1943

Chapter 7

Patch had no illusions about what was in front of him, but he was confident his division was ready. The unit had come in early in 1942 as part of “Poppy Force” dispatched to Australia. It was thought it might deploy to take New Caledonia, whereupon it would come to be called the Americal Division, but the Japanese reinforcement of that island by the Ichiki Detachment ended that plan. It was not thought the troops were then ready for an amphibious operation against veteran Japanese units. So months of training in Australia followed, before the division was tagged to go to the Fiji Group.

By then the 1st USMC Division had already landed to stop the Japanese advance on Suva. Now Patch led his 23rd “Pacifica” Division in to help stabilize the situation in the south. They landed at Suva and deployed along the Queen’s Road until they ran into the Japanese 38th Division at the Singatoa River delta. There was some hard fighting there by the 164th RCT, but as the whole division had not come up yet, they could not move the Japanese.

It wasn’t until the 1st Marine Division shattered the Sakaguchi Detachment in the north and began a concerted advance on Tavua that the situation in the south became more fluid. The Japanese detached a full regiment, then another, to backstop the defense of Tavua. In the south they held on stubbornly while they were awaiting the arrival of their 48th Division, but had to give up ground, falling back to Momi Bay, a small harbor on the west coast south of Nandi.

As the 48th came in, it immediately deployed south, and so now Patch would be facing this seasoned enemy division as Operation Push prepared to jump off in January of 1943. By this time, the independent 147th RCT that had once been a part of the 37th Division had transferred to Suva, and it was the last formation to arrive, making the 23rd “Square” as its fourth regiment. With this force in hand, and the 754th Medium Tank Battalion, Patch deployed his three organic regiments abreast for the drive on Nandi, holding the 147th in reserve.

In the north, the 25th Division under Collins had relieved the 1st Marines, but the leathernecks left behind a substantial force in the 2nd Regiment under Colonel David Shoup from their 2nd Division, the 1st and 2nd Light Tank Battalions, and both Marine Raider Battalions under Edson and Carlson.

For the attack on Tavua, Collins would have his 25th Division made Square with the addition of the 145th RCT from 37th Division on Vanua Levu. It mustered at the new airfield at Bua on the western tip of that island, and was then able to take local boats and rafts to make the short crossing to reach Viti Levu Bay in the north. That was to be the main supply center established for Collins, visited regularly by lighters from Suva.

The 27th RCT would lead the attack along the coastal King’s Road, moving quickly through the hamlet of Rakiraki until they came upon the imposing rise of “Hill 1000.” Overlooking the road, the Japanese had wisely occupied that height, digging in with their 2nd Battalion of the 228th Regiment under Colonel Ito. The 1st Marines had fought hard to try and flank that position, taking the lower portion of the range that ran south from the north coast. That was the only consolation Collins found when he arrived, and he was quick to get his 34th Regiment up on that ground. From there they could push down into the cultivated valley below, driving towards the thin Nasivi River that passed through Tavua to the sea. This was to be the main attack, and the thrust against Hill 1000 further north would be a strong demonstration.

Tavua, with its small fighter field, was the first target for Collins. The other big objective was the coveted Gold Mine at Vatukoula, a town about 10 kilometers south of Tavua. It was there that Colonel Tanaka had placed his 229th Regiment, his lines east of the meandering course of the Nasivi River, and on the high ground called Lakalaka by the locals, Hill 663. His line ended near the village of Nandelee, and from there the highlands rose precipitously to a height of 3025 feet.

Collins’ 35th Regiment would be coming into the Nasivi River Valley from the south, led by a company of the intrepid Fiji Commandos, and they were after that gold mine. The third Regiment of the Japanese 38th Division was some 20 kilometers to the west at M’ba, the 230th under Colonel Shoji. His troops were working to improve the bridges over the largest watercourse in the north, the M’ba River. The town itself lay on the east bank of that river with the only good crossings in one road and one rail bridge near a big sugar mill. Just south of the town was the main airfield in the north, and the Japanese had been building a bridge over the river there near the village of Solo.

There was one other force on the island, that of the New Zealand Fiji Brigade Group under Brigadier Wales, which included the tough jungle fighting Fiji Commando Guerillas under Captain Tripp. The Americans had been so impressed by these men that they asked them to stay on when most of the other New Zealand troops were called home. Fearing the Japanese might come one day, they had done extensive work to prepare a defense. The bridges over every river or stream were assessed for the amount of demolitions required to destroy them. Secret HQ sites were hidden in the rugged interior highlands, along with hidden supply caches. All the best mountain tracks were scouted and mapped.

It was this force, with Commando units under Tripp, and Lieutenants Adair and Harper, that would lead the way for Collins’ 35th Regiment as it attempted to flank Tavua from the south. The rest of the Fiji Brigade Group was mostly deployed around Suva, and along the coast where the sharp eyed coastwatchers were deployed to warn of Japanese destroyer runs. One battalion was detached and sent north to act as a possible coastal raiding force, and Collins held it in reserve.

That was the board and the playing pieces all set up for the battle. Now it would come down to the troops, and the men who led them. General Patch had a good habit of leading from the front, often establishing a Command Post within 150 yards of the fighting. He came up the road through Bavu heading for Momi, where the regimental HQ of 164th was located under Colonel Earl Sarles. When “Early” saw the General’s jeep sweep past his CP, without even stopping, he ordered his XO to gather up all the maps and charts and follow him immediately. Then he went out and jumped in the nearest vehicle to follow Patch up towards the front. A General on the scene had a way of electrifying all the men around him, and Patch wanted to put fire into the opening round as he kicked off his attack on the morning of January 7th.

He had the entire 754th Tank Battalion in the spearhead along the coast, and followed it up with his Combat Engineer Battalion. That morning they punched hard towards Momi, with one company of tanks bypassing the Japanese strong point on the road to the east. It was eventually stopped by a combination of well registered artillery fire and a section of 37mm AT Guns, the tanks falling back towards the infantry.

Fighting stopped at dusk, with both sides exchanging artillery fire, and the Americans tried Momi again the next morning. The defense was equally robust, and when things got tight, the Japanese just got tougher. The line refused to budge, and then a raging counterattack came with fixed bayonets that send two US companies into retreat and forced Patch to commit his last reserve company of M3 Tanks.

Crouching behind the M3s, the US infantry advanced again, this time breaking through a depleted enemy company, its ranks further scattered after that charge. Momi was still holding, but this attack was flanking the town and threatening to cut the road beyond. Sensing opportunity at last, Patch sent orders back for Colonel Tuttle to bring up his 147th RCT, and Operation Push was finally about to build up a good head of steam in the south. The line further east with the 138th and 182nd was still rather static, as neither regiment had been able to make much headway over the first 48 hours of the attack.

On the far right, the182nd had been trying to find the enemy flank, engaging in a little duel with 3rd Battalion of the 2nd Formosa regiment. It was about to receive an unexpected surprise when the Kamimura Cavalry Recon battalion emerged from seeming thin air on the extreme right and rear of the US line. It had been ordered to try and flank the US position, and moved all night to gain this advantage.

Already in these first hours of fighting, a characteristic pattern was forming around US operations. While they moved and deployed smartly, the infantry had been relying on the vehicles and halftracks of the recon battalion, and those M3 tanks to sustain the advance at Momi. When checked, the Americans would fall back and call for artillery.

By contrast, the Japanese would hold the line tenaciously, and just when it seemed a position was about to be overrun, the defenders threw themselves into a fanatical counterattack, screaming Bonzai as they charged. Sometimes these attacks shocked and pushed back the lest experienced US infantry, but when a GI company held its ground, and had its machineguns forward in good supporting positions, they inflicted terrible losses on the already failing Japanese company they were facing. By day’s end the Americans had the advantage by sheer weight, then they stopped.

Night fighting was one area where the US troops did not excel, at least not yet. Come dusk the battalions pulled back a little, consolidated their position, laid out mine sand wire, registered their mortars and positioned machine guns. They had already heard from the Marines that the Japanese were prone to making most of their major attacks at night, and so the US moved into a passive defense, though each battalion would send out patrols. Needless to say, that duty wasn’t popular, and none of the grunts wanted to be selected for night patrol sweeps, as they were called. A little rest behind that wire and those machineguns seemed a whole lot more appealing, though sleep was restless, for the enemy was very near.

But this night, the Japanese did not come. The problem they were facing was now an increasing shift in the balance of forces. All this time, he had only been facing two thirds of the Japanese 48th Division. With the threat of a possible amphibious landing very real, General Yuitsu Tsuchihashi could not afford to commit his entire division to the defense, holding back the 47th Regiment at Nandi to guard the port, supply depots, and airstrip. The fact that their battalions were composed of four rifle companies and a weapons company allowed the Japanese to field 30 companies of fighting troops between the two regiments they deployed, and this had been enough to seriously stall the US offensive.

Patch had 36 infantry based companies in his entire division, three more of engineers, three recon platoons and the three tank companies. So his edge was only 47 to 30 in raw numbers of fighting units on the field. Now, however, he was calling up his reserve regiment on the morning of day three. From his perspective, he had his enemy in a firm grip, and now he was going to hit them with everything he had.

One other advantage his troops would possess would be the lavish allotment of artillery in a US infantry division. Each of his four regiments could field five batteries of four guns each, or twenty firing tubes—80 field guns there. Added to these were the self-propelled guns in the cannon company attached to each regiment, eight guns in each of the four companies. So he was going to open the day with a rolling barrage from 112 tubes, and he had the ammunition to keep it hot and keep it coming. Against this the Japanese regiments fielded no more than 60 field pieces.

Unhappy with what he had seen in the first two days of fighting, Patch called together his battalion commanders on the night of the 8th and read them the riot act. They were going to hit the enemy in the morning, and fight all day and all night if they had to, but one way or another, he was pushing Tojo off the field. That was exactly how he put it, and he wanted no doubts about what he expected the following day.

The thunder of that artillery resounded from the nearby hills and rolled over the still waters of the bay. He gave it to the enemy for a full thirty minutes, and then he had ordered his battalion COs to use their rally whistles and send everyone in in one concerted attack. It was the largest coordinated attack by US forces thus far in the war.

Colonel Imai’s 1st Formosa took the worst of that attack on the coastal plain beyond Momi. Tanaka’s 2nd Formosa was posted much farther inland, and they were not hit nearly as hard, as all the tanks and recon elements had been restricted to advancing along Queen’s Road. So it was one hell of a left hook that hit Imai’s regiment, with 1st Company, I Battalion, 164th Regiment leading the attack into Momi, supported by a company of the 754th Tank and one more of engineers.

Patch and his 23rd Pacifica Division took Momi on the morning of January 9th, and he had it before the 147th Regiment had even been able to deploy. So he sent word back that the battalions were to remain in march column, ready to surge through any gaps his men created in the enemy line. He wanted to use that reserve regiment to keep up the momentum of his attack, and try to roll right on through to Nandi, but there was still a lot of fight left in the Japanese battalions. They would simply not fall back, even before clearly superior firepower and numbers in the assaulting forces. Instead they either dug in their heels, fighting to the last few squads, and then simply hurled themselves at their foes in a last desperate charge.

General Yamashita had suffered grievous harm when he had tried to launch a major assault at the Tengah Airfield on Singapore, and now this tenacious Japanese defense was a portent of many bloody battles that remained to be fought in this war. The Americans could not simply drive this enemy off as they might have expected. The Japanese had to be annihilated to take any ground they were determined to hold, and that was a pattern that would repeat itself time and time again in the Pacific War.

Chapter 8

In the center of the board, the high mountainous country that made up most of the island, the drama was much more focused. This time the cast was all fighting Leathernecks, Edson’s 1st Raider Battalion, Carlson’s 2nd Raiders and the 2nd USMC Regiment.

The two Raider Battalions had been formed in February of 1942 out of an interest, fomented by President Roosevelt himself, for a specialized commando type unit like those the British had been forming. In fact, Roosevelt’s own son James would become the Deputy Commander in Carlson’s Battalion. The two units were quite different, in spite of their similar designation and overall mission, and this was largely due to the differing temperament of their commanding officers.

Colonel Merrit A. Edson grew up as a farm boy from Vermont, where he spent most of his life outdoors, hunting, fishing, and developing what the Aussies might call good “bush craft.” He was athletic, but soft spoken, with a quiet and calm disposition, and as cool as his deep blue eyes under fire. Edson put together his 1st Battalion from a regular Marine Battalion in the 5th Regiment, and so it was structured along traditional Marine lines, with four companies composed of three platoons each, and with eight man squads.

Edson worked well with his men, undertaking any hardship or physical task he asked of them. In the field he might go out on recon operations for days at a time, then suddenly reappear sporting a reddish stubble of a beard and looking like a wild Irishman. That resulted in the first of many nicknames being hung on the man—Red Mike. He was also called ‘Eddie the Mole,’ A play on his last name, mixed in with the fact that the men said he looked like a mole with his helmet on, his small head lost beneath it, eyes glowing in the dark on patrols. His aggressive spirit also found him being called ‘Mad Merrit the Morgue Master,’ because if there was a fight at hand, he wanted to be in on the action.

When a second Raider Battalion was to be formed, the Corps asked Edson to send one company to act as its root and stem, but the man who received it, Colonel Evans Carlson, wanted no part of Edson’s ready made unit. He rejected most of the men in the company, and forced all the rest to re-apply for admission to his new unit, which he wanted to build from scratch.

Carlson had different ideas about what he wanted for his battalion. He had spent time in China, learning the language and studying the tactics of the Communist Guerilla units, which impressed him greatly. So when he built his battalion, he used much of what he saw there, including the notion that officers had no special privileges. In fact, he never gave or received a salute to emphasize that he was no different from any other man in his unit—though he was just the one giving the orders. What he wanted was cooperation at every level, using the Chinese phrase ‘Gung Ho’ to describe it, which meant ‘work together.’

Carlson then went on to change the entire structure of his unit. He wanted it fast and light, and knew it would deploy from the Navy APDs, old destroyers converted to carry a company of Marines. “You give me six Higgins boats,” he said, “and I can put an entire company ashore, and ready to fight the minute they hit the beach.”

This was due to the fact that he had reorganized his battalion into six light companies, each with two platoons instead of three, and he also added two more men to each squad, increasing from eight to ten. So instead of two four-man fire teams in the traditional Marine Squad, he built three teams of three men each, with one NCO.

Edson and many other Marine officers shrugged at this, and he also did not like or forgive the shoddy reception and treatment his men had been given by Carlson, or the fact that Carlson had the President’s ear, and even had the President’s son as his deputy commander. He would resent his opposite number to his dying day, and the two men often clashed over tactics and methods, even as they did over the organization of their battalions.

Yet no matter how they were organized, the men in those two battalions were a tough group, and ready for a brawl. When they heard that Japanese tactics often led to bayonet charges and close quarters fighting, they took to arming themselves with 9-inch bolo and Bowie knives, and thick socks stuffed with lead balls. Carlson’s men called the blades their ‘Gung Ho’ knives. Since these units wanted speed and stealth, they forsook the larger 81mm mortars and took only the smaller 60mm tubes, and instead of HMGs up to .50 Caliber, they relied on the .30 caliber BAR and the even smaller ‘Tommy guns.’ The one heavy weapon they would lug along was the Boys Anti-Tank Rifle, which they used to good effect on the Makin Island raid, blasting a couple enemy seaplanes that tried to bring in reinforcements. The troops called it their ‘elephant gun.’

The men were trained by experts, like Colonel Anthony Biddle, who demonstrated his martial arts skills by taking on eight Marines armed with the cold steel of a bayonet, and was able to disarm the entire group single handedly. They learned rubber boat maneuvers, camouflage, anti-sniper drills, patrol methods, and how to make endless jaunts through forbidding terrain, which was exactly what they were doing there on Viti Levu.

The thing that made the place bearable was the size and scale of the island. Up in those mountains, as difficult as the trek was, you had open sky, fresh air, and could see for miles in any direction. Streams cut through the ravines offering cool fresh water, and there was food to be found, even outside the hidden supply caches secreted away by the Fiji Commandos. Another thing about the island was that there was no malaria here, and that mattered a great deal when it came down to the endurance of the men who would fight there. The temperature was a constant 88 degrees by day, and 74 by night, and there was rain by the buckets in the wet season that began in January, particularly on the north and western segments of the island where all the fighting would take place. It would rain over 20 days per month through April, and the area around Tavua and M’ba would get more than any other place on the island.

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 virtue 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 out 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.

Three more Marines made it to that house, their Tommy guns barking as they finished off that gun crew and two soldiers that had come in to support them. But the rest of the Japanese line wasn’t budging. The enemy was fighting with a fanatical zeal, and they would simply not retreat. At one point, when the weight of both Raider Battalions seemed like it might swarm one company, up came a reserve company wielding the bayonet and restoring the line. It was part of a strong contingent of the Yokosuka Naval Marines that had come in with the initial landings. They had been in reserve areas, posted at possible landing sites along the coast, but now the Japanese were relieving them with construction troops so they could rush to the fighting. That company stopped Solo from falling that day, and there were two more behind it that had come in by rail.

By now the 8th Marines had pushed so close to M’ba field that their mortars could put fire on the landing strip. They did little more than kick up dirt, for the last of the enemy planes there had already taken off, Zeroes dueling with the Wildcats in the grey skies above. Then those skies opened up with a heavy rain, and the whole scene was lashed with a tropical storm. It being late in the day, the Raiders fell back to regroup, Japanese artillery from the vicinity of M’ba harassing them the whole way.

“Carlson wasn’t happy when he met up with Edson.”

“Goddamnit Eddie, your battalion was supposed to be here three hours ago!”

“Couldn’t be helped,” said Edson. “Our lead company got over the river to lead in the Marines, but the Japs hit them pretty hard. I wanted my whole outfit before I swung west, so we waited until the Leathernecks could get through to my men. Now we’re here, so stop your bellyaching. Did to you see how my boys took down that infantry gun? Nicky did a good job with that.”

He was referring to Major Lloyd Nickerson and his Boy’s AT Rifle team, but Carlson wasn’t impressed. “We tried getting around their left, but the line goes all the way to the high ground east of M’ba. The only way we can hit them now is right over this open ground, and that’s going to kill a whole lot of good men. So I say we all move up into those highlands, and hit them tonight on that flank.”

“Tonight? In this rain? Night moves in unfamiliar terrain are risky. We won’t be able to see anything in his mess. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t get your knockers balled up,” said Carlson. “My boys scouted it earlier today. 2nd Raiders can lead the way. You tag along behind.”

“But if we move that far left we’ll lose contact with 2nd Marines.”

“So what? We’ve enough ammo to operate independently for another couple days out here. Now’s the time to do it. They know we don’t move at night, so we can catch ‘em by surprise.”

“They move at night,” said Edson. “Have you considered that? We ought to be hunkered down and ready for them, not caught flat footed like a bunch of suckers. And who said the smoking lamp was lit? You want some hot shot Jap sniper to put that cigarette out for you?”

“Pipe down,” said Carlson. “They can hear you a mile away. Why’d you turn into such a dead battery, Edson? Tell me that.”

“You out to prove something?” Edson came back at him. “Don’t go thinking to make a grandstand play here, cause all you’ll do is get good men killed.”

It was like that for a while between the two men, but they eventually worked out a compromise, and it was fairly predictable. Carson would try that flank tonight, but Edson’s battalion would hunker down and be ready to open up with everything they had if things went wrong.

The rain had abated somewhat when Carlson made his move, just before midnight, but the trees were still heavy with water, the steady drip dappling the undergrowth. With the front blown through a few hours ago, an eerie ground mist started rolling in on the light breeze. As Edson had expected, it was very dark under the remnants of that squall, and too damn quiet. As the men lined up, the clink of a canteen prompted Carlson to look over his shoulder with a frown.

They moved out, the scout who had reconnoitered the way earlier in the lead. The growing mist seemed to tamp down every sound, and all was whisper soft and quiet. The Marines could feel the mud under their boots, and one caught a glimpse of a snake slithering across the trail. When you move like that, in darkness and mist, your ears strain to hear the slightest sound, unseen things in the undergrowth, or lurking above in the rain sodden trees. You strain to hear the silence between those trees, for fear that it might suddenly coalesce, finding tryst with the darkness and shadows, and become a living thing bearing a rifle leveled at your gut.

The way led up, along the slope of the high hill to the west that was called Koronviria, or Hill 1299 on Carlson’s map. It was an imposing height, though the slopes were not steep, rising gradually to the west and growing taller with Hill 1763. It was wild country, with no habitation for fifteen kilometers in that direction, and nobody wanted to climb the slippery, muddied flanks of that hill.

They moved out in a long, sinuous line, the sound of runoff from the heavy rain creating little streams on the hillside and masking their quiet movements. Soon the frogs started up a chorus of croaking song in the clammy night. Edson had been right about the Japanese being keen on moving after dark, but not this night. General Toshinari Shoji had seen the Marines make their attack that afternoon, and he had a good idea what he was up against. The enemy had a brigade here, or so he thought, and with half his men on the other side of the M’ba River, he was in no mind to thin out his line here and make a night attack with what might amount to only 20 percent of his regiment. So he was doing what Edson had advised—hunkering down.

It was the last thing many of Carlson’s men wanted to be doing that night too, snaking through that low mist, the trees dappling your helmet with heavy drops of water, the leaves licking at your shoulders. The footing was always uncertain, causing a heavy set, well laden Marine to slip and fall with a dull thud and an involuntary curse under his exasperated breath. The whole line stopped whenever that happened, tense and alert, but there was no other sound or sign of the enemy. So they moved on, and ten minutes later Carlson saw the lead scout freeze, one arm extended, catching the subtle downward movement of his hand before the man slowly descended himself into the grey white mist.

The lead fire team went into a low crouch, one man looking to see he was eye to eye with a big fat ground frog hunched on a low branch. They were mostly dormant at night, and even by day they were sluggish “sit and wait predators,” hoping for insects to happen by.

That Marine didn’t have to worry much about the frog, but this night there were other sit and wait predators crouching in the landscape ahead. Toshinari Shoji wasn’t making a night attack, nor did he plan to move his men, but he had extended his perimeter with patrols, and several had been tasked with laying mines in the undergrowth where the Japanese thought the Americans might advance. One squad was right in the path of Carlson’s advance, with three men digging holes in the mud, two more laying eggs, and the last three sitting in a well concealed position behind a machinegun.

Whether by chance or fate, the gunner in that patrol was Kenji Tokawa, reputed to have the best night eyes in the battalion, and even better ears. He had been listening to the song of the forest, eyes closed, counting the frogs in his mind, hearing the raindrops on the thick green leaves of the trees. Then he felt, more than he heard or saw, that something was very wrong. He could hear the quiet mutter of the men in the mine detail about fifteen yards off. Then he opened his eyes and gazed past the shoulder of one of those men, and saw that Marine Scout forming from the shadows and mist like an apparition, silent, motionless, still as death. The specter had one arm extended, the shoulders and head of the man all that was visible above the heavy ground fog.

The hand moved, ever so quietly, like the flutter of a feather or a leaf falling, or the silent movement of a night moth. The head and shoulders slowly shrank away, disappearing, dissipating into the fog, but Tokawa caught a glint of light, like a firefly, and knew it was the other man’s eye reflecting the pale moon above, which finally emerged from the ragged clouds. He sat there, his finger sliding to find the trigger of his Type 96 LMG, his hand becoming a part of the cold steel weapon, his keen eyes watching that mist for any other sign of movement. His breath nearly stopped, silenced with the tension of that moment, that awful sliver of agonizing suspense before the violence that was surely at hand. He knew he could do nothing for the mine team now, but if he lay very still, and waited….