Report from the Aleutians (1943) - full transcript

[narrator] The Aleutian Islands
are situated

in the North Pacific Ocean,

forming a chain which
extends about 1,200 miles

west-southwest from
Alaska's peninsula

towards Siberia to form
the southern boundary

of the Bering Sea.

The Aleutians
comprise four groups,

the Fox, Andreanof,
Rat, and Near islands,

and constitute part of
the territory of Alaska, USA.

Of volcanic origin, there are
numerous cones on the chain,

many of them still active.



The coasts are rocky
and surf-worn,

rising immediately from the water
in sleek, bold mountains.

The Aleutians are the storm pod
of the western world.

A permanent low pressure
area prevails there.

Cold air masses from
the polar region

flow with a shearing
effect against the warm,

moisture-laden air masses
over the Japanese current

to form cyclonic disturbances.

Because of the Earth's rotation,

these disturbances
move from west to east,

and this meteorological
phenomenon constitutes

one of the most
dangerous weapons

in the arsenal of our enemy,

for it enables the Japanese
to operate



behind the moving
curtain of a storm.

In the early days of June 1942,
they employed this advantage

in an all-out attempt to
secure absolute domination

of the entire Pacific Ocean.

Behind eastward-moving storms,

they dispatched
two invasion fleets

against two widely
separated objectives--

Midway Island and Dutch Harbor,

an operation designed to
break the American line

of sea defense upon
which the security

of the Pacific coast depends.

Both attempts failed.

American air forces engaged
the enemy task force

at Midway, achieving
a historic victory.

And at Dutch Harbor,
American land-based planes

from secret American
airfields swarmed down,

seemingly out of nowhere,
to knock out one, two,

troop-filled transports,
three heavy cruisers,

two destroyers,
and one aircraft carrier.

In pursuit of the enemy,
our Army and Navy airmen

flew through storm
and fog and hurricane,

one-fifth on instruments,
four-fifths on luck.

Twenty hours
out of 24 sometimes.

Through blind passes,
by uncharted peaks,

down through zero ceilings,

not knowing whether the enemy fleet
or a mountain lay below.

Sweating it out for
hour after blind hour

of continuous flight,
and home without benefit

of directional beam, to
land on an unlighted runway

to refuel and take off
in a gray, blind hell.

There is no monument to
the many who went out

and did not return.

They fought and patrolled,
in many instances,

until their fuel was gone, knowing
they would be forced down at sea,

but unwilling to break off contact
they had made with enemy forces.

Few are alive of those
that flew against the Japs

in the Battle of Dutch Harbor.

If you wish to see
their monument,

you Americans here at home,
look around you.

In retiring, the remnants of the defeated
Japanese task force

landed troops on the undefended
islands of Attu, Agattu, and Kiska.

We immediately
undertook the offensive.

So commenced our march out
along the bridge toward Asia.

In late August of 1942,
a large detachment of our troops

landed on an island

several hundred miles
out along the chain,

and under two hours
by bomber from Kiska.

The name of this island is Adak,

and it is closer to Japan than
any other American outpost.

Typical of the Aleutian
chain, it is windswept,

treeless, rain-soaked,
carpeted with sphagnum,

a flat, spongy vegetation
like undersea growth

which oozes water at every step.

The only bird life on the island
is scavenger ravens,

big, black, wind-guzzled.

Remote as the moon
and hardly more fertile,

Adak is next to worthless
in terms of human existence.

Its sole value is that of
a pin on a staff officer's map,

and that value is measurement.

Strategically, Adak is one of
the most important locations

in the world.

Eleven days after the occupation,
an airfield was completed,

and the first U.S. bomber
sat down.

Three days later, flights took off
on a bombing mission to Kiska

with complete
fighter protection.

Since that time,
missions over Kiska

have become a daily affair.

The airfield is
the heart of the island,

beating with
a half-million horsepower

of heavy and medium
bombers, Navy amphibians,

pursuit ships, transports.

The sound of the engines
warming up starts before dawn,

echoing back from
the mountains that flank the field.

[engines warming up]

Every day, weather permitting,
the bombers take off

on at least one mission.

Often, on good days,
a first flight takes off on the sunrise,

others following at
regular intervals,

so that Kiska's
under bombardment

every hour until nightfall.

Equal in importance
to the airfield,

and without which
the airfield could not exist,

is Adak's excellent harbor.

Landlocked on three sides with
a natural island breakwater,

it enables heavy draft
vessels to come inshore

and unload by lighter under
almost any weather conditions.

If the airfield is
the heart of Adak,

the harbor is its hungry mouth.

Its demands are ever
on the increase.

By day and by night,
freighters, tankers, transports,

deposit munitions,
supplies, men, up on the beach.

Standing guard over all,
the defense installations--

coastal batteries, anti-aircraft
emplacements, machine gun posts.

There is nothing vulnerable
about Adak any longer.

The skies are constantly
circled by aerial patrols

in never-ending relays.

PT boats, those
sea-going infighters,

stand by in readiness
for surprise landing attempts.

Offshore destroyers
keep endless vigil,

slipping like ghosts
through the fog,

challenging terra-bound specs
an approaching vessel on the horizon.

Listening with
their undersea ears

for the beat of an engine.

Scanning the seas for
the plume of a periscope.

Standing rugged duty
on the Bering patrol,

or slipping into port on
the flank of a convoy.

Although the sea lanes to
Adak are constantly traveled

by convoys and contact
with enemy submarines

is a daily occurrence,
sinkings in these waters

have been few and far between.

Contact with an enemy
submarine may continue

on and off for hours, during
which the undersea craft

maneuvers into
position to attack,

venturing within the radius of
the convoy's undersea detectors,

only to crash dive,
then kill engines, and lie silent

on the bottom as
our destroyers bear down

and release depth charges.

Our destroyers
and Navy reconnaissance

have held the undersea
enemy well in check.

The flow of men,
munitions, and supplies

flows ceaselessly on.

The gigantic task of furnishing

every American
expeditionary force

with the materials needed in
carrying the fight to the enemy

falls to the Army Service Forces.

ASF is the bloodstream of
our whole military body,

maintaining its every
organ and muscle.

Adak presents a special problem,

as the darn island furnishes
nothing toward human needs

save drinking water.

Everything else must
be brought here.

Food, fuel for men
and motors, machinery,

munitions, shelter material,

raise these basic
requirements to the Nth power,

add parts and replacements
for everything

from caterpillar tractors
to can openers,

plus the operations of
estimating, purchasing,

assembling,
transporting, delivering,

and it becomes
apparent why the job

of supplying a military
force is now dignified

by a $12 word like logistics.

Since the original landing,
the manpower of Adak

has been constantly augmented.

Where before it was hundreds,
now it is thousands.

Troops arrive after a voyage

that may take anywhere
from a week to a month,

depending on the sea route.

But it took more than a single
month to land them here.

The months of training,
to toughen them to rigors

of wind and weather,
that taught them

to handle their weapons that
made them into soldiers.

Add those months to the period
of the voyage from the States.

On Adak, down eastern
accents mix with Texas drawls,

middle western twangs
and Brooklynese.

Bookkeepers, grocery clerks,
college men, and dirt farmers.

That is, of course,
ex-dirt farmers,

ex-bookkeepers, ex-college men,
soldiers now,

as though all their lives
they've been nothing but.

Orders for the day,
special orders and news,

appear on the bulletin board.

Since newspapers and
magazines are usually a month

to three months out of date,
these radioed news flashes

are the only means by
which the soldier knows

what's going on outside.

No fresh meat, no green
vegetables, powdered eggs,

tinned bully beef,
potatoes, canned tomatoes,

peanut butter, canned
fruit, and coffee

make up the basic diet.

And biscuits, barrels
full of biscuits.

Appetites are huge.

Officers and men
attend the same mess,

as often as not, an officer
doesn't display the insignia of his rank.

The soldiers reserve
for rare occasions,

but discipline does not suffer.

Customary military
formality is relaxed,

plain, civil necessity
taking its place.

After months in
an outpost like Adak,

there's a tendency on
the part of the soldier

to think and live only
in terms of the present.

That faraway world
from which he came

begins to seem like
a dream to him.

A letter in his hand is proof
of the reality of that world--

of Saturday night dances, of
jalopies, of ice cream sodas,

of sport pages and
shaving in the same mirror

with the old man.

A letter means more than
his paycheck to the soldier.

If he happens to be
in the Air Corps,

he'd gladly make
an extra flight over Kiska

for one more letter.

No moving pictures,
no stage-door canteens or USO.

No girls, pretty or otherwise.

Nothing to drink,
not even a Coke.

Candy bars, cigarettes, and
chewing gum are rationed.

But you never hear
any bellyaching.

The extraordinary fact is that
morale actually gets stronger

the closer troops
come to the enemy.

On Adak proper,
morale is first rate.

[harmonica playing]

The site of the airfield
was originally

a shallow tidal lagoon.

Army engineers
diked up its inlet

and drained off
its waters by means

of a channel to the sea.

It was very resourceful
to be exploiting

a natural formation, which
made possible the completion

of the field in ten
days and eleven nights,

but the work never ceased.

Bulldozers shifted thousands
of tons of the lava ash

which composed
the bed of the lagoon.

Not a new game to the corps
that built the Panama Canal.

As the waters receded,
grading crews followed,

leveling and impacting
the area in preparation

for the final surface.

This surface was not to
be the usual concrete runway

of an airport, but a steel one,

whose sections had been
prefabricated in American mills.

It was put down by the infantry,
of course, in 36 hours.

A million and a half
square feet of it.

From then on, only
the severest weather

kept our planes grounded.

Local storms materialize,
deluge the island,

and pass on or dissipate,
all within a few short minutes.

It's a land of cloud bursts
and rainbows.

"If you don't like
the weather, wait a minute,"

the soldier says.

Everything the weatherman
has to offer

can be had in a single day.

Downpours, hurricane
winds, hail, snow, fog,

sleet, and sunshine.

It is not so much bad
weather as changing weather

that makes flying hazardous
to the uninitiated there.

A new pilot must learn to
side slip through local squalls

and set her down in
a field rimmed by mountains

and under a half foot of water.

The greater percentage
of casualties, however,

occur in the anti-aircraft
fire over Kiska.

As a rule,
our bombers make it back,

but often, they are
sorely crippled

and with wounded or dead aboard.

[priest] "In my Father's
house are many mansions:

if it were not so,
I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you.

And if I go and prepare a place
for you, I will come again,

and receive you unto Myself;

that where I am,
there ye may be also.

And whither I go ye know,
and the way ye know."

["Taps" playing]

End of day's mission is
the highlight of each 24 hours.

Eyes turn skyward and ears
strain for the faint beat

of approaching engines.

At the first sound,
an alert is flashed

to the ground defenses.

Units clear for action.

Anti-aircraft machine guns
are stripped,

ammunition broken out, and
everything is put in readiness

for an enemy who may be
tailing our flights home.

Six bombers went out,
and six are coming back.

[plane engines]

A first ship lands;
the remainder circle the field,

another coming to
earth each time around,

those damaged or with wounded
aboard taking priority.

It's a revelation
how much punishment

one of these big bombers
can take and still navigate.

Unless both sets of
controls are shot away,

or an explosive shell
finds the gas tank,

the odds are all in her
making it safely home.

Anyone who's been
over will tell you

that the most wonderful
ride in the world

is the ride back from Kiska.

No matter if two
engines have conked out,

and daylight is pouring
through the wings.

There's just something about
the scenery on the way home.

The crews proceed to
the field operations tent

at the bomber command, where
they will be questioned

as to results and observations.

Their jigsaw reports
taken singly are compared

and cross-checked until
a complete and accurate record

of the operation
has been assembled.

Thereafter, they're
dismissed, with nothing to do

till tomorrow but eat,
drink, and be merry.

♪ I've got sixpence ♪

♪ Jolly, jolly sixpence ♪

♪ I've got sixpence
to last me all my life ♪

♪ I've got twopence to spend ♪

♪ And twopence to lend ♪

♪ And twopence to
send home to my wife ♪

♪ No cares have I to grieve me ♪

♪ No pretty little
girls to deceive me ♪

♪ I'm as happy as
a king, believe me ♪

♪ As we go rolling home ♪

♪ Rolling home,
rolling home ♪

♪ Rolling home,
rolling home ♪

♪ By the light of
the silvery moon ♪

♪ Happy is the day when
the airman gets his pay ♪

♪ As we go rolling home ♪

But Adak's tomorrow
begins today,

with a directive
from Kodiak island.

A photographic ship
accompanies missions to Kiska,

its task to follow
the bombers over their target,

recording immediate
results of the bombardment.

Also enemy defense activity,
new installations, camouflage.

These photographs are studied
by specialist interpreters,

and submitted with
comments to the general,

and his staff officers,
Colonel William Prince,

and Colonel C. M. McCorkle.

Here's Kiska, her camp area,
with steel huts, her hangars,

her underground railway,
her gun installations.

Kiska, one of the hottest
spots on the Earth or above.

[officer] The main objectives
in any mission from Adak

are the destruction of enemy
shipping en route to Kiska,

the destruction of
installations on the island,

harassing of enemy personnel.

[narrator] When the broader
aspects of the operation

have been decided upon,
the senior officers

of the bomber and fighter
units work out its details.

Among considerations
in planning a mission

are the type of
aircraft to be employed,

the weight and type of
bomb, the time, altitude,

and direction of the attack.

All of these are
interrelated, a change of one

influencing all the others.

The overall determining
factor is weather.

For this reason, a Navy
meteorologist plots his charts

up to the very time of takeoff.

A change of weather
at the last moment

may mean a complete revision
of tomorrow's plans.

Tomorrow is Sunday.

At their outpost on the island,
Catholic, Protestant,

and Jewish chaplains, not
priests, ministers, or rabbis,

but chaplains, all, are leading
fighting men in their devotions.

Under the snows of
an Aleutian mountain,

these defenders of the faith exercise
the first of their four freedoms.

But so far as the business
of war is concerned,

Sunday on Adak is
like any other day.

There's a mission going
out at 13 o'clock.

Bombs must be brought
down to the field

from their camouflaged dumps.

A heavy bomber carries
either 16 250-pounders,

twelve 500-pounders, or
eight 1,000-pounders.

The size of the bomb
to be employed

depends upon
the nature of the target,

since, if the target is
small, there's a better chance

of hitting it with a salvo
of 250-pounders

than with a single large bomb.

On the other hand,
in a congested area

such as a camp site of Kiska,

a blockbuster
comes into its own.

Tail fins and fuses are put on

directly before
the assembled bomb is hoisted

into the bomb bay.

When the time comes,
bombs can be released

either individually,
in sticks, or in salvos.

Belts of ammunition are
brought to machine guns

and fed into receivers
ready for firing.

The rounds are put onto the belt
in successions of three--

red-tipped tracers,
yellow incendiaries,

and black regulation.

Each moving part of
each gun has been tended

with a watchmaker's care,

and every belt of ammunition
is cleaned, oiled,

and checked before the takeoff.

It is 1240 o'clock, and the pilots
who are going to fly the mission

receive final instructions.

[officer] Three flights, two of
B-24's and one of B-17's,

are to go over the target.

The first flight at 1,100 feet
to drop 500-pounders

on anti-aircraft
installations at North Hale.

Then to proceed
along the coastline,

strafing to the western
limits of the camp area.

The second flight at 7,500 feet
to drop 1,000-pound bombs

on the camp area.

A third flight at 4,500 feet
to destroy hangars

with 500-pound bombs.

Second and third
flights to follow

at intervals of 45 seconds.

Three fighters to precede
each bomber flight at 600 feet,

and three fighters to
afford overhead protection

from enemy aircraft.

[narrator] Crews begin to assemble
around the ships,

awaiting the appearance
of their officers.

A bomber crew is a team,
and the longer it's together,

the better the teamwork.

Theirs is a mutual
responsibility.

The safety of the ship
and the lives of all the others

may depend on
any single member.

Trust, respect are implicit
in such a relationship

if it is to endure.

Maybe in the beginning,
you don't like the color

of a guy's hair, but if
he's all there at his job,

you'll get to like it fine.

Enlisted men eat,
sleep, fly together.

Their voices on the intercom
become familiar,

easy to understand when
understanding is vital.

Every gunner knows
the quality of every other's

marksmanship and courage.

The navigator can plot
a thousand-mile course

over open sea
and make a landfall,

eight men can testify.

Trust and respect for
the bombardier, the radio operator,

the engineer, copilot,
and trust and respect

for the ship they fly.

A monument ought to be put
up to that pre-war fraternity

of high school
speed maniacs,

for out of their ranks,
our fighter pilots are largely drawn.

They bring to their
hazardous undertaking

split-second judgment,
inspiration, daring.

Lieutenant George I. Riddell,
12 strafing missions over Kiska.

Lieutenant Harley P. Nill,
14 missions.

Lieutenant Lyle A. Bean,
13 missions.

Major Milton Ashkins,
15 missions.

Lieutenant Henry J. Strankopfsky,
11 missions.

Colonel Jack Chennault,

son of General Chennault
of the Flying Tigers.

Colonel Jack has a zero
and a submarine to his credit.

A last-minute weather
observation is made.

The word is given to go.

It's good luck
and over the hill.

The aerial camera goes aboard.

The bomber pilot informs
his crew of the exact part

their ship is to
play in the mission.

The bomber pilot is
of a different breed

to your fighter.

Where the fighter is
reckless and inspired,

the bomber pilot is responsible,
determined.

Because of the size and
imponderability of his ship,

there are no last-moment
decisions for him.

And besides the big, intricate,
costly piece of machinery

that a heavy bomber
is, he has the lives

of six or eight
others to think about.

One hundred men,
nine bombers, 12 fighters

are setting out to attack
and immobilize 10,000 men

behind naval and
military defenses.

This is the significance
of aerial supremacy.

But behind this supremacy
lies the enormous system

which makes it possible
for the ships to take off.

ASF, naval convoy,
Army Air Transport,

the Corps of Engineers,
Army and Navy intelligence,

Signal Corps, Ordnance,
and ground forces.

These have done
their part for today.

The stage is set.

Rehearsals are over.

The actors are ready.

The curtain is going up.

But this is
no make-believe camera.

They will be playing for keeps.

Colonel William O. Erickson,
who sat the first bomber down

on Adak and led the original
mission over Kiska.

The thunder of engines
makes the earth tremble,

and the ravens rise.

The echelon proceeds
toward Kiska.

It's about an hour and three-quarters
from Adak to Kiska.

One of the most hotly
defended of enemy-held areas,

Kiska's also one of
the most strongly fortified.

The Japs have dug in
like so many moles.

An estimated force of
10,000 goes underground

at the sound of
our approaching engines.

We cannot, by air attack,
hope to annihilate.

We can only harass
the force on Kiska.

Cripple the island's
defenses, keep the enemy

from adding to its resources,
while we build

our own fighting strength
to the day and the hour

when we shall undertake
a landing operation.

Radio contact is maintained
between the bombers and Adak

throughout the flight,

which proceeds at
military speed, 165 MPH.

During the first
part of the journey,

the waist guns are
swing into position,

turret mechanisms tested,
and trial rounds fired.

[gunfire]

Time moves slowly going
after the target.

Crew members have even been
known to play stud poker.

The route is quite
familiar by now.

Many pilots and crews have
made the flight 25, 30 times.

Along about the time
Amchitka's sighted,

they begin to look
out for enemy planes.

The men whose regular job
it is say no matter how often

a fellow's gone over, he always feels
funny up there over Kiska.

At a signal from
the squadron leader,

the pilots will open throttle,

and the planes will go
into the bombing run.

For a minute and a half
to two minutes,

they will proceed at level flight

in an absolutely straight
line toward the target,

thereby enabling the bombardier
to make his computations--

wind velocities, speed,
temperature, altitude, drift.

There can be no deviation
whatever in the flight

if the bombs are
to find the target.

[radio] Ten miles and three
minutes from the objective.

[narrator] Before Kiska
volcano, the mission deploys,

each flight going to
its designated altitude

in preparation for the run.

The enemy will endeavor
to throw the flights

off their runs.

And to this, he will bring
all his firepower to bear.

The earth below will
blaze with hatred.

Our ships will heave
and rock in the ack-ack.

Machine gun bullets may make
a filigree of their wings.

High explosives
may open up holes

big enough for a man
to crawl through.

Little Kiska.
Outer defense of Kiska Harbor.

[radio] Bomb bay doors open.

[radio] Bomb bay doors open,
six degrees right on course.

[officer] The object
is to hit the target,

not to avoid anti-aircraft.

Remember this: You're just as liable
to run into it as away from it.

The best way is to forget
what's happening outside

and make the run by instruments.

That way, if it comes, well, you
just look over your shoulder

and you see a man
with a long beard,

and you say, "Good morning,
Father Abraham."

[radio] I want every man
to stick by his gun

until I say he can leave.

Use every round of
ammunition on this ship.

Fire straight at the gun
flashes until they stop.

If we're hit
and have to bail out,

there'll be plenty of
Navy around to pick us up.

Okay, should we give it to 'em?

[narrator] Kiska.

[radio] Bombs away.

[radio] Bunker's out.

Great hit.

Enemy aircraft at 3 o'clock.

[gunfire]

[narrator] Second flight,
low altitude.

[radio] On target.

Let 'em have it.

[bombs whistling, explosions]

[narrator] Third flight,
at 4,500 feet.

[radio] Bombs away.

[radio] Here goes.

Bombs away.

[explosions]

[radio] -Check in, Timber.
-Okay.

-Waist gunner
-Okay.

-Radio man
-Okay.

Top turret.

I got a slug in my arm,
but I'm okay.

-Belly turret.
-Okay.

-Nose
-Okay.

[narrator] Kiska's hangars
are destroyed, burning.

Our bombs found the target.

Nine bombers came out,
and nine are going home.

♪ Rolling home,
rolling home ♪

♪ Rolling home,
rolling home ♪

♪ By the light of
the silvery moon ♪

♪ Happy is the day when
the airman gets his pay ♪

♪ As we go rolling home ♪

♪ I've got sixpence ♪

♪ Jolly, jolly sixpence ♪

♪ I've got sixpence
to last me all my life ♪

♪ I've got twopence to spend ♪

♪ And twopence to lend ♪

♪ And twopence to
send home to my wife ♪

♪ No cares have
I to grieve me ♪

♪ No pretty little
girls to deceive me ♪

♪ I'm happy as a king,
believe me ♪

♪ As we go rolling,
rolling home ♪

♪ Rolling home,
rolling home ♪

♪ Rolling home,
rolling home ♪

♪ By the light of
the silvery moon ♪

♪ Happy is the day when
the airmen gets his pay ♪

♪ As we go rolling home ♪