by Toland, John
The Guadalcanal Supporting Forces retired but Tanaka continued doggedly down the Solomons passage, even though the transports could not possibly reach Guadalcanal until daylight. The risk was great but he tried to minimize it by sending five of his destroyers ahead to shell the planes at Henderson Field. All through the night they ranged along the north coast bombarding the airfield, then left to join the transports coming from the north.
The next morning at 9:35 eight Marine dive bombers from Henderson, led by Lieutenant Colonel R. C. Mangrum and out on a quest for enemy carriers, accidentally discovered the transports and their escort. They plummeted down on the light cruiser Jintsu, Tanaka’s flagship, and Kinryu-maru. Jintsu was able to limp away, but the burning transport had to be abandoned. As the destroyer Mutsuki began picking up survivors she was attacked by eight Flying Fortresses based on Espiritu Santo Island, in the New Hebrides. The captain, Commander Kiyono Hatano, had little regard for American high-level bombers and continued his rescue operations. This time the B-17’s had a stationary target, and three bombs ripped into Mutsuki. “Even the B-17’s can make a hit once in a while,” gasped Hatano as he swam to safety.
Tanaka stubbornly kept moving toward Guadalcanal and would have attempted to land the fifteen hundred reinforcements in the daylight. All that stopped him was a message from Rabaul ordering him to return at once to Shortland, the little island off Bougainville that had become the springboard for what the Americans called the “Tokyo Express”—the runs down to Guadalcanal.
The memory of these losses was still vivid in Tanaka’s mind when, on the morning of August 29, he met with the officer who would lead the second assault on Henderson Field. General Kawaguchi and his 3,500-man detachment had just arrived in Shortland by way of Rabaul and he wanted to get to Guadalcanal as soon as possible—on barges. Tanaka was glad to provide transportation but insisted on using destroyers. One reason Ichiki had been wiped out, Kawaguchi countered, was because he hadn’t been able to take sufficient equipment and food on destroyers. The next day they resumed the argument, but Tanaka’s reasoning, based on personal experience, eventually won Kawaguchi over. Late that afternoon the general summoned his commanders to the mess of his transport and told them they were transferring to destroyers for the run to Guadalcanal. Colonel Akinosuke Oka, a regimental commander, thought this would be too dangerous. “I think it would be better to go by motorboat, weaving our way secretly from island to island.”
In the stifling heat the two men debated at length the merits of “Rat Express” (destroyers) and “Ant Freight” (motorboats). Kawaguchi finally ended the argument by compromise. “I will lead the main unit directly to Taivu Point by destroyers. Colonel Oka will lead Headquarters and First Battalion by motorboat to the northwest end of Guadalcanal.” Kawaguchi made two red marks on a large map, one at Taivu Point (the same place selected by Ichiki), where he would disembark with 2,400 men, and the other at Kokumbona, about ten miles west of the airfield, where Oka and the remaining 1,100 troups would land. From these two points he and Oka would simultaneously head inland to get behind Henderson in position for a joint attack.
The general stepped onto an empty cider box. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I think our faith is our strength. Men who fight bravely, never doubting victory, will be the victors in the long run. Before we get to the battlefield we must sail three hundred miles and may very well encounter enemy attacks en route.” Advance elements had been attacked but safely landed by destroyers at Taivu Point during the previous two nights. “But we have trained ourselves, haven’t we? I swear to all of you that we will smash the enemy. On to Guadalcanal!”
“To Guadalcanal!”
“We solemnly swear to fight to the end,” shouted an officer and raised his glass in a toast.
Correspondent Nishino followed Kawaguchi topside. Enlisted men and junior officers were diving into the blue-green water and swimming back to the ship.
“They need constant training, Nishino-san,” Kawaguchi remarked. A young, fully clad lieutenant leaned on the rail, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Hey, Lieutenant,” Kawaguchi called to him. “Why aren’t you in there with the others?”
The lieutenant quickly dropped his cigarette into the water and sprang to attention. While he was mumbling an excuse, Kawaguchi summarily pushed him over the rail. “There are some lazy ones,” he observed. “In war when you’re thrown into the sea, even a hammer has to swim.”
That midnight the detachment transferred to destroyers and motorboats. Kawaguchi, with Nishino, climbed aboard the destroyer Umikaze. When they were alone in the general’s cabin, Kawaguchi revealed that the Americans were well dug in and had almost endless supplies. “When we come to think of such things it seems extremely difficult for a small unit like ours to retake the airfield. Wouldn’t you think the destruction of the Ichiki Detachment would be a lesson to us? But Imperial Headquarters belittles the enemy on Guadalcanal and declares that once we land successfully, the Marines will surrender.” He stopped as if alarmed by his own words. “It’s not a problem for us to discuss here.”
Nishino was wakened by a chilly breeze. At eight twenty-five a bugle, the signal for departure, sounded and the eight slender destroyers, two abreast, began gliding southeast at 26 knots. It was the last day of August. Deep in the hold the roar of the revolving screws, coupled with the suffocating heat, drove Nishino to the open deck. He was almost blown off his feet by the brisk wind. It was cloudy, a good time to start the hazardous trip down the channel. The lashing spray forced him back to the hold just in time to hear a ship’s officer tell a group of soldiers that they should reach Guadalcanal several hours before midnight. A petty officer began checking the soldiers’ lifebelts. “Don’t worry about air attacks,” he said cheerfully.
All through the nerve-wracking day sailors urged the soldiers to avenge comrades who had been trapped on Guadalcanal by the invasion. The soldiers promised to “wipe out every last Yankee.” After dinner the sailors returned to the hold with beer, cider, tobacco and candy. “We are responsible for the sea!” bellowed one tipsy sailor. “Your’re responsible for the island. Okay? So good luck!” He began pumping hands with every soldier within reach.
A soldier gave a sailor half of his wrinkled pack of Kinshi cigarettes and said, “Let’s celebrate with a smoke if we ever meet again alive.” Another pair exchanged fingernail clippings. “Please send them to my son if I die,” said the soldier. “The boy is only two years old.” “This is my mother’s name and address,” said the sailor.
The eight ships, rolling violently, drove ahead full speed through the blackness. Their wakes were like an endless display of fireworks; the water was filled with millions of noctilucae—luminescent creatures. A dark shadow of land materialized half a mile away. It was Taivu Point. Launches, cutters and rowboats were lowered and the soldiers piled in silently. The ships’ guns leveled on the coconut trees that lined the beach. All Nishino could hear as he dropped into a boat was the muted hubbub of debarkation. His boat ground into the sand and he clambered awkwardly over the side. The surf, brilliant with noctilucae, pushed him ashore. He waited for the crack of fire from the silent line of coconut and palm trees. There was only the sound of his comrades and the crunch of surf.
He staggered up to dry sand and looked at his watch. It was one minute past nine, Tokyo time; here it was an hour later. His body glistened from the waist down with the tiny phosphorescent animals, and the long beach itself, alive with crowds of luminiscent men, was a shiny belt. He stood entranced in a world of fantasy.
“How beautiful,” said a voice next to him.
Nishino moved toward the jungle until he was halted by another voice: “What unit are you from?” He saw a silhouette. It was a Japanese soldier in tattered uniform. Several other figures appeared from the jungle like ghosts. They were survivors of the first Ichiki echelon.
“Glad to see you,” said the gaunt soldier. “But shake those damn worms off you. The enemy can see them from the air.” H
is voice trembled as he anxiously pointed to the ground. “It’s suicide to leave footprints in the sand,” he said. “We’re always being attacked by U. S. planes.” The Ichiki men expertly wiped out footprints with palm leaves as they backed off to the edge of the jungle. They bowed and were gone.
Kawaguchi saluted the destroyers, then led the way into the jungle. It was so dark that each man had to hang on to the shoulder of the one ahead. They came to a narrow river bridged by a fallen tree. Nishino couldn’t see the river but could tell it was deep by the rush of water. As he crept across the slippery tree he almost panicked. What if he fell? His 70-lb. pack would drag him under. Compulsively he began cataloguing everything on his back: a movie camera, two still cameras, film equipment, clothing, food and five books—a selection of Chinese poems, a geography of the Solomons, two volumes of French poetry, and an English copy of The Good Earth.
By the time he finished the list he was on the other side. He stepped off into something that felt like spongy cushions. Huge rain drops began to penetrate the umbrella of the jungle, then the drops turned into a shower. The trail became blocked with thick tangles of vines studded with long sharp thorns and huge trees with knobby roots. Kawaguchi stopped, and the men curled up on the ground and tried to sleep in the beating rain. Nishino began shivering. Mosquitoes swarmed over his face; their bites stabbed him like inoculating needles.
In the darkness they were roused, and they continued to grope through the jungle, circling back toward the coast. By dawn they reached Tasimboko, a deserted village near the beach, three miles west of Taivu Point. Here they ate their first meal on Guadalcanal. It had been prepared by the Navy and packed in each man’s hango—a covered metal mess kit about the size and shape of a binocular case. Inside was an unexpected treat: white rice, dried fish (heads and all), fish paste and cooked beef. In thanks each soldier raised his hango to his forehead and bowed.
Their breakfast was interrupted by the frantic barking of the large black dog which had swum after Ueno. “Enemy plane!” the lieutenant shouted and dropped to the ground. The drone of engines could be heard faintly in the distance. In moments a dozen planes swept across so low that the leaves rustled, and continued toward Taivu Point.
All during the morning P-400’s, Wildcats and dive bombers from Henderson searched along the coast but each time the big dog’s warning barks came in time. Then the Americans began to attack the area blindly. Nishino scrambled behind a log, chased by a line of tracers that reminded him of the stitches of a sewing machine. He heard the whistle of falling bombs. Explosions shook the earth and he was showered with branches and dirt. A dozen men were killed.
That night Nishino went to sleep in one of the abandoned huts of the village but was wakened by a voice shouting, “Guard Company, rally!” A figure looked into the hut. “Newsmen, report to headquarters.” Nishino and his five men ran toward the beach through the dark jungle. In his eagerness Nishino slammed into tree after tree before he came to Kawaguchi’s command post behind a sand dune overlooking the sea. Over the rumble of surf came the sound of motors.
“Prepare to fire!”
Peering over the edge of the dune, he saw the outline of landing craft not a hundred feet away. Nishino didn’t have a helmet and he was afraid he’d die before he could file his first story.
“Fire!”
Bullets ricocheted off the sides of the landing craft. There was no answering volley. A voice cried out in Japanese, “My arm! I’ve been hit!”
“Cease firing!” shouted an officer behind the dunes. “They’re friends.”
“Oi!” called a voice from the beach. It was one of the men from part of the second echelon of the Ichiki Detachment; they were to join Kawaguchi in the attack on Henderson. Two men were killed and eight wounded. Worse, the fusillade had alerted the Americans and within minutes the jungle was illuminated by flares. Planes began strafing and bombing the village and the beach. A young soldier near Nishino cried out in pain, “I’m wounded! My shoulder.” He writhed and grimaced. Nishino held a towel to the wound. “Please don’t make fun of me,” said the youngster. “We’re going to suffer real pain in battle, aren’t we?”
Although the Americans had discovered Kawaguchi’s position, he refused to move; he was waiting for a report that Oka had landed on the other side of Henderson Field. Why had he allowed himself to be talked into letting Oka go by Ant Freight? Day after day while Vandergrift’s planes strafed and bombed the village Kawaguchi waited in vain. One day Nishino counted seventy-one raids. The entire area was a desolation of bomb craters and smoldering tree trunks. The men were afraid to build fires and subsisted on fruit and raw rice.
At three o’clock on September 4 a report finally came from Colonel Oka: he was “approaching” Guadalcanal in his motorboats. Kawaguchi ordered First Lieutenant Nakayama to take three men and circle behind the airfield; they were to locate Oka and tell him the details of the joint attack, since it was too dangerous to send the information by radio. It was a hazardous mission, said the general, and success in the battle depended on perfect timing. He presented Nakayama with the only personal item of food he had brought from Palau—a can of sardines.
Kawaguchi gave the scouts a two-day start, and just before sunset on September 6 led the way along the beach. He left 300 men and a few artillery pieces behind to guard the supplies but still was far above strength with 3,100 troops; 1,000 were from the second Ichiki group. At Koli Point, ten miles east of Henderson, they would turn south and strike off into the jungle to circle behind the field.
Ships were skirting the shore so closely that Kawaguchi could hear the sound of winches. Across the water came faint voices—speaking English. Orders were passed down the line to crouch in place. Nishino peered out and in the light of the moon saw what looked like a cruiser, five destroyers and five transports. As the cruiser began moving along the coast toward Henderson, followed by the transports and destroyers, Nishino made out the silhouettes of sailors on the decks. It was the first time he had ever seen the enemy.
Kawaguchi guessed the ships had just transported Marines up the beach for a surprise attack on the village he had evacuated. He hoped the guard detail could hold off the enemy but he couldn’t afford to send a single man back to help them.
It was not a landing force, but a convoy from Nouméa—two transports and escort—on its way with more supplies for Vandegrift. The following night there was a Marine amphibious landing near Tasimboko. The Marines beached just above the village. The Kawaguchi rear guard put up a token defense, killing two Americans, before disappearing into the jungle. The Marines sailed back with captured documents and Kawaguchi’s dress uniforms. “The bastard must have been planning to shine in Sydney society,” one Marine remarked.
Oka himself had just landed thirty miles on the other side of Henderson, after delays caused by aerial attacks and storms. During the harrowing, week-long trip down the Solomons passage he had lost 650 men, and the 450 survivors, with no food and little ammunition, were in no shape to fight.
Kawaguchi assumed that the Oka group had arrived intact and on September 8 gathered his officers near Koli Point for a final battle briefing. Nishino stood next to the general in the drizzling rain, taking notes. They would continue along the beach to the Tenaru river and follow it upstream for almost two miles. Here the artillery and most of the Ichiki men would make a crossing and head directly west until they were about a mile and a half east of the airfield. The main body would continue south for several miles, then arc around until it was behind Henderson. In the meantime Oka’s 1,100 men would get into position west of the airfield. A few minutes before nine in the evening on September 13 the artillery group to the east would start a barrage to make the enemy think the attack was coming from that direction, while the Navy laid down a bombardment from the sea. At exactly nine o’clock Kawaguchi and Oka would attack simultaneously from the south and west.
“We will take the enemy airfield by surprise,” said Kawaguchi. Handlebar mustac
he dripping water, he looked up from his notes at the officers who stood stiffly in silence. “As you know, gentlemen, the Americans have been strongly reinforced with men and supplies. Perhaps they are stronger than we are. Above all, their air force cannot be underestimated. Our troops must also overcome difficult terrain problems before we even reach the enemy lines. We are obviously facing an unprecedented battle. And so, gentlemen, you and I cannot hope to see each other again after the fight. This is the time for us to dedicate our lives to the Emperor.”
“Hai!” The officers shouted the resounding “Yes!” in unison.
The rains slackened. There came a cry of “Hikoki!” (Planes!). The men were about to scatter when they heard a derisive cackle and saw a parrot fly off clumsily. For the past few days parrots had been mimicking the men by screeching, “Oi, Jotohei!” (Hey, Private First Class!). They had added a third Japanese word to their growing vocabulary.
Kawaguchi laughed with the rest of the officers and brought out a small bottle of whiskey. “Now, gentlemen, before we resume the march, shall we drink to success?” He poured a few drops in the cap of each officer’s canteen. He turned to Nishino. “You, too.”
In the distance were the dull thuds of explosions. Nishino thought it was American artillery. He had been hearing it day and night. But it came from Japanese bombers and was aimed at Henderson Field; and the night explosions were bombardments from Japanese warships.