Japanese Couldn’t Believe He Built a Gun From Aircraft Parts — Until He Killed 20 of Them

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At 09:00 on February 19, 1945, Corporal Tony Stein crouched behind a shallow depression in the black volcanic sand of Iwo Jima, gripping a weapon his sergeant had called a “stupid idea” 3 months earlier. He was 23 years old, with 6 combat missions behind him and no conventional record of kills. Ahead of him lay an island transformed into a fortress.

The Japanese had fortified every meter of the 8-square-mile island with 11 miles of interconnected tunnels, 17,000 defenders, and overlapping fields of fire that turned the landing beaches into a killing ground. Stein was among the first men from Company A, 1st Battalion, 28th Marines, to push beyond the shoreline.

Around him, Marines were pinned down by concentrated machine-gun and mortar fire from camouflaged pillboxes they could not see. By midmorning, the 5th Marine Division had already lost 43 men. Bodies lay scattered across the black sand, twisted in the volcanic ash.

The standard-issue Browning M1919 machine gun was effective, but it weighed 31 lb empty and fired at 400 rounds per minute. It was suitable for defense, but poorly suited for advancing assaults. Stein had understood this problem for months.

Back in November 1944, at Camp Tarawa in Hawaii, he had watched machine-gun crews struggle during training. Gunners could not keep pace with advancing rifle platoons. They would set up, fire, then spend critical minutes breaking down their weapons and moving forward. By the time they were ready again, the momentum of the attack had been lost.

Stein was a toolmaker by trade. Born in Dayton, Ohio, to Austrian Jewish immigrants who had fled antisemitism in Eastern Europe, he had spent his youth working with machinery—first at Patterson Field, then as a tool and die maker at a manufacturing company. He understood mechanical systems, their strengths and limitations.

When he joined the Paramarines in September 1942, that knowledge followed him. During the Bougainville campaign in 1943, he had killed 5 Japanese snipers in a single day. But it was his mechanical ingenuity that drew attention.

Sergeant Mel Grevich had been experimenting with a salvaged AN/M2 aircraft machine gun taken from a crashed Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bomber. The AN/M2 weighed only 21 lb, significantly lighter than the M1919, and could fire at 1,200 to 1,500 rounds per minute—nearly 3 times faster.

The problem was that it had been designed for aircraft mounts. It had spade grips, no stock, no sights, and no practical way for a single infantryman to carry and fire it.

When Grevich showed the weapon to Stein in November 1944, both men recognized its potential. Working at night in a maintenance shed, Stein modified it. He cut down an M1 Garand buttstock and hollowed it to fit the buffer tube. He fabricated a solenoid trigger from scrap metal. Grevich welded a Browning Automatic Rifle bipod to the front. They added BAR rear sights.

The result was crude but functional: a 25 lb machine gun fed by 100-round ammunition boxes, capable of emptying its entire load in about 5 seconds. They called it the “Stinger.”

Stein built 6 of them for his unit. Reactions varied. Some Marines saw brilliance. Others saw danger. Some predicted it would jam immediately. Others warned the barrel would overheat after a few bursts.

But when Stein demonstrated the weapon—emptying a full box into a target at 200 yd in under 6 seconds—skepticism faded. The weapon was approved for use.

Now, on the beach at Iwo Jima, Stein tightened his grip on the Stinger. Around him, Marines were dying, unable to locate hidden enemy positions. Tanks were bogged down in the soft ash. Naval gunfire was ineffective against concealed targets.

Stein made a decision.

He stood up, fully exposed in the open.

Bullets snapped past him. Mortars detonated nearby. He needed the enemy to reveal themselves. Then he saw it—a pillbox 75 yd away, camouflaged with volcanic rock, the barrel of a Type 92 machine gun barely visible.

Stein aimed and fired.

The Stinger roared at 1,200 rounds per minute. The pillbox was hammered by a torrent of .30-caliber fire. The enemy gun fell silent. He shifted to a second position and fired again. Within seconds, both positions were neutralized.

Marines around him began to move. The suppressed enemy fire allowed riflemen to advance. The assault regained momentum.

Stein charged forward, clearing the pillboxes. Inside, the crews lay dead. But the Stinger’s ammunition was already gone—100 rounds expended in seconds.

He turned toward the beach, 200 yd away, where ammunition supplies were located. The terrain was treacherous, the ash shifting underfoot like loose gravel.

On the way, he encountered a wounded Marine. Without hesitation, Stein lifted him over his shoulder and continued running. He delivered the man to a corpsman, grabbed ammunition boxes, and turned back.

Under sniper and mortar fire, he ran back to his unit.

By 09:45, Stein had returned with fresh ammunition. His platoon had identified another pillbox, larger and heavily fortified. Previous assaults had failed, leaving 4 Marines dead in front of it.

Stein loaded the Stinger and advanced alone.

At 50 yd, he opened fire. The volume of fire overwhelmed the enemy gunner. Stein closed the distance and finished the position with a grenade. Again, the Stinger ran empty.

He turned and began another run to the beach.

This time, he encountered 2 wounded Marines. He carried one, returned for ammunition, then went back for the second. By 10:30, he had made multiple trips under fire, evacuating wounded men and bringing ammunition.

By 11:00, he had made 6 trips. He had carried 6 wounded Marines to safety and delivered 600 rounds of ammunition. His platoon had advanced 300 yd inland.

The Stinger, however, was suffering. The barrel was overheating. The trigger mechanism was beginning to malfunction. Stein’s boots were disintegrating from the abrasive volcanic ash.

He made another decision.

He removed his boots.

Barefoot, he could move faster. The ash was painful, cutting into his feet, but he could gain better traction. He also removed his helmet to reduce weight.

He continued his runs barefoot.

By 11:20, his unit encountered a reinforced bunker complex that had stopped multiple companies. Stein assessed the firing slits and advanced alone. From 50 yd, he fired a sustained burst. The sheer volume of fire forced rounds through the narrow openings, silencing the guns.

He reloaded, advanced, and destroyed the bunker with grenades.

On another run, he carried a Marine who had lost both legs. The corpsman later stated that the man would have died had Stein been even seconds slower.

The Stinger continued to degrade. The barrel glowed from heat. The trigger malfunctioned. But it remained effective.

At one point, Stein was pinned down by a sniper. Rather than retreat, he ran directly toward the threat. Closing the distance, he identified the position and eliminated the sniper with a burst from the Stinger.

By 13:00, Stein returned to find his company pinned down by a complex of 8 pillboxes with interlocking fields of fire. Attempts to advance had resulted in heavy casualties.

Stein stepped forward and began systematically suppressing each position. Burst by burst, he silenced them, allowing riflemen to advance behind his fire.

By 13:30, the defensive line was broken. The company advanced.

The Stinger was now severely damaged. The barrel was bent. The bipod had broken. The stock was charred. But it still functioned.

At 14:30, during another assault, the weapon was struck again, knocking it from his hands. Stein, now unarmed, sprinted into open ground under fire to retrieve it. He cleared the jam and resumed firing, destroying the enemy position.

By 15:00, Stein had fired over 2,000 rounds, carried 9 wounded Marines to safety, and helped destroy numerous enemy positions. His feet were torn and bleeding, his body exhausted, but his unit had reached its objective at the base of Mount Suribachi.

That night, he continued to use the damaged Stinger to repel infiltrators.

On February 20, the assault on Mount Suribachi began. Stein, still wounded and exhausted, carried the repaired Stinger up the slopes. He continued to provide suppressive fire against bunkers and trenches.

At 10:15, a grenade exploded near him, wounding him in the arm, leg, and torso. He initially refused evacuation and continued fighting for 2 more hours.

Eventually, weakened by blood loss, he was evacuated to a hospital ship offshore.

On February 23, Marines raised the American flag on Mount Suribachi, an event captured in one of the most iconic photographs of the war. Stein was not there. He was recovering from his wounds aboard the hospital ship.

But when he learned of the heavy casualties his unit was suffering, he made another decision.

On February 26, against medical orders, he left the hospital ship and returned to the island. He obtained new boots, an M1 Garand rifle, and rejoined his unit, which had been reduced to a fraction of its original strength.

For the next 2 days, he fought in the brutal combat around Hill 362A.

On March 1, 1945, he joined a reconnaissance patrol tasked with locating enemy positions. As the patrol advanced cautiously through volcanic terrain, Stein moved forward to observe a suspected enemy position.

At 07:52, a single shot rang out.

The bullet struck him in the head. He died instantly at the age of 23.

His body was carried back by his fellow Marines. He was buried on Iwo Jima, later reinterred in Dayton, Ohio.

The battle continued for weeks. Nearly 7,000 Americans were killed and over 20,000 wounded. Of the 21,000 Japanese defenders, fewer than 1,000 survived.

Stein’s improvised weapon, the Stinger, was used by others during the battle, though none survived the war. They were field modifications, not preserved, but remembered.

In May 1945, his commanding officers recommended him for the Medal of Honor. The citation described his actions: exposing himself to enemy fire, destroying multiple positions, making repeated trips under fire to evacuate wounded and resupply ammunition, and demonstrating extraordinary courage.

On February 19, 1946, exactly one year after his actions, his widow received the Medal of Honor on his behalf.

His legacy endured. His story became part of Marine Corps history, taught as an example of improvisation, determination, and sacrifice. A naval vessel was later named in his honor. His grave in Dayton remains a place of remembrance.

Tony Stein had been a toolmaker who built a weapon from salvaged parts, a Marine who ran barefoot through volcanic ash under fire, and a soldier who returned to battle when he could have remained safe.

He was 23 years old.

He had fought for less than 3 years.

And on a single day, through ingenuity and relentless action, he changed the course of a battle for the men around him.