The Japanese army leadership agreed. Lieutenant General Masakazu Kawabe, inspector-general of aviation and de facto chief of the Japanese Army Air Force, stated: “One of the biggest things leading to the surrender was the bombing of industrial cities. . . . Your bombing of small industrial cities and the use of fire bombs was very effective.”
Defensively, Tokyo was hopelessly slow off the mark, waiting until after the first Marianas-based strike in November 1944 to take serious measures. Attacks on airframe and engine plants in Nagoya convinced Japanese planners of a severe dilemma: they needed to increase aircraft production but under present conditions their industry could be crippled or even destroyed in a short time. Though dispersing the factories would necessarily reduce production for several months, it was preferable to losing the facilities entirely. The government opted for dispersal, beginning with Mitsubishi. The company physically separated the engineering division from manufacturing while spreading production facilities to a dozen or more sites on Honshu. However, establishing factories in outlying areas incurred the disfavor of residents and evacuees from other cities who had been displaced by air raids.
Mitsubishi designer Jiro Horikoshi explained, “Many a factory that went through the time-consuming steps of dispersing its most important machine and assembly lines now found itself no better off than before dispersal. The B-29s relentlessly and literally tracked down every move; no sooner had the new factory sections settled down in their new locations than the bombs showered down. The plant managers searched frantically for new sites, and sought refuge in factory buildings surrounded by steep mountains, or placed their vital machines within emergency caves drilled into the sides of hills. Eventually the dispersal plan proved to be a complete failure. At the time when we most desperately needed production, our industrial personnel scrambled in the hills for new machine sites. Devastation in Japan mounted daily.”
The 73rd Wing Arrives
As the Pacific part of the 20th Air Force, the Marianas operation was designated XXI Bomber Command. Its chief was well known to American airmen.
Brigadier General Haywood “Possum” Hansell was a soft-spoken forty-one-year-old Virginian who had been flying since 1929. His cockpit credentials included Claire Chennault’s aerobatic team that had performed at the Cleveland Air Races. He served a stretch with air intelligence, including observer status during the Battle of Britain in 1940. His stellar work at Maxwell Field, helping produce the 1941 air war plan, had marked him as one of Hap Arnold’s favorites. Subsequently, Possum led an 8th Air Force wing in Britain during the rough days of 1942–43, and he did well enough to earn command of the Marianas B-29 operation in August 1944.
On October 12, XXI Bomber Command welcomed its first B-29, though no bomber fields were yet fully operational. Greeted by two P-47s, Hansell landed his pet Superfortress, which he had wanted to christen The Pacific Pioneer. However, the crew had its own preference: Joltin’ Josie. The impasse was broken in an unmilitary compromise, and thus did the famous B-29 become Joltin’ Josie, the Pacific Pioneer.
Hansell’s subordinate was Brigadier General Emmett O’Donnell, commanding the 73rd Wing. “Rosie” was a blue-eyed New York Irishman who had played halfback at West Point, class of ’28, and later coached the Cadets. A 1939 graduate of the Tactical School, he was well versed in the theory of bombardment aviation and a noted practitioner. In September 1941, as a major, he had led the first “mass flight” (nine B-17s) from Hawaii to the Philippines. He flew missions from Java until the Japanese seized the Dutch East Indies, then served in India before returning home to advise Hap Arnold and subsequently learn the B-29 trade.
One of the things that Hansell and O’Donnell had in common was Hap Arnold’s willingness to give them a chance to fail. That was about all that the AAF chief ever offered, even to favored subordinates. Though both commanders wore brigadier’s stars, Hansell was three years older and tended more toward the school solution. O’Donnell, having seen how badly plans could turn to hash in the Philippines and Java, was more open to unorthodox methods. But apart from philosophical differences, they were simply birds of differing feathers: the Southern gentleman and the rollicking Yankee.
It took a while for the 73rd Wing’s four groups to settle in, but the command logged its first mission before month’s end. On October 27, the 497th and 498th Groups launched eighteen bombers on a “local” warm-up mission to Truk Atoll in the Carolines, 600 miles southeast of Saipan. Four aborted, including Hansell’s aircraft, but no planes were lost. Bombing results against a submarine base were assessed as poor. Five more practice missions followed, averaging twenty planes each prior to the first strike against Japan in November.
A New Kind of War
The Marianas B-29 operation was history in the making. For the first time ever, bombers would routinely fly transoceanic combat missions. Until then, XX Bomber Command had flown almost 600 miles over water from the China coast north of Shanghai to reach northern Kyushu—a record-setting distance in mid-1944. But from the Marianas to Japan was 1,500 miles one way; about fifteen hours round-trip. Nothing remotely comparable had ever been attempted. Hansell’s Joltin’ Josie and her stablemates truly were Pacific pioneers.
With 3,000 miles of saltwater below them, Marianas B-29 crews literally entrusted their lives to their navigators. The ordinary concern that airmen feel when flying beyond sight of land was eased by having four engines, but even when the irksome R-3350s performed well, there was always the worry of getting lost or running short of fuel. And rescue was never certain for those lost on a wide, blue sea.
Ironically, nocturnal navigation held more advantages than daytime. At night, with weather permitting, navigators could use sextants to “shoot the stars” with more accuracy than sun angles, and electronic methods were more efficient. Radio aids performed best after sunset owing to better atmospherics, and LORAN (LOng RAnge Navigation) beams could be tracked 700 miles from base during day and upward of 1,000 at night—a huge advantage when flying overcast skies.
Nevertheless, navigators remained second-class citizens in some pilots’ eyes. It says a great deal about the Air Force culture that its World War II figures show exactly 191,654 pilots trained from 1941 to 1945 versus approximately 45,000 bombardiers during the war and some 50,000 navigators from 1943 to 1945. Presumably the 1942 figures are unavailable.
Once Saipan dropped astern, the B-29ers would be on their own. If anything went seriously wrong, the best they could hope for was a controlled ditching in the ocean, for no friendly shore lay within reach. The only noteworthy land between the Marianas and Japan was the Japanese-held Bonin Islands. Largest of the Bonins was Iwo Jima, nearly eight square miles of ashy, sulfurous sand resembling “a large, gray pork chop.” With its fighters and bombers, Iwo posed a problem for XXI Bomber Command, including the advance warning it could give Tokyo every time B-29s passed overhead.
Bombers could not perform their function without target information, just as Possum Hansell had noted in drafting AWPD-1 before Pearl Harbor. Therefore, photoreconnaissance versions of the B-29 also began arriving in October. Designated F-13s, the spy planes of the 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron were equipped with six or more cameras to detect enemy installations.
On November 7, an F-13 was not only the first Superfortress over Tokyo but the first American aircraft since the Doolittle Raid thirty-one months before. The intruder drew immediate attention. The single silvery shape high in the thin air over Honshu was the target of nearly 100 Japanese fighters, only two of which got anywhere near the Boeing droning along at 32,000 feet.
The next day the Marianas command sustained its first loss during a mission to Iwo Jima. Though a Zero fighter dropped a phosphorus bomb on the American formation without serious consequences, a 498th Group aircraft was forced into a water landing with mechanical problems. Only two men survived.
Meanwhile, B-29 crews grew more accustomed to their environment. Guam’s North Field was probably the trickiest in the M
arianas. Takeoffs were usually made to the northeast, into the prevailing trade winds that had benefited eighteenth- and nineteenth-century merchant sailors. Though the first 2,000 feet or so of runway ran slightly downhill, the latter portion was somewhat uphill, causing some heavily loaded bombers to stagger into the moist tropical air, engines howling and propellers biting in low pitch.
The critical phase of a takeoff came immediately after becoming airborne. Between the end of the runway and the cliff that plunged to the sea was half a mile of “terrible coral.” Once the world fell away beneath a B-29, pilots could nudge their control yokes slightly forward, descending to use some of the 500 to 600 feet above the ocean to accelerate to a safe flying speed. Thrust overcame inertia and lift defeated gravity, elevating sixty-five tons of aircraft, fuel, ordnance, and human souls. Then, with landing gear raised and wing flaps milked up a few degrees at a time, the burdened bomber became a craft of the air.
Yet there were rewards despite the dangers. Amid the hours of tedious routine, and the languorous time spent listening to the pulsing drone of four powerful engines, there were moments of sublime compensation. The glory of a Pacific sunrise, when sea and sky turned from gray-black to vivid golden hues, or the vertical grandeur of a backlit thunderhead cresting 30,000 feet was worth the entire fifteen-hour trip.
After the warm-up period there ensued a maddening time of waiting for the Marianas’ first bombing mission to Japan. Each day aircrews arose, ate, dealt with their pre-mission jitters, and went to briefing. But poor local weather canceled the big event for a solid week: every day from November 17 to the 23rd. Tension rose with each stand-down; some fliers alternated between joy and gloom, all the while knowing that one day they would fly.
On the 24th the bombers went to Tokyo.
Defending Tokyo
Even after the Doolittle Raid, Japan largely ignored what loomed just over the horizon until far too late. The pulsing, throbbing engine of American industry, fueled by rage as much as petroleum, droned an insistent hum that should have been audible across the far expanse of the Pacific. But Tokyo’s ears were deaf to noise; its brain immune to logic.
Combat losses from 1942 onward had badly depleted Japan’s cadre of prewar aircrew, carefully trained fliers who had thoroughly mastered their weapons and their trade. With more squadrons needed to defend the homeland, some of the deficit was made good by withdrawing units from overseas. But inevitably, partly trained rookies were pushed forward to fill available cockpits. The youngsters (some teenagers) were motivated and generally eager, but could not begin to compare with the skill and experience of their increasingly numerous enemies.
Once B-29s and carrier planes began operating almost at will over Japan, every man was needed to defend the home islands. When the draft age was raised to forty-five many men were accepted into military service who never would have been considered previously. The declining standards were brought home to Prince Higashikuni of the General Defense Command in late 1944 when, visiting an antiaircraft site, he found that gun crews included men with physical debilities and even one eye.
The best known example of physical handicap was navy ace Saburo Sakai, who had destroyed or damaged more than fifty Allied aircraft in 1941–42. He lost the use of his right eye over Guadalcanal but returned to combat at Iwo Jima in 1944 and remained active in the home islands.
The army retreads included Burma veterans such as Captain Yohei Hinoki, who had lost a leg to an American fighter in 1943, and Sergeant Yukio Shimokawa, half-blinded by a B-24 that same year. Other veterans, worn out from years of combat, were put to use as instructors or ferry pilots.
Tokyo lagged badly in the material realm as well as the human. Japanese aircraft production simply could not match attrition. From an average wastage of 500 per month in early 1942 the number quadrupled by the fall of 1944. From 1941 onward Japanese factories turned out nearly 70,000 airplanes but losses reached 50,000, more than half in accidents.
In comparison, throughout the war U.S. forces lost 27,000 planes in the Pacific, one-third on combat missions. At the end America produced 11,000 planes in August 1945, almost exactly the number of Imperial Navy aircraft lost to all causes from April 1943 to March 1945.
Japan’s unexpected dilemma called for exceptional measures. In October the JAAF’s 10th Flying Division formed dedicated ramming flights with fighters stripped of guns and armor plate. Thus lightened, the Kawasaki Tonys could reach B-29 operating altitudes. The 244th Sentai’s “special attack” unit debuted on December 3 when two pilots collided with bombers but the rammers survived. In all, the 10th Division claimed two other ramming successes among five B-29s lost to all causes.
The Imperial Navy’s premier air defense unit was the 302nd Air Group (Hikotai) established in March 1944. From Atsugi the 302nd’s fighters could reach Tokyo in about fifteen minutes, and equipment reflected the growing concern for combating “B-san.” At the time of the first U.S. carrier strikes in February 1945 the group’s squadrons flew seventy Zekes, Jacks, Irving night fighters, and six generally ineffective twin-engine Franceses. There was also a reconnaissance squadron. The most potent were the Jacks, rugged single-seaters with four 20mm cannon; and the twin-engine Irving night fighters with radar and four cannon.
A few Irving crews claimed spectacular success, despite their mount’s slower speed than the B-29. One was Lieutenant Sachio Endo, credited with eight victories. At age twenty-nine Endo was unusually experienced; since 1933 he had been a carrier aviator and fought in China. After three years back in Japan he was sent to Rabaul, New Britain, where he was mated with the Gekko but without success. Following that unproductive tour he reported to Omura in 1944, training more night fighter crews. There he hit his stride. He began scoring by night and day, and was transferred to Atsugi in November, in time for the first Marianas B-29 missions.
During an interception on January 14, 1945, Endo piled into a 73rd Wing formation and attacked two Superforts. One was thought destroyed; the other damaged. However, in the running battle his Irving was riddled by .50 caliber rounds that ignited the fuel. The observer bailed out, apparently while Endo kept their burning aircraft under control, then he jumped. But he was too low; both men died in the attempt to save themselves. It was doubtful that either would have survived their burns.
Superfortresses over Tokyo
The November 24 mission was a historic event: the first B-29 attack on Tokyo. Leading from the front, as expected of the flying generals, was Rosie O’Donnell in Dauntless Dottie. Across the throttle console from him was Major Robert K. Morgan, famous throughout America as the pilot of the B-17 Memphis Belle. Having survived his 8th Air Force tour in 1943—a feat statistically unachievable at the time—Morgan had stepped up to Boeing’s next bomber for the Pacific half of the war. By then he had married and named his new bomber for his bride.
Following O’Donnell and Morgan were 110 other Superforts rising from Guam’s runways on the mission code-named San Antonio 1. Seventeen never reached Japan, aborting with mechanical (mostly engine) problems. Six more lined up a target in their Norden sights but could not release their bombs.
Buffeted by terrific winds and bedeviled by clouds, only twenty-four planes found the primary target, the Nakajima Company’s Musashino aircraft factory. Most of the other Superforts went after port facilities and urban-industrial areas while five had to settle for targets of last resort. All fought a battle with the 130 mph jet stream that prevailed at bombing altitudes up to 32,000 feet, in some cases resulting in astonishing ground speeds of 440 miles per hour.
Though the 3rd Photo Squadron sent F-13s ahead of the main force, dropping aluminum strips that clogged Japanese radar scopes, some stations detected the approaching raiders. Thus, the defenders had nearly eighty minutes’ notice, permitting about 125 interceptors to take off.
Some Japanese pilots proved suicidally brave. Anticipating B-29s from the Marianas, Major General Kihachiro Yoshida had ordered his 10th Fighter Division to form dedicated ram
ming units that flew fighters without guns or armor plate. Thus lightened, the fighters stood a better chance of reaching the B-29s’ altitude.
Among the first Japanese to reach the formation was Corporal Yoshio Mita, flying a stubby Nakajima fighter the Americans called Tojo. He selected a 497th Group aircraft flown by Captain Sam P. Wagner. Pressing a run from behind, Mita ignored the .50 caliber fire that struck his Tojo. About 200 yards out he rolled almost inverted and slashed into the bomber’s tail, ripping off the elevator and right horizontal stabilizer. Mita’s plane fell away burning and exploded in midair.
Wagner and his copilot struggled with their crippled plane—ironically, it was named Lucky Irish—but the damage was fatal and it spun down offshore, crashing inverted. Another bomber had to ditch in the Marianas, its fuel tanks holed by AA fire, but the crew was saved.
B-29 crews reported downing seven interceptors (actually they got five) but the American gunners accidentally shot up three Superfortresses in addition to the eight damaged by Japanese flak. Despite the loan of a naval fighter group, General Yoshida’s command had failed to dent the first B-29 strike on the capital. He responded by doubling the number of ramming aircraft.
The Americans also studied the first Tokyo mission. Almost from the start, Possum Hansell and Rosie O’Donnell had differed over the best way to attack Japan, with Hansell favoring AAF doctrine of high-altitude precision bombing while his subordinate wing commander inclined toward more flexible tactics. In any case, later study showed that merely forty-eight of 240 bombs dropped on Musashino had struck the target, including three that failed to explode. Intelligence analysts assessed damage at one percent of the factory buildings.
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