Beyond Pearl Harbor, Imperial Army and Navy leaders eyed other outposts and military bases across the Far East and Pacific. That included a remote, nondescript atoll few Americans had ever heard of, more than 2,000 miles west of the Hawaiian Islands, but just 600 miles from Japanese bases in the Marshall Islands. It was called Wake Island.
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Comprised of three low-lying islets, Wake Island was flat, barren, and hardly a tropical paradise. Measuring less than three square miles, the ground was a mix of white sand and coral rock and the highest elevation point was a mere twenty feet. In 1935, Pan American Airlines began using its lagoon as a refueling stop for the Clipper, a four-engine passenger seaplane crossing the Pacific from the West Coast to the Philippines, and later added a hotel and other commercial facilities. With Washington growing increasingly alarmed by militants in Tokyo, the War Department approved plans to transform Wake into an air and submarine base. In early 1941, hundreds of civilian engineers, tradesmen, and other contractors arrived on the atoll to build out an airstrip, fuel bunkers, roads, and other infrastructure needed to accommodate the planned expansion.
Though the two countries were not yet at war, Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, commander-in-chief of the Pacific Fleet (CINCPAC), was aware the construction would attract Japanese interest. He began fortifying Wake, drawing from the meager forces available in Hawaii. That included lead elements of the 1st Marine Defense Battalion—there would be close to 450 Marines on Wake by early December—a dozen 3-inch antiaircraft guns, and six 5-inch coastal guns. The coastal guns were older and obsolete models but still packed a meaningful punch, and batteries were sited at key points along the shoreline. There were also plenty of .30-caliber and .50-caliber machine guns to sweep the beaches of enemy landing forces.
Perhaps the most vital defensive component arrived on December 4, when 12 F4F Wildcats of Marine Fighter Squadron VMF-211 touched down on Wake’s airstrip. Ferried from Pearl Harbor by the USS Enterprise, the Marine squadron was a significant boost to the garrison, providing needed air defense and short-range reconnaissance. Their ability to scan the air and sea for approaching adversaries took on added importance in the absence of radar, a technology that was still in its infancy and not yet deployed to Wake Island.
The Marines on Wake were led by Major James Devereux, an 18-year veteran with extensive overseas experience. He reported to US Naval Commander Winfred Cunningham, the senior officer on the atoll and an experienced aviator, who arrived in late November to take command of the naval air station and the seventy sailors assigned to the base. Though comforted by the addition of the Marine air wing, the two leaders were well aware the remote base was an inviting target to their Pacific rivals. To prepare his Marines, Devereux drilled the men over and over in the tropical heat while using every minute of daylight to strengthen Wake’s fortifications.
The War Begins
When news of the strike on Pearl Harbor reached the atoll, the Marines dashed to their battle stations, manning the coastal and antiaircraft guns and shouldering their Springfield rifles. Two air patrols were ordered aloft—a pair of Wildcats in each—to search for any approaching enemy aircraft or ship formations. With the planes having limited fuel capacity, the remaining Wildcats were held back so they could be scrambled once any intruders were spotted, rather than burning up fuel reserves on a search mission.
Cunningham and Devereux weighed what to do with the civilian contractors. The Pan American Clipper had been recalled from a scheduled flight to Guam, but the seaplane was barely large enough to accommodate most of the airline’s ground personnel. A sealift to evacuate the 1,100 civilian workers was the only feasible option, but it would take considerable time to organize, as Pearl Harbor was still in disarray. In the interim, construction crews and their heavy equipment were put to immediate work strengthening the Marine defenses – most notably, building protective revetments for the recently arrived Wildcats.
They would have little time. Just hours after the strike on Pearl Harbor ended, twenty-seven twin-engine bombers arrived over Wake. The planes were a complete surprise, having slipped past the two fighter patrols, nor were they spotted from the ground, as low cloud cover and noise from the pounding surf left the bombers unspotted until they were nearly overhead. Scores of bombs whistled down across the three islets, scoring direct hits on fuel storage tanks and the Pan American facilities. The worst harm came to VMF-211. With work not yet completed on their shelters, fighter planes still on the ground were scattered across the airfield when the raid began, fully exposed. Seven were destroyed in the attack, with one other severely damaged. The blasts claimed the lives of nearly half of the squadron’s personnel, including several pilots and most of the mechanics. Precious supplies of replacement parts, tires, and tools were also lost.
Fires across the atoll were doused and the injured treated, but more air strikes would follow in the days ahead. After each raid, the Marines moved their heavier guns and replaced them with decoys, often tree logs, to fool Japanese bombardiers and preserve the real guns for future use. The civilian workers also pitched in to aid the Marines, building earthworks and shelters, assisting with repairs, and even delivering meals to the men in the trenches. The four remaining Wildcats were in constant operation, patrolling the skies for enemy bombers. They managed to disrupt the oncoming formations with some success, but the bombings continued, softening Wake’s defenses for the inevitable invasion.
An Epic Stand
The first attempt came three days into the war. Transports carrying assault troops sailed from the Marshall Islands, escorted by three older-model light cruisers and six destroyers. The troops were Special Naval Landing Forces, the equivalent of US Marines, and their modest numbers—comparable to those of the Wake defenders—and limited firepower was a clear sign of Japanese confidence.
In the pre-dawn hours of December 11, the flotilla began its final trek to the Wake coastline, preceded by a heavy bombardment from the sea. With the Japanese naval guns enjoying far greater range, Marine shore batteries were ordered to hold their fire as the invasion force closed the distance. The shelling intensified, rocking the atoll with blast after blast, but the Marines remained burrowed in their protective shelters and dugouts. When the lead ship, a light cruiser and Japanese flagship, was just 4,500 yards from the beach, Devereux unleashed his 5-inch guns. From nearly point-blank range, the Marine gunnery was exceptional, slamming several enemy ships in the opening volley. The invasion force turned back, with the flagship limping away after suffering eleven hits. One of the destroyers was blasted apart by a direct hit, sinking with the loss of nearly its entire crew.
As the ships fled for safer waters, the four remaining Marine Wildcats pounced, strafing the ships from bow to stern and dropping small, 100-pound bombs fixed to their wings. One found its mark on a destroyer laden with extra stores of depth charges, and the earsplitting explosion doomed the ship and crew. The sinking capped a stunning triumph for the Wake garrison. At the cost of just five wounded Marines, the defenders foiled an invasion attempt, sank two destroyers, and damaged several other ships. Spirits soared across Wake and news of the garrison’s defiance sped across the Pacific, rousing an American public despairing over early struggles among Allied forces.
On Wake Island, the celebration was short-lived. The Japanese promptly resumed their air strikes and for days carpeted the three islets with bombs. Amid further destruction across the atoll, the number of serviceable Wildcats continued to dwindle, succumbing in aerial combat or to mechanical failures. Despite the losses, the gallantry and grit of the surviving personnel of VMF-211 throughout the siege was extraordinary. Ground crews worked tirelessly to keep the remaining planes in the air, cannibalizing destroyed planes for spare parts and patching up the battered Wildcats with the most unconventional means. Exhausted pilots took to the skies morning and afternoon, bravely seeking out their enemy despite the steep odds.
Cunningham and Devereux clung to hopes that desperately needed supplies and reinforcements might reach the atoll, but a planned relief expedition was fast turning into a fiasco. On December 16, the aircraft carrier USS Saratoga and her escorts, led by Rear Admiral Jack Fletcher, left Hawaiian waters, carrying another Marine fighter squadron, the 4th Marine Defense Battalion, and the USS Tangier, a seaplane tender large enough to accommodate most of the stranded civilian personnel. The ships were slowed, however, by refueling mishaps and poor weather, unnerving CINCPAC officials already fretting about the opposition the small task force was likely to encounter once reaching its destination.
That opposition would be formidable. Shamed by the setback and losses from the initial invasion attempt, Imperial Navy leaders had allocated more firepower to the operation, including heavy cruisers, additional destroyers, and another 1,600 assault troops. But it was the arrival of aircraft carriers Hiryu and Soryu, veterans of the Pearl Harbor raid, that sealed the fate of VMF-211. The Zeros carried by the Hiryu and Soryu not only vastly outnumbered the remaining Wildcats but were faster and more maneuverable than their American counterparts.
On December 22, the last two Wildcats took to the skies, intercepting a flight of nearly forty carrier-based bombers and fighter planes. Undaunted by the numbers, the Marine aviators downed several of the carrier planes but at great cost, with one pilot shot down and killed. The other managed to nurse his marred Wildcat back to Wake Island, but the aircraft was unsalvageable. For two weeks, the survivors of VMF-211 had worked miracles to provide some semblance of air defense, but with no more serviceable planes, the remaining officers and enlisted men picked up rifles and reported to the Marine command post as infantry.
Final Invasion
Bolstered by the additional naval and ground forces, the Japanese made another invasion bid, this time in the early morning hours of December 23. They dispensed with any sort of bombardment, landing the assault troops quickly under the cover of night to spoil the accuracy of the coastal guns. Storming across the beaches, the Japanese charged into the outnumbered Marines, joined in their trenches by pilots, others in uniform—there were dozens of Army and Naval personnel on the atoll—and even construction workers who chose to fight with their countrymen.
Pockets of defenders sprinkled across the atoll battled the Japanese until dawn, fighting the invaders to a standstill in some places and withdrawing to more defensible positions in others. Despite such success, Devereux and Cunningham had little inkling of what was unfolding, as the Japanese had severed most of the telephone wires. Forward defenses were cut off, unable to communicate or coordinate with others, and the clouded picture compelled Cunningham to send out an ominous message to CINCPAC headquarters – “Enemy on Island. Issue in Doubt.”
At that moment, Fletcher’s task force was on the final leg of its journey, just 600 miles from Wake. Vice Admiral William S. Pye, who had temporarily relieved Admiral Kimmel as CINCPAC in the wake of the catastrophe at Pearl Harbor, had a decision to make. With the battleship fleet decimated, the only meaningful American naval assets left in the Pacific were the aircraft carriers, still untested in battle. There were just three of them, while the Japanese had triple that number, plus a robust submarine force, with some likely lurking near Wake. The lack of repair facilities anywhere near the atoll further jeopardized the Saratoga, as any substantial damage in such far-flung waters would incapacitate the ship for months, if not longer. After learning of attacks on Wake by carrier-based aircraft, confirming the presence of Japanese “flattops,” Pye’s decision was cemented. He ordered the task force to turn back.
The news was not well-received at sea. When the radio transmission reached Fletcher on the Saratoga, he threw his hat on the deck and stormed off the bridge, incensed at the idea of abandoning fellow Americans and running from a fight. Other senior commanders aboard seethed as well, and though there was some talk of defying the CINCPAC orders, the task force withdrew, leaving the Wake Island servicemen and civilians on their own.
In retrospect, it is doubtful the modest forces Saratoga carried could have prolonged the fight. The embarked Marine fighter squadron, VMF-221, was comprised of F2A-3 Brewster Buffalos – early model fighter planes that would have been a complete mismatch against the Japanese Zeros. A fresh Marine Defense Battalion would have bolstered Devereux’s ground strength, but the Japanese had already summoned substantial reinforcements, with easy access to many more.
Fighting continued to rage across Wake throughout the morning of December 23rd. As more assault troops landed, the Japanese gradually pushed back the exhausted defenders, most of whom were running low on ammunition. Cunningham and Devereux remained in a communications blackout, and with no hope of evacuation or relief from the Navy, several positions overrun, and the lives of more than one thousand civilians in the balance, the pair saw no alternative but to surrender.
Devereux canvassed the atoll on foot carrying a white flag affixed to a mop handle, ordering his men to lay down their arms and give themselves up. It took some convincing—few of the Marines believed they would ever be ordered to surrender—but all eventually dropped their rifles, destroyed the firing pins on the heavy guns, and emerged from their defensive positions.
Aftermath
After two weeks of resistance, the war was over for the Americans on Wake Island. Forty-nine Marines were dead, along with three Naval personnel and seventy civilians. The remaining servicemen and civilians were taken into captivity and transported east, where they would spend the rest of the war in POW camps in Japan and occupied China. Many would not survive, their lives claimed by illness or disease.
There were atrocities as well. Five men were executed during the journey across the Pacific as retribution for the Japanese lives lost on Wake. On the atoll, a detachment of civilian workers had been held back to build fortifications for the Japanese occupation force, and after an October 1943 raid by American bombers, the base commander executed all ninety-eight of the men, fearful the raid was a precursor to an invasion that might provoke a prisoner uprising. Years later, he was convicted of war crimes and hanged for the massacre.
For the Japanese, who lost two destroyers, several aircraft, and up to 1,000 sailors and marines, the captured atoll would prove little value. As the American counteroffensive across the Pacific gained steam in 1943, Wake Island was bypassed in favor of larger prizes in the Marshall Islands, cutting off the small garrison and stranding them for the duration of the war. Two days after the final Japanese surrender in September 1945, Wake Island was reclaimed in a brief ceremony on the atoll, with the American flag hoisted once again.
