by Jeff Shaara
“Have you heard anything from the Naval Ministry, or perhaps from the prime minister’s office?”
Hori shook his head. “Should I? What have you heard? Has something happened?”
“There is a surplus of stupidity in this world, my friend. Dangerous stupidity. The Germans have invaded Russia. And not just some noisy little invasion. Three million men.”
He saw Hori’s eyes widen. “That is incredible, Iso. They had a nonaggression pact, a treaty. They had already carved up Poland between them. Hitler and Stalin…It was as though they had a partnership.”
“There is another partnership we must be concerned about. Hitler is supposed to be our ally as well. There is enormous concern throughout the government—no, call it fear—that we might now be drawn into a war not of our making. I share that concern.” Yamamoto glanced around, saw no one else within earshot.
“There is speculation that because of our magnificent alliance with those people in Europe, by Germany’s invading Russia we might be compelled to do the same. There are already plans being tossed about for an invasion of the Russian ports right here, Port Arthur and Vladivostok. It is suggested that the other two partners of the Tripartite Pact will expect us to do our share to support whatever decisions Hitler chooses to make.”
Hori nodded slowly, and Yamamoto knew he understood. Yamamoto said, “It is one thing to hold the reins of the horse. It is quite a different thing when you merely ride in the cart. Hitler’s cart.”
Hori smiled. “I had forgotten you have been to Texas.”
Yamamoto appreciated his friend’s attempt at levity. “It would be humorous if it wasn’t so outrageously stupid. What Hitler has done is attack the nation with the largest landmass on earth. This makes as much sense to me as loading up the Japanese army and ferrying them over to California to invade the entire United States. I’m quite sure we don’t have the perhaps eighty million soldiers it would require to do that. How many more soldiers does Hitler have to send into Russia, if they get bogged down? Apparently, no one in Germany has ever heard of Napoleon.”
“Iso, this government has a great many options for committing suicide. But taking orders from Berlin? No matter what they decide to do? It will not happen. I might be confined to the shadows, but I still have friends. The emperor is not pleased with the Tripartite Pact, no matter what you might hear from the Ministry. You have your own challenges, and you should use more energy to push through your own plans. If Hitler defeats Russia, his army is still a very long way from here. Worry about that when it is time.”
“And when will it be time? When Russian bombs fall on Tokyo? Or perhaps German bombs? And if the Ministry ignores the American fleet in Hawaii? It might be American bombs.”
BATTLESHIP NAGATO, YOKOSUKA HARBOR, TOKYO, JAPAN—SUNDAY, JUNE 29, 1941
The officers filed slowly out of the wardroom, the men saluting him with smiles, grateful for the invitation to a lunch far fancier than they were accustomed to. It was a gesture of appreciation from their admiral, who so rarely offered flattery to any of his subordinates. This time, the men had been handpicked for their outstanding performance in their specific stations on the ship. Yamamoto believed that this kind of recognition was likely to inspire others to increase their own efficiency.
The room was empty now, the table a display of culinary carnage, empty china plates and silverware. It was unusual on a Japanese ship, though his senior officers were used to it by now, that he ordered the table set not only with traditional Japanese touches, but with Western items as well, including small porcelain finger bowls. Most of the others had left theirs untouched, but he dipped his fingers into his own, his orderly at his side quickly, offering a fresh napkin.
“Thank you, Omi.”
Yamamoto rubbed a hand on his belly, straining his shirt. “I fear I am eating too much, or too often. Perhaps too well.”
Omi stood back, a short bow. “Oh, no, sir. You are most fit.”
Yamamoto stood slowly, his hand still on his belly. “You are a poor liar. But you are forgiven. I am the only one here who is expected never to lie. Even if the truth is dangerous.”
More orderlies were moving in now, efficiently cleaning the table, stripping off the white cloth. He knew he was in their way, stepped out through the door, walked along the steel rail and stared out at the harbor. There were a half dozen destroyers moored together, one aircraft carrier along a pier to his right. Three light cruisers were lined up in a formation of their own, and beyond, smaller patrol boats and service vessels. He looked to the sky, thought, A fleet of dive bombers would do…what? Destroy what we have anchored here? What would be the odds of their success? How many would be shot out of the sky? I am tired of asking these questions. I want answers.
* * *
—
For more than three months, the details of Yamamoto’s attack plan had been discussed and debated, Admiral Onishi seeking out the counsel and opinions of the men he trusted. They were men who placed their faith in the airplane, who shared Yamamoto’s belief that airpower was the only equalizer that Japan could rely on in any fight against a major power. But as Onishi had told Yamamoto, the man chosen to be the chief planner believed in airpower even more passionately than Yamamoto himself.
Commander Minoru Genda served as the staff officer for the First Air Carrier Division, and had hands-on experience with nearly every combat plane in the Japanese arsenal.
He was in his mid-thirties, a handsome man, well spoken, with a self-confidence that Yamamoto could sense immediately. As well, Genda had a particular physical trait that gave the impression of a man who exuded perhaps too much energy: The man’s eyes seemed to burn when he spoke, a piercing stare that even Yamamoto found difficult to watch.
For weeks now, Genda had consulted with Onishi and others, hammering out details of Yamamoto’s attack plan, analyzing what might work and might not. As Yamamoto considered the arguments, some directly opposing his own, he couldn’t avoid the weight of his age, that he was an old man offering a plan that only young men could carry out. Even now, it was the young men who were fine-tuning the details, solving problems with solutions that even Yamamoto had not considered.
* * *
—
They filed into Yamamoto’s wardroom, filling the seats around the long table. Yamamoto acknowledged Onishi with a smiling nod, but his focus quickly settled on Genda.
Yamamoto was drawn to the young man’s hard stare, said, “You would do well at cards, Commander.”
Genda seemed puzzled, but accepted the compliment. “Thank you, sir. I do not often have the time.”
“No, I would imagine you do not. Perhaps we shall change that one day. I suspect you would be an excellent opponent.”
He knew that Genda didn’t grasp the observation, thought, A pity. Poker with him could be interesting. Genda’s expression didn’t change, a hard stare around the room, as though establishing himself as their spokesman. No one seemed to object.
Genda said, “Sir, Admiral Onishi and I have made every effort to eliminate those details we believe are simply impractical or too dangerous. And we believe we have put our greatest emphasis on those details which will guarantee success.”
Yamamoto saw approval from the others, said, “ ‘Guarantee’ is a risky wager, Commander. I dare not use that description when I seek final approval for this operation from the Naval Ministry, or even the prime minister. There is only one outcome when you predict perfection, and nothing is perfect.”
Genda nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course, Admiral. You are quite correct. I misspoke.”
“So do we all, Commander. Please say what you came to say.”
Genda pulled a short stack of paper from a folder, read briefly, then said, “Admiral Onishi has emphasized to us all that this operation must be carried out with the greatest secrecy, in order to catch the enemy by surprise. If th
e enemy is aware we are coming, the results could be catastrophic. Our fleet, and thus our aircraft, would be a long way from safety, and we might very well find ourselves sailing into a devastating trap. In every way possible, we must ensure absolute secrecy.”
Yamamoto had agonized over this point from the beginning. “Commander, I agree, but there is no possibility that we can plan and execute this operation without confiding in other departments, over which I have no authority. It is a fact of life, I am sorry to say, that I do not personally command every support facility we require. I do not control the fuel depots, the armament stores, nor any other department that does not fall under the authority of the combined fleet. In addition, there can be nothing withheld from the Naval Ministry, from the combined Chiefs of Staff, or for that matter, from Emperor Hirohito.”
Genda seemed chastened, bowed his head briefly. “I understand, of course, sir.”
Yamamoto pointed toward the papers in front of Genda. “You may continue, Commander.”
“Yes, sir. We believe the enemy’s aircraft carriers are the primary targets. I understand the value of their battleships, but if we can eliminate their carrier force, we would have the advantage over their battleships virtually anywhere they would go. Without air protection, the enemy would be extremely vulnerable.”
Yamamoto was surprised, said, “Commander, one primary purpose of this mission is to destroy American battleships. The message we must send to the Americans is that we have the capability to destroy even their most formidable weapons.”
“Sir, are not their carriers formidable weapons?”
“Absolutely. And we shall attack them with the same energy as we attack the battleships. But unless I instruct you otherwise, the American battleships are your first target.”
“Understood, sir. If I may continue.”
Yamamoto nodded.
“Next, we must make every effort to destroy the enemy’s aircraft on the ground, if possible. There are several air bases in proximity to Pearl Harbor. If we are successful in our secrecy, the enemy’s planes will still be on the ground when we arrive. We must prevent them from launching an airborne response as much as possible.” He paused, glanced at the others. No one spoke up, Genda very much in control. “Next, sir, we are insisting that this attack be made with six aircraft carriers, not the four that have been suggested. The added air strength they would provide would make our assault all the more damaging to the enemy.”
Yamamoto smiled, thought, I had suggested only four. These young men are indeed ambitious in their thinking.
“The next point, sir, is a concept I am not completely comfortable with. But there is a majority consensus among us that the attack be made with four types of aircraft: torpedo bombers, high-altitude bombers, low-altitude dive bombers, and fighters.”
“What is your argument against that part of the plan, Commander?”
Genda took a deep breath, the hard glare in his eyes digging into Yamamoto. “I am a great advocate of the torpedo bomber, sir. There is no greater weapon against a ship at sea, no matter how powerful the ship. But Pearl Harbor is shallow, our estimates say no more than forty to fifty feet deep. The torpedo requires much deeper water even if launched from a plane flying no more than twenty feet above the water. The torpedoes would not have sufficient depth to straighten their trajectory. I fear they would just lodge themselves in the bottom of the harbor. It is also likely that the American ships are protected by some type of torpedo obstruction, such as netting. It is hard to believe that they would anchor the heart of their fleet in any harbor and not provide such protection.”
“Well, then, that is a challenge we must consider. As you are aware, Commander, high-altitude bombing is haphazard at best, with a low percentage of success. Dive bombers are far more effective, but their bombs are likely not powerful enough to inflict serious damage against larger warships.”
Yamamoto saw deep concern on the young faces. He looked at Onishi, who said, “We are examining all of those concerns. There are challenges, certainly.”
“Then we must meet those challenges. Continue, Commander Genda.”
“Sir, we believe that our fighter aircraft should play a significant role. First, they would serve as a protective escort for our bombers. And, of course, should the enemy launch their own fighter aircraft against us, we would likely shoot them out of the sky. If the enemy does not have fighters in the air, ours can perform well in strafing runs against many land-based targets, ground facilities of every kind. It is my opinion, sir, that our A6M Zero carrier fighter is superior to any other such aircraft in the world.”
“I hope you are right. Go on.”
“We are convinced that the attack must be made in daylight. We are suggesting that our carriers launch their planes at a distance of no more than two hundred miles from the target. Thus, the planes can be launched before dawn. That way, if the enemy locates our armada, and there is a significant naval engagement, it would most likely come after dawn, and the planes will already be on their way to their targets. But we cannot send the planes too early. As you know, sir, we do not possess the kind of instrumentation for accuracy in nighttime assaults. Another challenge, sir, is that we must refuel our ships while they are at sea. The navy has not achieved proficiency at this, which is regrettable. Between now and the scheduled time of the assault, I would emphasize training in this area. There is no alternative, since we do not have any island bases close enough to meet the range of the armada.”
“I agree. We shall pursue that immediately.”
“Thank you, sir.” Genda paused. “And finally, sir, I suggest that we petition the army to approve the deployment of fifteen thousand troops to accompany our armada. Once our air assault is under way, these troops would land upon and occupy the island of Oahu. Capturing the enemy’s base would force them to withdraw completely from Hawaii, retreating to the bases on their west coast. Hawaii then would become our own forward base for launching every variety of attack against the Americans, wherever we might choose.”
Yamamoto laughed. He looked toward Onishi, who sat with his arms crossed, shaking his head.
“I’ve heard of this plan. Admiral Onishi has told me already that you are advocating for an invasion, as well as the air attack. Very energetic of you, Commander, but it is not practical. Our goal here is not all-out war with the Americans, despite the nature of this assault. It is my hope, perhaps it is my fantasy, that our attack so terrifies the American civilian public, that those people will demand of their government that war with Japan must be avoided at all cost.
“That is also why I have advocated that our planes make a one-way assault. If we move our carriers much farther away from Oahu, perhaps four hundred miles, the Americans will be far less likely to detect us with any reconnaissance patrols. As that would place us at the maximum limit of our planes’ fuel supply, we would make our attack, then ditch in the ocean close to the coast of Oahu. The pilots, many of them, would be rescued by our waiting submarines. I know American newspapers. They will describe this as a ‘suicide assault,’ and the American public will embrace that description. It will add to their perception of us as fanatical, and so, much more dangerous. It will add so much to the mythology of the Japanese warrior as being dedicated to total destruction, regardless of the loss of his own life.”
Genda stared at him, his head cocking slowly to one side. “Sir? Do you truly believe this? The morale of our pilots would suffer from such an order. No matter how many submarines we deploy, a great many well-trained men would disappear into the sea. And, would not the submarines risk detection, by being so close to the island?”
“I said it was my fantasy, Commander. Perhaps the same way an invasion of the island is your fantasy. So, let us examine that question. How many army officers are you closely acquainted with, that you would trust to secrecy?”
Genda glanced downward. “Truthfully, sir,
I’m not closely acquainted with any army officers at all.”
“And why is that, Commander?”
Genda hesitated, looked toward Onishi. “I don’t really trust the army, sir.”
Yamamoto smiled. “Neither do I. Neither should the entire civilian population of Japan. And neither should the emperor. But we have a prime minister, Mr. Konoye, who can best be described as having the spine of a jellyfish, and no one is fooled when the decisions that come from his high perch seem to have been written for him by the army. It is the army that pursued this ridiculous war in China, and it is the army that wants us to grab every part of the Pacific. I promise you, if you sent fifteen thousand army troops, with their officers, into Hawaii, our navy would very soon find ourselves serving as their ferry boat service, hauling troops wherever they felt like going. California, perhaps? Mexico? The Panama Canal?”
He glanced at the young faces across from him. “There was a time when we had many allies in the Naval Ministry. Now my former chief of staff has joined them, and like so many of the others, they are dismissing your efforts, laughing at the foolishness of this entire enterprise. There are some, Commander, who would delight in burning those papers of yours as a tribute to our friends in Germany.”
“That is outrageous, sir. Surely you speak only of the army. I know of no naval officer who would advocate such foolishness.”
“Don’t delude yourself, Commander. There are many officers, young, like you, who believe our path is too cautious, that we should follow the army’s wishes, that we should emulate Germany and simply take whatever we want. That, Commander, is what you should find to be foolishness.” He paused. “And since we’re offering fantasies, here’s another one. If there is a full-scale war, you can be certain that in time the Americans will send their bombers over Tokyo. I imagine the entire city in flames. That’s the purchase we are making. This operation should buy us the luxury of time. Time might allow us to increase our defenses, so that when the war comes to Japan, we can prevent our own annihilation.”
