by James Johns
Known for firing the Americans’ first shot of World War II, Outerbridge would later experience a very unusual twist of fate, exactly three years from the day of the Ward action at Pearl Harbor. Outerbridge was later assigned to command the USS O’Brien (DD-975), which assisted with Allied landings at Normandy, and then returned to the Pacific theater to perform the same duties during the Americans’ landing in the Leyte Gulf. The Ward had also been assigned to Leyte Gulf, and on December 7, 1944, while performing patrol duty, the Ward was severely crippled by Japanese kamikazes. Outerbridge, in command of the O’Brien, was ordered to sink the Ward.
The Ward message, moving up the Fourteenth Naval District, eventually reached Captain J.B. Earle. Earle, who had previously commanded Destroyer Squadron Five, was assigned as Admiral Bloch’s chief of staff in June 1941. Earle requested confirmation before taking the report any higher. There had been so many reports of sightings in the past few weeks, with most turning out to be whales. But Earle did report the incident by phone to Bloch, and between them, the decision was made to await confirmation. Then came the PBY report of dropping depth charges on a submarine. Still no confirmation was received. In fact, it would remain unconfirmed for over sixty years until August 2002, when the submarine was discovered in twelve hundred feet of water in the exact position reported by the Ward.
At 5:30 on December 7, about two hundred fifty miles north of Oahu, two float planes were launched from the Kido Butai cruisers that would scout ahead to confirm the American fleet location in either Pearl Harbor or its alternative, Lahaina anchorage.
USS Ward #3 gun, currently located at the St. Paul capitol building in Minnesota.
The pilots of the strike force were already prepared to launch and were in their cockpits anxiously waiting for their takeoff orders. The first wave would include fifty-one Aichi (Val) dive bombers that carried a two-man crew and five hundred pounds of bombs, with defenses of three 7.7mm machine guns.15
Next were forty-three Mitsubishi fighters (Zeros) which carried two 7.7mm machine guns and two 20mm wing cannons.16 Pilot armor and safety measures were sacrificed to increase their speed and maneuverability, tradeoffs which were certainly liabilities if they were hit.
Next were the Nakajima B5N2 three-place bombers (Kates), forty-nine of which took on the horizontal bombing role, carrying armor-piercing bombs, and forty of which took on the torpedo bombing role.17 Their torpedoes would have the modified fins designed for Pearl Harbor’s shallow harbor of only forty feet. The creation of the modified torpedoes to operate in Pearl Harbor’s shallow waters had been an ordnance headache. And this turned out to be elementary compared to the art form needed to drop them with any hope of a hit.
The Kate had a range of over a thousand miles, but its defense consisted of only one flexible 7.7mm Lewis gun in the rear cockpit. Much of its credit was due to its torpedo that could be dropped higher, farther, and faster than U.S. torpedoes, thus requiring less run-in time to the target. And as the war progressed, this scenario would not change. The Kates would sink several U.S. carriers, the Lexington in the Battle of the Coral Sea in May 1942, the Yorktown in Battle of Midway in June, and later in October, the USS Hornet (CV-8) at the Battle of Santa Cruz. As the tide of the war later changed, however, the Kates would be relegated to kamikazes.
At 6:00, the procession started from all six Japanese carriers until all 183 aircraft were in the air. When all were airborne, they headed south. Only one aircraft, a Zero, aborted its takeoff and crashed off its ship’s bow.
As the planes departed for Pearl Harbor, thirty-nine stayed behind to protect the fleet. It took only fifteen minutes to launch all 183 aircraft of the first wave. One departure from U.S. policy is that none of the Japanese pilots wore parachutes.
At 7:00, the routine started again with the second wave, consisting of seventy-eight Val dive bombers, thirty-five Zero fighters, and fifty-four Kates in the horizontal bomber role.18 Again, after forming, they too headed south.
Situated some twenty-five miles north of Honolulu and two hundred thirty feet above sea level was a mobile radar unit on Opana Point, an ideal position to command the view of the ocean north of Oahu. The SCR-270, also known as the Pearl Harbor Radar, had a range of one hundred fifty miles with distance accuracy of one hundred thirty miles. The first of the sets had been operational since mid–November.
The road leading to the Opana Point Radar Station as it looks today.
Private George Elliott had actually helped install the unit, and on Saturday, December 6, he and Private Joseph Lockard were assigned duty at the site, which included orders to operate the radar unit from 4:00 to 7:00 on Sunday morning. Camping out in a tent for the night, they arose at about 3:45 to power up the equipment. Lockard, who was more experienced than Elliott, manned the scope while Elliott worked the plotting table. When their shift came to an end at 7:00, they were just about to close down the radar set, but their transportation back to civilization and breakfast chow had not arrived yet. Elliott, the trainee, suggested keeping the set on until their transportation arrived so that he could have more training. He was fascinated by its whole concept and capability. With Lockard as instructor, Elliott changed places with him and was seated at the oscilloscope.
Almost immediately, the revolving line revealed a blip at the top of the scope, a blip so bright that Lockard wondered if the set was out of calibration. He replaced Elliott at the controls and checklisted everything. It all checked out perfectly. But there it was, a blip brighter than they had ever seen, indicating that there was something out there larger than they could imagine. They zeroed it in at three degrees north, 137 miles out, at about the maximum range of their set. Private Elliott was convinced that they should call the sighting in to the information center as good work on their part. Lockard was of the opinion that their shift was over, but he would continue to plot if Elliott wanted to call it in. There were two mobile phones at the site, a tactical line and an administrative line, both hooked to the information center.
Elliott rang up on the tactical line with no answer, not a good sign. He then tried the administrative line, which was answered by Private Joseph McDonald, the switchboard operator. McDonald told Elliott that the plotters working at the information center had already gone to breakfast because the shift was over. Elliott explained what he had seen and insisted on passing it up the ladder. Would McDonald find someone who would call back? While Elliott was talking with McDonald, the connection was broken.
After consulting with Lieutenant Kermit Tyler, explaining Private Elliott’s call from Opana Point, McDonald tried to reach Opana Point, and this time Private Lockard was on the phone. McDonald explained to Lockard that Lieutenant Tyler was not concerned, and Lockard asked to speak with the lieutenant directly. When Tyler got on the phone, he explained to Lockard that whenever a flight of aircraft was due in from the mainland, Station KMGB would remain on all night for the planes to home in on. As he had just listened to the Hawaiian music on his way to Fort Shafter to pull his four-to-eight shift, Tyler told Lockard that he and Elliott must have spotted the B-17s that were due in at 8:00 from San Francisco. His response to Lockard was, “Well, don’t worry about it.”19 Private McDonald, who was worried about it, thought Tyler was inexperienced and considered calling Wheeler Field himself, but was afraid he could be court-martialed for going over the lieutenant’s head. No disciplinary action was ever taken against Lieutenant Tyler precisely for that reason, lack of training and no supervision.
The irony of the incident was that the Opana radar may well have actually had the B-17s in their scope. Both the B-17s and the Japanese were homing in on Radio Honolulu, and being just a few miles apart, their formations were closing in on one another. Unknown to Tyler, the B-17s, over the twenty-four-hundred-mile trip, were now no longer in formation, and some had wandered slightly north of course. The lead navigator, a young second lieutenant, no more experienced than the others on this trip, found that as he approached Oahu, he was about one hundred miles
north of course. As he made his course correction, they found themselves slightly behind and to the left of the first wave of Japanese aircraft. As Elliott and Lockard watched, and the images on the scope came within twenty miles of the island and then started to fade out as the formations turned left or right and were lost behind the hills. The station was shut down at 7:45, as the truck had arrived.
Within minutes of the Ward’s message of the sinking of the submarine, there was another distraction. A large white sampan, similar to those used by the local Japanese fishing community, was lying well within the prohibited area, just off the harbor entrance. Suddenly, as if aware that it had been spotted, the sampan got under way as if trying to outrun the Ward or escape. But when the Ward gained closure, its master appeared on deck waiving a white flag. Outerbridge considered this strange behavior for a fishing master in peacetime.
Meanwhile, the two Japanese reconnaissance planes reported back to the Kido Butai. One reported no ships at the Lahaina anchorage, while the other identified nine battleships and a number of cruisers at the Pearl Harbor anchorage.
Commander Mitsuo Fuchida, responsible for the entire aerial attack, was flying in a three-place Kate torpedo bomber. While formations were still together north of the island, the plan in coordinating the attack was to fire an in-flight flare to inform the squadrons that surprise had been achieved. This would put the immediate emphasis of the attack at Pearl Harbor at the south end of the island. Two flares would indicate that the Americans had been warned, which would divert many to attack the airfields so American fighters could not meet the attack. After firing the surprise flare, Fuchida was convinced that not all had seen it. After he fired a second flare, the squadrons banked right down the west coast of the island. As Fuchida’s plane rounded Barbers Point on the southwest corner of the island, his radio operator sent the message “Tora, Tora, Tora”20 back to the fleet, indicating that surprise had been achieved and that they were attacking.
It was 7:55 when the first Japanese aircraft, a Val dive bomber, approached Ford Island from the south and, followed by the others, released the first bomb on the navy hangars at the south end of the island.
At 7:35, Kimmel’s duty officer called with the report from the Ward. Minutes later, Patwing 2 called with the report from the PBY that had dropped depth charges on the sub. Kimmel justified the request for confirmation because of all the false alarms involving whales and blackfish. But while Admiral Bloch was awaiting confirmation, Kimmel would tend to the matter personally instead of arousing all of the various staffs. At 7:55, he was on the phone with Commander Vincent Murphy, receiving word that the Ward had sunk the sub. He also received another call from his duty officer that the Ward had also stopped a sampan prowling quite suspiciously near the entrance of the harbor. It was seconds before 8:00 when suddenly Kimmel’s yeoman burst in and announced a message from the signal tower: “Air raid Pearl Harbor, this is no drill.”21 He informed his headquarters at the submarine base that he was on his way. He skipped breakfast and quickly shaved, and as he went out of his front door, high on the hill overlooking the harbor, still buttoning his coat, he could see the aircraft flying over Ford Island and the smoke starting to rise.
The Roberts Commission would unjustly blame Kimmel for the failure of the Outerbridge message to cause alarm. But the Ward report was sent to the Fourteenth Naval District, which was for Admiral Bloch, not Kimmel, and while Bloch waited for confirmation, Kimmel prepared for duty. Having been CINCPAC himself, Bloch was certainly aware of the need for information from subordinate commanders in order to make concise and heavy decisions. Yet today, strangely, Admiral Bloch is memorialized in at least three locations in Pearl Harbor. There are no memorials at Pearl Harbor for Admiral Kimmel or General Short.
At 7:40, Commander Fuchida’s first attack wave had arrived at Kahuku Point, where Opana is located, and banked right, following the Waianae Mountain Range coastline. Upon reaching Kolekole Pass, easily identified by a huge white cross mounted on the side of the slope, they split into two groups.
On a side note, the wooden cross at Kolekole Pass dated back to 1920 as a symbol of Christianity at Schofield. In 1946, it was replaced by a steel, twenty-five-foot cross. But in 1997, the American Civil Liberties Union threatened to sue the army, claiming the necessity for separation of church and state. In anticipation of losing the fight, the army ordered that the cross, one of the most historic symbols of the attack on Pearl Harbor, be dismantled. Today, only a plaque remains.
The main thrust of the attack force, including all the torpedo bombers, would continue toward Pearl Harbor. The balance banked left into the pass to deal with the airfield. Upon emerging on the east side of the mountains, Schofield Barracks lay dead ahead and Wheeler Army Airfield was just to the right. Their mission: to eliminate American fighter opposition.
The cross at Kolekole Pass; it had been the signpost to Wheeler Field.
Within ten minutes, all five airfields—Wheeler, Hickam, Ford Island, Kaneohe, and the Marine base at Ewa—were put out of action, virtually paralyzing any air retaliation. Amazingly, a handful of army fighters did get into the air and, when compiling all their handicaps, performed far above expectations. The only airfield the Japanese missed was Haleiwa, an auxiliary field on the northwest coast, from which two fighters took to the air. Although Schofield Barracks was not formally attacked, being across the road from Wheeler Field, it received much carry-over strafing. Along with a few pilots from Wheeler who were able to get off the ground, these represented most of the U.S. aerial defense of the Pearl Harbor attack.
Within the first fifteen minutes, the Japanese also accomplished most of their main mission, the destruction of the fleet.
At Pearl Harbor itself, about forty Kate torpedo bombers suddenly appeared from the direction of the submarine base, east of Ford Island, which offered a long, low approach, leaving the port sides of the California, Oklahoma, West Virginia, and Arizona fully exposed. Hits were made on all. Then the horizontal and dive bombers made coordinated attacks on the inner ships, the Maryland and Tennessee. Within minutes of the start of hostilities, the radio message was flashed from the headquarters building on Ford Island, “Air raid Pearl Harbor, this is no drill.”
The first ship to sink was the former battleship Utah, which was located on the west side of the island. Because it had been converted to a target ship, it may have appeared to be a carrier with its heavy deck planking. Early on, the comment was made that anyone who would mistake a battleship for an aircraft carrier shouldn’t have been on the raid. The Utah took two torpedoes and rolled over. A plaque near the site where the ship remains today notes that there are still fifty-eight crewmen aboard.
Amidst all of this, the B-17s arrived from San Francisco. The Thirty-Eighth’s pilots spotted a group of fighters coming out to meet them and felt honored to have an escort in. But suddenly the friendly aircraft started shooting at them. After a fourteen-hour trip, with their fuel tanks almost exhausted and being unable to protect themselves, they were desperate to get on the ground. Each pilot was on his own, taking whatever evasive action he could and looking for what might afford the safest place to land. Some planes were saved, some were total wrecks.
Two of the aircraft were destroyed and a third headed back out to sea and then returned for a downwind landing at Bellows. Lieutenant Richards of the Thirty-Eighth overshot the runway and stopped in a ditch at the end while the Japanese continued to strafe the plane. (Initially, maintenance personnel thought the plane was salvageable, but in the end, it was only good for spare parts.)
Captain Swenson, also of the Thirty-Eighth, actually got on the ground at Hickam, but Japanese strafing hit a flare storage box in the middle of the fuselage, burning out the center of the aircraft and killing a flight surgeon. But the four engines in the front were salvaged.
Four other B-17s actually landed at Hickam with varying degrees of damage. Captain Carmichael and Lieutenant Chaffin, both of the Eighty-Eighth, settled for a twelve-hu
ndred-foot auxiliary strip on the north shore at Haleiwa. Lieutenant Bostrom, also of the Eighty-Eighth, gave up on Hickam and Barbers Point, and finally settled for the Kahuku Golf Course. Unbelievably, the plane was repaired, and within a week was flown to Hickam. Two other B-17s from the Eighty-Eighth eventually landed between the attacks. Given the fact that some of the U.S. fighter pilots had initially mistaken the arriving B-17Es, with enlarged vertical fins which seemed strange to them for Japanese, it’s a wonder that any survived their arrival. With the exception of the B-17C that landed at Bellows (not repairable) and a B-17C destroyed on the ground at Hickam, as well as the B-17E from the golf course, the nine others landed at Hickam and were saved. There are several eyewitness accounts that one of the B-17s actually landed at Wheeler, then immediately took off for Hickam. Actually, with nineteen bombers on the field that were put out of action, there were twenty-two that endured without a scratch.
Ford Island (at center)
Within minutes, the harbor was a patchwork of white torpedo wakes all aimed at predetermined ships, and soon most of Ford Island was ringed with black smoke billowing up from ships in their death throes. By 8:15, it was over. The bases had just started to take inventory of themselves and count their losses when, just as suddenly, the second wave struck at 8:40.
The second wave followed down the eastern shore of Oahu, attacked Kaneohe and Bellows for a second time, and then continued on to Hickam, where they inflicted most of the damage to the general base. Many of the planes attacked the brand-new consolidated barracks, known today as the PACAF Building, and many principal buildings some distance from the flight line. The balance of the planes continued on to Pearl Harbor. (Today, much of the damage to PACAF remains as a shrine to those who died there.)