PART TWO
TORA, TORA, TORA
10
Assigned Once Again as the Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi
It was a sweltering hot summer afternoon on August 25, 1941, and I was engaged in the training of the Third Air Squadron, now stationed at Iwakuni Air Base. Commander Kakuji Kakuta had moved his admiral’s flag to Iwakuni, and I was commanding the base exercises. I had finished the last puff of a cigar after my meal in the staff room. When I stood up and was heading to take an afternoon nap, the soldier in charge of distributing telegrams stopped me and said, “Aviation Staff Officer, here are your telegrams,” as he handed them to me. I began thumbing through them, and I blurted out unconsciously, “Wait, it’s my transfer.”
At that time, it had already been announced that we should be ready for the first step of preparatory operations to deploy military personnel, and irregular and frequent changes in assignment were being made before the normally scheduled year-end changes. Therefore, it should not have been a bolt from the blue, but the point was my destination. The telegram read, “Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi.”
I had previously been the Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi—for a one-year assignment last year. I personally preferred to stay in that position for one more year, but I was assigned as the staff leader of the Third Aviation Squadron. Given this situation, I had good reason to expect that I would probably be assigned next year as the head of aviation elsewhere. Frankly, the thought of a transfer to the Akagi as the Chief Aviation Commander for a second tour was mind-deadening.
Fliers cannot escape the handicap of age. Anybody at the age of 40—even if he still maintains his fighting spirit—tends to have less physical stamina than younger men. If he tries to lead the air squadron at the head of the pack, young pilots will simply regard him as a drag on the group. It would be better for an old warrior to take command on the ground as the Head of Aviation. The Head of Aviation is the first flight position in the squadron, but it is rare for him to embark on a plane. The position requires nothing but hanging around the airfield apron in front of the hangar like a tiger in the zoo, with a pair of big binoculars hanging from his neck. It is an enviable position of no flying and no worries about being shot down. As an expert fighter pilot, I still did not feel any deterioration in my skill levels, but I was already 39 years old, only one more year before turning 40. As I was hoping to be a member of the envied group, I just wondered, “Why once again the Chief Aviation Commander?”
Grabbing the telegram, I went straight to the commander’s room and knocked on his door. “Commander, I have been assigned to the Akagi as the Chief Aviation Commander.”
“What?” Sounding surprised, Commander Tsunoda got up from the sofa and looked at the telegram. “Well…Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi. But Fuchida, this could be a mistake; it could mean Head of Aviation. I never heard of a Commander being assigned as the Chief Aviation Commander. Tell the telegram room to check it again.”
Then I gave a call to the telegram room, and their answer was that it could have been a mistake; it could have meant “Head of Aviation,” as it was an abbreviated telegram. The Head of Aviation was exactly what I wanted, and I was overjoyed. Commander Tsunoda himself broke into a big smile, saying, “I told you. You are the Head of Aviation of the Akagi without fail. Congratulations! Aviation Staff Officer, how would you like your farewell party to be held at Iwaso in Miyajima?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
As events unfolded, in my mind I was privately convinced that my position was the Head of Aviation and reported to the Akagi, which was docked in Yokosuka. When I arrived, the air squadron was conducting training at Kagoshima Base with no members remaining on the ship, except for the Head of Aviation, Commander Shogo Masuda.
When we met, he told me, “As a matter of fact, I knew that you were coming, so I did not have the slightest doubt that you would be the Head of Aviation. And I was preparing to pack my things for my next assignment. However, then I learned that you would be the Chief Aviation Commander, and I will remain in my current position, which was rather disappointing for me.”
“Oh, really. Then I am the Chief Aviation Commander as I was told. It is not an easy job.”
While we were laughing because of the confusion caused by the earlier telegram, Lieutenant Commander Yoshishiro Miura dropped in. He talked to me: “What I heard from Staff Officer Genda was that they are planning a concentrated deployment of aircraft carriers next year, and they require a big Group Aviation Commander with a Commander’s rank to integrate the command of groups of carrier planes.”
As I heard this, I smacked my knee. “Now, I’ve got it!” It was something that was left unfinished when I gave my departing recommendations last year to Commander Jisaburo Ozawa when I was the Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi. Now I was coming back to the main theme after having frittered away my time as the Third Aviation Squadron’s Staff Officer. Needless to say, my second assignment as Chief Air Commander of the Akagi was far from disappointing. “This is an incredible, glorious honor. I will put my whole soul into this assignment, motivating our men, flying to the limit.”
11
General Chief
Aviation Commander
As soon as I finished the arrival formalities on the Akagi, I flew to Kagoshima Air Base from Yokosuka Air Base that same day. Kagoshima Air Base was constructed on reclaimed land at Kamoike Beach just outside Kagoshima City. In front of the base was the majestic view of Mount Sakurajima. The Akagi aviation squadron was receiving training there.
As I was the Chief Aviation Commander last year, there were many familiar faces among the crew, and they welcomed me as if their old man had come back.
The senior officer of the squadron was Lieutenant Shigeharu Murata. This guy had a jocular nature and was nicknamed Bussan; he greeted me with a smile.
“Chief Commander, my sympathies on your second tour as the Chief Commander with your old bones,” was his greeting, to which I responded, “Bussan, I am counting on your support once again.”
Days passed, and one day, when I was checking papers received at the squadron command center, I found among them fleet orders from the Commander of the First Aviation Fleet. There was an instruction to have Fuchida, the Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi, take command of group training for the carrier squadrons of the First Aviation Fleet. I passed the paper to Murata, saying, “Bussan, look at this puzzling message.”
Clever Murata understood immediately what it implied. “I see. If you overdo it, you are likely to be targeted by complaints from the carrier captains and heads of aviation.”
I replied, “You see the point. Unless the Navy separates ground and air duties of the air squadrons soon, commanding and operating them will become increasingly and incomprehensibly complex.”
Bussan responded, “I totally agree with you. It is not only the international situation which is incomprehensibly complex.”
Then, we burst into laughter as the expression was fashionable at that time because Prime Minister Hiranuma’s Cabinet had resigned with a final message that the international situation was incomprehensibly complex.
In 1941, the First Aviation Fleet consisted of four carriers—the Akagi and Kaga of the First Air Squadron and the Soryu and Hiryu of the Second Air Squadron. It was this year’s epoch-making objective to deploy these four carriers as a collective group. And the General Commander who will coordinate the planes taking off from four different carriers, forming into one group in the sky above the fleet and providing a concentrated attack on the enemy fleet, is me—the senior commanding officer.
According to the official standing order at this time, air squadrons based on each carrier belonged under the command of the carrier’s captain; and the training was also conducted under the responsibility of each captain. Traditionally, the fighting unit of the Navy has been the man-of-war, and the organizational order of the man-of-war has provided the basis for all organizational st
ructures. The organization of the air squadrons was no exception.
However, based on the increasing importance of aviation power, if we were to introduce the concentrated use of carrier-based air squadrons and realize their mass destructive power, the captain of the carrier should be regarded as the master of a floating airfield, where his role is not to be the voice behind the command and operation of the air squadrons, but rather to take care of the maintenance and fuel supply of the planes based on his carrier. This is the theory of separation of air and ground duties, requiring the establishment of a different official chain of command in order to enable an integrated command and operational control of air squadrons.
In those days, the supreme guideline of the Japanese Navy, Essential Directives of Naval Battles, stated in its platform that, “The need for military organization exists in the battle. Hundreds of issues are determined by the battle.”
The separation of air and ground duties was perfectly in line with this understanding, but, because of tradition-bound conventions, this separation was not in place.
Under these circumstances, Carrier Division 1 issued an order to me, the unified commander of all air squadrons in battle, to take unified command of the training exercise as well. However, as Bussan suggested, this role would invite complaints from the captains of each aircraft carrier, and it actually happened when they saw me carrying my enthusiasm to an extreme.
They meant to say, “We don’t like the idea of the Head of Aviation of another ship giving orders to our squadron during the training exercise.” However, this was sheer nonsense. If command and control procedures were not instilled during training exercises, they would not be followed during battle. Concerted coordination and action in actual battle are not possible unless a tight sense of mutual trust and smooth communications are established between the commander and his men from the very start of training exercises. I spent time on what we call suriawase [smoothing out differences]. While some carrier captains had a good understanding of why this was required, others, who were newly assigned carrier captains, had a hard time swallowing this line of reasoning.
Then, Bussan—Lieutenant Murata—told me, “Commander, there is nothing that can replace the importance of strengthening our fighting capacity, whether the other carrier captains and aviation heads should hate you or not. Why don’t we give our men tough exercises, and push them to the limit without restraint? I have an idea. Let’s have them call you General Commander to start with.”
I said, “Wait. If you use such an invented title, somebody like the military affairs department may take it up.”
Bussan smiled. “It’s OK. It will be a sort of nickname—only for use inside the squadrons.”
We both laughed again.
Around that time, all the air squadrons belonging to the four carriers of the First Aviation Fleet were concentrated at different air bases in southern Kyushu. They started their base exercises by plane type—not by the carrier to which they were assigned. For example, the main force of the level bombing and torpedo bombing squadrons of the Type 97 Carrier Attack Bombers (Nakajima B5N) were located at Kagoshima Air Base. The rest were stationed at Izumi Air Base. Air superiority squadrons of the Type Zero Carrier Fighters were stationed all together at Saiki Air Base. Finally, my life had become quite hectic, leading combined group training of as many as 200-plus planes, while maintaining close contact with each base from the command center at Kagoshima Base.
12
A Bolt Out of the Blue
It was a muggy day in late September, 1941. When I was taking a short break at the command center after a drill flight, a soldier came in to report. “General Commander, Staff Officer Genda has come to see you.”
“What? Genda…” I stood up from my chair.
Lieutenant Commander Minoru Genda, Operations Staff Officer of the First Aviation Fleet, was in the same class with me, the 52nd class of the Naval Academy. Since those early days, we both aspired to be aviators, and we had been extremely close friends.
“Hey.”
“Howdy.” I greeted and invited him into the command center.
Then, he whispered into my ear saying, “Actually, Fuchi, I have something very confidential to tell you.”
Hearing this, I ushered him to my private room, where Genda revealed his secret.
“The fact is you have been assigned at this time as the General Commander of the air attack squadron for the Pearl Harbor air-raid.”
This was a total bolt out of the blue for me, and I asked him, “What’s all this about—the Pearl Harbor air-raid?”
Then, Genda responded, “Setting aside the details, the general story is that the prospect of peace talks between Japan and the US is taking a dark turn. Therefore, Fleet Admiral Yamamoto’s idea is that if by any chance war should break out between Japan and the United States, we should launch an air attack on Pearl Harbor immediately at the outbreak of war and annihilate the US Pacific Fleet. It is only possible if we deploy the air attack squadrons of the First Aviation Fleet’s carriers, and you are the one who will lead them.”
I was over-excited by this news as I thought that things had turned out to be so very interesting. I also guessed that Genda might have played the role of scout leading to my assignment this time around as the Chief Aviation Commander of the Akagi. Far from begrudging the assignment, it was indeed an enormous honor for me. And I thought that the best thing you could have in life is a good friend.
Genda added, “However, there are still many specific issues that we have to discuss. So, I want you to accompany me now to the Akagi—together. In the Chief of Staff’s Room, a model of Oahu Island has arrived, and all informational materials about Pearl Harbor have been prepared. I also want you to see Commander Yamamoto and the Chief of Staff to talk about arrangements for the Pearl Harbor air-attack plan, and, of course, the future training of the air squadrons that will back up the plan.”
“Yes, let’s go,” I responded joyfully, becoming very enthusiastic.
The two of us flew from Kagoshima Base to Kasanohara Base in my plane, went to Shibushi Harbor by car, and then proceeded on a boat that was waiting for us to the flagship Akagi, anchored in Ariake Bay.
Now, I found myself in the Chief of Staff Room. There was a model of Oahu Island in the center, almost the size of 8 tatami mats [roughly 130 square feet] which was so precise it looked like a real view as seen from above.
Looking outside through the porthole, the surface of Ariake Bay was glistening with the afternoon sunlight, and tropical plants on Biro Island grew thickly. After the Akagi’s motor boat went away leaving a white ship wake, the surrounding sights were peaceful enough to induce sleep.
Nevertheless, in the midst of this peaceful environment, an argument was going on about the dangers of an air attack on Pearl Harbor, a sort of “risk everything on one last throw of the dice.”
At this meeting in the Chief of Staff’s Room, among those present were Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, Commander of the First Aviation Fleet; Rear Admiral Ryunosuke Kusaka, Chief of Staff; and their staffs. While I understood the outline of the operation, I looked at the sea chart of Pearl Harbor and asked Genda:
“I understand that Admiral Yamamoto has instructed us to sink the Pacific Fleet berthed in Pearl Harbor by torpedo attack, but as far as I can see in this chart, the depth at Pearl Harbor is only 12 meters. It is too shallow for a torpedo attack.”
In those days, the Imperial Japanese Navy’s method of torpedo attack was to launch torpedoes from an altitude of 100 meters with a sighting distance of 1,000 meters. The dropped torpedo then went about 60 meters under the sea, which we called the degree of sinking. At this degree of sinking, the torpedo’s engine is ignited, the screw starts to rotate and the rudder begins to function, resulting in the rise of the torpedo towards the surface. Afterwards, the torpedo keeps a fixed depth of six meters as it runs towards the target. Then, it hits and explodes one meter above the bottom of the target ship’s seven-meter-draft and sinks
. Since our assumptive battle areas in the Pacific Ocean were among the deepest waters in the world, our torpedo’s degree of sinking was not an item that our planners had considered up to this point in time.
However, this method of torpedo attack could not be applied to Pearl Harbor, which had a depth of only 12 meters. If we stuck to the traditional method of torpedo attack with a degree of sinking of 60 meters, we would travel the long distance to Pearl Harbor only for pile driving.
However, Genda responded, “If we launch torpedoes where they can be effective, we probably will not achieve much because the enemy will quite probably utilize defensive measures like extending nets. Instead, where torpedoes are not expected to work, if we make them function, 100 percent achievement will be guaranteed. Fuchi, one way or another, you must come up with a solution.”
I gave in to this forceful argument by Genda. He was absolutely right. Genda used to be called by the nickname, “Mad Gen,” because the brilliance of his ideas gave the impression to everybody that he was either a genius or a madman. However, I was determined now to somehow launch torpedoes at Pearl Harbor with its 12 meter-depth based on “Mad Gen’s” original idea. I was also quite mad myself.
I asserted to Genda, “OK. At all costs, I will make the torpedo attack a success. However, as we see in those photos, the American Pacific Fleet is berthed in pairs at the mooring piles around Ford Island. Torpedoes will not reach the ships on the inside. We will probably have to employ level bombing as well.”
Genda responded, “You see the point. That is why we have asked the Arms Department at Yokosuka Naval Air Technical Arsenal to make armor-piercing shells by shaving the 16-inch, 800 kilogram shells of the Nagato.”
I said that I understood. Then, to make extra sure, Chief of Staff Kusaka said, “We want Commander Fuchida to proceed with training in line with this air-raid plan and to prepare for all eventualities. However, this is the top secret among military secrets, and this is not yet the time to inform ordinary fliers. So, we want Commander Fuchida to start training without attracting attention. While we sympathize with you in your predicament, we are very pressed for time, and we want you to begin training for this urgent matter immediately.”
For That One Day: The Memoirs of Mitsuo Fuchida, Commander of the Attack on Pearl Harbor Page 6