After the wounds were treated,"… [l] crawled out of the hole and to the rear. Richard Tregaskis tells in his book about a Marine crawling like a wounded dog on the ridge. He may have been referring to me." As Sweeda crawled onward, slowly and painfully making his way toward a small truck on the road behind Hill #2, he saw Major Robert Brown heading in the same direction. Brown was holding the wrist of one bleeding hand from which a finger dangled, held only by a flap of skin.

Sweeda was lifted into the truck bed along with several other wounded, and three stretcher cases were placed athwart the truck bed. As the truck moved out, however, it was raked by a sudden burst of machine gun fire from the edge of the jungle. The driver was hit, and the truck rolled to a stop as the Japanese gun crew continued to spray the vehicle with its helpless casualties. Sweeda remembers "yelling with the other wounded for someone to move the truck. I didn’t remember how or when the truck did move, but I do remember someone at the field hospital rolling me over and jabbing a needle in my rear end …when I awoke I lay on a cot in the hot sun. There were wounded all around." Sometime later he learned that Major Brown and two others were killed in the ambush.

Somewhat later, perhaps around 1930, the Japanese launched a heavy attack against Platoon Sergeant Aneilski’s 1st Platoon and overran its position. As with the 2nd Platoon, however, individuals and squads worked their way back through the jungle to join the defenders around the crest of Hill #2.

In the 1st Platoon sector, the squad led by Corporal Benjamin C. Howland, Jr., was posted in the jungle near the northern end of the lagoon, and Privates Edgar Shepard and Frank R. Whittelsey dug their shallow foxholes just off a faint trail leading south along the western edge of the lagoon—a likely enemy route of approach. Shortly after nightfall the Raiders heard noise and Japanese voices forward of their positions, the sound growing louder as the enemy approached along the trail. When the leading Japanese were almost on the position, Shepard lobbed his only grenade, but it was a dud and didn’t explode. Reacting quickly, the enemy began firing into the squad position, and the Raiders replied in full measure.

Shepard was hit in the chest and arms by the first enemy volley, and his rifle fell to the ground and slid into the lagoon. As the Japanese moved in, Whittelsey, on Shepard’s left, came to his assistance and, as their buddies lobbed hand grenades at the shadowy forms of the advancing enemy. dragged him to temporary safety in the jungle. As Whittelsey moved away from Shepard through the underbrush, his weapon got tangled in the vines, and when the enemy charged into the position, he was killed by their first burst of fire. There was screaming, heavy firing by both sides, grenade explosions, and the sound of many Japanese moving through the jungle on both sides of the trail as they overran the position.

Now separated from his squad and the rest of the platoon, Shepard crawled through the jungle toward the rear, stopping only when onrushing Japanese came near. Slowly and painfully he made his way through the old bivouac area and the protective wire fronting the Company "C" position on Hill #2, and was pulled to safety by several of the defenders. As he lay waiting for medical aid amidst the chatter of rifle and machine gun fire and the roar and flash of bursting artillery shells, Shepard remembers seeing Major Ken Bailey "walking along the ridge, directing and encouraging every Marine as if it was a training exercise, one of the few most courageous men I ever knew."

Soon Pharmacist’s Mate Karl Coleman (the same who helped perform the surgical miracle at Tasimboko) found Shepard and, working feverishly without light, patched him up. Shepard had a bullet hole through his left upper arm, another through the chest that punctured his right lung, and a third through the right shoulder. The next morning he was evacuated to the division field hospital and after two weeks there, to the New Hebrides, then to Australia, and finally back to the States. After recuperating at the U. S. Naval Hospital, Treasure Island, he shipped out again and rejoined the 1st Marine Division in time for landings at Cape Gloucester, Peleliu, and Okinawa.

The initial enemy attack by-passed Sweeney’s 3d Platoon, and it suffered no casualties, although harassed during the early hours of darkness by sporadic rifle and machine gun fire and a few hand grenades. To its left, the 1st Parachute Battalion had received only light probes from enemy units moving slowly in the jungle east of the ridge, and on the extreme right flank, the Company "A" position held after having turned back several strong probes, but the Engineers were not attacked. However, the pullback of his 1st and 2d Platoons had left Sweeney and his 3d Platoon conspicuously exposed and vulnerable to attack from three sides.

After the limited success of its initial thrust, the enemy attack began to flounder. Kawaguchi’s units began to succumb to the confusion and disorientation that accompany night movement in the jungle and to the Raiders’ strong defense and the devastating artillery fire. The units that had driven between Companies "A" and "B" hurled themselves against the Company "C" line again and again, but were thrown back with heavy losses. Losing their initial momentum and falling back into the jungle, they were "scattered all over and completely beyond control," as Kawaguchi later put it. It was this confusion that permitted the escape of most of the Raiders from the 1st and 2nd Platoons of Company "B" when their positions ‘were overrun.

Apparently despairing of continuing a coordinated attack through the jungle against Hill #2. Kawaguchi then turned his attention to the ridge itself which by then must have looked like a broad, almost clear straight shot at his objective. At approximately 2100. a Japanese plane appeared over Kukum landing and a few moments later dropped a parachute flare over the airfield, signaling the start of a bombardment of the airfield by seven destroyers lying off Lunga Point. Near the end of this attack from the sea, at a few minutes past 2200, a large white magnesium flare arced from the edge of the jungle opposite the 3rd platoon, over Sweeney’s position, and onto the forward slope of Hill #2 where it burned brightly for several minutes. After the flare was fired, a small number of Japanese moved along the ridge toward the 3rd Platoon position, and shouts and voices speaking Japanese could be heard in the jungle flats to either side.

Simultaneously there was another unsuccessful attack against the Company "C" position on Hill #2, and the Parachutist were hit on their left flank. The attack against the Parachutists was preceded by a heavy mortar barrage and accompanied by a smoke screen. As the thick cloud of acrid smoke rolled over the defenders, someone [Sweeney and others think it was a Marine] raised the cry "Gas attack! Gas attack!" Quickly overrunning the Parachutists’ left flank, the Japanese drove up the eastern slope toward the crest of Hill #2. They were stopped and driven back, however, by Company "G," 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, which had just been thrown into this spot.

When this attack struck the Parachutists, the first unit to engage the enemy was a Company "A" patrol that had been sent out to screen the extreme left flank of their position. As the large force of Japanese infantry suddenly charged out of the jungle, firing their rifles and light machine guns and throwing hand grenades, the out numbered Parachutists fought valiantly to repel the furious assault. In the first fusillade, however, several of them were killed, and the patrol leader, Private, first class, Raymon W. "Ray" Herndon received a mortal wound in the stomach.

With the enemy advancing rapidly on his position, and knowing that he was dying, Herndon ordered the three survivors of his patrol to the rear. Brandishing his .45-caliber pistol to still their protests, he shouted: "You guys better move back as ordered! I’m done for anyhow, but I can take three or four of the bastards with me before I kick off!" As his men reluctantly withdrew up the ridge to safety, Herndon held his position, providing covering fire for them until he fell before the enemy attack. For his extraordinary heroism, Herndon was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross.

During this action, there were several radio transmissions between Sweeney and Edson’s radio operator, passing on information on the status of the battle, and at one point Edson himself got on the radio to ask Sweeney, "What’s your situation?" The reply to this interrogatory came not from Sweeney, but from an unfamiliar voice that broke in with, "My situation is excellent, thank you." This was not exactly what the Company "B" commander had in mind to report. The Japanese, of course, had either found our frequency on their own sets or, more likely, were using a set found in the Company "C" position they had overrun the previous night.

That interruption, however, did not deter use of the radio for the transmission of even more vital information. Up to this point, artillery fire had been directed by a Corporal Watson, a forward observer from the 11th Marines who was operating from Edson’s forward command post. In response to the colonel’s instructions, Watson was bringing in the fires so close that in some areas our own shells and those of the Japanese were falling in the same places, "Shrapnel close," as some of the Marines called it.

In the 3d Platoon area, however, the artillery concentrations were being fired on earlier registration data and were falling too far beyond the positions under attack to be most effective for the needs of the moment. Watson asked Sweeney if he could assist in adjusting the artillery fire and of course received an immediate affirmative, inasmuch as the position was then under attack from three sides. Sweeney passed his radio to First Sergeant Maddox who had volunteered to adjust the fire, and he began by requesting spotting rounds at reduced ranges: first 200 yards, then 100. then 50. When the last adjustment was made, he radioed Watson. "That’s right on; now walk it back and forth. on the ridge and into the jungle on each side."

The 11th Marines did exactly as requested and fired salvo after salvo—adjusted by Maddox through Watson. The barrages, landing a very short 200 yards in front of the Company "B" position, broke up the first attack along the ridge and gave momentary relief to the handful of Raiders clinging desperately to this pitifully small piece of real estate.

Captain Sweeney was constantly on the move along his line, encouraging his Raiders not to fire unless they saw definite targets and pushing back into line those who wavered under the press of the enemy attack. Corporal Gann reported much enemy activity on the right flank and firing from the jungle flat to the west. Then red flares arced up from the Japanese positions to the south on the main ridge, signaling another attack against the Parachutists on the left. During this lull, comparatively speaking, Edson sent Burak, his runner, to the forward slope of Hill #2 with a message for Captain Sweeney. Crawling to a position in rear of the Company "B" line, Burak shouted, "John Wolf! Do you hear me?"

"Yes!" answered Sweeney, recognizing both the voice and his code name.

Red Mike says it’s okay to withdraw!" Burak responded.

Having acknowledged that most welcome message, Captain Sweeney directed First Sergeant Maddox to take the attached machine guns, withdraw along the track to the point where it met the road east of Hill #2, and wait there to assemble as many Company "B" Raiders as possible after the withdrawal began in five minutes. After Maddox departed, Sweeney moved along the line, alerting his men to the imminent move and instructing the squad leaders on the location of the rear assembly area. Then he pulled his men back to the reverse slope of the ridge and, having accounted for everyone, ordered them to lob their remaining grenades and started them on the way to the assembly area. After assuring himself that all of his men had withdrawn, Sweeney sprayed the front with a full magazine from his Reising submachine gun and headed for the assembly point himself.

At the assembly point, Maddox was waiting with most of the members of the platoon, although a few had managed to elude his net. In a withdrawal under fire, some men tend to panic, and their fear, if unchecked, will spread to others and precipitate a pell-mell stampede to the rear. Strong methods are frequently required to forestall a rout; however, if Maddox had found it necessary to resort to strong methods, there was no visible evidence of it as he calmly went about his business.

Soon after Sweeney arrived at the assembly area, Colonel Edson, accompanied by Major Bailey, ran up and told him to take up a blocking position east of the hill, "in case the Paratroopers get pushed back." As Edson was talking, the communicators at the battalion command post cranked up a gasoline-powered generator which on start-up made a distinctive "pop-pop-pop" sound, not unlike a machine gun firing. With the first "pop" Major Bailey, standing between Edson and Sweeney, grabbed both around the shoulders and dived headlong into the roadside ditch, covering Edson with his body.

Startled by Bailey’s precipitate action, Sweeney blurted out something

like, "For Chrissakes; it’s only a generator!" and the three crawled out of the ditch, Edson with a half-smile, Bailey looking sheepish, and Sweeney wondering if he would catch hell from either or both for his impertinent remark. Nothing was said.

While this little farce was being played out, all hell continued to rage on the opposite side of Hill #2, and confusion reigned in the Company "B" assembly area. The Parachutists had also withdrawn, and their leaders were attempting to assemble them in the same area where Maddox was shouting "B Company Raiders, assemble here!" In response to his summons, he began to get some Company "B" Parachutists, and vice versa. There was considerable confusion and milling about by both units, and it was some time before each company was sorted out and properly positioned.

Sweeney’s "company" now consisted of only two dozen or so Marines, including the six or seven in the machine gun section, the survivors of the other two platoons having been amalgamated into the line alongside the Company "C" Raiders. Nevertheless, Sweeney occupied the position as Edson had directed and remained there until daylight, receiving only sporadic fire from enemy snipers and infiltrators. For his extraordinary heroism and exemplary leadership during the Battle for the Ridge, Captain Sweeney was awarded the Navy Cross.

Now the defensive line of the Raiders and Parachutists wrapped around Hill #2 like a horseshoe, and each man braced himself for whatever was still to come. After returning to his command post_, Edson called the division command post to inform Twining, the Assistant D-3, that he had withdrawn to his final defensive position and warned him. "unless you do something for yourselves, the Japs will come through you like… [shit] through a tin horn." This scatological prediction, however, was not to be realized.

As they had done all through the night and on the previous night. the Raiders and Parachutists again rose to the occasion. As wave after wave of Japanese infantry charged through artillery and mortar barrages toward their final objective, the Marines’ machine guns piled them in windrows along the slopes. Those who survived the machine guns were met by the withering fire from BARs sited to cover areas that the machine guns could not reach. Adding to the destructive power of the automatic weapons was the selective, aimed fire from the rifles, pistols, and submachine guns of the defenders.

As the surviving enemy soldiers approached the final defensive line, they were met by devastating blasts from fragmentation grenades thrown with great precision by youngsters whose prowess as grenadiers came from playing sandlot baseball. Finally, those few "righteous bayonets" that managed to reach the Marines’ foxholes were met and slain in hand-to-hand combat by Americans who, the Japanese soldiers had been told, had no stomach for cold steel. They learned otherwise, but too late for the lesson to be of benefit to them.

In this battle there was no rear echelon, and literally all hands and the cooks were engaged. All along the line, when the situation seemed in doubt, there was always a brave, resourceful man who saw a need and, without orders, did what was necessary to tilt the balance in our favor. This battle was not won by simply ordering: "Hold at all costs." It was won months and years before on the drill fields of Paris Island and San Diego where the steel that went into these warriors was rough cast, and it was won in subsequent months when their units added the final polish and temper necessary to convert basic Marines into an integrated fighting machine. In this battle, individual acts of heroism were legion, as some examples will illustrate.

Private, first class, William Barnes, a 60mm mortar gunner from Company "E." fired up all of the ammunition on his position during the hottest part of the battle and then began evacuating nearby wounded. During one trip to the aid station, he located more mortar shells and. carrying them to his forward gun position. fired on enemy targets until once again his ammunition was exhausted. He then picked up a rifle from one of the dead and joined in the close-in battle that was raging on the ridge top and, although seriously wounded, continued to fight as a rifleman until the enemy was defeated. For his extraordinary heroism on this night, he was awarded the Navy Cross.

Sergeant Daniel W. Hudspeth of Company "C" was stationed near the center of the position when a group of Japanese broke through the line. Quickly rallying his Raiders, he led them in hand-to-hand combat that stopped the enemy drive and ultimately restored the position, but at the cost of his life. For his inspiring leadership and extraordinary heroism in the face of overwhelming odds, Sergeant Hudspeth was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross.

Private first class Jimmy W. Corzine, another Company "C" Raider, hearing a group of Japanese setting up a machine gun, fixed his bayonet to his rifle and crawled close to the enemy squad leader. Leaping to his feet, he drove his bayonet through the unsuspecting enemy soldier with such force and fervor that the three other Japanese fled without even attempting to draw their pistols. Corzine then turned the machine gun on the enemy and fired it until the ammunition was exhausted. Holding the position he had captured, he continued to fire his rifle at the attackers until he was killed. For his initiative and extraordinary heroism in action, he was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously.

Platoon Sergeant Stanley D. Kops, commanding a platoon at the center of the Company "C" position, redeployed his platoon to positions further to the rear when ordered to do so. As he was moving his men back, Sergeant Kops encountered several Raiders from other units who, in the chaos of battle, had straggled into the Company "C" position. Quickly organizing these stragglers into a provisional platoon, he led them in a charge on the enemy position and in desperate hand-to-hand fighting killed the enemy soldiers and seized their positions. Platoon Sergeant Kops gave his life in this battle and was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously.

There were heroes also among those whose primary duties might have been thought of as "non-combatant." Outstanding among these was Corporal Walter J. Burak who, as Colonel Edson’s runner, followed his colonel into and out of a lot of dangerous places. During the battle for the Ridge, Burak frequently was Colonel Edson’s only secure means of communication with the widely separated elements of the command, and his performance in the execution of his extremely dangerous assignments was of great importance to the outcome of the battle.

On two occasions he was required to traverse the entire length of the bullet and shell-swept ridge to carry vital instructions to Edson’s subordinate commanders. As he returned from one of these trips during an extremely critical phase of the battle, he replaced knocked-out telephone lines from the forward position to the battalion command post. On a second trip, Burak carried a case of most urgently needed hand grenades to the farthermost position in the battle line. Closer in, when not functioning as a runner, he carried cases of grenades and small arms ammunition to the men in the foxholes. For his extraordinary heroism and exceptional performance of duty. Corporal Burak was awarded the Navy Cross.

Another "non-combatant" who distinguished himself in this battle was Private, first class, Herman F. Arnold, a radio operator. When separated from his platoon in the confusion of the battle, Arnold made his way to the front and joined his fellow Raiders in throwing grenades at the attacking enemy. Constantly exposing himself to enemy fire, Arnold threw grenade after grenade into the ranks of the charging Japanese with devastating accuracy until he finally fell to enemy fire. Arnold’s heroic performance was instrumental in repulsing the enemy attack, and for his bravery in action he was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously.

A group of true non-combatants who played a decisive role in this battle, were the Navy doctors and corpsmen who in the 36-hour battle for Edson’s Ridge treated more than 200 wounded, of which 103 were serious. No position was too exposed for these "angels of mercy." and all that was needed to send them into action was the cry "Corpsman!" from anywhere on the battlefield. For their heroism in battle, eight corpsmen and one doctor, Lieutenant (MC) Edward P. McLarney, USN, received Navy Crosses.

Typical was the action of Pharmacist’s Mate, second class, Albern M. Potter, Jr., attached to Company "A." While his company was almost completely surrounded and continuously under attack on the night of 13-14 September, with utter disregard for his own safety, Potter again and again exposed himself to enemy fire to care for and evacuate the wounded. His courage and outstanding devotion to duty saved the lives of many wounded who otherwise might have perished.

One corpsman, Hospital Apprentice Robert L. Smith, USNR, gave the full measure of devotion to duty and was killed in action on the morning of September 14th. As the battle raged throughout the night, Smith was constantly on the move, treating and evacuating the wounded. At daybreak, as he and Corporal Kyle Z. Cassidy of Company "E" sat smoking, they spotted a wounded Raider lying near the crest of the ridge. In spite of Cassidy’s urging him to let one of the other corpsmen go, Smith headed up the ridge toward the casualty. Cassidy watched until Smith reached the wounded man and began treating him, then was distracted and looked away. When he looked back, Smith was lying prostrate across the wounded man, having been shot to death in the very act of saving another’s life.

In this battle, bravery on the part of the men in the ranks was a reflection of the example set by their officers. From colonel to marine gunner, these officers were products of the Marine Corps school system. of service in the fleet, and of their unit training programs. Along the way, each of them had learned to read maps, to evaluate terrain from both offensive and defensive aspects, and to formulate plans of attack and defense, schemes of maneuver, and plans for supporting fires by mortars, artillery, naval guns. and aircraft. Concurrently they had learned the basic school of the soldier: to fire rifles, pistols, machine guns, and mortars, to throw hand grenades. and to. use the bayonet—all weapons that belonged to the Raiders. In addition, some of the officers had mastered a non-infantry specialty such as communications.

Yet, no matter how well trained the officers and men or how well planned the operation, when the battle is finally joined there always seems to turn up a job that someone has to do without the benefit of previous training. The supply system may suffer a complete breakdown at a critical point, or the telephone lines may go out, or something may happen to the radios, or the battle line may falter momentarily; and the only thing that restores the situation is personal leadership, individual initiative, improvisation, and immediate action. "the unhesitating application of a probable remedy for a stoppage," to use the World War II definition.

Such was the case of Captain Houston "Tex" Stiff of Company "E" who, when the men in the lines began running out of hand grenades, picked up a half-case of grenades and headed for a particularly hard-pressed section of the front. In this particular section the line was very thinly held, and unwittingly Tex walked right through the Raiders’ line and into enemy territory before he realized his mistake. Quickly recognizing the difference between the sounds made by Japanese weapons and our own, he reversed his course and returned safely to the Raider lines to complete the delivery of the grenades.

Throughout the two nights of intense combat, Japanese artillery fire or infiltrators frequently cut our telephone lines; and, since a line out for just a few minutes at a critical moment could spell disaster, the Raiders just as frequently repaired them. When communications were functioning correctly, the communicators doubled in brass fighting, repairing defensive positions, evacuating wounded, and defending their own area against infiltrators; in short, doing whatever the situation required of them.

On one occasion when Colonel Edson was unable to communicate with his left flank, he sent an ad hoc patrol consisting of Captain William D. Stevenson, the battalion communications officer, and two of his communicators to determine the situation. Running, creeping, and crawling through the rugged terrain and dark of night, evading Japanese infiltrators and our own extremely cautious defenders, Stevenson and his patrol acquired the information that Edson needed,

After delivering his report, Captain Stevenson went to check on the status of the telephone switchboard, the very heart of his landline communication system, and to his great chagrin found it unmanned. He quickly learned that two of the operators were trouble-shooting the telephone line and the rest were fighting for their lives on the battle line. When the telephone lines were finally restored, Captain Stevenson himself manned the switchboard throughout the most critical phase of the battle, providing Colonel Edson with secure communications with the division command post and the artillery fire direction center and freeing his men to reinforce the battle line. For his bravery, outstanding devotion to duty, and exemplary performance during that critical night, Captain Stevenson was later awarded the Navy Cross.

Major Robert S. Brown was Colonel Edson’s operations officer, tactical coordinator, and planner; in short, his factotum, During the withdrawal to the final defensive position on the first night, when secure communication was impossible, except tete-a-tete, he ranged across the entire width of the front, relaying orders, reorganizing the defense, and leading units into new positions. During the fighting on the night of 13-14 September, he again was all over the battlefield, verifying the situation for Edson and providing assistance and advice to the unit commanders. Just before dawn on the 14th, he was painfully wounded by a Japanese grenade, but was able to make it on his own to an ambulance-truck not far behind Hill #2. However, as the truck made its way to the rear with a load of wounded, it was ambushed and Brown and two others were killed. For his exemplary performance of duty in the battle for the Ridge, Major Brown was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross.

During a battle in which conspicuous gallantry. intrepidity, and heroism were commonplace, the performance of two of the Raiders was so clearly above and beyond the call of duty as to merit our Nation’s highest award, the Medal of Honor. Already in the battle for Tulagi these Raiders, Colonel Edson and Major Bailey, had demonstrated that they both possessed that charisma, that extra measure of poised self-confidence and unshakable determination that inspires men to give more than they know themselves capable of giving and thereby separates the "good" combat leader from the "great" combat leader. The conduct of these two officers in the battle for the ridge confirmed in the minds of their Raiders once and for all that they were, indeed, great combat leaders, even the greatest.

Major Bailey had returned to the command of Company "C" after having been hospitalized for more than a month, recuperating from wounds received on Tulagi. Only a few hours after his return, his company was severely mauled in the first Japanese attack against the Ridge on the night of 12-13 September and required extensive reorganization. Although still weak from his wounds, he nevertheless set about this task with characteristic energy and enthusiasm and soon had his company as well sited in its battalion reserve position as resources and time permitted.

Within hours after occupying its defensive position, Company "C" was struck on its right flank by the same massive Japanese attack that had driven between the Engineers and Company "B," overrunning the 2nd and 1st Platoons of Company "B." Masterfully employing every weapon at his command, Major Bailey led his unit in repulsing repeated attacks by superior enemy forces and covering the withdrawal of the overrun Raiders. Skillfully integrating the withdrawn units into his own, he extended the reserve position around Hill #2 to his left. For almost 10 hours Major Bailey led his Raiders in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy and on one occasion was sorely wounded in the head as he led Privates, first class, Roger A. Sramoski and Kenneth J. Graham in a counterattack to recapture a machine gun position. Despite the pain of his wound, he remained at his post and by his great personal valor and indomitable fighting spirit inspired his Raiders to feats of extraordinary heroism that enabled them to repulse the relentless enemy attacks and hold Henderson Field.

If Colonel Edson suffered any misgivings about the ability of his mixed force of Raiders and Parachutists to hold their position, he kept them to himself In fact, having had occasion previously to observe their performance under fire at Tulagi, Gavutu/Tanambogo, and Tasimboko, he probably had the greatest confidence in the steadfastness of these Marines and knew that where he led, they would follow. Thus as he made his rounds of the units on the eve of the final battle for the Ridge, his unruffled presence and quiet confidence served to reassure his Marines that with Red Mike on the field. everything would be okay.

On the night of 13-14 September, as wave after wave of Japanese infantry crashed through his forward positions and hurled themselves against his reserve, Colonel Edson fully justified their special trust and confidence, and they his. As the enemy onslaught threatened to overwhelm the position, he skillfully employed his supporting artillery to contain the enemy and to cover the withdrawal of his isolated and threatened units. Later, when the enemy in a series of violent assaults managed to reach his final defensive line and engaged the defenders in desperate hand-to-hand combat, he personally directed the defense of the position.

Although continually exposed to hostile fire, Colonel Edson again and again rallied his Marines to give that extra effort which enabled them, despite severe losses, to cling tenaciously to that scant 15 acres of terrain that was the key to Henderson Field and ultimately to our lodgement on Guadalcanal. When Lieutenant Colonel Twining, the Assistant D-3, went forward from the division command post at around 0200 to check on the situation on Hill #2, he found Edson "roaring like a lion getting his men ready to throw back what proved to be the final Japanese ‘banzai’ charge of the night."

As the dawn finally broke over the battered ridge, its gallant defenders gazed in stunned disbelief at what they had wrought of fire and steel and human flesh in the dark of the preceding night. Scattered over the battered slopes of the ridge in poses suggesting one of Hieronymus Bosch’s monstrous paintings, were the mortal remains of more than 600 Japanese infantrymen; righteous bayonets that would never again parade in the Land of the Rising Sun.

But for the enemy survivors, the ordeal was not over; another 900 of the original 4,000 of the Kawaguchi Brigade would die in the jungle of wounds, of starvation and disease, and from our air attacks. As Major General Kawaguchi withdrew the remnants of his once proud force into the jungle, Army P-400s from Henderson Field took to the air to harry the retreating enemy. Unsuited for high altitude work because of their lack of oxygen equipment, the P-400s with their .50-caliber machine guns, 37mm cannons, and 500-pound bombs were well equipped for ground attack and added to the Japanese casualties as they bombed and strafed likely assembly areas and routes of retreat.

The future for the survivors of Kawaguchi’s command was bleak as they stumbled southward through the dense rainforest toward the headwaters of the Matanikau. There was no reason for them to return to the east. Those Americans who had just taken their measure on the Ridge and found them wanting were the very same who had destroyed their supply dump at Tasimboko. Their food ran out, and they ate whatever could be found along the way: roots, bark, leaves, and grass. Medical supplies were soon used up, and gangrene began to kill off the wounded. They had no quinine, and malaria swept through the survivors, already weakened by malnutrition and dysentery. Men raved with fever, and some in delirium stumbled into the swamps to die. No doctors or rice waited ahead of them, and for all practical purposes, the Kawaguchi Brigade was hors de combat.

Major General Kawaguchi had badly underestimated the fighting prowess of his opponent. Now, instead of accepting Vandegrift’s surrender at the Imperial Navy airfield which the Americans had the arrogance to rename "Henderson Field," he stumbled through the jungle in ignominious retreat. His army, a Japanese historian ruefully noted, "had been used to fighting the Chinese."

Although the Raiders’ losses were light in comparison with those of the enemy, for an organization whose ranks were already depleted by sickness they were severe. In the two day battle for Edson’s Ridge, 37 Raiders were killed in action, of which three (Major Robert S. Brown, Gunnery Sergeant Gerald B. "Admiral" Stackpole, and Hospital Apprentice, first class, Robert L. Smith) were from Headquarters Company, three (Sergeant Harold C. Floeter and Privates first class Herman F. Arnold and Donald J. Coffey) were from Company "A," and three (Sergeant Wallace H. Bergstrand and Privates Austin T. Rollag and Frank R. Whittlesey) were from Company "B."

Company "C," which had borne the brunt of the repeated attacks on Hill #2, suffered 19 killed (1st Sergeant Jerome J. Stark, Platoon Sergeants Stanley D. Kops and John J. Quigley, Sergeant Daniel W. Hudspeth, Corporals William A. Keblish and John Targosz, Jr., Privates, first class, Jimmy W. Corzine, Salvatore A. Cracco, William E. Matthews, Francis C. Potter, and Charles W. Roberts, and Privates Malcolm J. Hogan, Joseph J. Kaminowski, John W. Langdon, Ludger A. Maynard, Albert Metras, Paul P. Ratcliffe, Francis L. Roberts, and John C. Rock). Company "D" lost one man (Private, first class, James A. Benish), and Company "E" eight (Sergeants Frank C. Boone and Neil G. Champoux, Corporal Howell C. Dees, Privates, first class, Anton A. Bugala, Martin M. Danowski, and Kenneth E. Ritter and Privates Leslie V. Frink and Joseph F. Riley).

Copyright:  ReView Publications