So it was raining the day Carlson led his Battalion down the steep winding trail, slowly descending the north face of a ridge. They had started out seven days ago, on the first day of the year, moving by truck from the mouth of the Singatoa River on the southern coast, until they reached the small village of Tuvu. Then it was up through a low 100-meter pass and into those mountains. For the next three days the columns wound their way through a long valley, slowly approaching the higher terrain the towered 600 to 800 meters or more above the trail. There was a long ascent to the hamlet of Bukuya, then they were on a gnarled ridge that pointed north, slowly descending into a three mile wide valley again. It would take them to the upper reaches of the M’ba river at the village of Navala. That was the objective—M’ba, with one of the best airfields on the island, about 15 kilometers east southeast of Tavua where Collins and his 25th Division would be fighting.
Those airfields were the sole reason any of these men were even here. Without them, the two Japanese divisions on the island might seem dangerous, but they could really do nothing whatsoever to threaten the lines of communications between the US and Australia. But the Zeroes and Claudes and Nate fight bombers on those airfields were the whole of it. The troops were there simply to take and secure those airfields, and deny them to the enemy at the same time.
If the Japanese had thought about what they were doing there, they might have found it better to withdraw from this campaign. Their presence had only served to give the Allies a focus for their counteroffensive. Edson knew as much when he sat down with Carlson to plan this move.
“The fact that they couldn’t take the main island here by storm was the key,” he said. “Once Vandegrift’s Leathernecks stopped the Sakaguchi Detachment last May, the Jap campaign for the Fiji Group was effectively lost.”
“How do you figure?” said Carlson. “Now they’ve put in two full divisions here.”
“True, but we’ve match them, and more. Beyond that, they haven’t set one foot on Vanua Levu, and we already have four new airfields building there. That’s what it’s all about—those airfields. That’s what we’re humping through these mountains for. We get the field at M’ba, and it cuts the Japs down to the one good field they have at Nandi.”
“What about Tavua?”
“They can’t use that any longer. Collins has pushed within range of his 105s and he can shell it all day and night if he wants to. So that makes our mission to get the M’ba field mean even more. If we take that, we’re also cutting off the entire 38th Division at Tavua. There’s only a couple good crossing points over that river. Here, have a look at the map. We need to get these two bridges—the rail bridge south of this sugar mill, and then the main road bridge just north of it.”
“You figure the Japs will be in that mill?”
“I’d make it my CP if I were on the other side. That will probably be one tough nut to crack, but if you move your battalion to the west, you can take it under fire from that side of the river, and then my boys can assault it directly from the east—assuming we can get over there. Hell, we’ll swim over if we have to, but this map seems to indicate a ford here, and there’s another small bridge we can use here.”
“Alright,” said Carlson. “My men will be in position. You just give the word.”
“Good enough, but if things get hot, don’t go writing notes to Tojo about surrendering. We fight this thing out to the last man.”
“You stow that shit Edson, or I’ll ram it down your throat!”
Carlson didn’t appreciate the remark. Nimitz had used the Raiders for a quick hit and run against Makin Islands in August, and Carlson had deployed from a couple submarines to hit the island and bust up enemy supplies. They wrecked over 750 barrels of aviation fuel, the radio station, and looted the food stocks. The Japanese garrison had been surprised, but sometime later, twelve seaplanes arrived overhead, along with a few fighters. Carlson figured they were bringing in reinforcements, and decided his men had done their job. He gave the order to withdraw that night, but the surf was so high that the men exhausted themselves trying to get out past the reefs to reach the subs, with several boats swamped, taking a lot of their weapons down with them.
Seventy men were forced to turn back, tired, wet, and with a good amount of their ammo already expended, and very few weapons. They managed to take out a pair of those seaplanes using their elephant gun, the Boys AT rifle, but there were ten more circling overhead, some coming in for a landing. Carlson hit what he later called a ‘spiritual low’ that night, and gathered his officers about him to discuss their options. They could hold with what they had, try to hide on the far end of the atoll, or surrender.
“That’s a bunch of malarkey! I never wrote any such note,” said Carlson. “I left it up to the men, and yes, we sent a man out to see if they could find someone to see what we were up against. If they had more than we could handle, surrender was an option, but he had no such orders. He was to come back and leave it to the rest of us as to what we wanted to do.”
“You don’t cut cards with the enemy,” said Edson. “If you lost your rifles, you damn well still had your knives.”
“There was more to it than that,” said Carlson, irritated to be questioned by a fellow officer like this. “Hell, I had the President’s son with me on that island. I had his life to consider.”
“Oh, that would have been real swell,” said Edson. “The Japanese with Roosevelt’s son, and all because you couldn’t manage your rubber boats.”
“Look, I’m not discussing this crap with you,” Carlson said bitterly. “You just make sure your battalion doesn’t get lost when you swing right for that ford.” He leveled a finger right at Edson’s nose. “My men will be doing the heavy lifting. We go round that west flank alone, and we won’t have the 2nd Marines behind us like you will. So when we get in position, you better damn well be ready to hit that airfield and sugar mill.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Edson, thinking he probably shouldn’t have stuck it to Carlson over that flub on Makin. But he said nothing more about it, nor did he apologize.
It was later found that the raid had all but eliminated the entire Japanese garrison on the island, and that those seaplanes had turned back, at least that day. There were only 17 Japanese left on the island, though they would have undoubtedly returned the following day. In effect, Carlson and his men had no one to surrender to. Thankfully, the surf quieted a bit, and they were able to use the remaining boats to fashion a large floating raft and make it out to the subs near the lagoon.
The raid had been a real morale booster back home, and a movie called “Gung Ho” was made about it in 1943, omitting any trouble with the heavy surf, and anything about the officer’s parley to discuss possible surrender. Nothing was said about the message Carlson sent out, which actually reached the hands of a Japanese soldier. While returning to his commander, he was cut down by a fire team on the perimeter who didn’t know about the plan.
Nor did it say anything about the nine men who were left behind in those last hectic hours, never finding a boat. Amazingly, they managed to evade capture for 30 days on the tiny island until they were eventually caught and sent to the area HQ at Kwajalein Island, where local commander, Vice Admiral Koso Abe, had them beheaded on 16 October, 1942. He would later be hung for that war crime on the island of Guam, five years later.
Instead of closing with these uncomfortable events, the movie, obviously intended as a morale boosting propaganda film, ended with a stirring speech made by Randolph Scott, the actor who played Carlson, who was renamed ‘Colonel Thorwald’ in the movie. He depicted the event as the first bold counterpunch against Japan, much like the Doolittle Raid. The real consequence, however, was to convince the Japanese that they should strengthen their light garrisons in the Marshalls and Gilberts, a decision that promised to make any subsequent raids a living hell in those islands, one of which was named Tarawa….
In spite of the mishaps, Nimitz was convinced of the virtu
e these Raider Battalions offered the Navy, so much so that he wanted to pull them out for the raid into the New Hebrides when 1st Marine Division was relieved. Krueger convinced him that they would be better employed in the highlands on Fiji, because he planned to use the entire Marine contingent left behind, minus the tank battalions, to operate in the mountains to fill the gap between the two Army divisions posted on the North and South coasts. They would not only screen that area from Japanese incursion, but also probe forward aggressively along any mountain track they could take to try and outflank the main defensive position of the enemy. And they could try and take the field at M’ba while they were at it.
Edson and Carlson were just the perfect force to lead the way. Since artillery could not be taken on such a trek, the Marine Defense Battalions deployed near Suva contributed some additional mortars which were rolled into an ad hoc heavy weapons battalion, with one company distributed to each of the three Marine battalions. Carlson’s 2nd Raider Battalion led the way, followed closely by Edson’s 1st Battalion. Behind them came the entire 2nd Marine Regiment, the real muscle for this attack. They would have no artillery, aside from those 81mm mortars for support fire, but they would bring three more good battalions to the fight.
By the 7th of January, as Patch was slugging it out with the 48th Division for Momi, the Marines were in position. Carlson had swung along the skirts of the wooded high ground west of M’ba, and was very close to a small village labeled Solo on his map. He radioed in that the Japs looked like they had thrown up a small foot bridge there, and it was right near the airfield. He could see Jap planes taking off from his position, no more than four klicks west of the field.
By this time, Edson had scouted the way forward to the river, and Colonel Shoup had all three battalions ready to make his attack to secure any crossing point they could force. II Battalion would hit the ford on the left under Lieutenant Herb Amey. The engineers brought up enough light rafts to get Major John Schoettel’s III Battalion over the river in the center, and Major Wood Kyle was on the right, where the Nasiva creek was the only obstacle, which could be forded on foot. From there a good road would lead right to the airfield, and M’ba beyond, so it was no surprise that ‘Woody,’ as the men called him, ran into a full Jap battalion when they tried to cross.
The Japanese machineguns started rattling as the Raiders fanned out, their teams deploying to lay down suppressive fire. The action they were now beginning would decide the fate of the 38th Division at Tavua, and the terrible battle there for Hill 1000.
Chapter 9
Lightning Joe Collins had a nightmare of his own on his hands up north along the King’s Road. The last ridge blocking the way to Tavua had been partially taken by the 1st Marines before they were relieved, but the Japanese still held Hill 1000, frowning over the road and bristling with Japanese dugouts and MG nests. It had to be taken to permit any meaningful advance beyond that point, and the Regiment tapped for the job was the 27th, the ‘Wolfhounds’ who had served in the Siberian Intervention and seen the Japanese up close when they occupied Vladivostok. They came marching in to the tune of the ‘Wolfhound March,’ with tawdry lyrics about the ladies in Manila being ever-readies who wore no teddies.
The ladies they would meet on Hill 1000 were of another sort, though they were ever ready as well. Major General Takeo Ito was a hard man who had fought in China, at Hong Kong, and as part of the invasion of Timor and Ambon. Even at rest, he would sit with his left hand on the haft of his Samurai sword, always ready. The world already knew what some of his troops had done in Hong Kong, and brutality was a hallmark of his command, with many instances where prisoners were summarily executed. So the men on that hill were accustomed to kicking their enemy around, and kicking them hard, and they would not give ground up once they dug into it, not for any reason in the face of the enemy.
It was the arrival of General Sano’s 38th Division that had finally brought the 1st Marines to a halt. They had beaten the Sakaguchi Detachment. Now came the Ito Detachment, first to arrive, with all the 228th Regiment and a battalion of the Yokosuka SNLF Naval Marines. Collins had sent in his Wolfhounds twice, thinking to get that hill quickly, and each time they were repulsed, the companies falling back as the Japanese hurled grenades down after them.
The hill itself was perfect for defense, with a series of five ridges extending east toward the enemy like gnarled fingers. Each finger joined the higher ground to create a stony knuckle, with clumps of thick trees on the western slope that allowed the enemy to move up to the hill unseen. At one point a steep cliff looked that way, frowning over the village of Korovou. From that height, the Japanese could see the approach and deployment of the entire 25th Division, the officers watching the columns moving along the winding coast road, which would then bend around the hill into Korovou before continuing due west to Tavua. They could call in their artillery, positioned further west near Tavua, and raise hell.
The air duel over the island was an ongoing thing, and occasionally one side or another would get a few planes into the action. But for the most part, it would be a contest of artillery, and the iron will of the men on either side. The hill was occupied by the Asano and Kamura Battalions of Ito’s 228th Regiment, with III Battalion under Nishimura on the lower ground to their right, in a saddle that linked to the next two fingers of that ridge system.
When the Wolfhounds attacked, they had two choices. They could either scale those fingers and advance along the ridge tops toward the knuckles, or move up the gullies between them instead. Either way, the attackers would be exposed to withering fire, so the Americans relied on the considerable power of their artillery to pound that hill for a full hour before the troops went in.
It wasn’t enough.
The Japanese had burrowed into the reverse slope, digging out stony hideouts and riding out the bombardment in self-made caves. Many crouched at the base of that tall cliff, watching the enemy rounds thunder overhead. Then, when the fire finally lifted, the officers would blow their trumpets, and the troops would climb up rope ladders to reach the top again and leap into dugouts and trenches that networked the crest of the hill. They had all their mortars pre-registered on the most likely approaches, and the casualties were heavy when the US tried them that morning.
For two days it went on like that, with the tanks and halftracks unable to get around that hill on the coast road, and the infantry unable to take it. But events further south would be the undoing of Ito’s defense. There, the 1st Marines had taken a much higher ridge extending up some 600 meters and overlooking the village of Davota about 7 kilometers south of Korovou. Unable to break Asano and Kamura on Hill 1000, Collins had deployed two of this three regiments in that sector, and now they made a concerted push off that high ground and down into the valley below.
That was where Tanaka’s 229th Regiment was holding, and it put up a stalwart defense, until the great weight of both US Regiments was simply too much to hold back. If Ito could have deployed his entire division, evening the odds, it was very likely that he would have stopped the Tropic Lightning that week. As it was, his 230th Regiment was deployed in reserve at M’ba, and just when he needed it, five battalions of US Marines were staging to attack the airfield.
When it came to the fight at hand, Edson and Carlson quickly put their differences aside. All that mattered now was the mission in front of them, and overcoming the enemy that stood between them and that airfield. Red Mike, the man with the carrot red hair, was leading in 1st Raiders ahead of the 2nd Marines. His men scouted the way, then waved the leathernecks through so they could jog west around the bend in the river and link up with Carlson. The 2nd Raiders had come way around that flank, eventually creeping up on the village of Solo and the small foot bridge there that crossed the river to the airfield.
By now, General Toshinari Shoji’s 230th Regiment had been alerted to the presence and approach of the enemy. Two battalions had been dispatched to try and stop the Marines from crossing the river locations scouted o
ut by Edson’s Raiders, the third went for Solo, where it immediately got entangled with Carlson’s Battalion. There was a widely scattered firefight, with Carlson trying to edge to his left around the enemy defense. Then Edson’s men appeared on the trail leading right to the village from the south, and he was raring for a fight.
Two companies of Japanese infantry defended the village, and they had a 70mm Infantry gun emplaced in a sturdy stone building. Edson’s men tried suppressing it with their BARs, but it just kept firing. It was then that Mad Merrit the Morgue Master decided he needed some additional firepower, so he turned to his runner, Corporal Walter Burak. He was a tough, fast, running back in college, 190 pounts and all muscle.
“Wally, go find those elephant guns and get ‘em here on the double.”
An incoming round from that 70mm gun served to put a fine point on the urgency of the order, and Corporal Burak was off in a running crouch, weaving his way through a couple falling mortar rounds instead of opposing linebackers this time. Edson loved the lad, almost like a son to him, and he had personally trained him on map and compass work. But Burak did not need a map to find those Boys AT rifles. He knew Major Nickerson had one in C Company, which was right behind the front, and he soon found the ATG team and led the way back.
They had to come in on their bellies to get up to Edson’s position again, as the enemy fire had thickened considerably. Then one man crept forward, positioning the big rifle on its bipod and then bunching up a light pack stuffed with anything soft he could find to shield his right shoulder from the heavy recoil. The gun had a five round cartridge with bullets half an inch thick that could penetrate nearly an inch of steep at 100 yards. He sent all five rounds into the enemy gun position, smashing into the stone wall of that building. Something got through, because that big 70 was quieted just long enough for a rifle team to make a rush and get grenades on it. But then an enemy machinegun opened up, and Edson flinched when he saw two men down with wounds, one looking bad.
1943 (Kirov Series Book 27) Page 8
