For That One Day: The Memoirs of Mitsuo Fuchida, Commander of the Attack on Pearl Harbor

by Tadanori Urabe

  “There was a communication from Vice-Commandant Toshihira Inoguchi of the Gunnery School. After words of congratulations, he lamented that, while he expected a lot and that it was time to witness achievement from our big guns in the Naval Battle off Malaya, the credit was again taken by the airplanes. He is quite right, but the war is going to be a long affair, and various opportunities should arise ahead. There should be opportunities to fully exert the strength of the big guns of our capital ships.”

  This was the irredeemable Big Ship-Big Gun policy. In retrospect, I wonder if there was any situation in which the big guns of our battleships exerted their real strength during the Pacific War. Incidentally, Inoguchi of the Naval Gunnery School, the main temple of the Big Ship-Big Gun policy, was later assigned as Captain of the monster battleship, Musashi. On the occasion of the Battle of Leyte, Musashi received concentrated and repeated aerial attacks by carrier-based planes from Halsey’s task force fleet, and he shared his ship’s destiny in the Sibuyan Sea.

  As we have seen, the reasons we lost the Pacific War were already evident in the early stages of the war—in the Navy’s inability to respond spontaneously to the changing nature of warfare operations, the rapid evolution of air power, and the obsession with the big gun policy at the top, as typified by Chief of Staff Ugaki.

  25

  Campaign in the South

  The eight capital ships of the US Pacific Fleet were destroyed completely by the attack of the 360 carrier-based planes dispatched from six carriers of the Nagumo Task Force Fleet. In actual battle, it had been proven that battleships were nothing but floating targets destined to be sunk in the face of air power. However, stubborn supporters of the battleships insisted that it was an anchored fleet, and, besides, they argued, the enemy had let their guard down. Then, when those words were hardly out of their mouths, the Battle off Malaya took place. The pride of the British Navy, HMS Prince of Wales and the battle cruiser, HMS Repulse, were sunk in action while steaming in the open sea.

  Soon enough, lessons from the Battles of Hawaii and off Malaya awakened the US Navy and prompted it to reconstruct itself based on the creation of grand task force fleets with carriers as the main force. On the other hand, the Imperial Japanese Navy itself was far from being awakened by these same battle lessons, and they were, instead, at odds with air power, continuing to pursue dreams of decisive fleet battles with battleships as the main force.

  As evidence of their misguided policy, soon after the Nagumo Task Force Fleet returned, instead of reinforcing this squadron, the central naval authority started to dismantle the most powerful task force fleet in the world. Specifically, they decided to take out approximately twenty percent of the carrier crews and re-assign them as instructors at training air squadrons for the purpose of the quick training of new air crews in large numbers. There was no argument about the necessity to produce a large number of new air crews. However, during the early days of the war, dismantling the carrier-based air crews of the Nagumo Task Force Fleet should have been the last thing on anyone’s mind.

  In the early days of the war, these carrier air crews attained god-like levels of skill—enough to win a world championship if there were one—and not only on the level of individual skills but also in the emotional bonds forged between senior and junior crews that unified squadrons and created better coordination among the squadrons. This combined strength was the source of the reputation of the Nagumo Task Fleet as the strongest in the world, and breaking up this combination would require at least another six months of training to re-build our strength. The war had just started, and I felt outraged that they got the whole thing wrong.

  If the central authority was thoroughly committed to the theory that our main force should be organized around the task force fleet, instructors and trainers could be extracted from different sources. Concurrent with the dismantling of air crews by the central authority, the Command Center of the Combined Fleet divided the Nagumo Task Force Fleet from one military division into two units. The new units were Carrier Division 5 (Shokaku, Zuikaku), commanded by Rear Admiral Chuichi Hara, which would remain on the eastern front, and the Task Force Fleet, commanded by Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, comprised of Carrier Division 1 (Akagi, Kaga) and Carrier Division 2 (Soryu, Hiryu), four carriers in total, to conduct the Campaign in the South.

  I was utterly appalled by their lack of foresight. The combination of six carriers should never have been broken up. Who on earth did the Command Center of the Combined Fleet think the Japanese Navy’s main enemy was? It was the US Navy. That being the case, they should have kept the six-carrier combination intact in order to confront the enemy on the eastern front, even enhancing their capacity instead of splitting up the Nagumo Task Force.

  It was my belief that if we could wipe out the US fleet on the eastern front, the Campaign in the South would fall our way just like a ripe fruit drops with no effort. My judgment is that the measures taken by the central authority and the Command Center of the Combined Fleet to dismantle the Nagumo Task Force after they returned from Pearl Harbor was the first step in our losing the Pacific War.

  Ironically, although the Japanese Navy pioneered the organizational concept of up-to-date task force fleets, they destroyed the concept themselves. In contrast, the US Navy, which had fallen short in its initiatives, was steadily expediting the creation of a grand task force fleet. In the end, it was the US Navy—not the Japanese Navy—that expanded the battle achievements of Pearl Harbor.

  The main focus of the initial battles of the Pacific War, as plotted out by Imperial Headquarters, was the operation in the south. The main objective of this operation was the acquisition of strategic materials. It was regarded as indispensable for Japan, which suffered from a scarcity of the strategic materials required to pursue the war effort.

  The air-raid on Pearl Harbor was carried out in order to prevent the intervention of the US Pacific Fleet during the Campaign in the South. Both Imperial Headquarters and the Command Center of the Combined Fleet focused on the Campaign in the South, which they called the First Stage Operation; both were totally satisfied with the battle results of Pearl Harbor; both felt that the threat from the US Pacific Fleet during the First Stage Operation had been eliminated. Naturally, it was why they decided to divert four carriers from the Nagumo Task Force to the Campaign in the South.

  The initial objective of the campaign was to capture Rabaul, a small town in Papua New Guinea. On January 23, 1942, Carrier Division 1 (Akagi, Kaga), under the direct command of Vice Admiral Nagumo, advanced to the north-eastern sea off New Ireland, and launched an air-raid on Rabaul and Kavieng, the capital of New Ireland Province. In a separate action, Carrier Division 5 (Shokaku, Zuikaku), led by Rear Admiral Hara, launched an air-raid on Lae, the capital of Moroe Province in Papua New Guinea, and on Salamaua, a nearby town. Our objective was to annihilate the enemy’s air power in each area, but it turned out that the enemy did not deploy significant air power at either site.

  I commanded the air-raid on Rabaul, leading a combination of fighters and bombers, 90 planes in total. As we arrived in the sky above Rabaul, we witnessed two planes taking off. Trying to escape, they were raising a cloud of dust. They were chased by several Zero fighters of the air superiority squadron and were shot down quickly. Afterwards, there was not a single sighting of an enemy plane either on the ground or in the air, leaving only the large grounds of the Second Air Field.

  I was in trouble. Where were we going to drop the bombs we were carrying? It would be detrimental to bombard and destroy the facilities in the area because our landing forces would occupy and use the facilities as early as tomorrow. If we bombarded private residences, we would create a level of resentment that would hamper our occupation campaign afterwards. However, if we did not drop the bombs before landing on the carriers, landing would be very risky and likely cause accidents.

  I was at a sheer loss and looked around to search for possible targets. Then, I spotted a transport ship in Rabaul Bay.
Since its propeller was moving, the ship obviously was attempting to escape. I signaled the accompanying dive bombing squadron. Soon, three planes began their diving descent. As soon as we saw smoke from the explosion on the transport ship, it headed towards the beach in an attempt to avoid sinking.

  I then looked around to see if there was an additional target. There was an active volcano at the entrance of Rabaul Bay, and there was a gun battery at the base of the mountain. Seeing it as a potential threat to our landing troops, I ordered the 36 level bombers under my direct command to drop all of the 800-kilogram bombs which they were carrying.

  After we returned to the Akagi, Lieutenant Furukawa, the squadron commander, asked me, “Commander, have you noticed that when the bombs exploded on the gun battery, the volcanic smoke became much thicker?”

  Without thinking, I answered, “That can’t be.” Everybody burst into laughter at Furukawa’s joke. Joke or not, I did not understand how the Command Center of the Combined Fleet could deploy the main force of the Japanese Navy in an operation where it was difficult to locate bombing targets. That was like using a sledge-hammer to crack a nut. I still respected Admiral Yamamoto, but it was around that time that a seed of suspicion was born that Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto might be a mediocre admiral.

  26

  Air-Raid over Trincomalee

  The Nagumo Task Force moved towards the north and launched an air-raid on the strategic British naval port of Trincomalee, on the Island of Ceylon, on April 9, 1942. The formation of the air attack squadron was the same as the attack on Colombo. I led the first wave, 180 planes taking off 30 minutes before sunrise according to our customary practice. The weather was fine.

  We found two light cruisers, several destroyers and about a dozen transport vessels at anchor in the port of Trincomalee. On the airfield, approximately 20 planes were lined up on the apron in front of the hangar. They probably had radar, because as we approached Trincomalee, British Hurricanes ambushed and intercepted us. Enemy ground fire also commenced quickly.

  However, our battle achievements were enormous. The air superiority squadron, which had wiped out enemy planes in the air in no time, rushed to the airfield, strafed the planes which were lined up on the ground and set them ablaze. The dive bombing squadron eliminated the ships in the port. Meanwhile, the level bombing squadron under my direct command carried 800-kilogram bombs for land targets, and we concentrated our bombing on facilities in the naval shipyard area. Then, probably because of an induced explosion at the ammunition depot, there were continuous explosions that appeared like a spectacular fireworks display.

  Looking around and seeing that the enemy forces and facilities in Trincomalee had been destroyed completely, I then assembled the air superiority squadron to embark on our return course. As we were heading back, there was a report from our reconnaissance plane of an enemy sighting.

  “One enemy carrier and one destroyer are heading south.”

  I hastened my return. As I arrived on the Akagi, Genda came out of the operations room to tell me, “Egusa’s second wave bombardment squadron has just left. All escort fighters are up in the air. I want you to go out again.”

  “OK. It will be a torpedo attack this time.”

  Then, at the same moment that the command—“Anti-air battle!”—was blared out, there were the mellow, resonant “boom-boom-boom” sounds of explosions. As we watched, four bombs dropped on the starboard side, and two bombs dropped on the port side, creating white columns of water, which sandwiched the Akagi’s bow. We were being bombarded by enemy planes. With a sigh of relief, both Genda and I looked up at the sky. It was an assault of a six-plane formation of the enemy’s heavy bombers. Their altitude was 4,000 meters, and they were Bristol Blenheims of the British Royal Air Force.

  Our air-cover escort fighters chased after the planes. Before long, one of the enemy planes was falling with a tail of fire. Then, another one was engulfed in black smoke. The ensuing air combats became invisible from the Akagi. Our air-cover escort fighters continued to chase after the remaining escaping enemy heavy bombers, until all of them had been shot down. However, Lieutenant Sumio Nohno, commander of the air-cover escort fighter squadron and divisional officer of the Hiryu, never returned.

  Separately, the reconnaissance plane in contact with the enemy carrier reported that the ship was the Hermes. It also reported that the carrier was accompanied by a destroyer and that there was a large merchant ship nearby. Suddenly, the Akagi’s enemy communications team picked up a telephone conversation from the Hermes, frantically calling Trincomalee Base. “Have the Hurricanes launched? Have the Hurricanes launched?” They were apparently requesting the urgent dispatch of Hurricanes, but the Hurricanes had been destroyed by our first wave attack.

  Then, a familiar simple and clear radio command from Egusa came in: “Take assault formation.” The dive bombing squadron appeared to have spotted the Hermes. A second radio command followed, “All forces, attack.”

  Akagi’s enemy communication team soon reported that the frantic telephone messages had stopped. Then, a short while later, a radio message from Commander Egusa came in.

  “Hermes is inclining to the left.”

  “Hermes has been sunk.”

  Cheering broke out on the bridge.

  “Get the destroyer next.”

  “The destroyer has been sunk.”

  “Get the remaining large merchant ship.”

  “The large merchant ship has been sunk.”

  It was really a remarkable battle development, all this happening in only 20 minutes. Besides, we still had more unused cards in our hand.

  Commander Nagumo decided that the Indian Ocean operation was concluded with the air-raid on Trincomalee. The Command Center of the Combined Fleet also agreed and ordered the Nagumo Task Force to return inland.

  Thus, the Nagumo Task Force took the return course inland, passing through the Straits of Malacca and heading north to the South China Sea. There, he separated from Rear Admiral Hara’s Carrier Division 5, which would resume deployment on the eastern front.

  Sometime later, I was cooling off in a folding chair on the flight deck. The Southern Cross was twinkling low near the horizon. By the following night, we would be parting with that star. I was thinking back on the path taken by the Nagumo Task Force over the past four months since the start of the war.

  The distance covered by the Nagumo Task Force extended fifty thousand nautical miles—from Hawaii in the east to Ceylon in the west, from cold wind and raging seas in the north to windless, burning heat in the south—with phenomenal battle achievements. Morale could not have been better, and skill levels had matured to the point of matching those of the gods.

  However, I continued to ponder the question of whether it was right to have deployed the main force of the Japanese Navy, the Nagumo Task Force, for dubious operations. It appears that when the Nagumo Task Force returned from Pearl Harbor, Imperial Headquarters and the Command Center of the Combined Fleet thought that they were available as a supplementary resource. It was a waste of their capacity to leave them idle, so they tried to use them for the Campaign in the South. Once deployed, the task force proved to be useful, and that led to their deployment for operations of secondary significance, one after another. However, I believed that the primary operation was the eastern front. It was not that the Nagumo Task Force was an available resource; rather, they would have been shorthanded if the leaders had thought about who the main enemy was. And our main enemy was in the east. What a wasteful squandering of opportunity it was, leaving the US Navy unattended in the eastern front.

  In order to win the war, as I have always insisted, they should have discarded the antiquated concept of a Navy organized around a First and Second Fleet that won the Battle of the Sea of Japan, organizing instead around a grand task force fleet with the Nagumo Task Force as the core unit and deploying for grand maneuvers on the eastern front under the direct command of Admiral Yamamoto. Then, the opportunity to clash with th
e enemy’s task force with our overwhelming superiority would have inevitably occurred. I deeply resented the lapse of the four months which had been wasted, loitering.

  27

  Hashirajima Fleet

  The Combined Fleet called these first four months—from the commencement of the war on December 8, 1941 until completion of the Campaign in the South—the First Stage Operation. However, I wonder what Admiral Yamamoto was doing during this First Stage Operation.

  By originating the idea of a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, pushing through the operation in spite of opposition from various fronts, and finally bringing the operation to a successful conclusion, Yamamoto enjoyed a huge reputation as a brilliant admiral—even as a god-like admiral. Starting from his career as Vice-Commandant of the Naval Academy’s Kasumigaura Aviation School, Yamamoto rose through the ranks with experience as Captain of the aircraft carrier Akagi, Commander of the First Air Squadron and Head of Naval Aviation Headquarters. He was admired for having nurtured Japan’s naval aviation. He was certainly the admiral with the most profound understanding of air power. But to get back to the point, “What was Admiral Yamamoto doing during the First Stage Operation?”

  On December 16, 1941, the super battleship Yamato was commissioned and enrolled in the First Squadron of the Combined Fleet. Yamamoto quickly designated the Yamato as the flagship of the Combined Fleet, moving the Admiral’s Flag from the Nagato. Naturally, this made perfect sense. In the Seven Seas of the world, never before had such a mammoth battleship existed.

  But what came afterward was not commendable. Admiral Yamamoto led groups of people from other battleships on board the Yamato, still referring to them as the main force, and throughout the First Stage Operation, these battleships remained as an idle force, refusing to move from Hashirajima Anchorage in Hiroshima Bay.