WAKE ISLAND SURRENDERS (8-23, Dec. 1941)

Aerial view, Wake Island

     The invaders grounded two destroyer transports off the south shore of Wake and sent troops ashore from both.  Two barges unloaded onto the beaches at Wilkes.  Two other landing craft put men ashore on Wake just east of the channel entrance.  Other troops, as best can be determined, landed on Wake's inner shore from rubber boats that entered the shallow lagoon from the northwest.
     As these landings began, the bulk of the active defense on Wake fell to mobile forces comprised of Marines, sailors, and civilians, for a major portion of the defense battalion's strength was immobilized at the three-inch and five-inch guns.  The area from Camp One eastward toward the airstrip was defended by Lieutenant Poindexter and the defense battalion's mobile reserve, augmented by Boatswain's Mate Barnes and fifteen sailors, and a considerable number of civilians.  Each end of the airstrip was guarded  by machine-gun crews.  Near the airstrip's western end, Lieutenant Kliewer of the fighter squadron took a stand with three others at the generator which was wired to set off the mines along the strip.  The three-inch gun on the beach south of the airstrip was manned by Lieutenant Hanna and another Marine and three civilians.  A defensive line was formed around the gun by Major Putnam, other surviving members of the fighter squadron, and a dozen civilians.
     Those were the hot spots on Wake as the fighting began.

Defensive installations on Wake, 8-23, December 1941

     Hanna and his crew at the three-inch gun poured fifteen rounds into one of the destroyer transports within minutes after it was grounded, and then began firing at the other, but the invasion troops were already swarming ashore.  As they advanced on the gun position, Putnam's little defense line fought back, giving ground stubbornly until at last it formed virtually a circle around the gun.  Some Japanese remained to contest the position while others proceeded past the pocket and into the brush.
     At Camp One, landing craft approaching the channel were fired on by machine guns.  When they grounded on the reef offshore, Poindexter, Barnes and others began throwing hand grenades.  Barnes scored one direct hit just as the troops began to disembark, but it was not enough to stop them.  They began to pour ashore as the Camp One defenders grouped and fought back.
     Devereux had done his best to maintain contact with his units, but it was fast becoming impossible.  Within half an hour after the first landing, telephone communication had been lost with Camp One, Lieutenant Hanna and the defensive line under Major Putnam, and Battery A, to Peacock Point.  And reports from Wilkes were becoming more and more fragmentary.

Japanese Landing on Wilkes, 23, December

 We knew only that a considerable force had landed there and was being resisted.  Later, contact was lost altogether.
     From Peale, the only area where no landings had been made, Lieutenant Kessler reported by telephone that he could use one of his five-inch guns on a destroyer off Wake.  I told him to go ahead.  I also authorized Captain Godbold to send some of his men down to join the fighting.  It could have been a mistake if troops were about to land there too, but we had a real crisis on Wake that took precedence over a possible one on Peale.  Accordingly, a truckload of men under Corporal Leon Graves came roaring down the north-south road and were directed to go in support of Major Putnam's group.  But in the confusion they never made it; eventually they wound up in a defensive line set up at Major Devereux's command post.
     In the midst of everything else, a ludicrous problem arose for me to deal with.  A civilian cook came boiling into my command post, drunk as a lord from that evil concoction known as "swipes" about which I had been warned before the war began.  He wanted to go out and tackle the Japs single-handed.  It was quite a while before we could get him quietly disposed of.
     Meanwhile the enemy was moving deeper into the island from its beachheads, and beginning to spread out through the brush.  Lewis's Battery E, inside the head of the wishbone, had been firing in answerto the steady shelling we were receiving from the cruisers offshore; now his position came under fire from invasion troops.  And down at the point of the wishbone, mortar fire began to fall on the five-inch gun positions of Lieutenant Barninger's Battery A.
     At the machine-gun setup on the eastern end of the airstrip, Corporal Winford J. McAnally was in command of a force of six Marines and three civilians.  An hour before dawn he reported the enemy was beginning to attack strongly up the north-south road--evidence either that the invasion of our south shore had been successful or that the Japs were landing at yet another spot.
     By now I knew beyond doubt that the enemy had landed at three places and perhaps more.  As yet no planes had arrived, but we could expect them by dawn.  The offshore shelling continued without letup.
     Admiral Pye had asked me to keep him informed.  I decided it was time to do so.  At five o'clock I messaged:

Enemy on island.  Issue in doubt.

     This message, interpreted as a final gesture of defiance, was to provoke great comment back in America when it appeared in the accounts of Wake's defense, but as a matter of fact no bravado was intended.  At the moment I began to write the dispatch, a phrase I had read sixteen years before came into my mind.  It was from Anatole France's Revolt of the Angels.  He was describing the assault made upon the heavenly ramparts by the legions of Satan.  "For three days," he wrote, "the issue was in doubt."
     Why I should have recalled those words at such a time I do not know, but they seemed appropriate and even hopeful.  In France's story, the victory had gone to the side of the angels.  And while I knew we were outnumbered and outgunned, I was still unable even to consider the prospect of defeat.  It would be more than an hour before the notion actually sank into my mind that we might not, somehow, make out.
     In one sector our forces were indeed making out, and would shortly do far better than that.  That was on Wilkes.
     A force of one hundred Japanese had landed there to wide out the defenders--Captain Platt, with seventy Marines and a number of sailors and civilians.  The enemy had captured Gunner McKinstry's three-inch gun emplacements but had been blocked from expanding their beachhead.  Even as I sent my dispatch, Captain Platt was reorganizing his forces for a counterattack that, before seven o'clock, would virtually wipe out the invaders, killing at least 94 and ending all immediate threat to Wilkes.
     It was a substantial setback to the enemy, but I did not know of it until after the surrender.  Among the various reports I received was one at dawn that Wilkes had fallen.
     This word came from observers on Peale, who were about a mile away from Wilkes across the lagoon.  When daylight came they could see Japanese flags displayed at many places on Wilkes, and concluded that the islet had capitulated.  As I had no reason to question the report, the assumed loss of Wilkes was one of the considerations I had to take into account in sizing up the situation.
     But brilliantly as Wesley Platt had conducted his operation, still Wilkes was only a small fraction of the total defense, and even the truth about conditions there could not have altered the final outcome.  On the big islet, Wake, were concentrated most of the defenses and the defenders, and on Wake the situation was steadily deteriorating.  Each group of defenders was pinned down while the enemy enjoyed wide freedom of movement.
     As the build-up of enemy strength increased the pressure northward, chiefly against the machine-gun positions held by Corporal McAnally, Devereux ordered Major Potter to set up a final defensive line south of his command post.  But the unrelenting pressure continued.  And as dawn came, the carrier-based planes swarmed over us like angry hornets.
     Devereux and I had been in regular contact throughout the battle, and each time he reported to me he described the situation in darker terms.  My own word to him that no releif could be expected made the picture even worse.  At 06:30, when it appeared that his was the only position not yet overwhelmed, he reported enemy pressure there was getting heavy and gave the opinion that he would not be able to hold out much longer.
     I knew the time had come to consider the question that only a few hours ago had been unthinkable.  Accordingly, I asked for his opinion.  Would I be justified in surrendering, in order to prevent further and useless loss of life?
     Devereux evaded a direct answer.  He said he felt the decision was solely up to the commanding officer.  I was well aware of that, of course, but I was not willing to act without reviewing the situation as fully as possible.
     We talked a while longer.  He asked if I knew that Wilkes had fallen.  I said that I did.  At last I took a deep breath and told him if he felt he could hold out no longer, I authorized him to surrender.
     I hung up the phone and sent a final dispatch to the Commander in Chief, reporting two destroyers grounded on the beach and the enemy fleet moving in.  Then I had all codes, ciphers, and secret orders destroyed, and ordered the communicators to haul down our transmitter antenna.  It would be too easy for the Japanese dive bombers to spot.  Besides, I had no more messages to send.
     Devereux called me again about 07:30 and asked whether I had reached the Japanese commander by radio.  I told him I had not.  He repeated his statement that he could not hold out much longer, and I repeated mine that he was authorized to surrender.  He said he was not sure of his ability to contact the enemy and asked me to try.  I promised to see what I could do.
     But before I could do anything, it was all over.  Devereux rigged a white flag, left his command post, and moved south down the road toward the enemy, giving our troops the cease-fire order as he reached them.  I became aware that the surrender had begun when someone reported that bed sheets could be sen flying above the civilian hospital near Devereux's command post.
     I looked around me at the men in my command post and could think of nothing to say.  In a sort of a daze I walked out of the unfinished magazine, tossed my .45 pistol into a nearby latrine, got into my truck, and drove away.
     I went, not south to the enemy, but north to the cottage I had occupied in the early days of the defense.  It was battered and badly damaged but, moving mechanically through the debris, I took off the dirty old khakis I had been living in night and day, shaved and washed my face, and put on a clean blue uniform.  Then I got back into the truck, drove down the road, and surrendered.

--Rear Admiral W. Scott Cunningham
                                 With Lydel Sims
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Compiled and edited by: S. E. Smith

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