There was no opposition in the air to the Zeros.
Saburo Sakai,* the Japanese fighter ace whom we have met earlier in these pages, has provided us with details of the air fighting in the Netherlands East Indies campaign which shed much light on the confused aerial combats of that area. Despite the effect upon our heavy bombers of the Zero fighters, the Japanese pilots found the big Flying Fortresses formidable opponents—as Sakai relates in this report of a battle against a B-17 formation late in January:
“Late in the morning, several specks appeared in the sky, approaching from the general direction of Java. They came in fast, swelling in size until two formations of four planes each became clear. Fortresses, in close flights . . . The rear flight flew slightly above the lead group and, as we approached, the second group of planes moved closer to form a defensive box.
“The B-17’s passed about a half mile beneath me. I rolled, Uehara glued to my wing tip, and dove against the formations. I was still out of gun range, but flicked a burst as I passed them. I saw the bombs falling as I flashed by the planes. We rolled back and climbed steeply. ... I moved into position again, a half mile above the rear of the formations. ... I shoved the stick forward and rolled as I dove. The fighter picked up speed quickly; I kept the stick hard over, in a long rolling dive, firing with both guns and cannon. No results. Everywhere around me the Fortresses seemed to be filling the sky, and tracers arced through the air as we flashed through the formation. We slipped through without damage, and I climbed again for another dive.
*Read Samurai!, Saburo Sakai’s own story as told to Martin Caidin, another volume in the Bantam War Book series.
“Again. Dive, roll, concentrate on one bomber! This time I caught one! I saw the shells exploding, a series of red and black eruptions moving across the fuselage. Surely he would go down now! Chunks of metal—big chunks —exploded outward from the B-17 and flashed away in the slip stream. The waist and top guns went silent as the shells hammered home.
“Nothing! No fire, no telltale sign of smoke trailing back... the B-17 continued on in formation.
“We swung around and up, and rolled back in for the third run. The enemy formation continued on, seemingly impregnable, as if nothing had happened. The third time down I went after the bomber I had hit before, and again I caught him flush. Through the sight I watched the shells exploding, ripping metal from the wings and fuselage, ripping the inside of the fuselage apart. Then I was past the plane, pulling out into a wide, sweeping turn, going for height.
“The plane was still in formation! No fire, no smoke. Each time we dove against the B-17’s their gunners opened up with heavy defensive fire which, fortunately, seemed to have been impaired by the tightness of the formation. So far I felt no damage to the Zero. I made two more passes, each time swinging down in a dive, rolling as I dropped, Uehara right with me, each of us snapping out bursts with the machine guns and cannon. And every time we saw the bullets and shells slamming into the bombers, seemingly without effect
“We had just completed the sixth firing run when the eight B-17’s split into two flights. Four banked to the right and the other four wheeled away to the left. Uehara pointed excitedly to the flight bearing to the right; a thin, black film trailed the left engine of the third B-17.
“We had gotten through, after all. I turned to follow the four bombers and pushed the throttle all the way forward, closing in rapidly behind the damaged plane. He was hurt, all right, dropping behind the other three planes. As I moved in I saw tangled wreckage instead of the tail turret; the guns remained silent. At maximum speed I approached to fifty yards’ distance, and held the gun triggers down. Every last round poured from my guns and cannon into the cripple. Abruptly a cloud of black smoke burst from the bomber, and he nosed down steadily, to disappear into a solid cloud layer below. . . . Two days later a Japanese reconnaissance plane reported that a B-17 had crash-landed on a small island between Balikpapan and Surabaya.”8
On February 19, a force of 23 Zero fighters of the Tainan and Kaohsiung wings took off from Balikpapan, on the east coast of Borneo, on a fighter sweep against Soerabaja. A fast reconnaissance plane acted as pathfinder for the Zeros during the 430-mile flight; the main Japanese force reached Soerabaja at 11:30 a.m., cruising at 16,000 feet. As Sakai tells the story of one of the wildest battles of the entire campaign in the Netherlands East Indies:
‘The enemy force anticipating our arrival was unprecedented. At least fifty Allied fighters, flying at about
10,000 feet, maintained a large, counterclockwise sweep over the city. The enemy planes extended in a long line, composed of three waves of V groups which outnumbered us by more than two to one.
“Upon sighting the enemy fighters, we jettisoned our tanks and climbed for altitude. Sighting our force, the Allied fighters broke off their circular movement and at full speed closed toward us. They were prepared and eager for a fight— unlike the American fighters we had encountered over Clark Field on December 8.
“Less than a minute later the orderly formations disintegrated into a wild, swirling dogfight.
“I watched a P-36 scream toward me, then flicked into a swift left roll, waiting for the enemy’s reaction. Foolishly, he maintained his course. That was all for me, and I snapped around into a sharp right turn, standing the Zero on her wing, and came out directly on the tail of the startled P-36 pilot.
“A look behind me showed my own plane clear, and I closed the distance to the enemy fighter. He rolled to the right, but slight control movements kept the Zero glued to his tail. Fifty yards away I opened up with the guns and cannon. Almost immediately the right wing broke off and snapped away in the air stream; then the left wing tore loose. Spinning wildly, the P-36 broke up into wreckage as it plummeted. The pilot failed to get out.
“Swinging into a wide, climbing turn I headed back for the main flight. At least six planes were falling in flames. Fighters swirled crazily about in the air and abruptly the olive drab of a P-36 rolled toward my own fighter. I turned to meet his rush, but in the next moment another Zero whipped upward in a steep climb, caught the P-36 in a long cannon burst, then snapped away as the Dutch plane exploded.
“To my left a P-40 closed in on the tail of a fleeing Zero, and I turned desperately to draw the enemy fighter off. There was no need to do so; the Zero whipped up and around in a tight loop which ended exactly above and behind the P-40. The guns and cannon hammered and the P-40 burst into flames.
“Another P-40 flashed by, trailing a streamer of flame fully three times as long as the fighter. A P-36 flipped crazily through the air, its pilot dead at the controls.
“Below me, our unarmed pathfinder plane flashed by, caught by three Dutch fighters. The Japanese pilot was corkscrewing violently to evade the enemy tracers which flashed all about his plane.
“Again I arrived too late. A Zero plummeted down in a power dive, and his cannon shells exploded the top Dutch fighter’s fuel tanks. Pulling out of the dive, the Zero flashed upward in a steep zoom, catching the second P-36 from beneath. It fell off on one wing even as the third pilot whipped around to meet the Zero. Too late; his cockpit erupted in a shower of glass. '
“The other Zero pulled alongside my plane, the pilot waving and grinning broadly, then dropped away as he escorted the reconnaissance plane out of the area.
“A P-36, apparently fleeing the fight, passed over me. I slammed the throttle on overboost and yanked the stick back, looping to come out close to the Dutchman. Still climbing, I opened up with the cannon. Too soon; the pressure of the turn threw my aim off.
“The cannon gave me away; the P-36 jerked hard over in a left roll and dove vertically for the ground. I cut inside his turn and went into a dive as the Curtiss flashed by less than fifty yards away. My finger snapped down on the button, and the shells exploded in the fuselage. Thick black smoke belched back. I fired two more bursts, then pulled out as a sheet of flame enveloped the Dutch fighter.”9
The finale to the Java campaign is
contained in the official AAF report of that operation—which came to a close on March 7, 1942. Even in the cold and analytical expressions of this document, the feeling of despair and defeat for the moment comes through:
“Air Corps men who survived the Java campaign and the attacks on western Australia gradually made their way to southeast Australia, but they were unorganized and without equipment. They were the remnants of units which—along with the units already in Australia—were to be welded into a new force, but in the first week of March the prospects seemed dismal. The Allies in Australia had their backs to the wall and were faced with the threat of increasing enemy pressure, not only from the northwest but also from the northeast.
“. . . it was clear that Australia now had to be the main base for operations against the enemy in the Southwest Pacific—not simply the supply base for forward units. Three months of war had resulted in a radical change of Allied plans, and for the moment the Air Corps units in Australia were not at all certain of their future. In this period of uncertainty the Secretary of War could well state that ‘circumstances will determine the extent and nature of the future United States air operations in the Southwest Pacific area,* but the American airmen and their commanding officers in Australia wondered just what those circumstances would be.”
INTERLUDE
Even amidst a sea of defeat it is possible, and certainly it is urgently sought, to strike a hard and unexpected offensive blow at the enemy. After the fall of Java, accompanied by defeats along the long front of combat established by the Japanese, the United States military leaders in the Southwest Pacific were aware that they had two great needs. The first, of course, was for fighters—fighters to stop the enemy air in its tracks, and to open the way back for our bombers. Second, and equally imperative (but without the strategic profit of a major campaign), was the need to show the ranks of the Allies that we were not so beaten that we could not strike back. Thus while preparations were made to bring in fighter reinforcements, the first aerial combat assistance for the beleaguered American and Filipino troops 3,000 miles to the north of MacArthur’s new headquarters in Melbourne, Australia, was being planned. This would take place in April, 1942.
The flights of the B-17 Fortresses in the emergency evacuation of personnel from the Philippines to Australia had demonstrated the possibility—precarious though it might be—of getting bombers through Japanese-infested skies up to Mindanao, where the Japanese were in large numbers on the ground as well, and back safely to the Australian continent. Early in April rumors of a combat strike into the Philippines began to spread among the crews of the 40th Reconnaissance Squadron operating from Townesville, on the northeastern coast of Australia, and the 3rd Bombardment Group at Charters Towers, southwest of Townesville. The rumors stuck hard, and the crews learned quickly enough that they had substance to them. It was essential that plans for such a strike be made in the shortest possible time, for the position of the American and Filipino troops was growing more insecure every day as Japanese pressure increased in Luzon.
By April 9 the debacle loomed on the horizon; the defenders at Bataan went down before the tidal wave of Japanese troops. The defense was continued by the fortress of Corregidor (which would continue to hold out for approximately one more month). What cast a pall on even the plans for the strike into the Philippines was that regardless of the critical need for air reinforcements in these islands, the planned aid from Australia could be only on a small scale. On April 4 there were only six Fortress and eight B-25 Mitchell bombers in commission; mechanics worked day and night to get six more B-25s into flying condition.
No doubt existed among the crews preparing for the strike to the north that their mission into Japanese-held and Japanese-controlled territory approximated a suicide flight. There could hardly be any question of this unhappy fact of life. Yet every man volunteered, and early on the morning of April 11, the crews of three B-17s and 11 B-25s assembled at Darwin. They ate a hurried breakfast while ground crews fueled the planes for the long ocean hop to Mindanao.
‘To those members of the 27th Bombardment Group (at that time a part of the 3rd Group),” notes the official history of the operation, “who had been bouncing around the skies for several months in A-24s, the B-25 felt ‘like a ball of fire* until they could become accustomed to the extra speed and power. The eleven B-25s had flown to Brisbane two days before in order to pick up bomb bay tanks for the long flight northward. The entire mission was under the personal leadership of General Ralph Royce, who flew in the lead B-17, piloted by Captain Frank P. Bostrom of the 40th Reconnaissance Squadron. The first flight of five B-25s was led by Colonel John H. Davies and the second flight by Captain Herman F. Lowery.”1
One B-25 aborted its takeoff from Darwin because of mechanical difficulties. The 13 bombers assembled over Darwin and in formation roared northward; they managed to keep their formation positions until they reached the coast of Mindanao late in the afternoon, when severe weather scattered the planes. The heavy black rain clouds, with poor visibility and severe turbulence, forced the pilots to struggle separately to Del Monte airfield.
“Battle-scarred veterans of the Philippines, from colonels down to privates,” notes the official report, “rushed out to meet the first planes and clustered around them ‘with tears of appreciation in their eyes, viewing the new arrivals as saviors and conquering heroes/ The last plane landed after dark, twelve hours after taking off from Darwin. The flight of B-25s led by Captain Lowery flew forty miles to Valencia, a dispersal strip cut out of the jungle, and the remaining planes were dispersed at Del Monte for the night.”
The hours of darkness were spent in removing the bomb-bay tanks from the Mitchells, loading bombs into the planes, and refueling for the first mission which was to start at dawn. The crews received their briefings during the night, and then, weary after their long flights, rolled up in blankets beneath the wings of their planes to snatch several hours’ rest. As dawn broke, the two flights of Mitchells raced from their fields and headed for Cebu.
They shot over the Japanese-held town, with almost complete surprise. The swift medium bombers attacked the town area, and at pointblank range sent their bombs directly into several ships in the harbor, swiftly setting them aflame and leaving them sinking rapidly. The dock installations were left in sheets of flame.
One of the Fortresses also participated in this action; the bomber droned carefully on its runs, cascading its bombs directly into several merchant ships. Another B-17, piloted by Captain Bostrom, made a solo reconnaissance over the open seas for any concentrations of enemy ships; finding none, it flew over Corregidor, and flew on to attack Nichols Field near Manila. The third Fortress was left on the ground, crippled with a balky engine. It was still at Del Monte field undergoing emergency repairs when Japanese planes came over; bomb explosions severely damaged the grounded Fortress.
Soon after the Japanese attack the two B-17s in the air landed; the crews rushed to prepare the planes for a second strike. But the Japanese were not idle; before the big bombers could get off the ground the enemy bombers were back. A direct hit shattered one Fortress and other bombs damaged the other two bombers.
The ground and bomber crews now had the unhappy task of trying to repair the two damaged planes just so they might limp back to Australia; further combat operations with the B-17s seemed out of the question, and survival now was their main goal. While the salvage work went on, however, the Mitchells carried out further bomb strikes against Japanese installations. Following the inital raid at Cebu, one Mitchell flight returned to Valencia, and the other slipped into a well-concealed jungle airstrip near Del Monte. The crews helped to ready the planes for another immediate mission, and at 1:30 p.m. the same day, April 12, they were in the air and searching for a Japanese carrier reported in the vicinity. The big warship having failed to materialize, the Mitchells swept in against their former target of Cebu and caught the Japanese unawares, wreaking great havoc amidst shipping and dock installations.
The next day, April 13, each flight carried out another two missions. They were in the air at six a.m., winging toward Cebu and Davao to strike various targets, including a Japanese air base. Later this day, at 5:45 p.m., the Mitchells swept with complete surprise effect over the Davao dock area. Their bombs sent one boat to the bottom, spread large fires through the dock installations, and set off either a fuel dump or a munitions store—quite evident in the form of a terrific explosion along the docks.
As soon as the planes were back on the ground at Del Monte, with darkness closing in, mechanics and the crews rushed to install bomb-bay tanks for the long return flight to Australia.
Earlier this day the two surviving B-17s had taken to the air, no longer fit for combat without extensive repairs. They barely made it away from the Japanese; the first bomber had hardly cleared the fence at the end of the airstrip, and the other was bringing up its wheels, when the shriek of falling Japanese bombs was heard. Jammed with as many men as could clamber into them, the two Fortresses without further mishap—to the immense relief of all aboard—managed to complete the trip to Australia. One plane was so badly in need of repairs that its landing gear collapsed as it settled to the runway, but no one aboard was injured.
Shortly before midnight on April 13 the ten B-25s, heavily loaded with men who had crawled into every space and comer of the small bombers, pounded their way into the skies from Del Monte. Darkness was much in their favor, for the Japanese were looking with rage for the airplanes. They made the flight without incident to Batchelor Field, 40 miles south of Darwin, Australia, landing after daylight on April 14. The planes refueled and continued on the last leg of the flight to Charters Towers, arriving late the same day.
The Ragged, Rugged Warriors Page 29