War Stories II

by Oliver L. North

  At 0220, Mikawa, fearing an air attack, ordered his force to withdraw without engaging the now defenseless transports. As the Japanese cruisers passed north of Savo Island and raced back up the slot, they nearly collided with the U.S. destroyer Talbot. Without slowing down, every passing cruiser pumped heavy shells into the hapless picket ship—killing scores of sailors and wrecking her superstructure.

  The engagement had lasted little more than an hour, but it had cost the Allies dearly. The U.S. heavy cruisers Vincennes and Quincy were on the bottom before dawn. The crippled Australian heavy cruiser Canberra was abandoned and had to be sunk by an American destroyer at 0800. The USS Astoria finally went down at 1145.

  The Chokai had taken a single hit from an eight-inch gun—likely the Astoria’s—and Admiral Mikawa celebrated his victory. The engagement had cost the Japanese fifty-eight dead and fifty-three wounded. Though Mikawa didn’t know the full magnitude of the U.S. and Australian losses—1,023 dead and 709 wounded—he was certain that he had struck back hard at those who had inflicted such losses on the emperor’s fleet at Midway.

  The Battle of Savo Island also convinced Mikawa that Japanese sailors were superior at night fighting. This impression would govern his tactics in the months to come as he sought to wrest control of Guadalcanal from the Marines. The Americans might have more carriers and the ability to control the skies in daylight. But he was determined that the Japanese—with years of night gunnery training—could dominate the seas in darkness.

  1ST MARINE DIVISION COMMAND POST

  GUADALCANAL, SOLOMON ISLANDS

  21 AUGUST 1942

  1600 HOURS LOCAL

  For General Vandegrift and his Marines on Guadalcanal, Tulagi, Florida, and Gavutu-Tanambogo, the days after the Battle of Savo Island were a matter of making do with less and less. On the afternoon of 9 August, Admiral Turner, fearing another night attack by Mikawa’s cruisers, had ordered the transports to withdraw to the south toward Noumea, carrying with them more than half the supplies and equipment as well as 2,000 of the division’s Marines.

  On Guadalcanal and Tulagi, Vandegrift’s troops, already on half rations, cut food consumption by half again. Living in the jungle without shelter or the prospect of medical evacuation for the wounded, and compelled to conserve ammunition in every engagement, they nonetheless managed to finish the runway and parking aprons on Henderson Field. By 11 August they had also succeeded in eliminating most of the Japanese from the jungle surrounding the airfield. The Leathernecks were soon boasting, “We have done so much, with so little, for so long, that we now can do anything, with nothing, forever.”

  But for Nimitz and the Marine planners in Hawaii, it was no laughing matter. Though a U.S. submarine had managed to sink one of Mikawa’s cruisers, the Kako, on 10 August, there was grave concern at Pearl Harbor that a determined counter-attack could spell disaster for the first American offensive of World War II.

  On 12 August, in an effort to alleviate the crucial supply problems for the Marines on Guadalcanal, Admiral Turner was ordered to land the division’s remaining troops and supplies on Espiritu Santo in the New Hebrides islands. That afternoon, a Marine C-46 transport aircraft flew from the Espiritu Santo airstrip to Henderson Field, delivering urgently needed medical supplies and evacuating a dozen seriously wounded Marines. On the night of 15 August, four little destroyer-transports raced into Ironbottom Sound and offloaded Marine aviation ground crews, ammunition, bombs, and aviation fuel in fifty-five gallon drums—but no food.

  Unfortunately for the hungry Marines, the Japanese weren’t just waiting for them to die of starvation. On the night of 17 August, four Japanese destroyers anchored off Taivu Point and landed 900 Imperial Army soldiers. Their mission: recapture Henderson Field.

  The Japanese might well have succeeded but for Vandegrift’s remarkable ability to persevere in the face of overwhelming adversity. Wary of Navy promises to protect Guadalcanal with carrier-based aircraft, and despite his gnawing hunger and fatigue, the Marine general bombarded Admiral Robert Ghormley in Noumea and Nimitz in Hawaii with radio messages insisting that they send Marine squadrons to “Cactus”—the code word for Guadalcanal—to protect his troops. He pulled his defenses tight around the airfield to demonstrate that aircraft would be safe on the ground. His persistence was rewarded on 20 August when nineteen Grumman Wildcat F4F fighters and twelve Douglas Dauntless SBD dive-bombers landed at Henderson Field, flown in from the deck of an escort carrier dispatched from Espiritu Santo.

  Admiral Robert Ghormley, in charge of the Guadalcanal invasion, was replaced with Admiral “Bull” Halsey by Nimitz.

  The planes arrived just in time. That night, just before dawn, the 900 Japanese troops launched a banzai attack across the Tenaru River in hopes of overrunning the airfield. The battle lasted for more than eight hours and was, for the Japanese, an unmitigated disaster. More than 800 of the attackers were killed in the assault and subsequent counter-attack—at a cost of 44 killed and 71 wounded from the Marines. Vandegrift’s line had held—and “Cactus” finally had its own air force. In the days ahead, both would be sorely tested.

  BATTLE FOR THE EASTERN SOLOMONS

  NORTH OF MALAITA AND GUADALCANAL

  25 AUGUST 1942

  1030 HOURS LOCAL

  The horrific losses on the banks of the Tenaru persuaded Admiral Yamamoto that Guadalcanal could be retaken if Japanese reinforcements delivered to the island were sufficiently supported by adequate naval forces. To that end, he ordered Rear Admiral Raizo Tanaka to take his flagship, the light cruiser Jintsu, three slow transports escorted by four patrol boats, and land 1,300 Imperial Army troops and marines on Guadalcanal. To support Tanaka, Yamamoto dispatched the entire Combined Fleet, under Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo, from Truk to destroy the aircraft on Henderson Field, attack any U.S. ships in the area, and support the landing.

  Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo commanded the Japanese Second Fleet at Guadalcanal.

  Kondo’s fleet included two heavy carriers, Shokaku—now repaired from damage suffered on 8 May in the Coral Sea—and Zuikaku. He also had a light carrier, Ryujo, which he sent in advance to destroy the Marine and Army Air Corps aircraft on Henderson Field.

  Early on the afternoon of 24 August, a long-range patrol plane out of Henderson Field spotted the Ryujo about 100 miles due north of Malaita Island. When he received the report, Admiral Fletcher was holding station 150 miles east of Guadalcanal with Enterprise and Saratoga. Though he had sent the Wasp carrier group south to refuel earlier in the day, Fletcher nonetheless ordered an immediate attack on the Japanese carrier by thirty dive-bombers and eight torpedo planes.

  Ryujo was practically defenseless, having launched all her aircraft for the attack on Henderson Field. A well-coordinated bomb and torpedo attack sent her to the bottom in less than an hour. Her bombing raid on Henderson fared little better. Marine fighters, vectored by radar to intercept the attackers, downed several. Those who survived turned around but found only an oil slick where their carrier had been.

  While the “Cactus Air Force” was beating off the Henderson Field raid, Wildcats from Enterprise and Saratoga were doing the same. In the gathering dusk, Kondo’s dive-bombers and torpedo planes from Shokaku and Zuikaku didn’t spot Saratoga, so they came in three fast waves against Enterprise. American fighters high overhead decimated the attackers, who then flew into a hail of anti-aircraft fire. The battle lasted fewer than ten minutes. When it was over, Saratoga had taken three bombs on her flight deck that damage control parties promptly dealt with—allowing her to recover her air wing and continue under way at twenty-four knots.

  Admiral Raizo Tanaka was a brilliant naval strategist who escaped many Allied traps in the seas off Guadalcanal.

  Fletcher’s dive-bombers and torpedo planes, unable to find Kondo’s two remaining carriers in the dark, attacked and sank the Chitose, a large seaplane tender, on their way back to the U.S. carriers. By midnight, Kondo, having lost a light carrier and more than ninety planes and pil
ots, turned around and headed back to Truk.

  But the battle wasn’t over. Early on the morning of 25 August, the dawn patrol out of Henderson Field found Tanaka’s little group of transports preparing to disembark troops and supplies on Guadalcanal. The Marines scrambled their dive-bombers, and after a five-minute flight from Henderson Field, sank a troop transport and blasted the Jintsu—very nearly killing Tanaka. An hour later, Army Air Corps B-17s from Espiritu Santo arrived overhead and sank a destroyer.

  This was enough for even the indomitable Tanaka. Taking advantage of a tropical downpour, he turned the remnants of his battered force back to the north and headed up the slot, staying beneath the clouds to avoid pursuit.

  Unfortunately for Tanaka, he didn’t go far enough. Late on 27 August, Tanaka held up in an anchorage in the Shortland Islands, off the south coast of Bougainville. Assuming that he was beyond the range of any U.S. aircraft, he started repairs on Jintsu, the two surviving transports, and a destroyer, all of which had been damaged two days earlier. An Australian coast watcher reported the Japanese presence to Admiral Ghormley in Noumea, who in turn relayed the information to the Marines. At dusk on 28 August, a flight of six SBD dive-bombers from Henderson Field, having carefully conserved fuel on the 275-mile-long flight, appeared overhead and proceeded to sink one armed transport and damage two others. By the time the Marine aircraft landed back on Guadalcanal they claimed they were “flying on fumes.”

  The “Battle of the Eastern Solomons,” as the engagement of 24–25 August came to be known, finally convinced Yamamoto that daylight reinforcement and resupply for the Japanese troops on Guadalcanal was too costly. From then on, it became Combined Fleet policy to have fast destroyer-transports, sometimes escorted by cruisers, loiter in the slot until dark and then dash south to disgorge their troops and cargo off the north or west coast of the island. After offloading their payload, the Japanese would swing around Cape Esperance into Ironbottom Sound, fire several salvos at Henderson Field, and race back up the slot before first light.

  By early September the pattern became so regular that the Marines took to calling the nightly deliveries and attacks the Tokyo Express. Despite pleas from Vandegrift for night-fighters to interdict these nocturnal forays, there was little that Ghormley or Nimitz could do to help. On 31 August, a Japanese submarine sent a torpedo into the Saratoga’s side—sending her into the repair yards for three months. Nobody in Hawaii wanted to risk the Hornet and the Wasp—the only two undamaged carriers left in the Pacific—on a night engagement with the Japanese. The Marines would just have to dig their holes a little deeper and pray that some supplies could get through.

  1ST MARINE DIVISION FORWARD COMMAND POST

  BLOODY RIDGE, GUADALCANAL

  13 SEPTEMBER 1942

  0530 HOURS LOCAL

  The effectiveness of the new Japanese night reinforcement strategy was felt almost immediately. Sustained contact with Japanese infantry patrols operating around the airfield increased significantly. On 3 September, Brigadier General Roy Geiger flew in from Espiritu Santo to take command of the Marine squadrons operating from Henderson Field and the nearby auxiliary strip known as “Fighter One.” That night, the newly arrived commander of the 1st Marine Air Wing was treated to a naval gunfire barrage by a Japanese destroyer, a strafing attack by a Mitsubishi Zero seaplane nicknamed “Louie the Louse,” a high-altitude bombing raid by a solo long-range bomber the Marines had dubbed “Washing Machine Charlie,” and, finally, a probe of the airfield’s perimeter defenses by Japanese infantry. The following morning Geiger discovered that only eleven of the fifty Wildcats delivered to the island were still flyable, due to the nightly bombardments.

  Things were no better for the ground troops, who were literally rotting in their foxholes on less than half rations. On the night of 4–5 September, a Japanese destroyer in Ironbottom Sound sank two U.S. ships attempting to deliver food, fuel, and ammunition to the beleaguered Leathernecks.

  By 10 September, the Tokyo Express runs had brought Japanese troop strength on Guadalcanal up to more than 6,000. The next day, the naval gunfire and regular nightly air raids by land-based bombers from Rabaul, Bougainville, and the Bonin Islands forced General Vandegrift to move his command post, repair facilities, and hospital away from the beach to a high ridge leading upwards from the south to its crest, directly overlooking Henderson Field.

  The Leathernecks had nicknamed the ridge after the 1st Marine Parachute Battalion commander, Merritt “Red Mike” Edson. “Red Mike” was Edson’s radio call sign and his troops used the name affectionately. Since his tough, parachute-trained Marines were protecting the division command post on the side of the mountain, the name Edson’s Ridge stuck.

  By 12 September, General Kiyotaki Kawaguchi, the senior Japanese officer on Guadalcanal, had concluded that the 6,600 troops he had ashore were sufficient to dislodge the Marines protecting Henderson Field and to retake the airstrip. His reconnaissance patrols had pinpointed the relocated Marine command post on Edson’s Ridge. Kawaguchi reasoned that if he overran the post, confusion would ensue in the Marine ranks and the battle would be decided in his favor. But when he launched his attack that evening to force the Marines off the ridge, Edson’s Raiders were ready with massed machine gun, mortar, and artillery fire.

  The battle along the ridgeline—some of it hand-to-hand—raged for more than twenty-four hours. When it was over—just after dark on 13 September—more than 1,500 of Kawaguchi’s troops were dead. The Marines had 40 killed in action and 103 wounded. From then on, they would call the scene of the battle “Bloody Ridge.”

  For those in this and numerous other battles on the high ground overlooking Henderson Field, the suicidal enemy charges were horrific. There was nothing in the experience of these young Americans to prepare them for the carnage of massed bayonet charges by waves of Japanese soldiers, attacking through minefields and throwing themselves against machine guns. Captain John Sweeney, of Columbus, Ohio, was one of those who fought with Edson on Bloody Ridge, where he and his fellow Marines were outnumbered 600 to 1.

  CAPTAIN JOHN SWEENEY, USMC

  Edson’s Ridge, Guadalcanal

  13 September 1942

  1900 Hours Local

  The Japanese held a toehold on our side of the Matanikou River. They were dug in very well, with lots of machine guns.

  I found out I was the only officer left in the company. Red Mike said, “You’re now the CO. Take over. I’ll meet you back along the ridge to give you the orders for tonight and the next day.” I went back to the new position with the troops that we had. We’re out in front, knowing the jungle on each side could hold the enemy.

  Henderson Field was located in the area just behind where the artillery was established, about a thousand yards away. On this particular night, some 600 Marine Raiders and 300 paratroopers defended this particular portion of the airfield

  One of the fears that I had was knowing that something was going to happen right after dark, and steeling my own backbone to come up with the sort of leadership that was expected of me. And one of the things that kept running through my mind was a prayer or two that I wouldn’t fail my men.

  Right in front of us, until that point, it was quiet. But we knew they were there and ready for the attack. It’d sweep up to the main ridge itself.

  About two o’clock in the morning, the Japanese commander decided he was going to make a break for it and attack A Company’s flank.

  Then it was hell, with screams—hollering from both Japanese and Marines. Flares are flying in the air, and fired over the ridge by the Japanese in order to illuminate the target as our wounded were evacuated by corpsmen. The banzai charge was a lot of yelling—and enough to scare anybody, except the people who were able to keep their cool, and keep their ammunition going.

  We heard a rattle of a BAR [Browning Automatic Rifle], and rifle shots. And fortunately Van Ness, the BAR man, finished off the others that were with the gun crew of a Japanese machine gun. After that, th
e tide turned, and although we were bloodied up a couple of times, the Japanese in the area were picked off.

  We had a few in our ranks who were killed that night, and they are the real heroes. Henderson Field was right behind us, and had the Japanese broken through our lines, they would’ve had the airfield. And if they’d seized the airfield, they might have won the war in this part of the Pacific.

  I’m very proud of the citation. [Sweeney was awarded the Navy Cross for that night.] But the men who were killed that night are the real heroes. I participated in what is one of the shining moments of the Marine Corps. And that in itself was my satisfaction.

  When it was over, Edson and his Marines had somehow managed to hold their ground. Their raw courage in the face of overwhelming odds saved Henderson Field. “Red Mike” Edson was awarded the Medal of Honor for his efforts, and Captain John Sweeney was awarded the Navy Cross.

  A day after “Bloody Ridge,” the carrier Wasp, the brand-new battleship North Carolina, and the destroyer O’Brien were all torpedoed by Japanese subs. The North Carolina managed to limp back to Pearl Harbor for repairs, but the Wasp and O’Brien both went down—fortunately after most of their crews managed to abandon ship. These losses left only one operational carrier, the Hornet, and one battleship, the USS Washington, at sea in the Pacific—and made Admiral Chester Nimitz wonder if Guadalcanal could be saved. Within a month he would have even more reason to doubt the outcome.

  BATTLE OF CAPE ESPERANCE

  ABOARD USS SAN FRANCISCO

  12 OCTOBER 1942