by John Prados
One last footnote to the Taiwan air battle relates to Arleigh Burke. Once the smoke had cleared from the big Philippine actions, Spruance and his staff returned to the States on leave. Passing through Washington, Commodore Burke stopped by the Pentagon to upbraid JICPOA for delays in delivering accurate target charts to the fleet, and for undercounting the airfields.
Burke’s complaints stunned the spooks at Pearl Harbor. Jasper Holmes knocked down the criticism strongly—during September JICPOA had delivered more than 60,000 copies of various items specifically to support the Taiwan operation, including target maps, analyses, and information summaries. Commander Holmes estimated the share of these intelligence reports delivered just to MacArthur’s headquarters at fifteen tons—at one point three transport planes had flown to Hollandia just loaded with this stuff. If the spooks underestimated the number of Japanese air bases it was only because photo reconnaissance over Taiwan was in its infancy.
A MOST CRITICAL ERROR
At a desk listening to Radio Tokyo before leaving Taiwan, air staff officer Fuchida was startled to hear the chords of the “Battleship March,” which the Imperial Navy had adopted as a kind of anthem, and which always introduced big war reports. An announcer then declared that the Navy had achieved a stupendous victory off Taiwan.
There followed exaggerations of damage inflicted on Task Force 38. First were claims that nine American aircraft carriers had been sunk. By evening the box score had been raised to fifty-three ships, including sixteen carriers—essentially all of Halsey’s fleet. Worse, the next day Emperor Hirohito wanted to issue an imperial rescript to commemorate the Taiwan battle results. Lord Kido watched with growing concern as the Koiso cabinet held a special session to inform the emperor, Hirohito received them in audience, and the emperor’s return statement congratulated the Navy and Army for acting in unison and for greatly damaging the enemy fleet.
Admiral Toyoda’s rotten luck held up a serious inquiry. The C-in-C finally got away from Taiwan on October 18, but then, as he landed at Omura in the Home Islands, the weather closed in, stopping him for two more days.
Upon Toyoda’s arrival back at fleet headquarters, the first thing Captain Fuchida did was to initiate a review of the Taiwan battle claims. He convened T Air Attack Force senior staff officer Lieutenant Commander Tanaka, NGS intelligence expert Captain Suzuki Suguru, and Combined Fleet staff officer Commander Nakajima Chikataka, his colleague and the fleet intelligence officer. Captain Suzuki had been responsible for a remarkable report issued in the midst of the Taiwan air battle. This dispatch from the NGS Third Bureau, its intelligence staff, identified the Third Fleet and Task Force 38, accurately described its strength and organization, placed tactical commander Admiral Mitscher aboard the carrier Lexington, and even discussed the methods the Americans used to keep the fleet at sea by means of underway replenishment groups. Suzuki’s report also ripped away any shred of deception that remained in the Big Blue Fleet’s use of the Third Fleet/Fifth Fleet designators by specifying that the Halsey/Spruance carrier fleet was the only U.S. aero-naval task force.
By the numbers being circulated in Tokyo, the JNAF had battered Halsey’s fleet practically to death. The daily tolls were striking: four aircraft carriers sunk and another damaged on October 12; three and two, respectively, on each of the next two days; a carrier sunk plus three damaged on the fifteenth; then one more damaged on October 16. That tallied eleven sunk and eight more injured—the entire force of the Third Fleet. Captain Suzuki doubted it, and Fuchida, more so.
The Navy might be cautious, but nothing prevented the Japanese media from indulging in claims of the most lurid sort. The Asahi Shimbun headlined, “DESPERATELY FLEEING ENEMY WARSHIPS COMPLETELY DESTROYED,” then used italics in a subheading: “ENEMY TASK FORCE HAS BEEN TRULY DESTROYED.” The Yomiuri Hochi proclaimed, “TRIUMPHAL SONG RINGS.” Emperor Hirohito opened Hibiya Park for public celebrations.
But the fleet review group discounted most pilot claims. For example, one officer pilot, Captain Saito Kan, almost the only senior flier to return to his base, related how “circling around at an altitude of two thousand meters, I released the torpedo, which hit the enemy aircraft carrier amidships.” The carrier supposedly sank instantaneously. No torpedo plane crew in anyone’s air force would launch at such an altitude and no torpedo like that—at night especially—could be considered “aimed.” Saito spoke of “instantaneously” sinking a battleship, two cruisers, carriers, eight warships in all. Not every claim seemed that preposterous, but the overall picture appeared exaggerated.
At best, Fuchida’s group decided, the Japanese could not have sunk more than four aircraft carriers. Judging from the radio intelligence, JNAF might not have destroyed any at all. For future operations Combined Fleet would assume that four American aircraft carriers had gone down. Captain Fuchida decided the Army bomber regiments with the T Force, never before in a battle at sea, had reported all kinds of foolish things and were responsible for the exaggerations. However, the Navy’s chief spokesmen, captains Kurihara Etsuzo and Matsushima Keizo, lent their names to communiqués affirming the lurid results.
The radio announcements that stunned Fuchida outraged the Bull. Admiral Halsey sent a message to Nimitz at Pearl Harbor, deliberately not encrypted, so the Japanese could read it: “THE THIRD FLEET’S SUNKEN AND DAMAGED SHIPS HAVE BEEN SALVAGED AND ARE RETIRING AT HIGH SPEED TOWARD THE ENEMY.”
Japanese claims were also addressed directly, in secret. The daily Ultra summaries pointedly noted that intercepted JNAF radio traffic seemed not to contain damage claims until the very last of the fighting. The publication The O.N.I. Weekly made a focused analysis of the Japanese claims. Published by the Office of Naval Intelligence, throughout the war the Weekly would be the go-to current reports compilation most widely available to U.S. (and Allied) officers. Hedley Donovan, a Washington Post reporter recruited to OP-16-P-4 a couple of years earlier, supervised a team of fifteen similarly sheep-dipped civilians pressed into service to keep frontline commanders apprised of the straight poop. One was the historian C. Vann Woodward, brought in from the University of Virginia, and who became an avid follower of the Pacific theater. Woodward worked up the O.N.I. Weekly’s article on the Taiwan air battle.
The Japanese public releases, the Weekly said, were “a campaign of mendacity unprecedented since Napoleon proclaimed the destruction of Nelson’s fleet at Trafalgar.” The victory had been “synthetically fabricated” and “an attempt to rekindle the fading memories of Tsushima.” Why? the ONI analysis speculated. Without ground truth or any means of establishing it, the Weekly postulated that the Japanese were attempting to conceal the high comparative losses Tokyo simultaneously admitted, or it was claiming that the first Allied foray into true Empire waters—long feared by Japan—had been defeated; or Tokyo simply sought to mislead the Allies on what it thought had been accomplished. ONI dissected the chronology of Tokyo’s announcements, seemingly tapping each piece of the puzzle against a tabletop to see what fell out. The naval spies noted that Tokyo pretended the reprinting of its claims in Western newspapers was confirmation. A vague congratulatory message from German Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz represented another alleged confirmation. The presence of crowds of Japanese hovering around the newsstands for the latest editions was supposed to be mass approval.
What the Imperial Navy had truly been up to remained a mystery—so much so that after the war C. Vann Woodward went back over this ground to write one of the first great books on the Battle of Leyte Gulf. There Woodward noted, “In order to understand the state of mind of the Japanese at the time the final decision was made to commit their fleet in this desperate enterprise, even after the evidence of the overwhelming superiority of our naval forces was in, it is necessary to examine their curious propaganda during and after the air strikes made by the Third Fleet.” Woodward went on to detail material that had appeared in the ONI article.
Others besides ONI probed the myster
y. The Federal Communications Commission had its own spy agency, specializing in monitoring shortwave radio transmissions, called the Foreign Broadcast Information Service (FBIS). It, too, produced a classified analysis of the Japanese claims about the Taiwan battle. Instead of the hyperbole of setting up the Japanese exaggerations as the biggest since Napoleon’s day, the FBIS found a ready comparison from Tokyo’s own practice.
Just a year earlier, during the Bougainville battles that had climaxed the Solomons campaign, the Imperial Navy had flung its air groups at another Allied invasion force and claimed huge successes. FBIS pointed out how Emperor Hirohito had involved himself in both episodes. FBIS suspected an effort to drown out skeptics who doubted the claims. The radio broadcast analysts quoted approvingly a statement from retired admiral Nomura Kichisaburo once the frantic celebrations had died down: “It is erroneous to think that we have completely upset the entire enemy strategy and that Japan has suddenly won an advantageous position.”
Viewed from a broader perspective, the ravages of war had affected the Imperial Navy deeply. It had lost cohesion as a unified force. Officers including Admiral Nomura recognized this. Japan no longer possessed an integrated, multidimensional weapon. Toyoda had an air weapon, a surface force, a fractional submarine weapon, and so on. The essence of the Sho concept had been to obtain synergistic effects by employing the distinct weapons at the same time and within related spaces, if not mutually supporting, at least related. Activating an air-only Sho vitiated that strategy. Because of the tremendous losses at the hands of Halsey’s carriers, the weight of the Japanese air weapon, as we shall see, went from considerable to ephemeral. To trade the air weapon for glancing damage to a few Allied warships made sense only if the timing were such as to achieve, by this sacrifice, a safer advance of the surface forces. But the air admirals had not waited. The true mystery of the Taiwan phase revolves around why the air admirals thought they should conduct battle without the surface fleet. The sea fight would now be doubly hazardous.
Admiral Halsey’s carriers, meanwhile, savaged the Luzon coast, giving Manila another dose of their lightning. The tensions of saving the “Cripple Division” were receding. Surgeon Piggy Weeks broke out the scotch and bourbon in the New Jersey wardroom for the Bull’s staff to party, celebrating the Taiwan strike results long into the night.
Douglas MacArthur stood poised for his return to the Philippines, and William F. Halsey had smoothed the way for him. But for all their careful preparations, the road would be harder than either man anticipated. The curtain now rose on the main action.
CHAPTER 6
MACARTHUR RETURNS, SHO UNLEASHED
The invasion began assuming its final shape, though there were many pieces to the puzzle that had to fit precisely to ensure Operation “King II’s” success.
The slowest units began to sail on October 10, just as Admiral Halsey’s Third Fleet commenced its aerial assault on the Ryukyus and Taiwan. The invasion forces destined for Leyte—dubbed “Cyclone” because of its Allied code name—were concentrated primarily at Manus, in the Admiralty Islands (north of the Solomons), and at Hollandia (on the north coast of New Guinea).
While the action climaxed at Taiwan, the Seventh Fleet’s 738 vessels sailed and began converging on Point Fin, a rendezvous planners had selected off Leyte Gulf. Vice Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid had never led such a huge armada. Most of his ships had cleared port by October 13. Kinkaid, with General MacArthur and their staffs, sailed from Hollandia in a fast cruiser group on October 15. Worried that Bill Halsey had gotten carried away with his successes, Tom Kinkaid cabled: “CENTRAL PHILIPPINES ATTACK FORCE WILL PROCEED WITH SCHEDULED OPERATION K-2. REQUEST ASSISTANCE FROM FAST CARRIERS SOONEST PRACTICABLE CONSISTENT WITH DEVELOPMENTS.”
The first preparatory operation would be for Rangers to land on Dinagat, Suluan and Homonhon islands, at the mouth of Leyte Gulf, overwhelm any Japanese defenders, and permit technicians to place navigation beacons. The Allies compensated for their lack of surprise with the sheer force of their combat power.
On October 3, Lieutenant Honda Yoshikuni’s submarine RO-41 spotted a unit of small escort carriers the Americans called “jeeps” a few dozen miles east of Morotai. Under Rear Admiral Clifton A. F. Sprague, this force was to support one of the preliminary landings, MacArthur’s Morotai invasion, which aimed to obtain airfields closer to the battle zone. Honda crept up and loosed his last torpedoes. They missed the carriers but split open the stern of destroyer escort Shelton, whose buoyancy deteriorated so badly that U.S. commanders scuttled her. To make matters worse, the U.S. boat Seawolf happened to be passing through when Sprague’s escorts counterattacked a sonar contact they assumed to be Japanese. They sank the American sub. Seawolf went down with all hands. Adding to the injury, RO-41 survived to warn Combined Fleet that Allied aircraft arrived that day to use the Morotai airfields.
The indications continued piling up. At Ulithi on October 7, the RO-46 scouted and reported just one carrier along with some cruisers or destroyers anchored there. This clearly indicated that the Big Blue Fleet had sailed. Indeed, Halsey stood at the brink of initiating his strikes into the Japanese rear.
Two days later, a Japanese Army plane overflew Hollandia, reporting a fleet plus more than 200 transports. On October 12, the Americans intercepted a Japanese dispatch indicating they expected Allied forces at Hollandia to leave shortly for operations. Japanese radio spies also linked developments there with Pearl Harbor and Manus, suggesting a major operation. When a JNAF scout reconnoitered Manus on October 14, only warships remained at anchor. The invasion fleet had flown the coop. By then, the Japanese were fighting hard around Taiwan. The battle would become far-flung.
A GATHERING STORM
The last days of the Kurita fleet passed in a blur. The admiral and his cohorts labored to whip the armada into shape and update the vessels with the latest technology. Admiral Kurita had electronic gear mounted on his floatplanes and needed to complete radar and other installations on the vessels themselves. Battleships Kongo and Haruna, with their brand-new electronics, had to be kept away from prying eyes and were restricted to liberty at Seletar Naval Base, which had tighter security. Vice Admiral Ugaki’s Yamato and Musashi, whose technical features were held secret even from their crews, were not permitted to leave Lingga. Instead Ugaki relied upon his older battlewagon, the Nagato, to take contingents of their crews on liberty. The admiral also rejected Singapore as a liberty port because of its allure for young sailors, so they, too, were restricted to Seletar.
Kurita’s other units were more fortunate. His cruiser and destroyer formations took turns at Singapore. From October 5 to 8 the pleasure went to cruisers Myoko, Haguro, and Mogami plus most ships of Destroyer Flotilla 10. Over the next several days the liberty parties would be from cruisers Takao, Chokai, and Maya, and the fleet flagship, the Atago, with their escorts from Destroyer Flotilla 2. From October 11 to 14, it would be the turn of sailors from the Kumano, Suzuya, Tone, and Chikuma. Still, with a day to sail to Singapore and another to steam back, the seamen would get only ten hours to enjoy themselves.
On October 10, when the Combined Fleet activated the air fleets for the Taiwan battle, Admiral Kurita took notice. Not long after, Combined Fleet chief of staff Kusaka sent further word that he intended Ozawa’s Mobile Fleet to remain on standby. Kurita took that as a hint. Though he did not immediately alter routines, the admiral demanded a speedup at Singapore dockyards. The next day U.S. intelligence reported that there were no indications in Japanese radio traffic of a sortie by Kurita’s fleet. The same or similar notices would circulate for several days.
By October 15, the fleet remained divided between Lingga and Singapore, but Admiral Kurita took new measures to prepare. The cruiser Chikuma and a number of destroyers fueled from Yamato. The Kumano plus other destroyers got their oil from Musashi. Vessels of Cruiser Division 5 drank from the oil barge Hayatomo at Singapore, while ships of Cruiser Division
16 drew on the Singapore Naval Base. Oiler Fukuan Maru topped off the rest of Cruiser Division 7. Light cruiser Noshiro went through upkeep in a blaze of dockyard activity. Scheduled to follow her, heavy cruiser Aoba would have her dry-docking canceled instead.
Anticipating action, on October 16 Kurita ordered a tanker convoy to Brunei Bay on the north coast of Borneo. At midday, Combined Fleet instructed Kurita to prepare for sea and be ready to join the Taiwan battle. Admiral Kusaka amplified later, telling Kurita that the Second Fleet might be ordered to fall upon the American task force and augment its losses from the air battle. Kusaka added that because a Kurita fleet sortie would consume a considerable amount of precious fuel oil, Combined Fleet would hold any execute order unless it seemed necessary. Chief of staff Kusaka followed up by confirming orders for tankers to head for Brunei.
Preparations became urgent. Admiral Kurita instructed Aoba and Noshiro to prepare for twenty knots’ speed on two hours’ notice—a battle indicator. Just a little earlier Kurita had ordered his fleet to Readiness Condition 1. He summoned another oiler to Lingga, as well as the cruiser Kinu and destroyer Uranami, the remaining ships of the unit to which the Aoba belonged. Kurita also instructed floatplanes to return to their ships by morning, including those whose new radar installations were not yet complete. Late that afternoon, Kurita told Combined Fleet that he stood ready to sortie with all of his units—save Noshiro and Aoba, which would rejoin the fleet by noon or evening the following day.