Veterans or rookies, pilots manned aircraft around 0600 the next morning, groping in the flight decks’ predawn blackout to find their designated aircraft. They were appalled at the weather, which a Hornet (CV-12) pilot called “dark and icky.” On occasion the carriers’ radio masts were obscured by the low-lying scud.
On rain-swept decks, launch officers judged each carrier’s motion in the spume-capped waves. As the bow began to rise, a checkered flag dropped abruptly and the first pilot off each ship released his toe brakes, kept a stiffened arm against the throttle, and began his takeoff roll.
Gloss-blue Hellcats and Corsairs lifted off at fifteen-second intervals, rising into the chilling gloom with running lights shining from wingtips and tails, providing essential reference for pilots joining their two-plane sections and four-plane divisions.
Thus began almost eleven hours of continuous flight operations.
Thanks to the weather, Spruance’s intent for an unannounced arrival was fulfilled. An Imperial Navy officer later stated, “The attack of the 16th was a complete surprise to our homeland defenses.”
Surprise was important to the Americans’ plans. Their initial goal was air superiority—beating down Japan’s airpower—which was best accomplished by destroying enemy aircraft on the ground. Once the tailhookers gained control of enemy airspace, they would devote more attention to the pinpoint targets that B-29s seldom hit in high-altitude attacks: specific aircraft and engine factories that contributed directly to Tokyo’s air defense.
Therein lay the striking contrast between Army and Navy aviation. Faster than many enemy fighters and possessing powerful defensive armament, the Superfortress was capable of operating unescorted in hostile airspace, usually shrugging off interceptors while delivering massive bomb loads. Carrier-based aircraft were far more vulnerable. In order to bomb any target effectively, they had to descend into the teeth of the defenses, releasing their ordnance below 3,000 feet where the light antiaircraft fire was thickest and most accurate. Nor could Avengers or Helldivers outrun most Japanese fighters. Therefore, carrier bombers relied upon close escort of Hellcats and Corsairs to run interference for them. It was an unavoidable tradeoff: the range and power of land-based bombers versus the mobility and relative precision of carrier aircraft.
First blood was spilled at the southernmost tip of the Chiba Peninsula, twenty miles south of Yokohama. Five Essex Hellcats spotted a cigar-shaped Mitsubishi Betty and pounced. A Louisianan, Lieutenant (jg) E. J. “Nic” Nicolini, won the race. He shot down the twin-engine bomber at 0800, beginning nine hours of almost uninterrupted combat.
Lieutenant Commander Herbert N. Houck, leading twenty of his own Lexington Hellcats with twenty more from Hancock and San Jacinto, was an old hand, having led Fighting Squadron 9 since December 1943. Moreover, it was one day short of a year since his last combat: the frantic hassle over Truk Atoll in February 1944. In worsening weather, his pilots shifted targets, opting for Katori Airfield near the coast. Minutes later Houck’s formation piled into a half-hour combat.
The dogfight spread as if by cyclonic action, drawing outriders into its vortex as Zekes arrived from Mobara and Katori. Several carrier pilots got repeated opportunities: Lieutenant (jg) Henry K. Champion fired at seven bandits in succession, claiming a kill and two probables. Lieutenant Commander W. J. “Pete” Keith, leading Hancock’s Fighting Squadron 80, became an ace in a day, claiming five victims. So did one of his division leaders, Lieutenant William C. Edwards, who had flown dive bombers in 1942. Unusually old for a combat pilot, “Bulldog” Edwards was a week short of his thirty-first birthday.
By the time the cloudy sky cleared of aircraft over Katori, the Americans had claimed forty-eight Japanese planes destroyed. Though the results were exaggerated, the outcome was American control of Japanese airspace. But it could be a tough education: Bunker Hill’s virgin Air Group 84 launched its initial combat sorties just twenty-one days out of Alameda, California. At some targets the flak was described as “pedestrian” because, in the words of one squadron commander, “you could get out and walk on it.”
From the best-known dogfight of the day emerged the legend of Kaneyoshi Muto. With eight years of experience, the diminutive warrant officer was described by no less an authority than leading ace Saburo Sakai as “a genius in the air.” Yet on the ground he was “a friendly and cheerful ace who was liked by everybody.”
Breaking into combat in China in 1937, Muto returned to Japan and became a tactics instructor. From 1941 he increased his victory log in the Philippines and Java, later leaving his mark in the Solomons and New Guinea. He survived Iwo Jima’s Darwinian summer of 1944, cementing his reputation as “the toughest fighter pilot in the Imperial Navy.” Now he flew with the Yokosuka Air Group’s operational evaluation unit at Atsugi.
On February 16, the twenty-eight-year-old Muto was awaiting news of the birth of his child when word came of Grummans inbound. The noontime scramble pitted seven Bennington F6F Hellcats against ten or more Zeros, Mitsubishi Jacks, and Kawanishi Georges led by Lieutenant Yuzo Tskuamoto. Muto revved his George into the air to intercept the Hellcats.
The Americans were well trained but inexperienced, entering their first combat against some of the elite of the Imperial Navy. It was a shattering initiation: two Bennington pilots were lost and two captured. In the frantic low-level dogfight Muto used his four 20mm cannon to good effect, claiming multiple victories. Almost as soon as he landed a corrupted version of the event immediately made the press.
Ignoring his squadron mates, reporters focused on Muto, attributing all four kills to him in a solo battle against a dozen Americans. His wife, Kiyoko, heard the reports shortly after delivering their daughter, thrilled to know her flier was not only safe, but famous. The press dubbed Muto “the Miyamoto Musashi of the air,” after the legendary swordsman best known as author of The Book of Five Rings.
Elsewhere, airborne Japanese were scarce. Lieutenant Commander Fritz Wolf, the former Flying Tiger, took eight Yorktown Hellcats in low, just beneath the overcast, and pressed on to Konoike Airfield east of Osaka. Recalled one pilot, “The apron was packed with neatly parked aircraft which went up in flames as we pumped our .50s and rockets into the sitting ducks. Only one machine gun was firing at us, so we made three passes.” After the last run the Yorktowners counted nine destroyed and twenty-one damaged.
The fifth fighter sweep launched from Rear Admiral Frederick C. Sherman’s Task Group 58.3, the same “Ted” Sherman who had the old Lexington (CV-2) sunk from under him at Coral Sea nearly three years before. His pilots were assigned targets to the west, resulting in the first Navy planes over Tokyo. Better weather farther inland permitted strike leaders to hit targets in the forenoon period, notably in the capital’s northwest industrial area. The Ota aircraft plant was hit successively, following up B-29 attacks.
That afternoon Bunker Hill’s Avengers and Helldivers finished off the Nakajima aircraft factory at Ota. But Japanese army fighters took a toll; in its first day at war Bunker Hill’s Air Group 84 lost four planes: two bombers and two fighters with eight fliers.
Other units took even heavier losses. Since November, Wasp’s Hellcats had logged half a dozen small battles over the Philippines and Formosa, but Tokyo was the big league. Fighting Squadron 81 lost five pilots in its first major operation, as much the victim of their own overeagerness as the skill of Japanese pilots. The Wasp fliers claimed fifteen kills but it was a poor exchange. “The old lesson was learned the hard way again,” said Commander Frederick J. Brush, who noted young pilots’ tendency to break formation.
Despite widespread combats that ranged from the clouds down to street level, some pilots found no action at all. The new Hornet’s Ensign Willis Hardy spoke for disappointed fighter pilots when he said, “We, being high cover over the Yoko end of town, didn’t see any of Tokyo and not even a peek at Fuji san.”
On the last strike of the day a mixed bag of Japanese army fighters caught up with egressing Americans betwe
en the Ota engine factory and the coast, initiating a half-hour running battle. San Jacinto’s Commander Gordon E. Schecter led his Hellcats in protecting the bombers. Previously a floatplane pilot, he had learned the fighter trade well. Schecter gunned down four planes that morning and then, in the evening shootout, he destroyed a Tojo and probably an Oscar. Turning to meet each attack, his fighter pilots claimed nine more. But some Japanese got through the U.S. escorts. Backseaters in Helldiver dive bombers manhandled their twin .30 caliber mounts while Avenger torpedo plane gunners drew a bead in their power-operated turrets. San Jacinto and Lexington bombers claimed three kills and several damaged before reaching the coast.
On the biggest day of air combat since the Marianas Turkey Shoot, carrier aviators believed they shot down 291 enemy planes. Six Hellcat pilots gained the status of ace in a day. But it appears that the actual toll was forty-four Imperial aircraft. The sixfold error was due to several factors, including inexperience: well over half the Americans were new to combat, and only experience could teach a pilot what a genuine kill looked like, as opposed to nonlethal damage on a bandit.
American losses were fifty-two carrier planes. Hardest hit was Bennington’s new Air Group 82, with a dozen aircraft missing. Meanwhile, the six Marine squadrons got an especially rough initiation to combat: eleven Corsairs were lost from Bennington, Bunker Hill, and Wasp.
Though Task Force 58 lost somewhat more planes in dogfights than the Japanese, the hard fact was that the U.S. Navy could afford such attrition whereas Tokyo could not—especially in trained aircrews. By establishing control of enemy airspace in one day, the carrier fliers were set to press their advantage as Mitscher’s staff prepared target lists for the morrow.
Moreover, the fleet was inviolate. That afternoon, as the last strikers returned to their flat-roofed roosts, Rear Admiral Matt Gardner’s Enterprise and Saratoga night fliers took wing. Both air groups “capped” major Japanese airfields, preventing the enemy from harassing the task force during the night.
February 17
Predawn launches on the 17th had two goals: establishing combat air patrols to protect the force, and dispatching searchers to snoop along the coast for Japanese shipping. During the two days there were meager pickings for ship hunters, as only one large merchant vessel was sunk plus several smaller ones.
Although deteriorating weather chilled the task force’s effort, literally and figuratively, missions were flown against industrial targets. Carrier bombers sought out the engine plants at Tachikawa and Musashino—the latter well known to B-29 crews as Target 357.
The aviators launched at dawn, organized themselves by divisions and squadrons, and headed inland. Said one bomber pilot, “We appeared to be floating above a pure white carpet stretching as far as the eye could see, ultimately blending away into a grayish haze. . . . The reflection of the bright sun created the illusion of being studded with 10 million diamonds. I could not escape the feeling of being in a fairy tale world of castles and fantasy.”
Leading San Jacinto’s Avengers was Lieutenant Donald Pattie, the veteran of Morocco. His target was the Tachikawa engine factory in Tokyo’s western suburbs, and the Japanese scenery offered a vivid contrast with his Atlantic cruises. “Looming out of the carpet directly in front of us was a massive tapered tower, solid white across its jagged top with white sides that blended into streaks of brown near the base. . . . The tower was, of course, the sacred mountain of the Japanese, Fujiyama. I had no time to dwell further on its beauty as we had to start the letdown toward our objective.”
Mount Fuji lay sixty miles west of downtown Tokyo but the mountain’s splendor was crowded aside by other concerns. The thrill of seeing Japan’s most recognizable feature was tempered by tactical matters: monitoring engine gauges; keeping formation; and especially remaining vigilant. Flying northwest over Yokohama, Don Pattie glanced to port, and saw his leader attacked.
From high and behind, an elegantly flown fighter swiftly dived onto the air group commander’s tail, rolled inverted, and shot down Lieutenant Commander Donald White. He bailed out, parachuting onto the parade ground of an army pilot school, and survived six months in captivity.
White’s wingman, Ensign Karl Smith, reacted quickly, nosing into a diving spiral, but the attacker pursued, firing a quick shot that raked the top of Smith’s Hellcat. Already inverted, the Japanese merely pulled through into a split-S and briefly chased Smith. Pattie was simultaneously stunned and impressed: “It was not a show of flamboyance but a highly professional maneuver, executed with superb airmanship.”
Smith headed for the coast, found another blue airplane, and proceeded seaward. But his shot-up engine failed over the task group’s destroyer screen and he splashed into a water landing, fetched back to Langley by a destroyer.
Despite the losses, Air Group 23 continued to the target. Off his starboard wingtip Pattie took in the memorable sight of the Imperial Palace, an excellent landmark with its huge cream-colored structure. From there the target lay twenty miles due west.
Upon sighting the Tachikawa factory Pattie waggled his wings, sending his Avengers into combat spread. He had several potential targets in the complex but selected the main assembly building.
Slanting into their glide bombing runs, the big Grummans opened their bomb bay doors. Pattie wrote, “We bore down with vengeance. To insure an effective attack I held my release till the last moment, pulling out right at the treetops.” He glanced over his shoulder, pleased that his four 500-pounders had punched through the building’s roof. The squadron’s other bombs also seemed to impact within the factory.
Meanwhile, another Atlantic Fleet veteran made his presence known. Essex’s Lieutenant Dean Laird already had two Germans to his credit and had dropped a Sally bomber the day before. Now he scored a Tony and a Tojo during a strike on the Nakajima Tama engine factory. Thus, “Diz” Laird became the only Navy ace with kills against Germany and Japan.
* * * * *
In the early afternoon the marginal weather only worsened. Mitscher canceled scheduled strikes and, recovering his airborne planes, reversed helm for Iwo Jima.
The recovery posed a major challenge to pilots and landing signal officers (LSOs). Landing a high-performance aircraft on a moving ship is probably the most demanding task that humans have ever routinely performed. In heavy seas even the big-deck carriers bucked and rolled, requiring exquisite timing from the LSOs, who had to judge the “cut the throttle” signal to the second. Too early and the aircraft could smash down in a “ramp strike,” hitting the aft edge of the flight deck with disastrous consequences. Too late and the landing plane might sail over the arresting wires, resulting in an aborted pass at best or a crash into one of the woven-steel cable barriers. As one veteran aviator said, “On straight-deck carriers you either had a major accident or an arrested landing.”
Landings were especially tough on pilots who flew from Independence class light carriers. Their decks were only seventy-three feet across—twenty-three feet less than the Essexes.
The LSOs stood on a small platform portside aft, facing astern. Some ships rigged a framework for a canvas barrier against the wind, but the “wavers” still had to balance themselves against the ship’s motion while pantomiming the standard set of signals with bright-colored paddles. They coached each pilot into “the groove” representing the optimum glide slope to snag an arresting wire with the plane’s extended tailhook. It was more art than science. The best LSOs developed an intuitive feel for the visual and audio cues: airspeed, attitude, engine sound. And each airplane was different: Hellcat, Corsair, Helldiver, and Avenger all had their quirks.
At the exact moment that experience and judgment told him was right, the LSO slashed his paddles down from the “Roger” position (extended outright from the shoulders). The right paddle went to the throat and the left arm dropped across the body in the cut signal—chop the throttle, drop the nose, check the movement, and land the aircraft. Usually it resulted in a “trap.”
Otherwise, the LSO gave a wave-off, ordering the pilot to go around and try again. A wave-off carried force of law: to ignore it was carrier aviation’s gravest sin. A landing pilot might not see a fouled deck beneath his plane’s nose, so he had to rely upon “Paddles” to think for him and fly the plane by remote control.
In all, during two days the tailhookers claimed 341 Japanese planes in the air and 190 on the ground. On the debit side of the ledger, Mitscher lost more than eighty planes to all causes. But high among the U.S. Navy’s strengths was the fact that it could absorb such losses and continue operating. That month American factories produced more than 300 new Corsairs and nearly 600 Hellcats.
Actual Japanese aerial losses remain uncertain. Imperial Headquarters admitted seventy-eight but was less specific about those bombed or strafed on their fields. In turn, Japanese fliers claimed at least 134 kills versus the sixty carrier planes actually lost to flak and fighters.
Whatever the score, something remarkable had occurred. For two days a major American fleet had plied Japanese waters, established air superiority over Tokyo itself, and got away clean. Only a handful of enemy aircraft even approached the task force. The operation totally refuted one of the central tenets of naval airpower’s severest critic, Alexander Seversky. His Airpower Lesson Number Five held that land-based aviation must be superior to shipborne aviation. But Mitscher’s sixteen carriers lofted 2,761 sorties in two days: more than a match for Imperial Japan’s naval and army air forces.
Next the fast carriers steamed 750 miles south to pound Iwo Jima for three days, supporting the Marines, before returning to Japan. However, Saratoga remained off Iwo, where she was tagged by suiciders and bombs on the 21st, ending her round-the-clock support of the landings. She steamed home to the West Coast for repairs and never returned to combat.
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