History That Doesn't Suck - 208: The Pacific War, 1942–43: Guadalcanal, the Aleutians, and Operation Vengeance

Episode Date: July 13, 2026

“Guadalcanal is not the name of an island. It is the name of the graveyard of the Japanese army.”This is the story of America's first major offensive in the Pacific since Midway.Amid hard fighting among the frozen peaks of Attu at the tail end of Alaska's Aleutian Islands, the Americans are gaining ground. But the cost is steep. Carrying out banzai charges, Japanese soldiers are prepared to fight to the last man. This is the case in the Solomon Islands as well, where US Marines—or "Uncle Sam's Miserable Children," as they call themselves—are storming the beaches of Guadalcanal. The island is only barely held, largely thanks to the almost unbelievable bravery of Medal of Honor recipient Sergeant John Basilone.Meanwhile, American codebreakers have obtained Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku's flight plans. The man who surprised America at Pearl Harbor is about to get a surprise of his own.____Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com andorder Prof. Jackson’s bookgo deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendationsjoin discussions in our Facebook communityget news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette come see a live showget HTDS merchor become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks.HTDS is part of Audacy media network. Interested in advertising on the History That Doesn't Suck? Contact Audacyinc.com.

It's the evening of May 28, 1943. Captain Albert Pence and his men of the 32nd Infantry Regiment's B Company are wearily keeping their eyes peeled for Japanese soldiers as they trudge across a snow-covered valley on Alaska's minuscule island of Atte. Yes, you heard all of that correctly. American soldiers watching for the enemy on American soil. Lost American soil. Let me explain as we trudge.

right alongside Albert. This chapter of the war is largely forgotten. But as I trust you recall from episode 198, Japan's commander of the combined fleet, Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, didn't only send his ships to attack Midway last summer. He simultaneously sent forces to grab at the Aleutian Islands, a 1,200-mile-long trail of American soil

dotting the Pacific, running from Alaska toward Japan. Those seemingly little more than frozen specks of earth. The most western of these islands are closer to Japan than they are to Seattle, Washington. Something not to be ignored in a world of long-distance aircraft. In between June 3rd and 7th, just as the Americans were snatching victory from the Japanese midway, the Japanese were nonetheless still squinty victory and doing the little snatching of their own. They took the far-western Volusian islands of Kiska and Atu. And so, almost one year later, reversing that loss,

is what brings Captain Albert Pence and Bee Company to this frozen aisle in the North Pacific. They are part of the 12,000 strong 7th Infantry Division VATU for the past few weeks has been waging a hard fight against the 2,300 or so Japanese soldiers pulling at you. That is, the poorly mapped, ridge and valley filled, snow-covered island of Atu. And tonight, the captain and his men have orders to move down Jim Fish Valley and fill a gap between some of the boys from the 17th regiment. But just as this snowy march under a setting sun approaches its end, Albert hears a shot ring out.

It's his first platoon. They stumbled upon Japanese soldiers. Realizing their penned, Albert brings the third platoon around on the right flank to come to their rescue, only to spot more of the enemy hiding out in foxholes. With Sergeant Fred Bogdanov and a couple others, the brave B-company captain slithers through a snow-fielder.

right between the Japanese lines. And once within range, they'd lob a grenade at the first foxhole. It's a hit. A Japanese soldier springs to his feet and runs for his life. Albert pulls his gun. The man drops dead. Nice shooting, Captain. Fred says as he stands up, confident the threat has passed. Wrong move. Fred falls in the snow. Every bit has gone as the Japanese man before him. In this same moment, Albert turns and sees the foe who shot his sergeant and puts three bullets in him. He too drops, gone from this world. The remaining trio of Americans crawl on but a few more feet. When a Japanese soldier suddenly lunges at the captain, struggling against one another in the dark,

Albert's bayonet somehow bends rather than pierces his attacker, yelling, swearing, he pulls the trigger. The Japanese man falls dead. The snow, the cold, hand-to-hand combat. Captain Albert Pence is absolutely exhausted as he pushes up a hill and collapses between two of his men. He catches his breath. It's getting dark. The Japanese seem to be falling back.

Albert turns to the man next to him and tells him it's time to move out and rejoin the company. No response. The captain feels for a pulse. Nothing. This unnamed soldier was alive a minute ago. Is there a sniper? Turning to a young soldier only identified as Johnson, Albert hollers, let's get out of here.

Okay. But just as they start to move, a bullet tears through Johnson. Running on fumes and adrenaline, Albert grabs the soldier and drags him to a more secluded, safer spot. But the captain can tell this man's done for. He sues the groaning, young soldier, the only way he can with morphine. Albert doesn't record Johnson's last words, only that he begs the captain to stay. Albert does and listens as the bleeding, gasping infantryman speaks. His last words are about his wife, his small child, a life just starting before this war

ripped him away from it, from them. And then Johnson stops talking, he stops breathing. Albert rejoins B Company. It's now several hours later, 3.30 in the dark morning, May 29th. Captain Albert Pence is inside the command post, or the tent, rather, of Major Lee Wallace. Orders have them falling back, and Albert has helped bring the wounded back here. He's now debriefing with the Major. But their discussion is suddenly interrupted when a barefoot and jacketless soldier bursts into the tent shouting,

The Japs are here. They've broken through. It's hardly a warning. The Japanese are descending on the CP like a swarm. Guns crack, bayonets, pierce, men shout, everything is madness. The Japanese are in such thick numbers. Albert uses a grenade to blast a human hole in their thronging numbers. Albert finds himself grappling with a Japanese soldier for his life.

The captain pulls a knife and thrusts it into his foe. He thrusts again and again over. And over, he plunges his blade. Or so he thinks. At some point, the exhausted officer realizes he's only a wholly handle. The blade has already broken off inside the Japanese soldier. The already dead soldier. Welcome to history that doesn't suck.

I'm your professor, Greg Jackson. And I'd like to tell you a story. Just how many of the once-2300 Japanese soldiers on Atu were alive before this attack on May 29, 1943. is hard to say. Sources conflict. But what we do know is that those too sick or wounded to fight killed themselves while the rest launched an unmitigated fight-to-the-death-assault on the Americans,

a tactic known as a bonsai charge. At the battle's end, the victorious Americans, again in control of the island, took the surviving Japanese soldiers prisoner. They numbered less than 30. Perhaps you're wondering, what compels an entire army to carry out such a suicidal bonsai attack? This takes us to the Bushido Code, or The Way of the Warrior, a set of cultural guidelines built around honor, duty, loyalty, and sacrifice.

But it's not as ancient as it sounds. The term was largely popularized by Nitoba Inazzo's 1899 book, Bushido, The Soul of Japan, which he wrote, oddly enough, to explain Japan. warrior culture to Western readers. What matters for our story is what the Imperial Japanese Army did with it. To paraphrase historian C. Kenneth Quignonez, Japanese military leadership used the Bushido to convince their soldiers, their commoner, not-of-samurai descent soldiers,

that they were heirs and guardians of the samurai tradition. In that tradition, death in battle was equated with Sepuku, ritual suicide, as an act of ultimate selflessness. Survival was selfish, cowardly even, ashamed one's family. Keep the Bushido code in mind. Kamikaze attacks are coming in future episodes, and this isn't the last bonsai charge we'll encounter, even in this one.

And speaking of this episode, will now shift from the Aleutian Islands, which, with the Japanese withdrawal from Kiska in July, will see no more fighting, and take our attention to the American's first major step in the Pacific since we saw the tide turn at Midway, to the fight for Guadalcanal and the Solomon Islands. We'll witness the inter-conflict brewing between the American brass of the two major branches, the Army and the Navy, then joined the nation's intrepid Marines

as they stormed the beaches of Guadalcala. There, we'll see one young sergeant by the name of John Bass-Salone become a living legend. We'll also experience a lot of death. Indeed, we'll understand perfectly the deadly logic behind the Americans renaming the waters just north of the island as an iron bottom sound. And speaking of death, we'll end with a particularly noteworthy one. But we'll just leave it there for now. No need to give it all away. So, ready to return to the Pacific Theater? Excellent. Now let's head back one year to where we left off in episode 198, the summer of 1942. Rewind.

Shaking off the mental cobwebs with a little refresher. Let me start by reminding you that, although Japan's strike against the United States in June, 1942, gets off to a solid start on the Alaska Territory's Aleutian Islands, the real target, the Midway Atau, is another story. The Japanese First Fleet, aka Bikido Butai, doesn't just retreat with its tail between its legs. It's devastated. Combined fleet commander, Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, currently bedridden with roundworms, if you believe it,

sits through a conference aboard ship as his officers offer apologies and explanations. He rejects all of them, holding only himself responsible. I am the only one who must apologize to his majesty. Yamamoto is left to wonder. Have the tactics that succeeded at Pearl Harbor, the Philippines, and all throughout the Pacific, grown outdated? Well, of course not. You and I know that it isn't their tactics failing them, but their code, which the brilliant American naval officer, Commander Joe Rochefort, cracked before Midway.

But Japanese leadership still doesn't know that, and in the wake of this humiliating defeat, they downplay the loss at Midway to the Japanese people. Even Emperor Hirohito agrees with this tactic, once he's brought into the conversation. He and his brass all fear the loss of public confidence the truth might cause. cause. What can't be hidden, however, is how Midway costs Japan its momentum. Operation F.S. The plan to cut off Australia from the United States by seizing Fiji and Samoa had been finalized back in April. After Midway, it's postponed. Nonetheless, Japan remains confident that this mostly ignored corner of the Southwest Pacific will fall quickly. But there's a problem with that confidence. What happens if the

Allies strike first. While Japanese leaders are postponing Operation FS, American military leaders are debating what to do in the Pacific and the aftermath of their decisive win at Midway. Well, some are debating. Admiral Ernest King knows exactly what he wants to do. Switch from defense to offense. Ah, yes, Ernie King. We encountered this 63-year-old and lifelong Navy man back in episode 197, 197, and 201. But let's get to know him a bit better. Ernie's personal life is a mess. Grain and balding, but still tall and handsome with a stone-carved chin. He's a hard drinking, womanizing, serial cheater with a bad temper. According to President Franklin Roosevelt, Ernie shaves every morning with a blowtorch. The Admiral's own daughter says that he's the most

even-tempered person in the United States Navy. He is always in a rage. Okay, so Ernie's not winning the Mr. Congeniality Award, ever, but the Navy, like his wife, holds their noses and tolerates him because the man is a military genius who gets things done. That's why he seems to be everywhere, simultaneously serving as the commander-in-chief of the U.S. fleet, or Comich, and the chief of naval operations, or C&O. All that to say, Ernie has been wanting to hit harder in the Pacific for months. As Japan seized much of New Guinea and otherwise expanded its hold on the Pacific in the early months of this same year, 1942, he proposed a marine-led amphibious attack to recapture key

points like the Solomon Islands. But the recently formed Joint Chiefs of Staff stretched thin between the Atlantic, Europe, and the Pacific could only agree to a policy of content. for the Japanese. See, they were operating under a joint U.S.-UK decision made at December 1941's Arcadia Conference, aka the First Washington Conference, to focus on the European theater first while only engaging in the Pacific as necessary. FDR and his influential British Bestie, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, are pursuing this path under the assumption that the Nazi Empire is a bigger threat than the Japanese Empire. It's an idea that should ring a bell. We covered this conference in episode 199.

Well, as anyone serving with the feisty, partying admiral, can tell you, Ernie King has never loved this Germany first policy. So, following the victory at Midway, he feels like it's time to push back on it. He wants to see the Allies strike in the Pacific before Japan fully recovers. And lucky for him, the Joint Chiefs of Staff meet again for the second Washington conference only two weeks or so after Midway. As we know from episode 200, this meeting during the week of June 19th, 1942,

is mostly focused on opening a second front in Europe, which leads to the North Africa campaign. Bernie is essentially told to make do with what he's got. No more troops will be allocated to the Pacific. But that just won't do. The volcanic-tempered admiral is dead set on not losing the post-midway momentum and thanks to intel from Coast Watchers. That is, Allied observers,

effectively serving as spies on Japanese-occupied Pacific Islands, the bold-if-boozzy military genius already has a target in mind. See, word has it that, down in the South Pacific, more than a thousand miles northeast of Australia, among the seemingly endless sprawling Solomon Islands. Japan is building an airfield on a small speck of land named after the hometown of a long-gone Spanish explorer, Guadalcanal. Yes, Ernie wants to attack the Japanese-occupied island of Guadalcanal and fast.

But that isn't his call alone. There's a bureaucratic power struggle in the Pacific between the branches. Both Washington, D.C.'s U.S. Army Chief of Staff, George C. Marshall, and Australia-dwelling Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in the Southwest Pacific Area Douglas MacArthur think that the army should call the shots. Naturally they do, and Doug has his own plan to hit Rabal in the Japanese-held territory of New Guinea. But the Navy's Comich and C&O-N-1, Ernie King,

and the commander-in-chief of Pacific Ocean areas, Admiral Chester Nimitz, see this mostly water-filled theater of war as theirs. And Ernie is definitely convinced that his Guadalcanal idea is the better path, meaning those army boys need to fall in line. Well, let the end of conflict begin. Doug is livid. The pipe-loving general sees this as confirmation of his belief that the Navy wants to elevate itself as the top and primary branch of the U.S. military at the expense of the army. Sober-minded George tries to calm him, but also keep him in line, replying to Doug that, regardless of the outcome of these negotiations, which I hope will be as you desire, every available support, both are.

Army and Navy must be given to operations against the enemy. And with that, it's time for George to go full diplomat mode. On June 30, 1942, middleman general, Chief of Staff George Marshall, invites the aggrieved Comich, Admiral Ernie King, to have lunch in the maplined presentation room inside the combined chiefs of staff building. See, George likes to use lunches to talk business, or more exactly, to solve problems. And right now, Ernie's well-known stubbornness is the problem. After what I can only imagine is a tense back and forth with sharply delivered words

while clinching butter knives a little too aggressively. George and Ernie come to a compromise. Action in the Southwest Pacific will have three objectives. The first and most important task will be the Eastern Soling campaign, as proposed by Ernie and executed by Admiral Chester Nimitz. Just to make sure everyone's happy, they'll even skisks, scoach over his field of command from east longitude 165 degrees to 159 degrees, thereby encompassing the island of Guadalcanal.

Tasks two and three will include the control of New Guinea, which will fall to Doug McArthur. But Doug's path is a bit too much to squeeze into this episode. Those are stories for another day. The key takeaway for us, right now, is that Ernie's finally got what he wants. And it's immediate. The offensive at Guadal Canal will begin in one month. It's a tall order. This would be the largest amphibious landing in American history to date.

And it's to be carried out within a month? So many problems have to be solved before daring to land American boys on the island. And the burden falls on Navy Vice Admiral Robert L. Gormley, the commander of South Pacific Forces, or Comsopac. Green to this whole region, this 58-year-old with sunken eyes, and wispy white hair gets to it, working out how he'll fuel ships, land planes on islands with little more than coconuts on them,

and get a fighting force safely on these beaches, all within this tight time frame. And let us be clear, those amphibious striking fighters aren't soldiers, their uncle Sam's leathernecks, or if I may make a nod to the last World War, his bellow wood seizing devil dogs. Yes, the Marines.

Fresh out of training in North Carolina, the first marine division will land on Guadalcanal. Many of these young men signed up after Pearl Harbor. They've got little to no amphibious training, aside from a chaotic rehearsal in Fiji. Their commander, Major General Alexander Archer Vandergriff, or Sunny Jim, as his colleagues call this disciplined, dimple-chinned marine with extensive experience in the Caribbean and the Pacific, is initially on Doug's side. He thinks that the timeline for this attack is too short. But as Ernie King refuses to budge beyond pushing their landing day from August 1st to August 7th,

the jailed Virginian makes peace with it and gets to work. Sunny Jim's positive attitude carries the room, despite the lack of maps and the punishing prep work ahead. Ah, and what exactly is the plan? Code-named Operation Watchtower. The target isn't just while a canal, but other needs to be able to. neighboring Solomon Islands, like Tulagi and Gavutu. Vice Admiral Frank Jack, or rather Black Jack Fletcher, whom we met in episode 198, at both the bowels of the coral sea and midway, will

combine with Allied forces, bringing three aircraft carriers, as well as cruisers and destroyers, a total of 82 ships that will bombard the beaches with airstrikes and artillery, thereby providing cover against aerial counterattacks. Then it's up to the first Marine Division. On the afternoon of July 26, 1942, Admiral Blackjack Fletcher summons the task force commanders to iron out the last details. General Sonny Jim Vandegraff will later recall that the naval commander is nervous and tired and quickly let us know he did not think it would succeed. Come on, Fletcher, didn't someone somewhere teach you better than to tell men under your command as they go into battle that you've got no faith in them?

It gets worse. The Admiral then tells the gathered officers that instead of their requested five days to land troops, they get two days with his carriers. Sunny Jim will later write that in this moment, my Dutch blood was beginning to boil. But I forced myself to remain calm while explaining that the days of landing a small force and leaving were over. No one leaves the conference happy. Who can blame them? The planning is too rushed. The men aren't prepared.

Their commanders are still not quite sure what's even happening. And the cherry on top, they're generally relying on old plantation maps made by the island's long-time colonial rulers, the British. It's on account of all these resource and time failures that the Marines will, in their characteristically dark humor way, call Operation Watchtower by a new nickname, Operation Shoe String. Ultimately, though, none of these qualms matter. The fleet sets sail for the Solomon Islands, and boots splashed into what should be paradisiacal waters in less than two weeks. It's dawn, around 7.30 in the morning, August 7, 1942. Clean-shaven and baby-faced 21-year-old Robert Lecky, were just lucky, as his Marines and how come he call him, is aboard the George F. Elliott, a troop transport headed to the on-fire beaches of Guadalcanal.

Lucky thought the fires would be bigger with the massive on-cony. and bombardment. But what he's really upset about right now is that he didn't get an orange from the mess for breakfast. But no time to ruminate on his citrus disappointments. The gunnery sergeant calls out, first platoon, over the side, down those cargo nets. With 50 pounds on his back, and the gun smacking against his helmet, Lucky climbs down the nets, descending off the Georgia F. Elliott. As the artillery quiets, the boat approaches their landing site, designated Red Beach. The command goes out. Everyone down. It's time to jump. As Lucky will later recall, instantly, I was up and over. There followed a blur. I lay panting on the sand among the tall

coconut trees and realized I was wet up to the hips. I had gotten some 20 yards inland, but there was no find. Well, Lucky did get lucky. The initial landing goes off almost without a hitch. The Japanese are caught completely by surprise, fleeing into the dense mountain. in its jungle interior, inhabited by the native Solomon Islanders. But the fight is far from over. Just a short 20 or so miles away, across the waters, currently known as Savo Sound, on an island called Tulagi, Japanese captain Miyazaki Shigatoshi, gets a radio broadcast out, declaring, We will defend to the last man, pray for our success. Yes, the Japanese are getting pushed back. They're not about to give up. The waters will soon be read.

with blood, or as lucky, we'll later put it. We left our innocence on Red Beach. It would never be the same. The initial marine landing on Guadalcanal and their other targets in the Solomon Islands goes as well as could be hoped. But that doesn't mean August 7, 1942 is all sunshine and roses. The Japanese at Rabaal send bombers in zeros, which arrive early that same afternoon. Thanks to coast watchers giving early warnings, the Americans are aware of the coming. onslaught, but onslaught it still is. Ace pilots Nishizawa Hiroyo Yoshi and Sakai Saburo are especially successful. In a daring dog fight through the Pacific skies, Sakaii takes on American Navy pilot, Lieutenant James Sutherland, or Pug, to use his nickname from his boxing days.

Pug's skill with his Saratoga F4F shocks the Japanese pilot. Nonetheless, Sakaii puts plenty of holes in the American's inferior aircraft, forcing Pug to bail out. Shortly after, though, Sakai is hit by the rear gun of an American SDB dive bomber. The bullets scratch his skull, forcing the Japanese ace out of the battle, too. It costs him an eye, but he'll fly against the Americans again. Meanwhile, American Marines on Guadalcanal are finding abandoned camps, and at other surrounding islands, like the due north island of Tulagi, the Japanese dig in and hold their positions with snipers and machine guns. Bloody fighting ensues, and Japanese troops remain on the far west end of Guadal Canal,

even if, as night falls on August 7th, the Americans are largely in control of the island. With the fighting mostly under control, focus turns to occupation. Marines and sailors get busy unloading everything from barrels of oil and crates of ammunition to typewriters. Rear Admiral Richmond Turner calls the senior staff to a meeting on his flagged. for a conference. It's bad news. Admiral Blackjack Fletcher is taking the carriers.

He considers them too valuable to leave open to attack. So much for two days. Gee, what a guy. More bad news soon follows, as the dark night of August 8th gives way to the still dark morning hours of August 9th. A Japanese counterattack arrives at 1.30 a.m. Led by Vice Admiral Mikawa Gunichi, The 8th Fleet sails through an area known as the slot within the Solomon Islands.

Japanese cruisers lay waste to Allied American and Australian ships and sailors near Savo Island, then speed off, leaving the devastated Allied forces to pick up the pieces. It's the worst naval loss the Americans have seen since Pearl Harbor, and by some accounts, the worst fair defeat the United States Navy has ever suffered on the open sea. The Japanese leave the Battle of Savo Island, as this August 8th through 9th, engagement is called, convinced that the Americans are quite defeated. Well, bad as it is, Uncle Sam's amphibious nephews are still building a new air base on Guadalc Canal. They dubbett Henderson Field, in honor of Major Lofton Henderson, who gave his life leading bombers during the Battle of Midway.

As the hot summer days pass, a pattern develops. The Japanese bombed the Marines from the air by day and send ships with supplies and fresh reinforcements to the embattled islands hanging on. Japanese forces through the slot by night. These nighttime deliveries are dubbed the Tokyo Express or the Cactus Express, based on Guadalcanal's code name of Cactus. During the days after these deliveries, the Japanese hit the U.S. Marines with larger and larger bonsai attacks. That's right, the same ferocious fight-to-the-death type of attack we saw on the Aleutian

Island at Atu at the start of this episode. The August 21st, 1942 Battle of Tenaru River, is especially bloody, and Japanese tactics shock the Americans as they break the usual codes of conduct. For instance, dying Japanese soldiers call out for help only to shoot, stab, or use a grenade on their American helpers. But even these low blows don't win the day. The Americans continue to hold Gwold Canal. At sea, the battles continue to go fine. To quote dive bomber, Harold Buell, on August 24th, 1942's Battle of the Eastern Solomons, it must be listed as a minor victory for the United States

in that the Japanese lost the small carrier, Ryujo, while we had damage done to the Big E, that is the aircraft carrier enterprise, but did not lose her. It had been a frustrating bag of missed opportunities, individual errors, and some of the worst dive bombing done in the war, close quote.

Well, Harold may be frustrated with the dive bombers, especially, but his analysis is on point. Much like Black Jack Fletcher's battle at the Coral Sea, which, again, we caught in episode 198, the Eastern Solomon's isn't a clean American victory. But it is still a victory. The Japanese attempt to retake Guadalcanal is turned back, and the battle makes clear to both sides

just how much Henderson Field is worth. The cost is real, though. The men aboard the stricken enterprise, who don't come home, are burned so horribly the ensign torpedo pilot, Fred Mears, describes them as, quote, iron statues of men, close quote. Meanwhile, those fighting on the solid ground of the islands have a clear view of these air and sea engagements. As the Marine accompanying war correspondent Richard Tragaskis writes in his later published Guadalcanal diary, in the beautiful amphitheater of the sky, we saw the bomber diving straight toward the sea vertically,

but the fighter, like a malevolent mosquito, hovered above the larger object, watching for signs of life. The bomber dived a few thousand feet, and then suddenly pulled out of the dive and climbed straight up into the sky, up and up, like an animal gasping for air in its death struggle. The horrors continue with September's Battle of Edison's Ridge, or Bloody Ridge, if you prefer. Once more, the Americans hold their ground, in part thanks to bad Japanese troop estimates. They're expecting 7,500 Americans. In reality, they're 11,000. But as these battles against the Tokyo Express dropped off Japanese soldiers continue, Navy leadership starts to wonder whether anything's ever going to change.

The Marines have expected relief from the Army ever since they landed. Huh, perhaps it's time for a heart-to-heart between branches. On September 28, 1942, the exhausted commander of South Pacific forces. Or once again, Comso PAC, Vice Admiral Robert L. Gormley, plays host to one of the greatest gatherings of American Brass in the Pacific during the whole war on his flagship. The transport Argonia. The meeting isn't pleasant. As Admiral Chester Nimitz and his fellow Navy officers lay out their needs, Army Air Force General Henry Hap Arnold pushes back, reminding them of America's Germany First policy. In other words, Hap has no interest in sending more planes

to the Pacific Theater. Around this same time, Emperor Hirohito choose out his admirals and generals for their repeated losses on the small island, insisting that they take back Guadalcanal. In October, 20,000 imperial troops, four aircraft carriers, four battleships, 10 cruisers, and nearly 30 destroyers set out. Yamamoto's chief of staff, Rear Admiral Ugaki Matomei writes in his diary, quote, Whatever happens, we must succeed in the coming operation of recapturing Guadalcanal at all costs. Meanwhile, the Marines are hanging on, continuing to cope with dark humor.

The First Marine Division is now dubbed the First Maroon Division, and they've decided that USMC doesn't stand for a United States Marine Corps, but rather Uncle Sam's miserable children. The Marines experienced their own personal hell between sundown on October 13th and sunrise on the 14th. In event, they refer to simply as the Knight. The Japanese strike with an endless barrage of heavy shells, destroying the progress made on Henderson Field, while unloading thousands upon thousands of reinforcing troops under Moonlight. The stress of the night leads to hushed discussions. Does America need to evacuate? All of this stress is too much for Vice Admiral Robert Gormley. Chester Nimitz

saw the Compsopac cracking at their September conference, and so Chester now replaces him, with Vice Admiral Bill Bull-Halzy. Bull has one goal, and I quote, kill Japs, kill Japs, and keep on killing Japs. Close quote. A macabre comment. But one Marine soon fulfills this goal seemingly single-handedly, and in a single night.

It's about 10 p.m. on a dark night, October 24, 1942. The 1st Battalion of the 7th Marines are holding their position under heavy rain in the dense jungles just south of Guadalcanal's Henderson Field. Among them is the handsome, clean-shaven, and tan-skinned Sergeant John Basselon, or Manila John, as he's called, because of his time in the Philippines. As the downpour continues, Manila John hears the telephone ringing. Now, the specifics on this conversation and the moments following are questionable. Sources conflict, but according to one account, he answers to hear a terrifying update.

even if it's one they've expected for at least two days while protecting this precious airfield. Sarge, the Japs are coming. Explosions and gunfire begin to rip and roar in the distance as the voice over the phone continues. Thousands of them. My God, they just keep coming, Sarge. They just keep coming. Then the line goes dead. And as it does, somewhere in the impenetrable dark, John can hear Japanese soldiers cutting the barbed wire defenses. Sounds like this fight is going to get up close and personal. Fast.

The Marines machine guns flashed brilliantly as they fire incessantly, hitting Japanese soldiers swarming toward them. The Americans are met with grenades and Japanese bodies. John will later be quoted as saying, I could see the Japs leaping as they were smacked by our bullets, screaming, yelling, and dying, all at the same time. Even with one wave decimated, the Imperial soldiers continue on,

finding and assaulting John and his men again and again, only to be shot dead on top of their comrades. Some nearly reached the American line, dropping but a mere five feet in front of the Marines. As John will later recall, one thing you've got to hand the Japanese, they were not afraid to die. And believe me, they did. John's everywhere. Running from one pit to the next, he foregoes the tripod, lifting his heavy, browning machine gun into his arms and lets it rip. Japanese soldiers fall as the rapid firing gun singes his arms. Arriving at the next position, John finds five men dead and two injured,

trying to fight with two jamming machine guns, relying on rifles of John's Browning, the three of them repel yet another wave of attackers. But this can't endure. John has got to get these guns firing. It's pitch black. Yet, that won't prove a problem for this sergeant. This is precisely why John has learned to take guns apart

and put them back together blindfolded, and despite not having a lick of sight, he soon has one up and firing. So the night continues, and a pattern even. The Japanese assemble, yell bonsai, and the American Marines often answer back with colorful marine additions and let their brownings rip. But as the hours pass, as the rain pours, as the men, out of water, use urine to cool their red-hot machine guns, a new problem arises. The ammo is running low. It's now around 3 a.m. Is this how they die? John wonders.

Simply running out of ammo. No. Not on his watch. The daring sergeant yells to one of the few remaining uninjured men. Hold on. I'll bring you back some ammo. Now, that's crazy. Their nearest munition store is 100 yards away.

Faffled, Garland, yells back. Sarge, you can't. There are Japs behind us in front of us and on each side. Oh, but John Bass alone can and will. Having kicked off his waterlogged boots and removed his drenched shirt, John runs barefoot and shirtless along the jungle path. Bolts whiz by, a grenade explodes close enough to throw him to the ground. But the sergeant remains undeterred.

Rising from the jungle mud, he continues back, reaching the hidden ammo tunnel. He's fatigued. His arms are charred. The man is feeling a thousand pains and countless discomfort. But John ignores it all as he drapes himself in cartridge belts in roughly 100 pounds of ammunition. And in that laden condition, John again runs a football field-length gauntlet of Japanese fire. The only thing more incredible than his daring is that he pulls this off. Back with his fellow Marines, John keeps the machine guns roaring, spitting ammo into the black morning.

Japanese bodies literally pile on top of each other. Their own dead provide cover as the next wave of Imperial soldiers climb over for the next bonsai attack. And so the fight continues. And so John continues, fixing guns and making yet another ammo run right until dawn. Thirty-eight. That's how many dead Japanese soldiers are incontestably ascribed to John Basselon personally. But with roughly a thousand corpses piled up and lining the perimeter that he dashed about all night long, nearly one-third of the entire attacking force. It's hard to imagine the sergeant didn't send many more to their jungle graves. For this night of defense, Sergeant John Bass alone will receive the Medal of Honor,

the Marines first enlisted man to receive it in World War II. While the Marines bleeds for every inch of Gualt Canal, the Navy is fighting a desperate battle of its own several hundred miles to the east. At the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands, American and Japanese carrier forces tear into each other, and the price is steep. Uncle Sam loses the Hornet. Yes, that legendary aircraft carrier that, in past episodes, we saw launched the do-little rate and sacrificed so nobly at Midway. With her gone, the U.S. has but one active carrier in the Pacific, the Enterprise.

And yet, here's what the box score doesn't capture. Japan is losing something harder to replace than ships. Those brilliant battle-hardened aviators who made the Kido Butai so terrifying in the opening months of the war are bleeding away. High casualties through 1942 have left Japan with rookie replacements. The Empire of the Rising Sun is winning some of these exchanges, sure, but quietly, it's losing the air war. Still, Gualt Canal's fate is not yet sealed. The Tokyo Express keeps running, and with the Enterprise limping to Pearl Harbor for repairs, Komsupak Vice Admiral Bill Bowhousie has to lean on rear Admiral Daniel Callahan's 13 ships.

Just cruisers and destroyers. No carriers. No battleships. Hardly a match for the far larger Japanese force, inclusive of two battleships now approaching via the slot. But in war, one doesn't always have the luxury of a fair fight. And on the night of November 12, 1942, Dan Callahan sails out to meet the foe anyway. Thus begins the naval battle of Guadalcanal. It's about 1.30 in the morning, November 13th, 1942.

We're on the cruiser USS San Francisco in the Sea Lark Channel, north of Guadalcanal. And as a tropical storm rages, Rear Admiral Dan Callahan is receiving disconcerting news from another ship in his task force. The light cruiser USS Helena. Two clusters of contact blips have emerged from the northwest. The white-haired, square-jawed admiral, orders his 13-ship task force to change course to intercept. To the northeast, Vice Admiral Abe Hiroaki stands aboard his flagship, the battleship Hiyae, without any expectation of battle. Well, not a sea battle, that is.

His mission is precise. To bombard that same target, those Japanese troops decimated by Sergeant John Basselon failed to reach, Guadalcanal Islands Henderson Field. Preparatory to a 7,000-man invasion, Abe's battleships, the Hiyae and the Kirishima, are loaded with special fragmentation shells, the kind you want for shredding planes and fuel depots on the ground. Not armor-piercing shells,

which is the kind of ammunition you choose for a close-range brawl with enemy warships. In other words, Abbe is expecting to shoot fish in a barrel. He doesn't know that another barrel plans to intercept him first and to shoot back. It's now 140 a.m. accompanied by five cruisers and eight destroyers, the Japanese battleships, and the 13-ship American Task Force, are charging through the driven rain and waters at a combined speed of nearly 30 knots as Dan's leading vessel. The destroyer, USS Cushing, spots two Japanese destroyers at 3,000 yards. Five minutes later, at 1.45 a.m., Dan Callahan gives the order. Stand by to open fire.

A Japanese searchlight snaps on. It soon falls on the Atlanta. The Atlanta's gunners waste no time. Immediately, they target to take out the searchlight, plunging this instantaneous clash back into a darkness lit only by the explosions of artillery. But as they do so, Japanese destroyers fire on the Atlanta. Meanwhile, Dan is in an impossible situation.

His column has sailed directly into the middle of the Japanese formation. Enemy ships are on both. sides, and in the dark, no less. He gives the only order that makes any sense. Odd ships, commits fired starboard, even ships to port. Every American ship fires, unleashing their combined guns in two directions simultaneously. Into the Japanese, yes, but inevitably also into each other. And what follows, defies any orderly description of a naval battle. This is chaos at close quarters. USS Laughy nearly collides with the battleship Hiae, close enough to rake her bridge with machine gunfire.

USS Cushing fires six torpedoes at Hiae. None find their mark, but the Japanese battleship veers away, and the Cushing is destroyed by Japanese gunfire moments later. It's a mess, a nightmare. In fact, this battle will later be described as, quote, a bar room brawl with the lights out, close quote. Dan's own flagship, the San Francisco, firing blindly into the melee,

put shells into the already crippled Atlanta. Noting the friendly fire, Dan gives the order. Cease firing, our ships! But it's too late for the Atlanta. She's beyond saving. As she dies, so does her commander, Rear Admiral Norman Scott,

a brilliant career naval officer who just weeks before had beaten the Japanese in a night surface battle at Cape Esperance. He and nearly his entire staff meet their end here. Nor is Norman the only Admiral lost in this watery bar fight. The San Francisco has lost steering, and in the moments of stillness,

shellfire from the battleship Kirashima and two other Japanese vessels finds her bridge. Dan Callahan and his staff are killed. Around 2 a.m., victorious Vice Admiral Abay Hiroaki orders his ships north, away from Guadalcanal Island and the American's precious airfield to lick his fleet's wounds and heavy losses. He does so utterly unaware that the Americans are all but defenseless, that Henderson Field is, in fact, ripe for the taking. It's a lucky break for Uncle Sam.

But there was nothing lucky about the loss of two light cruisers, four destroyers, and the death of two talented rear admirals. So many ships find their way to the bottom of Savo Sound that the Americans rename it, Iron Bottom Sound. When the sun rises, men are still treading water. Small boats go out for survivors, but many Japanese sailors choose to drown rather than be captured. Damaged ships quickly depart for repairs.

One of those ships, the Juno, limps along at just 13 knots, taking on gallons of water along the way. Just south of Guadalcanal, a Japanese submarine's torpedo detonates her magazines, triggering a catastrophic explosion. One so powerful that men aboard other ships are knocked off their feet. The Juno disappears into a giant yellow cloud across the Pacific sky. since nothing seems to be left of the ship. It's assumed no one could have possibly survived. The assumption is mostly correct, and among the dead are five brothers, George, Francis, Joseph, Madison, and Albert Sullivan of Waterloo, Iowa.

The Sullivan brothers enlisted together after Pearl Harbor and requested to serve on the same ship. It was a request that made sense right up to this moment. Their deaths will eventually prompt the Navy's sole service. survivor policy, ensuring no family again loses all its sons in a single engagement, even if for the Solvins of Waterloo. The policy comes too late. But while the rest of the fleet is forced to move on, bound for necessary repairs, more than a hundred men resurface, stranded and drifting through the water, hanging onto a string of rafts. Slowly, over the coming days and nights, most of these men succumb to dehydration, drowning, or sharks. After nine days,

The last of the survivors is rescued. The last of 10. The following night, November 14th, 1942, Comsopac Vice Admiral Bill Bolhousy dispatches Task Force 64 under Rear Admiral Willis Lee. This force includes two battleships, the Washington and the South Dakota, and four destroyers. It's the first direct battleship versus battleship clash of the Pacific War.

USS South Dakota is badly mulled early in the action. But the Washington's superior radar enables it to close undetected within 9,000 yards at the Japanese battleship, Kirashima, at which point the battleship's 16-inch guns do the rest. Combined with Henderson Field's aircraft, hammering the Japanese transport convoy throughout the day, the cost to the Americans is a few destroyers and countless lives. But by the morning of November 15th, the back of the Tokyo Express is broken. Commander of the Combined Fleet, Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, confesses his despair at how many talented pilots they've lost,

telling a confidant, quote, the gap between our strengths is increasing every day. And to be honest, things are looking black for us now, close quote. And the Imperial Army isn't faring any better on Guadalcanal. Cut off from supplies, more than 30,000 Japanese troops are now stranded

and growing frailer by the day. They're forced to eat lizards and worms to survive. That's right. from Yamamoto's infection to these troops' diets, worms of various swords are playing a role in the Pacific Theater. Anyhow, the stronger, better-supplied American Marines continue to repulse the famished Japanese, leaving the Imperial Army and Navy to figure out how to admit defeat.

So much national pride has been staked on victory here, that to admit defeat would suggest something far worse, that the war might not be winnable. All the same, Admiral Ugaki writes in his diary, quote, deeming wrong is wrong and impossible as impossible, and without being obstinate because of face-stating or without coaxing others, we should deal with this important matter with the utmost frankness, close quote. Emperor Hirohito's military leaders make a unanimous recommendation to withdraw from Guadalcanal. The Shoa Emperor agrees on the condition that a new offensive begin elsewhere, so Japan doesn't look forced into defense. Ah, but the Americans are expecting another attack.

So in February, 1943, the Japanese used this to their advantage, sending a huge force of ships to entice the U.S. to prepare for battle. It works, and in a Dunkirk-esque operation, the Japanese imperial forces successfully get 10,652 men off the island. A significant number of lives, but considering the 36,000 troops that had landed, there's been a devastating loss. As Japanese General Kawaguchi Kyotake famously puts it, quote, Guadal Canal is not the name of an island. It is the name of the graveyard of the Japanese Army, close quote. You know, just less than a year and a half ago, the American Navy was decimated at Pearl Harbor,

and Japan was crushing it in the Pacific. Oh, how the tides have turned. I trust you recall that, before the attack at Pearl Harbor. Admiral Yamamoto Isoruku warned that he didn't believe Japan could win a war, war against the Allies. With his back-to-back failures at Midway and in the Salman Islands, these worries are starting to look more like a prophecy. Nonetheless, Yamamoto remains incredibly popular. He agrees to visit his forces in the Solomon Islands. Yamamoto sends out his itinerary, but as we know, it's not just the Japanese who are listening. That's right, cryptanalysts

at Pearl Harbor, dubbed the Fleet Radio Unit Pacific, or Fruitpack, immediately set to work decoding the message. They quickly crack it, declaring, we've hit the jackpot. And they have. The Allies don't only have Yamamoto's destination. They have his flight plan, departure time, and even which plane he'll be on. Little more than a day after the Japanese first sent it, the Intel reaches sync pack headquarters and Admiral Chester Nimitz. After reviewing maps and seeing that the head of the Japanese Navy will indeed be flying nearby Allied airspace, he looks to his fleet intelligence officer and asks, Do we try to get him?

Chester wonders, is it wrong to target an enemy commander? But Pearl Harbor, baton, yeah, those worries fade fast. The strategic question is trickier. Might the Japanese realize their codes have been broken? And Yamamoto's

been on such a losing streak since the summer of 1942. Maybe it's best to let a losing enemy keep losing. After long discussion with his advisors, And apocryphally, FDR are weighing in with a get Yamamoto. Chester is convinced, demoralizing Japan by killing their much-admired admiral, is worth any downside. With thoughts toward the sailors entombed in the battleship, USS, Arizona, and so many others now lying in watery graves across the Pacific,

from the Philippines to Midway and beyond, it's time for Operation Vengeance. It's a little past 9.30 a.m. April 18, 1943, Major John Mitchell has soaring through the air in his twin-engine fighter, a Lockheed P-38 Lightning, somewhere near Bougainville Island in the South Pacific. The dark-haired, square-jawed major has flown over 494 miles in two hours this morning, and beside him are 15 other P-38s under his command, all soaring just above sea level, a mere 50 feet above the quiet, hypnotizing waves, and stone cold. radio silence. It's almost soothing, but falling asleep while piloting a single-seat aircraft is

hardly an option. Breaking through the early morning mist, John can see Bougainville's green mountains rising in the sky. They're a little early, but that's exactly what this 28-year-old Mississippian was looking for. He and his fellow pilots begin climbing to 10,000 feet. Once there, only one thing remains, waiting for Admiral Yabamoto Isoroku's plane. The radio that has been silent all morning long soon crackles to life. Nebraska, Doug Canny, speaks calmly into John's ear. Bogies, 11 o'clock high. John sees them 90 degrees to his current path skyward.

Two bombers and six escorts, comprised of those dreaded, lethal Japanese fighters. Zeros. Wait, two bombers? And six zeros? John was only expecting one bomber. Is this it? Is Yamamoto in one of those two aircraft? If so, which one?

Sounds like it's time to improvise. He'll take down both bombers and hope that ends the Japanese atom. John radio's out in order to his 15 pilots. Skin off your tanks. In other words, drop the auxiliary fuel tank to gain maneuverability. The Mississippian guides 11 planes above the bombers, providing cover while the four other P-38s go in for the kill. John radios to his friend, Tom Lanfair.

All right, Tom. Go get him. He's your meat. The Japanese bombers, or Bettys, try to break away and escape. The American pilots run into a bit of trouble. Besby Holmes pulls the handle to drop his auxiliary tanks. Nothing. He yanks again.

The tanks won't pludge. He has to break hard from the attack and go into a violent dive to tear them loose. His wingman, Raymond Heim, stays with him, meaning only Tom Lanfier and Rex Barber attack the Betty. And what happens next depends on whom you ask. Tom will later claim that he banks in from the right and blasts off Yamamoto's wing. Rex will say it's his own fire from directly behind the Betty that does the job. No matter who makes the killing blow, both Bettys are soon smoking and falling. With one target crashing into the jungle on Bougainville and the other into the sea,

the pilots leave their dogfights and head for safety back at base. Yes, they got him. The man who planned the surprise attack at Pearl Harbor is himself killed via surprise attack on the one-year anniversary of the Doolittle raid. John Mitchell tells his men to break away, saying, Mission accomplished. Everyone, get your asses home. The crash has no survivors. Admiral Yamamoto's remains are found days later, reportedly still in his seat, gripping his sword. killed, it appears, before the plane ever went down.

The information is kept in a tight circle of officers at first, but word gets out and spreads quickly. Soon enough, Japanese newspapers are permitted to report on Yamamoto's death. Journalist Kyosha Kiyoshi sums up the country's feelings. Quote, there is widespread sentiment of dark foreboding about the future course of the war. Close quote. It seems that Chester Nimitz's question of whether Japan could replace Yamamoto was someone better, has been answered.

The scale of what these months have cost is staggering. The waters north of Guadalcanal, now bear the name, Iron Bottom Sound. And the men of the Juno, among them, five brothers named Sullivan, rest beneath it. But what they bought was real. Guadalcanal is secured. The Tokyo Express is broken. The tide that began turning at Midway has found its strength at Guadalcanal. That's how President Franklin Roosevelt sees it, declaring that.

It would seem that the turning point in this war has at last been reached. He's right. The Admiral Ernie King still needs to press the offensive. General Douglas MacArthur is itching to keep his promise to return to the Philippines. And there are so many Pacific islands yet to rest from the Japanese. You might just say that Marines and sailors will be hopping from one blood-soaked beach to the next. Yes, Admiral Yamamoto's war in the Pacific has ended. But ours? Not even close.

History that Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Episode Research and Written by Greg Jackson and Will King. Executive editor Riley Newbauer. Production by Airship. Audio editing by Muhammad Chazade. Sound design by Molly Bond. Theme music composed by Greg Jackson. Arrangement and additional composition by Lindsay Graham of Airship.

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