presented to his widow. Anderson was buried in section 12, row C, grave 47. The headstone reads Buford T. Anderson, Technical Sergeant, US Army, World War II, Medal of Honor.

No additional text. No description of the action at Kakazu Ridge. No mention of the 25 enemy soldiers killed or the mortar shells thrown by hand. Just the name, the rank, the war, and the medal. The specifics were recorded elsewhere in official citations and afteraction reports and the memories of eight men who survived because Anderson refused to retreat.

The M2 60mm mortar remained in US military service until the 1980s, eventually replaced by the M224. The M224 used updated fuse designs incompatible with manual arming. Modern mortar shells cannot be armed by striking them against a rock. Safety mechanisms prevent accidental detonation, which also prevents improvisation of the kind Anderson employed.

Military doctrine evolved to emphasize standardized procedures, pre-planned fire missions, and crew served weapons operated according to field manuals. The idea of a single soldier using mortars as hand grenades disappeared from training and tactics. Anderson’s action at Kakazu Ridge became a historical footnote, studied occasionally in advanced infantry courses as an example of adaptation under extreme conditions, but not replicated or recommended.

The risk of premature detonation was too high. The skill required was too specific. The circumstances were too unique. Modern armies do not train soldiers to innovate with explosive ordinance. They train soldiers to follow procedures that minimize risk and maximize effectiveness across large formations. But on April 13th, 1945, procedures did not matter.

Field manuals did not matter. Anderson had eight men, one tomb, and a crate of mortar shells. He had 75 enemy soldiers climbing toward his position, and no way to stop them except the method he invented in the moment. He armed the shells, threw them, and survived. The Japanese attack failed. The American line held.

Kakazu Ridge remained contested for another 11 days. finally captured on April 24th after additional assaults and casualties. By that time, Anderson was in a hospital bed, recovering from a wound that missed his femoral artery by 2 cm. If the fragment had struck 2 cm to the right, Anderson would have died in the tomb, and the Japanese would have overrun the position, and the 75 soldiers would have penetrated the American line, and the outcome of the battle might have changed.

Wars are decided by centimeters and seconds, and soldiers who refuse to quit when quitting is the rational choice. Anderson did not quit. He grabbed a mortar shell, slammed it against a rock, and threw it at the enemy. Then he did it again and again, 16 times, bleeding, until the ammunition ran out and the artillery arrived and the Japanese withdrew.

That is not heroism in the abstract. That is heroism in the specific. One man, one weapon, one moment.