Also on May 22, the Americans began pushing the Japanese closer to Chichagof Harbor. The two ridges leading to the harbor, Fish Hook and Buffalo, contained numerous Japanese defensive positions, most of which had to be cleared out by machine guns and grenades. American advances were slow, supplies often ran low and casualties from gunfire and weather were high.Often the leadership of individual enlisted men helped push U.S. troops ahead. Such a leader was a Pfc Barnett of the 4th Infantry. While the rest of his outfit struggled slowly down a muddy hill studded with Japanese, Barnett managed to slide and walk down the hill, lobbing grenades and firing into a nearby trench system. His company began to follow him, but by the time the rest of the men had caught up, Barnett had killed all 47 enemy soldiers who had held the position.

It was also on Fish Hook Ridge that Pfc Joe P. Martinez made his mark. The 32nd Infantry Regiment GI saw his battalion pinned down twice by the Japanese on May 26, and twice he got to his feet and took action. Cradling his BAR, Martinez advanced through a hail of enemy fire and coolly emptied his weapon into Japanese foxholes, reloading as he went. The men of his company followed Martinez as he led two assaults. It was only as he approached one final foxhole after the second assault that Martinez was shot in the head, dying of the wound the following day. He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery.

By May 28, the Japanese had been pushed back into a small corner of Chichagof Harbor. The 3rd Battalion, 17th Infantry, along with one company of the 32nd, was positioned close enough to the Japanese to thwart any attempted withdrawal. Other U.S. units secured various valleys and passes, although Chichagof Valley itself was thinly occupied.

On the 28th, all American commanders were notified of a pending attack against the enemy to begin no later than 5 a.m. the next day. All able-bodied men were ordered to leave the aid stations and on-ship hospitals and return to their outfits for what was meant to be the final American push. The fate of the Japanese seemed sealed.

Colonel Yamazaki, however, had plans of his own. Rather than withdraw into a nearby harbor that provided better defenses but could not easily be reached by supply ships, he decided to counterattack. From Chichagof Harbor, he would have his remaining men, who numbered about 1,000, sweep down through lightly defended Chichagof Valley. His soldiers would then go on to reoccupy Point Able and Clevesy Pass, then take over the artillery in Massacre Valley. If the attack succeeded, the Japanese could then hold down the GIs in the valley, cut off the main American supply line and wait for help from the Kuriles.

On the evening of May 28, a small American patrol from the 17th Infantry penetrated Japanese lines, seeking any information that might help the impending U.S. attack. When the patrol got about 500 yards into enemy territory, the GIs could hardly believe what they saw–groups of frenzied Japanese jumping up and down, yelling at the top of their lungs and guzzling bottles of sake. They were dispatching their own wounded, either through morphine injections or self-inflicted pistol shots.

When the patrol returned to American lines, its members could not recall the password and almost were shot by their own troops. Then one man started yelling, ‘Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Yankees, Joe DiMaggio,’ and the patrol was allowed to pass through.

The leader of the patrol, Tech. 5 Lee J. Bartoletti, reported what he had seen. His lieutenant shrugged off the information, but Bartoletti began to crawl from foxhole to foxhole, warning the men in his company that a Japanese attack was coming. Bartoletti’s was the only warning the GIs would receive before coming under one of the largest Japanese banzai charges of the war.

At about 3:30 a.m., a thousand screaming Japanese soldiers came running through the bivouac area of the 32nd Infantry. They carried rifles, grenades, even bayonets attached to sticks. The Americans, who had been ordered a few minutes earlier to leave their positions and have a hot meal at a regimental kitchen, were caught totally off guard. Some found cover on high ground, but many were overrun by the enemy. Much of the ensuing combat was hand to hand, and gunfire and screams rang throughout the valley. But the darkness kept the rest of the American troops unaware of what was happening.

After the main Japanese assault began, diversionary forces attacked the 17th Infantry in Chichagof Valley. Screaming ‘We’ll drink your blood,’ the Japanese butchered any GIs they could get their hands on. The main body of Japanese then stormed into the lower valley, where an American aid station was set up. They swept through the station, slashing the tent ropes and killing the wounded, who were trapped in their sleeping bags by the fallen canvas.

When they had finished destroying the aid station, the main Japanese force headed down toward Clevesy Pass, occupied mostly by engineer, medical and artillery troops. The only warning these troops had came from retreating GIs shouting, ‘The Japs are coming!’

Several groups of screaming Japanese, led by Yamazaki himself, hurled themselves at a detachment of artillerymen. With small arms and two heavy machine guns, the Americans fought them off, killing many. The engineer companies also managed to mount a hasty defense, while the cooks and bulldozer drivers grabbed a few automatic weapons from retreating infantrymen and proceeded to further decimate the enemy.

As Japanese numbers dwindled, they became disorganized and began to run off in different directions. They also stopped killing Americans and began killing themselves with grenades.

When the fighting was over, Chichagof and Sarana valleys looked like dug-up graveyards, with dead Americans and Japanese littered everywhere. Some wounded GIs could still be heard calling out to their mothers, or to God. The ghastly sight caused a chaplain of the 7th to exclaim, ‘I am glad they’re [the Japanese] dead, really glad….How can I go back to my church when I’ve got it in me to be glad men are dead?’

Although the last big battle was over, American patrols continued to search out and destroy isolated pockets of resistance. Most of the last Japanese defenders fought to the death, as Americans made no attempts to take prisoners. But one Japanese soldier clearly realized that neither continuing to fight nor taking his own life was worth the effort. Bundling himself up in the same Japanese uniform that some GIs were now wearing to keep warm, he managed to get into an American chow line. He might have actually gotten a hot meal had he not turned around and asked the man behind him how the Brooklyn Dodgers were doing. At least he left the island as a prisoner, instead of remaining as a corpse.

By the evening of May 31, the island was fully in American hands, but at a terrible price for both sides. Out of the Japanese defenders, 2,351 were killed and only 29 were taken prisoner. The American figures were 549 killed, 1,148 wounded and about 2,100 listed as casualties from exposure, trench foot and shock.

The subsequent campaign to retake Kiska, which was to involve 34,000 U.S. and Canadian troops, never got past the landings. Unknown to the Americans, the Japanese had come to realize the uselessness of defending such remote positions of minor importance in the overall struggle. When the first Allied units reached the beaches on August 15, 1943, they discovered that the island was defended by four dogs and the corpse of a Japanese soldier. Just three weeks earlier, the 5,000-man garrison occupying the island had been loaded onto transports and had headed back to Japan.

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This article was written by Lee F. Bartoletti and originally appeared in the November 2003 issue of World War II. For more great articles subscribe to World War II magazine today!

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