Then we burst into laughter.
Thus, the Task Force Fleet completed its final checks, and refueling was finalized as well.
Earlier, on November 21st, when the flagship Akagi anchored at Hitokappu Bay, Commander Yamamoto, currently in port at Hiroshima Bay, had received Daikairei No. 5 from Imperial Headquarters. The essential points were:
Commander Yamamoto of the Combined Fleet shall deploy detachments that are necessary for execution of the operations plan to the standby area at sea in a timely manner. In the event challenged by the US, UK or Dutch military during the conduct of operations, force may be used in self-defense.
Based on this Daikairei, Yamamoto issued a telegram order with the following message to Nagumo on November 25th:
The task force fleet shall move from Hitokappu Bay with maximum secrecy and advance to the standby point to complete expedited refueling on the evening of December 3rd.
The standby position which Commander Yamamoto referred to was 800 miles to the north of the Hawaiian Islands.
Thus, at 6:00 AM on November 26th, just before sunrise when the sky was still dark, the Task Force Fleet—led by three submarines—floated with stealth under the cover of thick clouds into the rough seas of the North Pacific. There was nobody to see the fleet off except the coastal defense ship dispatched by the Ominato Defense Center. It sent us a signal, which read, “Wish you success on your mission.”
Responding to the signal with, “Thanks,” the Akagi passed close by the ship. A naval ensign was on top of the mast and was being whipped by the morning wind. I went up to the bridge, where Commander Yoishishiro Miura was steering. The responsibility to bring this grand fleet to the starting point for the air squadrons was on his shoulders now. This Chief Navigation Officer, who used to joke all the time, now had a sober face and held his mouth firmly clenched. I had another look to make sure it was the same person. Besides, he usually wore scuffed and worn out slippers, but today he was wearing shoes.
Next to Miura stood the ship’s Captain, Kiichi Hasegawa. His face was free from any distracting thoughts, and he stared at the horizon through the front glass. Looking down the flight deck from the bridge, I could see that the crew members—standing in a line—were all looking at the passing sight of the home-land. However, who could have been aware at the time that the tragedy of these islands had already started—that these islands of Chishima would be separated from and lost to the homeland as the price of defeat?
17
Z Flag on the Pacific Ocean
On December 5th (local time), the Task Force Fleet reached a point 700 nautical miles to the north of Hawaii, finally entering the patrol zone of the enemy PBY flying boats. Here, the fleet received its final supply of fuel, then separated from the refueling tankers. To the departing fleet, a signal was sent from the flagship Akagi, “Appreciate all your supportive efforts. We pray for our good fortune in battle.” To this, the commander of the supply fleet responded, “Wish you success.”
At 6:30 AM on December 6th (local time; Tokyo time 2:00 AM, December 7th), the Task Force Fleet gathered speed to 24 knots. The overwhelming sight of the fleet—plowing the waves and churning up snow-white spray—was truly magnificent, and I was excited like a child despite my age. Turning my head to the east, I saw the sunrise. I prayed to no one in particular: “I wish that for just one day, today, we will not be detected by anybody.”
If we can escape detection just one more day, today, then we will be launched before sunrise tomorrow.
At 10:30 AM, we received a telegram from Combined Fleet. It was an instruction from Commander Yamamoto:
The fate of Imperial Japan depends upon this one battle. Everyone must fulfill his duties with utmost dedication.
This instruction from Commander Yamamoto was immediately passed to all crew members of the Task Force Fleet. The Z flag was hoisted on top of the mast of every ship. For the first time since the Battle of the Sea of Japan 36 years ago, the Z flag fluttered in the Pacific Ocean.
The flight deck of each of the six carriers was filled with airplanes with extended wings. The blackish surfaces of the torpedoes and bombs already mounted on the planes reflected an unearthly shine.
At 5:25 PM, we received a reconnaissance report from submarine I-72 of the Task Force vanguard: “The US fleet is not at Lahaina.” Lahaina Anchorage on Maui Island was used for repair work by the US Pacific Fleet, and the submarine confirmed that elements of the US fleet were not anchored there.
Before long, the evening darkness of December 6th came down on us. In the end, we were saved from being detected by enemy patrol planes, submarines or even ships passing by. I convinced myself that our Task Force had all the luck on our side. I went to bed early as we were scheduled to launch at dawn the next morning. I thought that I might not be able to sleep well, but I had a peaceful dream.
Under the existing conditions, Commander Nagumo made the following assessment the day before the air attack:
One: Enemy forces in the Hawaii area are eight battleships, two aircraft carriers, approximately 10 heavy cruisers and approximately six light cruisers. All the aircraft carriers and heavy cruisers appear to be out to sea. The rest remain at Pearl Harbor. There is a high probability that the fleet at sea is engaged in practice in the southern area of Maui Island, and they are not anchored at Lahaina.
Two: Unless there is any particular change in the situation tonight, we will concentrate the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Three: While we have no indication that the enemy is at heightened vigilance, we should remain on high alert at all times.
18
Glad I Was Born a Man
The sea was rough. The ocean waves were high, buffeting the ships which were running at full speed. Waves splashing at the bows appeared whitish in the predawn darkness, and occasionally the splash bounced back on the flight deck.
On the flight deck, planes ready for the attack were positioned in line with extended wings. Maintenance crews were working hard to protect the planes from the pitch of the ship, holding on to planes.
The time was 5:30 AM, December 7th.
I put on my flight suit and went up to the operations room on the bridge. “Commander, we are ready to go now,” I said as I gave a salute of farewell to Commander Nagumo.
The Commander stood up from the sofa and grabbed my hand firmly, saying just one phrase, “I am counting on you.”
I went down the stairs leading Nagumo to the ready room for the air crews, where the Akagi’s Captain, Kiichi Hasegawa, had also come down from the bridge. The lights in the ready room were dim. The narrow room could not accommodate many people, and some of the air crews overflowed into the passage. On the blackboard in the front side of the room, the present position of the Akagi was indicated as of 6:00 AM: True north of Oahu Island, 230 nautical miles.
I stood in front of the crew to give a command. “Attention.”
Then I saluted Captain Hasegawa, who raised his voice quickly. “Commence in accordance with your orders.”
The air crews left the ready room and scattered towards their own planes. I left the room last of all and went up to the departure command center for just a short while. On the way, somebody tapped my shoulder, and I looked back to find Genda there. We looked at each other and grinned. That was all, but everything was understood.
At the departure command center, the Head of Aviation, Masuda, was busy commanding the launching operation. He looked at me and asked, “Commander, it’s pitching quite hard. I wonder if the night departure procedure is OK.”
As he said this, the sea was becoming rougher, and the pitch of the ship exceeded 10 degrees. The ships’ bows were hitting the water so hard that the waves were thrown up to splash on the flight deck. The sky was black, and even the horizon could not be distinguished. If this had been a drill, it certainly would have been suspended until sunrise, but we were now at the final moment of a winor-lose bet. How could we run away?
I responded, “There is nothing to worr
y about. We just have to measure the timing of pitching to launch properly.”
Then, the ensign in charge of launching said, “I think it will work if we release the wheel blocks one by one according to the pitching cycle.” I was encouraged by his clever advice and tapped his shoulder saying, “I trust you.”
“Well, I’ve got to go.” I nodded to the people gathered in the departure command center and noticed that even the chief doctor, who rarely showed up in the center, was there to see us off.
Hearing their voices of salute behind me, I approached my plane. My plane was marked especially for the General Commander, with three red lines drawn on a yellow background covering the entire tail wing, and it was distinguishable even in darkness.
Waiting for me at the side of the plane was a senior petty officer from the air squadron’s maintenance group. Assisting me to board the plane, he handed over a hachimaki [white headband], saying, “This is a present from the maintenance crews with a wish that they would like to accompany you to Pearl Harbor themselves. Please put it on and go with our wishes.”
I nodded heartily and received the hachimaki, wearing it tightly on my aviation cap.
“Start your engines.” The command was issued by the command center, and engines started to rotate. The mother ship headed towards the wind, turning her bow to the left. The wind was coming from the north. Along with the Z flag, the battle flag was hoisted now on top of the mast. Planes that had completed their trial runs long ago put on their flight light, one after another. The flight lights were quivering with the vibration of the propellers.
“Take off!” From the command center, a green signal light was swung in a large circle; this was the order to commence launching. The planes started to take off from the forward area where the fighters were positioned. As soon as the sound of the engine became louder, the plane started to move. The pitch of the ship was still strong, and the flight deck was constantly dipping into the sea surface. People watching the departure held their breath. Then, at the next moment, the plane took off smoothly from the ship. Soon, the next plane followed and took off, and the next… There was a sudden outburst of “Banzai,” and caps, handkerchiefs and hands were shaken with great energy.
Thus, the first wave of the combined fighters and bombers, 183 planes, took off from the six carriers. And they got into formations guided by the Aldis lamp on the commander’s plane of each group. I was on the first plane spearheading the groups, and I made a long circle above the fleet to confirm the arrangement of the flying formation. The assembly of the first wave of the air attack squadron was completed in 15 minutes. I then turned the indicator needle to Oahu Island while flying above the flagship Akagi. It was 6:15 AM (Tokyo time, 1:45 AM, December 8th).
I was full of enthusiasm and courage in the lead position—the first plane of the first wave—of the entire attacking force, shouldering the destiny of my beloved country. I thought at that moment that I was glad that I was born a man. I must somehow have anticipated this scene during my childhood when I first wanted to be a soldier. And I was surely born to be a warrior of the Japanese Empire. Back in those days, I did not take it seriously when my father believed in the notion of being born under a lucky star, but now I understood that I was exactly the one who had been born under a good star. My past days of youth were indeed just for this one day. “OK, I will leave nothing undone in today’s command of the battle.”
19
Oahu Island in Sight
The flight formation of the first wave attack squadron was spearheaded by my plane as General Commander, followed by 49 level bombers under my direct command. And 500 meters to the right, at a lower altitude by 200 meters, we were followed by 40 torpedo bombers led by Lieutenant Commander Murata. To the left, 500 meters apart and flying 200 meters higher, 51 dive bombers were led by Lieutenant Commander Takahashi. Finally, 43 Zero fighters led by Lieutenant Commander Itaya accompanied the formation groups providing reconnaissance and air-support.
Our flight altitude was 3,000 meters, and thick clouds hung below us.
Our flight speed was 125 knots, and it would be one and one-half hours more of flying above the clouds to Oahu.
It was 6:30 in the morning, and the sun was rising. Below us, there was the vast expanse of a sea of clouds, all in white, looking like someone had spread floss all over. As soon as the eastern sky started to turn to a cobalt color, a huge immense sun peeped through the clouds. It was a burning crimson ball. Then, the brilliant rays of the sun shone all over. It looked exactly as if our naval flag filled the entire sky. I took this to mean the dawn of Japan.
At the sight of the rising sun, I unconsciously uttered, “Glorious dawn!” I said this in English. Back then, English was rejected as a hostile language, but I studied English privately in the belief that if we had to fight with the United States, the language would be needed. That was why the English came out at that moment.
There was a considerable tail wind from the north, which made me think arrival time to Oahu would be shorter than originally scheduled. However, since we were flying above the clouds, the sea surface was not visible. Under these conditions, we could not use dead reckoning navigation to measure our drift. While useful devices like radar were not yet installed, the General Commander’s plane alone was equipped with a radio direction finder called “Kruesi,” imported from the US [and made by Fairchild Co., Ltd.]. I did not put much faith in this equipment, taking the connotation of the name Kruesi [which sounds like kurushi, meaning “hardship” or “suffering”] as a joke and to be used only in case of trouble. Now we were somewhat in trouble, and I thought we could try the equipment.
Putting the receivers on my ears, I switched it on, turned the dial, and swinging jazz music came through loud and clear. No doubt, the radio signal was from a Honolulu broadcasting station. Then, I measured the direction with the frame-type antenna.
“Lieutenant Matsuzaki,” I called the pilot, Mitsuo Matsuzaki, through the plane’s voice pipe.
The General Commander’s plane had three seats. The experienced Matsuzaki was seated in the pilot’s seat; I sat in the middle reconnaissance seat to take command of the entire force along with navigation duties. In the rear seat, the expert telegrapher, Senior Chief Petty Flight Officer Tokunobu Mizuki, was responsible for radio communications.
“Yes, sir,” responded Matsuzaki.
“We caught the radio broadcast from Honolulu. From this point on, we will use radio navigation. Is the Kruesi’s indicator in your seat working?”
“Yes. The needle indicates 5 degrees to the left.”
“You’re right. Maintain the course on the needle.”
“I understand, Sir.”
The pilot adjusted the course, and the plane descended a bit. Then, fixing the needle as suggested by the Kruesi, Matsuzaki reported, “All set, Sir.” This undoubtedly put the plane on the course to Honolulu.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but thinking that if Oahu was covered with clouds, it would be a bit troublesome. Unintentionally, I turned the dial trying to adjust the sensitivity of my Kruesi, and then the Honolulu broadcast began announcing the morning weather forecast. Of course, it was in English, and it was occasionally repeated slowly. I made a quick note with a pencil on the memo pad. Amazingly, it was an aviation weather report that was translated as:
The weather on Oahu Island is partially clear, with clouds covering the mountains. The clouds’ altitude is 3,500 feet {about 1,000 meters} but with good visibility and a north wind at 10 knots.
“We’ve got it,” I shouted in spite of myself. If things had been prearranged, the most needed information would not have come at a more perfect time. As I thought earlier, I was lucky, and I was grateful. There was no mistaking that success was at hand.
With the knowledge of the weather at our destination, I felt totally relieved. What pleased me most of all was the fact that the clouds in the sky above Oahu were broken. The time was 7:30 AM, one hour and thirty minutes from takeoff. We should have been
close to reaching Oahu, but the island’s shape refused to come into sight, still shrouded in the midst of seemingly endless clouds.
I was becoming somewhat irritated. As I happened to look down, I thought, “How strange!” My understanding was that Oahu was mountainous, but suddenly, through the wisp of clouds, I could see a stretched white line at the water’s edge.
“Matsuzaki, look down. That’s the coast line.”
“Yes, Sir. It’s the coast line.”
I quickly checked the air map. This was the north edge of Oahu Island, Kahuku Point.
“Matsuzaki, we are above Kahuku Point. Now, change the course to the right to go around to the west side of the island, along the beach.”
“Yes Sir. I am changing the course to the right.”
The Commander General’s plane made a wide bank, changing the course to the right decisively. During our course change, I could clearly see the formation groups that followed the General Commander’s plane. I opened the windshield to stand up. Lieutenant Kentaro Iwai, second element leader of the first squadron of the Akagi’s level bombers, was positioned closest to us and waved his hand to salute. Every silver wing in the sky was shining with the reflection of the morning sunlight. I patiently counted each one of them. All 183 planes of the first wave air attack squadron were confirmed, and not a single plane had fallen out.
Then the moment to give the command for deployment came. Deployment means shifting from a flight formation to a standby formation for attack. While the groups took concerted action during flight formation, once entering the attack formation, each squadron had its own directives to carry out. On the command of deployment, the torpedo bombing squadron would lower its altitude to prepare to launch their torpedoes, the dive bombing squadron would take position on the upwind side to take advantage of the tail wind in their approach, and, in contrast, the level bombing squadron would take position on the leeward side as they would enter the target area against the wind.
For That One Day: The Memoirs of Mitsuo Fuchida, Commander of the Attack on Pearl Harbor Page 9