The Rising Sun: The Decline and Fall of the Japanese Empire, 1936-1945 (Modern Library War)

by Toland, John

  The following day at the final briefing Kusaka asked a question which, surprisingly, had not been posed before: “If we sight the American fleet, should we attack it or take Midway first?” Admiral Matome Ugaki, who had prepared for the battle by getting a haircut and a new set of false teeth, turned to Nagumo and said it would be his decision. “You are in the front line and can assess the situation better than we can.”

  Kusaka refused to accept the responsiblity; only Combined Fleet could make the proper decision, since the operation was so complicated and involved so many units. Besides, Akagi had a short mast and was not equipped to intercept enemy messages, whereas Yamamoto’s flagship had a very high mast and the latest facilities. Ugaki said this was immaterial; radio silence would have to be maintained, since the whole plan depended on surprise.

  On Akagi there was such a feeling of confidence that many fliers had brought aboard personal belongings and a plentiful supply of beer and sake. One man, Lieutenant Heijiro Abe, did not share their faith. At the last moment he advised Commander Minoru Genda to call off the operation. Abe, who had dropped a bomb on Oklahoma, had just received a letter from a friend in China wishing him luck on the attack of “M.” Everyone seemed to know about Midway, said Abe, and he predicted that they would be “beaten in a bag.” But Genda said it was too late to cancel the operation; other units were already on the move.

  At six o’clock in the morning on May 27, Nagumo’s Carrier Striking Force—a light cruiser, eleven destroyers, two battleships (including Haruna, supposedly sunk by Colin Kelly) and four carriers—filed slowly through the Inland Sea toward Bungo Strait as the sailors on the other ships of the Combined Fleet cheered them on. The following day the force scheduled to invade the Aleutians left its port at the northern tip of Kyushu; on June 3, the day before the raid on Midway, planes from two light carriers would bomb Dutch Harbor to divert Nimitz’ attention to the north. Far to the south, on Saipan in the Marianas, a dozen transports filled with the five thousand men who would take Midway set off, accompanied by a light cruiser, a tanker and a covering force of four heavy cruisers.

  Early on the morning of May 29, the rest of the Combined Fleet moved out of the Inland Sea—first Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo’s Midway Invasion Force, then the Main Force of thirty-four ships led by Yamamoto’s flagship, Yamato. In all, eleven battleships, eight carriers, twenty-three cruisers, sixty-five destroyers and almost ninety auxiliary ships plowed eastward in the most ambitious naval operation ever conceived by man. More oil would be used in this single operation than the peacetime Navy consumed in a year.

  As before, Japanese success depended on secrecy, but as at the Coral Sea, Nimitz knew a massive attack was being mounted thanks to his Combat Intelligence Unit, some 120 men, including the sunken California’s entire band (musicians were eminently suited for such work), under Lieutenant Commander Joseph John Rochefort. They were on duty practically around the clock in a windowless basement in the Navy Yard, protected by vaultlike doors, steel-barred gates and constant guards—and they were reading 90 percent of the code messages sent out by Combined Fleet. The scattered information about Midway was, in a sense, a gift from the Japanese Navy. On May 1 it had scheduled one of the periodic revisions of its main code which always blacked out information until Rochefort’s men broke it. But the old code was still in effect because of the rush of work. Besides, Japanese naval intelligence experts were positive their codes could not be broken.

  On May 20 the bits and pieces about the invasion fell into place with the interception of a lengthy order issued by Yamamoto. Fifteen percent of the message was missing, but the magnitude of the operation was evident. All that was left in doubt was the target, which was referred to simply as “AF.” Rochefort felt reasonably sure it was Midway, but Washington experts were just as positive it stood for Oahu.

  Nimitz agreed with Rochefort, and flew to Midway to determine what additional equipment and how many more men were needed to stem a large-scale amphibious attack. Every plane he could spare was dispatched to Midway. Nimitz also enlarged the tiny island’s garrison to two thousand, set up three submarine patrol arcs and ordered installation of additional antiaircraft batteries. To confirm the location of “AF,” Nimitz had Midway transmit a fake message in the clear complaining of the breakdown of its distillation plant. The Japanese took the bait and two days later radioed Tokyo that “AF” was low on fresh water.

  With this corroboration Nimitz decided to meet the Japanese head-on. They would be lying in wait for him, but Nimitz knew he had to meet the challenge of Yamamoto’s armada, even though he had only eight cruisers, seventeen destroyers and two carriers. The third, Yorktown, had not yet reached Pearl Harbor after the damage it had absorbed at Coral Sea. Repairs would take about ninety days.

  Nimitz called in his two commanders, Fletcher and Rear Admiral Raymond A. Spruance—a last-minute substitute for Halsey, who was suffering from a skin disease. He ordered them “to inflict maximum damage on enemy by employing strong attrition attacks.” They were to strike again and again from the air and “be governed by the principle of calculated risk, which you shall interpret to mean the avoidance of exposure of your force to attack by superior enemy forces without good prospect of inflicting, as a result of such exposure, greater damage on the enemy.”

  The day after Nagumo’s four carriers had left the Inland Sea, Spruance sailed out of Pearl Harbor on the carrier Enterprise, with Hornet, six cruisers and eleven destroyers making up the rest of Task Force 16. Two days later Fletcher followed, with two cruisers and six destroyers, on Yorktown. Thanks to the almost superhuman efforts of fourteen hundred workmen, the estimated three months’ repair of the damaged carrier had been accomplished in two days.

  That same day Yamamoto, trailing Nagumo by six hundred miles, received three distressing messages. First, he learned that aerial reconnaissance of Pearl Harbor would be impossible; by chance an American seaplane tender had anchored at the exact point where the reconnaissance planes from Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshalls were to have been refueled by submarines. Second, the seven submarines which were to form a picket line between Oahu and Midway and intercept American carriers heading toward Kido Butai could not, for some reason, get into position in time.* Finally, and most disturbing, from a submarine patrolling the waters around Midway came a report that the island seemed to be on a strict alert with intensive air patrols; many construction cranes were visible, indicating a probable expansion of defenses. Yamamoto was going to relay this information to the man who most needed it—Nagumo—but his operations officer, Captain Kuroshima, insisted on continued radio silence.

  Unaided by radar, the Striking Force steamed ahead shrouded in a thick mist. The following day, June 2, was worse. Nagumo and Kusaka peered anxiously from the bridge of Akagi at a blanket of heavy fog. It kept them hidden from enemy observation, but made navigation at close quarters hazardous. Kusaka still fretted about the dual tactical mission: to attack Midway on June 4 in preparation for the landing two days later, and to find and destroy Nimitz’ fleet. How could they do both? The second mission required freedom of movement and secrecy, but if they bombed Midway, both mobility and secrecy were gone. It was “like a hunter chasing two hares at once.”

  In Nagumo’s presence he put the question to the staff. Captain Tamotsu Oishi gave the most succinct answer: “The Combined Fleet operation order gives first priority to the destruction of enemy forces. Co-operation with the landing operation is secondary. But if we do not neutralize the Midway-based air forces as planned, our landing operations two days later will be strongly opposed and the entire invasion schedule will be upset.”

  Where is the enemy fleet? Nagumo wondered. Nobody knows, Oishi confessed. “Even if they are already aware of our movements and have sortied to meet us, they can’t be far out from base at this moment and certainly can’t be near us.” Therefore the Midway attack should take place as scheduled. The others agreed.

  That day the new edition of the fleet code fina
lly went into effect and the cryptanalysts in the Pearl Harbor basement were temporarily in the dark. But it made no difference. Nimitz already knew enough. The next morning Midway received the first visual report that an invasion was imminent. Ensign Jack Reid, on patrol in a Catalina out of Midway, came upon what looked like a cluster of “miniature ships in a backyard pool” about thirty miles ahead. “Do you see what I see?” he asked co-pilot Hardeman. Hardeman took the glasses. “You’re damn right I do.”

  MAIN BODY, Reid flashed to his base on Midway.

  It was, however, the invasion transports, and they in turn sighted the Catalina and alerted Yamamoto. Akagi intercepted the message, but Nagumo was unconcerned. The Striking Force was still undetected. His complacency was not shared by those on the bridge of Yamato. Never had Yamamoto or his staff imagined that the transports would be discovered before the first air assault on Midway.

  By nightfall the Japanese were rapidly converging on Midway from the northwest and by dawn would be at the launching point, two hundred miles from the target. Fletcher and Spruance had positioned themselves three hundred miles east-northeast of the island. Fletcher, who was in overall command of the two task forces, guessed correctly that Reid had only seen transports, but it did indicate that carriers were not far behind. At 7:50 P.M. he headed southwest, with the conviction that tomorrow could be “the most important day in the history of the U. S. Navy.” By daybreak he would be north of Midway, in perfect position to attack the enemy striking force. It was a remarkable deduction; the American carriers would be about a hundred miles from Kido Butai.

  By visual signal Spruance informed his men they would probably encounter a superior force, four or five carriers, and that success in the battle would be “of great value to our country.” Somehow, by that mysterious grapevine prevalent on every American ship, word spread that the Japanese code had been broken and that a trap was being set. There was a feeling of excitement in the wardrooms and mess halls.

  3.

  At 2:45 A.M. on June 4, Akagi’s loudspeakers blared and aircrews tumbled out of bunks. All over the ship there was a spirit of celebration, almost gaiety, as if the battle had already been won. Mitsuo Fuchida had led the attack on Pearl Harbor and was supposed to do the same at Midway. He was in sick bay, stricken by appendicitis the first night at sea. In a nearby cot was his friend Minoru Genda. He had a bad cold and his eyes looked feverish. Still in pajamas, Genda shuffled up to the bridge and apologized to Nagumo for being so late. He assured his chief that he was fit enough to direct and take personal charge of the attack. The admiral affectionately put an arm around his shoulder, and everyone on the bridge was buoyed to see him. Belowdecks the aircrews were eating the traditional breakfast served for decades to Japanese setting off to battle: rice, soybean soup, dry chestnuts and sake.

  The four carriers were now 240 miles northwest of Midway, steaming full into the wind. Genda ordered preparations for the first wave against the tiny atoll. At 4:30 A.M. Kusaka gave the word to commence launching. Suddenly Fuchida appeared. He could not stay below and had staggered out of sick bay to watch his substitute, First Lieutenant Joichi Tomonaga on Hiryu, lead the raiders. The air officer waved his green lantern and the first Zero fighter skimmed down the illuminated flight deck and flung itself into the black sky. A chorus of spontaneous cheers was swept off the deck by the wind. Eight Zeros followed, then eighteen dive bombers.

  Within fifteen minutes all four carriers had cleared their decks of planes; 108 were in the air, but the people below could only make out a long chain of red and blue lights strung toward Midway. At the same time Genda ordered seven reconnaissance planes to fan out to the east and southeast in search of American carriers. Five hurtled off, but one from the heavy cruiser Tone was delayed by catapult trouble. Kusaka thought a stronger reconnaissance should be made but said nothing. It was Genda’s show (on practically any subject Nagumo accepted Genda’s recommendations without question. Indeed, cynics referred to the Striking Force as “Genda’s fleet”) and it was not at all likely that the enemy carriers were anywhere in the area. They shouldn’t arrive from Pearl Harbor for forty-eight hours, but just in case they appeared unexpectedly, Kusaka ordered thirty-six planes armed with torpedoes brought up to the flight decks of Akagi and Kaga.

  Not only was the American fleet closer than the Japanese thought but their own carriers were about to be discovered. At 5:25 A.M. a Catalina search plane from Midway, piloted by Lieutenant Howard Ady, burst out of the clouds near Kido Butai and he stared in awe at a mass of ships. It was “like watching a curtain rising on the Biggest Show on Earth.” ENEMY CARRIERS, Ady radioed. He slipped the clumsy PBY behind the clouds, and circled. He came up on Nagumo’s ships from the rear and identified two carriers and several battleships.

  Ady’s reports indicated that he had found the Japanese Striking Force, but Admiral Fletcher decided to wait for more explicit information. He radioed Spruance:

  PROCEED SOUTHWESTERLY AND ATTACK ENEMY CARRIERS WHEN DEFINITELY LOCATED. I WILL FOLLOW AS SOON AS PLANES RECOVERED.

  On Midway, radar picked up the first wave of oncoming Japanese around 5:50. Air-raid sirens shrieked as planes took off pell-mell. While six Navy Avenger torpedo planes and four Army Marauders, also armed with torpedoes, headed north toward the enemy carriers, twenty-five Marine fighter pilots in obsolete Brewster Buffalos and Grumman Wildcats climbed northwest. Within minutes they encountered the raiders. They flung themselves into battle, but they were outnumbered and outclassed by the Zeros. Fifteen Marines were shot down and the Japanese swept unopposed to their target. Dive bombers plummeted through heavy antiaircraft fire and blasted buildings, oil tanks and the seaplane hangar. John Ford, who had filmed the takeoff of the Doolittle fliers, was high up in a powerhouse with his movie camera. There came a blast, and shrapnel tore into his shoulder. He picked himself up, put the camera to his eye and continued to follow the action.

  For twenty minutes the Japanese had their own way and when the last had turned out to sea, Midway’s two islands appeared to be a mass of smoke, and flames. But Lieutenant Tomonaga stayed long enough to see that he had failed to destroy American capabilities. Enemy planes (they were dive bombers) were still taking off from the airstrip and heading out toward Kido Butai. He radioed at 7 A.M.: THERE IS NEED FOR A SECOND ATTACK.

  For more than an hour there had been a state of consternation on Nagumo’s flagship, Akagi. Ady’s Catalina had been sighted and an air raid from Midway was expected. The heavy clouds began to clear, uncovering Kido Butai. At 7:10 a destroyer out front hoisted a flag signal: “Enemy planes in sight.”

  The four Marauders and six Avengers from Midway came boring in with their torpedoes. Zero fighters screening the carriers dived and spun three into the ocean. Antiaircraft fire from destroyers, cruisers and the battleship Kirishima picked off two more. But three of the attackers penetrated far enough to launch torpedoes at Akagi. The flagship swerved and the torpedoes churned harmlessly by. This raid, together with Tomonaga’s request for another strike, prompted Nagumo to order a second attack on Midway, whose planes were a greater present threat to his carriers than the possibility of meeting the American fleet.

  The decision had, in truth, been made by Nagumo’s chief of staff. As at Pearl Harbor, Kusaka was the de facto commander; he never failed to consult Nagumo before taking action, but as yet none of his decisions had been countermanded. The latest one meant that the torpedo planes on Akagi and her sister ship, Kaga, had to be rearmed with bombs, and there was chaotic activity as these planes were lowered from the flight decks to their hangars. In the midst of this hubbub a message came in at 7:28 from one of Tone’s search planes that “ten ships, apparently enemy” were 240 miles north of Midway. There was agitation on Akagi’s bridge—this put the American fleet two hundred miles to the east!

  For the first time since Pearl Harbor, luck had deserted the Japanese in battle. If the plane from Tone that had been delayed for thirty minutes on its catapult had gone off on schedul
e, it would have discovered the Americans before the Japanese torpedo planes were lowered for rearming, and they could now be winging toward Enterprise, Hornet and Yorktown. As it was, crucial time was lost while crews again went through the arduous task of refitting the planes with torpedoes.

  At 7:47 A.M. Kusaka asked the Tone plane pilot to ascertain the ship types, but before the answer came, sixteen enemy planes appeared in the distance. These were the Marine dive bombers which, by-passing Tomonaga’s planes, had left Midway minutes after the air-raid alarm and headed for the carriers. Now their commander, Major Lofton Henderson, ordered a glide-bombing attack, since his inexperienced pilots knew little about dive bombing. They bore down on Hiryu. Kusaka saw the light carrier enveloped in a smoke screen and towering waterspouts. Zeros managed to cut down half the Marines but the rest kept resolutely on course, released their bombs and returned to Midway. Hiryu emerged unscathed.

  Then, at 8:09, came good news. The Tone search plane reported that the enemy ships were “five cruisers and five destroyers.” However, there was no time for congratulations; 20,000 feet overhead fifteen Flying Fortresses were dropping bombs. Having left Midway before dawn to attack the transports, they had found carriers instead. The B-17 crews watched their bombs fall among the swerving carriers and radioed erroneously that they had scored four hits; there were none.

  Kusaka was impressed by the variety of attacks: with torpedo planes, in a glide-bombing approach, with dive bombers and high-level bombers. The Americans were like Hiru-Daikokuten, the legendary demon with three heads and six arms. In ten minutes he learned of another—and more dangerous—threat. The Tone plane radioed: