World War II: the battle for Kiska (pt 2).

When the fighting was finally over (17 August 1943), exhausted Allied troops pulled themselves out of their dank foxholes, dazed and wet, to look around them and count up the casualties. As Tokyo Rose had warned them, they were in for a dreadful surprise. There were 28 dead American soldiers, four dead Canadians, and over 50 wounded Allied soldiers. There were no Japanese. Americans and Canadians had only been shooting each other.

The Japanese were long gone before the Allies arrived. There had been some dispute among Japanese commanders regarding the rescue of their trapped garrison. Some officers felt that rescue would be a dishonour to the dead soldiers of Attu and that the soldiers at Kiska should also be left to fight to an honourable death. But in the end, rescue was approved. Eight hundred and thirty Japanese were first brought out by submarine, three of which were sunk by the Allies. The escape of the rest of the garrison through the `impenetrable' Allied naval blockade (really a triple blockade of seaplanes, submarines and coastal torpedo boats escorted by destroyers), had been a daring and brilliant feat.

The surrounded garrison ceaselessly monitored the blockade with the first radar the Japanese had ever seen, acquired from a sunken British battleship, until they found a small window of opportunity in the Allies' seamless ring of ships. Several previous rescue attempts had been aborted but now, uncoded messages were intercepted that revealed a large segment of Allied ships, eager for action of any sort, had left the blockade under orders to chase after a few radar blips that came to nothing. But they were gone from the blockade long enough on 28 July 1943, in what is now derisively referred to as the "Battle of Pips," to allow two light cruisers and eight or nine destroyers to slip into Kiska Harbour under the usual cover of thick fog. The Japanese had nine hours while the Allied ships were refueling and rearming to carry out the rescue. The approach and departure from Kiska Harbour would take eight hours. This allowed only an hour to evacuate 5200 Japanese soldiers.

The Japanese rescue fleet replaced their usual cargo of seaplanes and torpedoes with 20 landing craft. This, combined with 19 boats berthed at Kiska, made a formidable rescue armada. The evacuation was completed in just 55 minutes as the soldiers flung their rifles and bayonets into the sea and climbed up the cargo nets strung along the ship's sides. All landing craft was scuttled behind them and, along with the rope ladders and weaponry, sent to the bottom of Kiska Harbour. Nothing much was left behind except for one dog, one recent corpse dead of natural causes, a litter of landmines and booby traps, and some bombs preset to blow at the rate of one a day. The Japanese apparently had received little notice of their impending rescue as, when William Kirby surveyed their abandoned huts later during infantry patrols, unfinished meals were still upon the tables.

The Japanese paused briefly during the evacuation at a pre-arranged signal -- the explosion that signified the destruction of the radar installation -- to pray for the 2638 Japanese that had perished at Attu and the 2500 men that had died on and around Kiska Island during the occupation. The Japanese had never intended to invade North America from these Aleutian Islands, but their 14-month occupation had been a successful strategic move in diverting valuable Allied resources from fronts where the war truly raged.

Early Allied intelligence had been aware of the probable evacuation of Kiska. Japanese radio was off the air three weeks before the planned invasion. American bombers flying over the island had not received a single round of anti-aircraft fire since then, and pilots had even landed on the bombed-out runways of Kiska to confirm suspicions that the Japanese were gone. All of this information was reported to superiors. However, the Commander of North Pacific Force, Rear-Admiral Thomas Kinkaid, had no intentions of shutting down what was then the largest amphibious assault of the war. He ordered the invasion to go ahead anyway, claiming that the whole exercise would be a "super dress rehearsal, good for training purposes." Reconnaissance of the island by scouting parties, routine before any invasion, was cancelled.

Many spent and shaken Allied soldiers wandered aimlessly about after this "super dress rehearsal" accepting the hard truth as the casualty reports trickled in. Some felt a sense of relief that their suicide mission against the Japanese had been averted; others felt let down that they had seen no real action after all their rigorous training and preparation. Many soldiers were grievous and sickened that they had participated in such an unnecessary charade; skulking about the thick muck of this miserable island for two days killing only their own. It was the Battle of Kiska that would lead Time magazine to create the acronym, JANFU (joint army-navy foul-up) to complement the earlier SNAFU (situation normal, all fouled-up). Never before had such a colossal amount of weapons, ammunition, manpower and equipment been thrown into a battle without an enemy.

Many were the ways to die on Kiska. Before the last of the Allied troops departed, more than 300 casualties would be recorded. There were those who had been killed by the so-called friendly fire of their confused and scared comrades; others by mines and the timed bombs left by the Japanese; accidental ammunition detonations; vehicle accidents; unex-ploded bombs in the tundra; and insidious booby trap explosions. In one incident, 71 navy men were killed and 47 wounded when a destroyer struck an off-harbour mine. Many soldiers became diseased and sick, suffering non-battle injuries and exposure. Trench foot was the most common affliction.

Most troops were evacuated from the island soon after the `invasion' was over. Captain William Kirby and the Canadian Green Light Force stayed behind for almost four months to endure the bitter Aleutian winter, expanding and completing air facilities and base construction, and building roads and piers in anticipation of future action against the Japanese. When Kiska was finally abandoned, Kirby left for Pacific Command at Vancouver, to continue his military career as Command Legal Officer.

If there are any other surviving members of the Green Light Force, Kirby lost contact with them many years ago. He remembers Kiska as a land that he came to respect and admire, a place that he now describes as "very austere in its beauty." For Kiska was not always fog-bound, windswept, dark, wet and ominous. There were those rare occasions when the mists would lift briefly, just long enough to reveal sudden breathtaking scenes of pure beauty -- all dominated by one perfectly shaped, cloud-cushioned and steaming volcano. The glossy greens of the tundra, unusual ferns, and rare alpine flowers would all be on display in brilliant bands of sunlight, surrounded by endless blue seas. And then the curtain of fog would close.

Kirby returned most of his kit as ordered, but did leave the ship with a few items he considered personal. This unique collection of momentos, kit items and photographs may be the only evidence left of Canada's participation in the ignominious Battle of Kiska. He has donated this collection to the Ashton Armoury Museum in Victoria, BC, where it is on display. William Kirby, a retired Supreme Court Judge, resides in Sidney, BC.

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Author:	Roy, Rhonda
Publication:	Esprit de Corps
Date:	Mar 1, 2002
Words:	1227
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