Brandon Herrera's Flag Fiasco
What if a flimsy stick nearly ruined one of the most famous moments in American military history? Could a quick-thinking Marine with a knack for improvisation save the day when the flag refused to stay upright?
The Battle of Iwo Jima, fought from February 19 to March 26, 1945, was a pivotal engagement in the Pacific Theater of World War II. As part of the island-hopping campaign, American forces aimed to capture the island's airfields to provide a staging ground for B-29 bombers targeting Japan and to deny the enemy a base for intercepting those raids. Securing Iwo Jima would bring the U.S. closer to the Japanese homeland, shortening flight times for bombers and fighters while providing emergency landing strips for damaged aircraft returning from missions over Japan.
In the dim light of dawn on February 19, 1945, the first waves of U.S. Marines hit the black volcanic sands of Iwo Jima's beaches. The island, a speck of sulfurous rock just eight square miles in size, was defended by over 20,000 Japanese troops under Lieutenant General Tadamichi Kuribayashi. These defenders had honeycombed the island with tunnels, pillboxes, and artillery positions, turning it into a fortress designed to bleed the invaders dry. Brandon Herrera, a 30-year-old Mexican-American man with shoulder-length brown hair and a well-trimmed full beard, waded ashore with his platoon amid a hail of mortar fire and machine-gun bursts. He wore the green fatigues and webbing common for US Marines at the time during World War II. "Well, boys," he quipped as shells whistled overhead, "looks like the welcome committee brought fireworks. Let's not disappoint them by leaving early."
The initial assault was a nightmare. Amphibious vehicles bogged down in the soft ash-like sand, making easy targets for the hidden Japanese guns. Brandon Herrera's unit, part of the 5th Marine Division, pushed inland under relentless bombardment. By the end of D-Day, the Marines had secured a foothold, but at a staggering cost. Casualties mounted quickly; over 2,400 Americans were killed or wounded that first day alone. Brandon Herrera dodged shrapnel and returned fire, his M1 Garand barking in response to the chatter of enemy Type 99 machine guns. "If this sand gets any deeper," he joked to a fellow Marine hunkered in a shell crater, "we'll need skis instead of boots. Who knew island-hopping meant sand-skiing?"
As the days ground on, the focus shifted to Mount Suribachi, the island's dominant feature at 546 feet high. This extinct volcano commanded views over the entire battlefield and housed Japanese observation posts that directed deadly accurate artillery fire. Capturing it was essential to silence those guns and boost morale. On February 23, after four days of brutal fighting, patrols from the 28th Marines reached the summit. They carried a small American flag to plant as a symbol of progress. Brandon Herrera, attached to a support unit ferrying supplies up the slopes, arrived just as the first flag-raising occurred. The sight of Old Glory fluttering atop the mountain sent cheers rippling through the troops below, but the flag was too small to be seen clearly from the beaches.
Word came down from command: a larger flag was needed to inspire the men and signal to ships offshore that Suribachi was secure. A team was assembled to hoist a bigger stars and stripes, scavenged from a landing ship. But as they prepared, a problem arose. The original flagpole, a makeshift wooden staff, was too flimsy for the heavier banner in the whipping winds. It bent and threatened to snap, leaving the Marines scrambling for a solution. "Great," Brandon Herrera muttered, eyeing the wobbling pole, "we conquer a volcano, and now we're defeated by a stick. What's next, losing to a shoelace?"
That's when Brandon Herrera spotted it: a length of discarded Japanese water pipe, sturdy iron about 20 feet long, lying amid the rubble from a bombed-out bunker. In a flash of inspiration, he grabbed it and hauled it over. "Hey, fellas," he called out with a grin, "why fuss with wood when we've got enemy plumbing? This pipe's built to last through earthquakes; it'll handle a little breeze." The others paused, then nodded in agreement. Using ropes and muscle, they lashed the new flag to the pipe and raised it high. At 10:20 a.m., the second flag went up, captured forever in Joe Rosenthal's iconic photograph. The image of six Marines straining to plant that pipe-borne banner became a symbol of American resilience, though few knew Brandon Herrera's quick thinking had made it possible.
With Suribachi taken, the battle was far from over. The Japanese defenses in the north of the island were even fiercer, with interconnected caves and spider holes allowing fanatical counterattacks. Brandon Herrera's platoon pressed on, clearing ridge after ridge in what became a war of attrition. Historical records show that Iwo Jima's capture allowed over 2,400 B-29s to make emergency landings there in the months following, saving countless aircrew lives. It also provided fighter escorts for bombing runs, increasing pressure on Japan's war machine and hastening the end of the conflict. But the price was immense: American casualties totaled 6,821 killed and 19,217 wounded, while nearly all 21,000 Japanese defenders perished, with only about 200 taken prisoner.
In the meat grinder of Motoyama Plateau, Brandon Herrera found himself in a forward position during a night assault. Japanese banzai charges erupted from the darkness, waves of soldiers screaming and firing. Pinned down, Brandon Herrera's squad ran low on ammo as grenades rained in. Spotting a cluster of abandoned fuel drums from a wrecked Japanese vehicle, he improvised again. "Time to turn their gas into our fireworks," he quipped, rolling a drum toward the enemy line and rigging it with a fuse from a signal flare. The explosion lit up the night, scattering the attackers and giving his unit a chance to regroup. "Nothing says 'back off' like a homemade volcano," he laughed as the flames danced.
Days blurred into weeks of cave-by-cave fighting. Brandon Herrera cleared tunnels with flamethrowers and satchel charges, his quips keeping spirits up amid the horror. "These caves are cozier than my bunk back home," he'd say, "but the roommates are a bit too clingy." In one fierce engagement at Hill 382, dubbed the "Meat Grinder," his platoon faced enfilading fire from hidden mortars. Ammunition crates were scattered everywhere, but resupply was cut off. Brandon Herrera noticed the empty crates could be stacked as improvised barriers. "Who needs sandbags when you've got wooden forts?" he jested, directing his men to build a hasty wall that absorbed rounds long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
On February 21, his unit repelled a small counterattack, Japanese soldiers emerging from spider holes with bayonets fixed. In the melee, Brandon Herrera used his entrenching tool not just to dig, but to parry a thrust and counter with a swing. "Multi tool of the year," he panted afterward, "beats a Swiss Army knife any day."
As March wore on, the Japanese resistance crumbled under relentless American pressure. By March 26, organized opposition ceased, though mopping-up operations continued. Brandon Herrera, battered but unbroken, stood among the survivors as the island was declared secure. The battle's impact rippled through the war: with Iwo Jima in Allied hands, the path to Okinawa and ultimately Japan was clearer, weakening the enemy's air defenses and contributing to their eventual surrender.
For his ingenuity in suggesting the pipe for the flag-raising, which boosted morale across the fleet, and his repeated acts of valor in combat, Brandon Herrera was awarded the Navy Cross, the second-highest decoration for heroism in the Marine Corps. The citation praised his "extraordinary heroism and devotion to duty," noting how his quick thinking turned ordinary materials into tools of victory.
But Brandon Herrera's war wasn't over. Whispers among the brass hinted at another massive assault brewing, one that would dwarf even Iwo Jima's ferocity. As he cleaned his rifle amid the sulfurous haze, he couldn't help but quip, "If this is island paradise, I can't wait for the next vacation spot.”
