The Navy, of course, made some attempts to organize mosquito-prevention and disease-prevention units, but only on a small and insignificant scale.
Even the efforts to expedite the construction of forward air bases with mechanical devices achieved little success. It was impossible to accumulate in only a few months the knowledge and experience which the Americans had gathered over many years.
To our distress, it became evident that our military and government leaders had never really understood the meaning of total war. Japan lacked the knowledge and the means with which to integrate its national resources into the most effective war machine. While these officials often spoke of total war, today it is clear that their knowledge of such matters was sorely limited and that their enthusiasm was confined largely to vocal efforts.
CHAPTER 19
“Operation A”—I-go Sakusen
OUR DEFEAT AT GUADALCANAL was due primarily to the great military strength and the tenacious attacks of the enemy on land, at sea, and in the air, but causes of that defeat were to be found also directly within the Combined Fleet.
The primary failure on our part lay in the utter lack of a fixed policy for the construction of island air bases. Even in the Philippines and the Dutch East Indies, when our forces swept aside enemy resistance in the opening attacks of the war, we established a policy of constructing air bases so that no more than three hundred nautical miles would separate these installations. Even when our planes were required to fly over open water, our air-base distances did not exceed three hundred and eighty nautical miles, as between Kendari and Koepang.
At Guadalcanal, however, the Navy bungled its planning for logistics support, and no explanation can possibly excuse the failure to provide air bases in the approximately six-hundred-nautical-mile stretch between Rabaul and Guadalcanal. This was perhaps the most serious error committed by our Navy in the southwest Pacific, and stemmed directly from the unjustified optimism created by our initial victories. This overconfidence, in retrospect an attitude which is seen to have engendered fatal consequences, prevented our commanding officers from evaluating soberly the inevitable enemy counterattack. It is also true that this episode illustrates the Japanese Navy’s true nature, for we repeatedly failed to investigate our future needs for mutual assistance between military bases, the transportation and logistics requirements of our forces, and the anticipated distances between our air installations and those of the enemy.
Our second fault lay in the fact that we never studied properly the problems of air-base construction, maintenance, and supply. Neither did we appreciate accurately the limitations of air operations which could be conducted from any land installation. Despite our overwhelming initial successes, we literally ignored the priceless advantages afforded us in respect to the time in which we had to enlarge existing bases, to construct new facilities, and to determine to the last pound the supply requirements for our bases. Thus, while we could have prepared a bastion of air-power networks from which our planes could have assaulted effectively the Guadalcanal invaders, we did nothing toward this end. This failure on our part in great measure caused the loss of Guadalcanal.
It was a bizarre situation, for in such matters as aircraft performance, pilot skill, and efficient use of manpower we clearly exceeded the enemy’s best efforts. Our overconfidence, however, cost us the results of years of painstaking labor and allowed the enemy to begin his long trek back into the Pacific which resulted eventually in our total defeat. This inability to coordinate the military and economic strength at our disposal was not restricted to the Navy air force only; it existed to a much severer degree within the ranks of the Army and, indeed, might accurately be described as characteristic of the entire nation.
The blame rested directly upon the shoulders of the Naval General Staff of Tokyo and with the staff officers of the Combined Fleet. They, too, allowed overconfidence to dim their appraisal of the Pacific situation and, since they were directly responsible for the war’s conduct, the guilt is primarily theirs. This lack of competence undermined much of the brilliant work performed by Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, who suddenly found his formerly advancing forces facing an enemy fighting savagely for an obscure island in the southwest Pacific.
All the admiral’s meticulous plans, which had proven so effective in this battle area, foundered suddenly in the face of our own deficiencies. Certainly the interval between the time of our occupation of the Solomons and the enemy’s return should have allowed us to hurl a wall of fire and steel at the invading forces; instead, our planes disappeared in the open sea from lack of fuel, our pilots became exhausted from overextended missions, we encountered severe difficulties in replacement of men, materiel, and aircraft, and we watched helplessly as enemy strength inexorably increased.
The most bitter pill of all for Admiral Yamamoto to swallow was that, despite our obvious lack of preparation, we still had immediately available in the Guadalcanal area sufficient strength to mount a strong counterattack which could have wrecked the American invasion fleet and caused terrible casualties among the still comparatively weak landing forces. There was every reason to believe, from the available Japanese strength in the area, that we would make this counterattack. Not only did we have effective air power, but our Combined Fleet could at once muster at least twice the surface strength of the enemy fleet.
Instead, while the enemy committed to the defense of his initial, precarious beachhead all available aircraft, the new battleships South Dakota and Washington, and all available warships, units of our Combined Fleet remained uselessly at anchor at Rabaul and Truk. At the precise moment when the enemy’s plans hung desperately on coordination of his efforts, and when our fleet was in a most favorable position to disrupt the invasion and destroy the enemy ships, we failed to act. This lack of decision later cost us dearly, for the advantages once presented in the early stages of the Guadalcanal fighting disappeared rapidly, and our own fleet suffered repeated defeats.
Many of our own strategists have compared the defeat at Guadalcanal with the havoc suffered at Midway; truly our same weaknesses responsible for the great American naval victory in the former battle appear to have been repeated.
The successful enemy invasion of Guadalcanal and subsequent enemy campaigns led many of our people to believe that Japan lost the war simply because the Navy overestimated the ability of our Army to defend the islands in the Pacific. They felt that this succession of Japanese Army defeats at the hands of the rampaging American amphibious forces was directly responsible for the Navy’s own losses.
This is foolish reasoning, and with little basis in fact. We who evaluated realistically the capabilities of our own Army knew only too well that our ground forces never were prepared adequately for Pacific combat. For years our Army trained to fight a war with Russia which it regarded as inevitable. This same Army group of leaders woefully lacked a true understanding of the United States; they were not aware of the nature and strength of the American people, nor did they appreciate the overwhelming military strength American industry could bring to bear against any enemy.
I do not believe that our own Naval general staff was so ill-informed, or so unintelligent as to misjudge the Army’s strength in times of emergency. It was a poorly held secret among the military hierarchy that our Army was never truly capable of extensive island operations. To us, the Army was a cripple, and at best its effectiveness would always be limited.
Ever since the beginning of the Second Stage Operation, prefaced by the disaster at Midway, Admiral Yamamoto faced a situation which became increasingly desperate. One might say frankly that, despite his most intensive future efforts the admiral was doomed to know only defeat for the remainder of the war. With the enemy finally in firm possession of Guadalcanal Island, we were now defending ourselves against future enemy attacks. The Pacific War had run through its first full cycle, and the enemy was on the move. Studying carefully our defense positions across the Pacific, Admiral Yamam
oto discovered that our chain of island defenses and fleet units was riddled with weak points through which the enemy could strike. It was vital that these gaps be plugged, that we establish as close to an impregnable defense line as was possible. Yamamoto’s greatest need was for time; it was necessary to hold back the mounting enemy blows until we had secured our defenses.
Abruptly the admiral’s attention was drawn to the increasing tempo of enemy air attacks in the eastern part of New Guinea and the Solomons. The effectiveness of enemy air strength was brought to the admiral with the news of a crushing defeat which, if similar events were permitted to occur in the future, promised terrifying disasters for Japan.
On the afternoon of March 2, 1943, a large Japanese convoy was sighted by patrolling B-24 bombers north of Cape Gloucester, bound for Lae in an effort to reinforce our troops in the Lae-Salamaua area. The convoy consisted of eight destroyers (Shikinami, Yukikaze, Asagumo, Uranami, Arashio, Asashio, Shirayuki, and Tokitsukaze), a special service vessel (Nojima), and eight transports (the 3,800-ton Shinano-Maru, 6,870-ton Teiyo-Maru, 6,500-ton Oigawa-Maru, 5,500-ton Kyokusei-Maru, 3,750-ton Taimei-Maru, 2,746-ton Aiyo-Maru, 700-ton Kenbu-Maru, and 543-ton Kokoku-Maru). Aboard the convoy, in addition to the crews of the vessels, were five thousand ground troops assigned to the 51st Division. The Kenbu-Maru particularly was sorely needed at Lae, since she carried aircraft, fuel, spare parts, and other vital supplies.
When first sighted the convoy lay protected beneath a solid weather front, broken only occasionally. The B-24 sighting, however, had been dispatched immediately to nearby enemy air combat units. By daybreak of March 3 the Americans, aided by Australian units, hurled a savage attack against the convoy. One hundred and thirty-seven planes of the 5th Air Force and the R.A.A.F. battered our ships. Everything from fighters to heavy bombers, including B-17s, B-24s, A-20s, B-25s, P-38s, and Beaufighters swarmed at the helpless convoy. Other enemy fighters meanwhile attacked our airfields to draw off Zero fighters based at Lae and Salamaua.
Bombs crashed with deadly accuracy into one ship after the other, and the enemy planes raked the vessels with machine guns and cannon to add to the carnage. Despite frantic defensive action by Zero fighters, we could do almost nothing to stem the vicious attack. By early afternoon closing weather afforded the convoy a respite as low clouds forced the enemy planes to withdraw. They left behind them a bizarre sea littered with bodies and wreckage.
During the night of March 3–4 enemy seaplanes tracked the convoy—what was left of it—and dropped bombs intermittently without effect. The breaking dawn confirmed the fears of survivors; the planes came screaming in again, skipping bombs across the water, and strafing with uncanny accuracy. By now the convoy lay some sixty miles east of Salamaua. But the weather no longer favored the ships, and the enemy fighters and bombers ran a shuttle from New Guinea bases to Huon Gulf to maintain the attack. Steadily the convoy dwindled as the ships went down.
During the night enemy torpedo boats raced through the convoy and sent a torpedo crashing into a cargo vessel which had been lying dead in the water. The ship went down at once. On March 5, as enemy fighters raked the wreckage and survivors in strafing attacks, a bomber brought the disaster to a finale by sinking the only destroyer still in the area.
Every transport, as well as the Nojima and four destroyers, was sent to the bottom. Only four destroyers, the Shikinami, Yukikaze, Asagumo, and Uranami, were able to reach friendly harbor. Desperately needed supplies littered the Bismarck Sea, and some three thousand corpses floated in the oily, bloody waters. The enemy planes shot ten Zeros out of the sky, and badly damaged five others. Despite the fact that destroyers and submarines bent every effort to rescue survivors, we saved only 2,734 men.
The enemy lost but three P-38s, one B-17, one B-25, and one Beaufighter.
Our losses for this single battle were fantastic. Not during the entire savage fighting at Guadalcanal did we suffer a single comparable blow. It became imperative that we block the continued enemy air activities before these attacks became commonplace. We knew we could no longer run cargo ships or even fast destroyer transports to any front on the north coast of New Guinea, east of Wewak. Our supply operation to northeastern New Guinea became a scrabbler’s run of barges, small craft, and submarines.
Admiral Yamamoto personally assumed command of his air forces in the theater, establishing advanced command headquarters at Rabaul. He intended specifically to direct all air activities to destroy enemy air power in the area. This was “Operation A” (I-go Sakusen). Yamamoto established 21st Air Flotilla Headquarters at Kavieng on the northern end of New Ireland under Rear Admiral Toshinosuke Ichimaru, and sent the 26th Air Flotilla to Buin on southern Bougainville under Rear Admiral Kanae Kozaka. The air groups of the 1st Carrier Division under Vice-Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa moved into Rabaul. Also placed at Rabaul was the main body of the 21st Air Flotilla under Rear Admiral Ichimaru. The air groups of the 2nd Carrier Division under Vice-Admiral Kakuji Kakuda remained in Rabaul only when not in action; when attacking Guadalcanal, the division advanced its headquarters to our base on Ballale Island, near Buin.
Admiral Yamamoto had immediately available a total air strength of 350 planes, including 190 under Vice-Admiral Kusaka’s command, and 160 carrier-based planes under Vice-Admiral Ozawa’s command. The latter officer had replaced Vice-Admiral Nagumo.
Despite the scale of Yamamoto’s intended operation, his force of 350 airplanes was numerically smaller than that of the Nagumo Force employed in the Pearl Harbor attack, or even the Tsukahara Force used in the Philippines and Malaya area operations. Yamamoto’s air fleet could carry a slightly greater weight of bombs, since he would employ twin-engined attack bombers.
Nevertheless, the total air power assembled by the admiral presented an alarming picture. His forces constituted the main strength of Japan’s first-line air power after only eighteen months of war, during which time our Navy afforded aircraft construction its first priority. In other words, the Navy Air Force had not expanded. Indeed, we now had less combat airplanes than we did at the war’s outset. This fact alone demonstrated dramatically the adverse conditions under which our Navy planes combated the enemy, for in this same time interval the Americans (as well as the English and the Australians) hurled ever-increasing numbers of fighters and bombers at us.
Further difficulties arose in our pilot-replacement program. Guadalcanal had cut sharply into the ranks of qualified pilots and our Navy air force suffered increasingly from difficulties resulting from pilots with insufficient training. Before the outset of Yamamoto’s Operation A, I (Okumiya) was air staff officer to Admiral Kakuda, and was required to train many lieutenants directly out of pilots’ school. These men had behind them barely thirty days of carrier training, and our veteran air leaders hesitated to send the fledglings into combat against the aggressive and experienced American pilots. Not only did we fear for the safety of these new pilots in combat, but many had great difficulty merely in properly flying their fighters and bombers. More than once this lack of experience cost us our invaluable warplanes, as the unqualified pilots skidded, crashed, and burned on takeoff. Admiral Yamamoto hoped that his personal presence in the Rabaul area would spur his instructors to bring these student pilots to a point where they could fly against the enemy with some chance of survival.
On April 7, 1943, the attack began in full force. Our planes in heavy strength raided a concentration of enemy vessels anchored at Guadalcanal; on the 11th we attacked enemy shipping at Oro Bay and Harvey Bay on the east coast of New Guinea; on the 12th our planes raided the Port Moresby airfield; and on the 14th we attacked the Milne Bay airfield on southeast New Guinea as well as enemy ships within the harbor.
Pilots’ reports of the four heavy raids indicated that we had inflicted severe damage on the enemy, and intelligence officers reported to Admiral Yamamoto that we sank one cruiser, two destroyers, and twenty-five cargo and transport ships; shot down in air combat 134 planes, and wreck
ed others in ground attacks which severely damaged four enemy air bases. (Again our pilots overestimated the efficiency of their attacks, for postwar investigations revealed that the Americans, while hit hard, suffered far less damage than we were led to believe.) Our losses included at least forty-nine planes shot down and missing, in addition to those which were damaged.
Convinced by his pilots’ reports that his original goal of wreaking great havoc among the American airfields and reducing the effectiveness of enemy air power had been accomplished, Yamamoto declared Operation A as concluded successfully, and ordered his land-based air forces to resume their original attack missions. He sent the carrier-based planes back to Truk, where they rejoined their original groups.
I had participated actively in the entire operation, and remember clearly the final conference on the campaign. Our officers expressed great concern over the severe bomber losses we had experienced at the hands of the enemy fighter pilots, for only four missions had cost us fifty planes. No other action could have demonstrated so effectively the fact that the Americans were now matching and exceeding the performance of our own aircraft. The meeting concluded in a pessimistic air; we could anticipate only expanding enemy air strength and an ever-increasing drain of our own air power.
The demands of Operation A disorganized the 1st Carrier Division’s air groups, which was ordered to return to Japan for reorganization, new aircraft, and extended training. To compensate for the loss of the 1st Carrier Division’s planes, Admiral Kakuda regretfully split into two units his own 2nd Carrier Force, assigning half his strength to Truk and the remainder to the Marshall Islands.
CHAPTER 20
Admiral Yamamoto Dies in Action
AS COMMANDER IN CHIEF of the Combined Fleet, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto held the unreserved respect and admiration of every man who served under him. Neither the debacle at Midway nor the shock of the Guadalcanal defeat marred the confidence of his men in the admiral. This was not merely the result of military conduct, but Yamamoto was afforded a personal loyalty which bordered on the fanatic. No other officer ever approached the immense popularity of this single man who, when confronted with the unexpected disasters in the Pacific, personally accepted the responsibility for failure, and at no time tolerated accusation of his subordinates.
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