Скачать или смотреть Japan Mocked Black Soldiers as Cowards — Until They Crushed 12,000 of Their Men”

The men of the 93rd gather around the leaflets, silent.
Private First Class Elijah Jones, 22, from Georgia, crumples one in his hand. His father had been lynched when Elijah was ten. His mother told him to “make something of himself.”
Now, as he looks at the paper in his fist, he mutters under his breath:
“They think we won’t fight. Let’s see.”
Behind him, Corporal William Green loads his M1 rifle and says quietly,
“We ain’t here to prove them wrong. We’re here to make it home.”
But deep down, they all know — they’re here to prove something.
To the Japanese.
To America.
And to history.
April 1944.
Bougainville Island.
The jungle is alive with noise — cicadas, rain, and the distant rumble of artillery.
The 93rd Infantry Division has been deployed to relieve white combat units exhausted by months of brutal fighting. On paper, it’s a simple assignment: secure the eastern trails, guard supply lines, and patrol the perimeter for Japanese holdouts. But the unspoken truth is clear — Washington still doesn’t trust them for frontline combat.
They are to “prove themselves” through labor, not battle.
But war doesn’t care about orders.
On the night of April 21st, a Japanese raiding force of nearly 300 soldiers slips through the dense undergrowth. Their mission: ambush an American supply column guarded by the 93rd.
At dawn, near the Torokina River, the jungle erupts.
Gunfire shreds the silence.
The Japanese soldiers charge screaming through the trees, bayonets glinting in the sunlight.
Private Elijah Jones dives behind a fallen palm tree, his heart pounding. He hears the shouts of Japanese officers, the cracking of branches, the hiss of bullets passing inches from his ear.
The men of the 93rd — outnumbered, inexperienced, and dismissed as “support troops” — hold their ground.
Machine gunner Sergeant Robert W. Nelson sets up his Browning and opens fire. His weapon jams, mud clogging the barrel. He clears it with his finger and keeps firing until his hand bleeds.
Nearby, Corporal Green takes a grenade and crawls toward an enemy foxhole. The blast knocks him unconscious. When he wakes, three Japanese soldiers lie dead beside him.
By nightfall, the ground is littered with bodies.
The 93rd holds its position.
When the battle reports reach headquarters, the casualty list tells a story no one expected: 183 Japanese dead, only 17 American losses.
But when the news reaches Tokyo, Japanese radio calls it a fluke.
“The Negro troops are cowards hiding behind white officers,” the broadcast sneers.
They never mention that almost every commanding officer in that battle was Black.
For the first time, the 93rd sees combat — and wins.
But instead of medals or headlines, they receive silence. The Army buries the report under “classified field notes.”
Still, word spreads among the men.
They know what they did.
They know who they are.
And for the first time, they begin to believe that history might remember them — if it ever chooses to look.