After they both circle one more time to allow traffic to clear, Rowdy nervously begins final approach. This will be a great story to tell the grandkids, he tell himself, if I live long enough to have kids in the first place.
Rowdy knows why Major Worth had posed the bailout option. A lot could go wrong landing without the nose gear. Done indelicately, the nose could strike the ground hard enough to cause structural degradation and crush the pilot’s legs. There is also the possibility of the nose digging in and the plane flipping end over end, coming to rest upside down with the pilot’s head crushed. Landing with all the gear retracted is a direct ticket to the scrap heap and a chance for the pilot to die in a fire. Even if the plane is not that badly damaged, the bulldozer that would clear her expeditiously from the busy runway will finish her off.
He pushed those dire possibilities from his mind. Dammit, these birds ain’t exactly throw-aways. I’m supposed to be able to bring me and her back even when we’re banged up and that’s just what I’m fixing to do.
His legs, no longer numb but now shaking badly, are having a rough time working the rudder pedals, but he manages to get the plane aligned with the runway. The airspeed over the runway threshold is a bit high. As Rowdy flares her for touchdown, she begins a float that seems to go on forever as the speed slowly bleeds off. Fearing he is going to use up the entire length of the runway without actually touching the ground, Rowdy jumps ahead in the instructions John had given him and shuts the engines down while the plane is still a few feet off the ground.
A rapid deceleration results and the aircraft loses lift instantly. The impact of the main gear wheels with the runway is exceedingly firm. The left gear tire blows out immediately and before Rowdy can even think about holding the nose off, it strikes the ground violently. Clouds of sparks and dust fly from the Marsden Mat runway surface as the airplane slews off the runway and quickly comes to rest in the scrub. Rowdy, shaken but uninjured, has some trouble getting out of the cockpit but is assisted by the crash crew, who arrive moments after the plane comes to rest. There is no fire.
The control tower asks John to land on the same runway Rowdy has just barely managed to clear. They again have a backlog of traffic and need to use both runways simultaneously. John replies, “Affirmative,” and sets his wounded machine down smoothly.
During the landing rollout, John notices something strange--he cannot move the control column forward. Glancing back at the tail, he sees the reason why. The antenna wire that had separated from the right vertical stabilizer is now wrapped around the upper counterbalance of the elevator. The counterbalances are small, football-shaped devices that protrude from the upper and lower elevator surfaces, between the vertical tails, at mid-span. Right now, snagged by the antenna wire, the counterbalance acts as an effective lock on the downward deflection of the elevator.
John blows a whistle of relief. He had never noticed any control problems because all this happened during low-speed flight. There is rarely any call during a normal approach and landing to use “down” elevator as the nose tends to drop at low speeds and low power settings. Most elevator input during landing is always in the “up” direction and the snagged antenna did not prevent this motion. Had this happened at high speed--perhaps while being pursued--this would have been a deadly problem.
As Corporal Petrillo guides f-stop into her parking spot, John can already see the agitation in Chuck Jaworski’s facial expression and body language.
“JUST WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY AIRPLANE NOW?” Jaworski says in mock reproach as he opens the cockpit canopy.
“Fucking birds, Sarge…fucking birds!” is John’s exasperated reply.
At the debrief, the photos from this mission show no evidence of the nuclear device.
Rowdy’s cameras are amazingly undamaged from the landing, but some of the photos are blurred and useless, no doubt the result of the inflight vibration.
The overall mission results are considered “satisfactory” by the Intelligence staff.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Colonel Ozawa anxiously thumbed the piece of paper in his hand for what must have been the hundredth time. Written on it were the words the Imperial High Command would broadcast over Radio Tokyo to authorize the deployment of the nuclear device. It would be delivered as a simple code, very much like the one used almost four years ago to signal the Pearl Harbor task force to execute its attack on the United States. Like that code, Ozawa’s was made to sound like a weather report. The Pearl Harbor message had been the words east wind rain.
Colonel Ozawa listened to the wireless, awaiting the message printed on the paper in his hand, a voice that would say east wind returns.
The first Japanese sighting of the invasion fleet was on the morning of 4 November by the crew of a naval reconnaissance aircraft out of Formosa. They spotted the large fleet of warships and troop transports carrying the 6th Army’s eight divisions between the Philippines and Okinawa, heading north to Kyushu. The Japanese aircraft was quickly shot down by US Navy fighters, but not before transmitting its message of warning.
Later that same day a Japanese submarine 450 miles southwest of Kyushu encountered the fleet of warships and transports carrying the three Marine divisions from the Marianas. It, too, got off its message before submerging and fleeing the depth charges sent its way. It lurked alone for another day, trying to penetrate the fleet’s destroyer screen, finally succumbing to bombs from carrier-based aircraft when caught on the surface in daylight.
Combined, the two American fleets totaled over 3000 vessels. This included warships of all types, troop transports, and landing ships for tanks and vehicles. It did not count the myriad small landing craft the troop transports carried.
As Admiral Nimitz had supposed, the Japanese had their two to three day warning.
For the next two days, the sky above Kyushu was filled day and night with bombers of the 5th and 20th Air Forces, striking airfields and ports all over the large island. Population centers near the invasion sites were struck, as well, since large troop concentrations were suspected to be concealed there. During the day missions, Army fighters provided escort coverage for the bombers and strafed ground targets. The American bombers and fighters met heavy anti-aircraft fire but few opposing aircraft. Their losses were light. Over 1000 Japanese ground troops died in the bombings. Several thousand more were wounded and unable to fight. American estimates of Japanese aircraft destroyed on the ground were very high, if not purely speculative.
During the nights of 4 and 5 November, several hundred Kamikaze, each carrying a large high-explosive bomb, would fly off in search of the invasion fleets without fear of challenge from US Navy fighters, hoping to locate the blacked-out ships in the moonlight and destroy them. Many planes never found the ships, their woefully inexperienced pilots flying about blindly in the dark until they ran out of fuel and fell into the sea. Those that did find the ships had great difficulty executing their attacks against the moving targets in the darkness. It was not uncommon for a suicide plane to sight the luminous wake of a ship and dive on it, only to impact the sea adjacent to the target vessel. The Americans blindly put up volumes of anti-aircraft fire in fixed, predetermined patterns; the ships’ losses were very light, almost negligible. Over 800 suicide aircraft and their pilots were expended before the invasion fleet was within sight of Kyushu, with no impact to the fleet’s relentless progress. None of these aircraft had carried enough fuel for a round trip.
The morning of 6 November, over 1000 Kamikaze aircraft rose--for the first time in daylight--to fly against the invasion fleet, now less than 120 miles from Kyushu. US Army and Navy fighters were there to meet them before they even left the ground. The suicide planes, often decrepit, barely flyable, and with novice pilots at the controls, were easy pickings. They fell by the hundreds, both over their home island and en route to the American ships, but they had risen in such numbers that almost 400 managed to appear over the invasion fleet, to be further challenged by intense
shipboard anti-aircraft fire. As in earlier Kamikaze attacks at the Philippines and Okinawa, the outer defensive ring of the fleet took the brunt of the attack. Of the 28 vessels actually struck by suicide aircraft that morning, 17 were destroyers on the outer ring. A total of eight vessels were sunk, with 34 sailors dead and 115 injured. Army and Marine casualties on the transports totaled 18 dead, 67 injured.
In the pre-dawn darkness of 7 November--“X” day plus zero, or simply X+0--Admiral Spruance’s warships began the largest naval bombardment in history on the southern shores of Kyushu. Two thousand guns rained tens of thousands of shells on Miyazaki, Ariake Bay, and Kushikino, hammering the beaches and heights beyond. Landing ships modified to carry multiple rocket launchers instead of cargo lobbed thousands of 5-inch rockets into the landing zones.
When the naval bombardment ended two hours later, the landing ships and smaller landing craft full of invasion troops were already making their way to the beaches. Navy carrier aircraft swooped down to provide air support on demand. They were the first to see Japanese soldiers scurrying from caves and bunkers to their crude defensive positions after the naval bombardment had ended. Lacking overhead cover, these inexperienced troops fell to the guns and bombs of the Navy planes in large numbers. Several thousand were out of action before the first landing craft hit the beach.
The Kamikaze onslaught to the invasion fleet continued the morning of 7 November. There were approximately 1000 suicide aircraft and pilots left. While reports flowed to headquarters that “hundreds” of troop transports had been sunk and most of the invaders drowned, the commanders of the Kamikaze units knew better. As they had seen in past campaigns, their inexperienced pilots, under the extreme stress of combat and imminent death, tried to attack the first ship they saw, which was usually a small warship on the outer edge of the fleet. Few were able to discern the difference between a transport, destroyer, or light cruiser from high altitude. Heavy cruisers and battleships were almost impossible to differentiate. Only aircraft carriers were obvious, and they were the most well-protected vessels of all, sitting in the middle of multiple defensive rings. Hundreds of suicide planes had tried to attack carriers at Leyte and Okinawa; only a handful succeeded. The battle for Kyushu was to be no different. By nightfall on 7 November, less than 200 suicide aircraft and pilots had not yet flown; some of them would never fly due to lack of fuel. The almost 3000 who had gone before them in the last three days had managed to knock out of action only 5 percent of the invasion fleet, less than half of that number being troop transports. The American planes hovering over their airfields in great numbers had made all the difference; this was one advantage the Americans had lacked in the earlier Kamikaze campaigns at the Philippines and Okinawa.
The Japanese generals had been proven correct in their assessment that the American invasion forces would successfully storm the beaches. The Army divisions poured ashore at Miyazaki and Ariake Bay, the Marines at Kushikino. The fighting was intense and close-in. The Japanese generals were also correct when they said a beach defense would mitigate the broad American advantage in air and sea firepower. Nearly every yard gained by the invaders was the result of successful tactics at the company, platoon, and squad level. Wherever the invaders failed to make progress, it was due to the collapse of leadership and discipline at the same small unit levels.
The greatest progress was made by the Army at Miyazaki and the Marines at Kushikino. They met their objectives and by mid-afternoon had secured beachheads over a kilometer deep, despite intense opposition. Landing ships were then able to put ashore large numbers of tanks and artillery, further solidifying and expanding their gains. They did well for units comprised to a large degree of green troops. They maintained proper combat formations, used fire and maneuver effectively, and managed to prevail against the desperate efforts of the equally green Japanese defenders.
The Army forces at Ariake Bay, however, bogged down almost immediately. Navigation errors by several landing craft elements resulted in the jumbled and confused arrival of the 1st Cavalry and 43rd Infantry Divisions. Command and control quickly broke down while units tried to figure out where they were and how to get to where they were supposed to be while under murderous fire. Numerous companies just hunkered down on the beach, to be devastated by Japanese mortars and artillery. Only the ad hoc adjustments of the corps commander, stalking the beach in his jeep like a man convinced of his immunity to enemy fire, restored some sort of order to the debacle. By mid- afternoon, they had suffered heavy casualties, secured just a few hundred yards, and had landed little in the way of tanks and artillery. Only fire support from Navy aircraft kept them from being driven back into the sea. The Navy pilots had been effective and not confused as to the whereabouts of the friendlies, as they held only a thin ribbon at the shoreline. General Krueger was not able to bring his headquarters ashore that first day, further complicating communications between the three beachheads. The link-up between these beachhead elements, planned for 9 November, or X+2, was already in jeopardy.
Colonel Ozawa, waiting with the nuclear device in the cave, received no deployment order from Radio Tokyo. After hearing General Takarabe’s report of the American failure at Ariake Bay, the Imperial War Council decided it was not yet time to use the nuclear device.
General MacArthur was not pleased with General Krueger once again. The poor performance at Ariake Bay was all too reminiscent of his sluggish start in the Philippine campaign. In a strongly worded communiqué, he urged Krueger to immediately deploy his reserves at Ariake and save that operation from collapsing. Krueger had kept his two reserve divisions on board ships southeast of Kyushu. He had expected to deploy at least part of his reserve to support the peripheral operations by elements of the 40th Infantry Division on the islands of Yaku-shima, Tane-ga-shima, and Koshiki Retto, but this had proved not to be necessary; those small garrisons fell easily. Furious planning began to facilitate the reserve divisions’ landing at Ariake Bay on 8 November, at midday.
American aircraft were now the only ones in the sky above Kyushu. Their only opposition was the usual ground fire.
John Worth and his three-plane section flew as they had done every day for the past two weeks. Flying at medium to high levels to stay clear of the fray below, they had yet to sight or photograph the beer barrel shape of the suspected Japanese nuclear device.
One thought dominated John’s mind: Marge will land on Kyushu in two days…I’ve got to find this goddamn thing!
Chapter Forty-Eight
MacArthur’s headquarters had just transmitted its glowing report of Operation Olympic’s initial “success” to Washington. The report made no specific mention of the dire situation at Ariake Bay, only that the reserves were to be employed there on X+1 to exploit certain opportunities.
Nimitz’s report to Washington was unremarkable, saying only that the amphibious phase of Olympic had gone according to plan.
On Kyushu, the Japanese generals were not at all upset by the events of 7 November. Takarabe was, in fact, surprised and delighted with his force’s success at Ariake Bay. The Americans there seemed so disorganized, so ineffective; he had hopes the Ketsu-Go plan might, in fact, succeed by dominating at Ariake, thereby splitting the invasion forces and laying the groundwork for their piecemeal destruction. He was sure, however, that MacArthur would not give up easily; more forces must be on the way to shore up the failing effort at Ariake.
Takarabe got his answer the mid-morning of 8 November--X+1--when the ships bringing Krueger’s reserves appeared off Ariake Bay. The landings began as scheduled at midday, after a naval gun barrage that concentrated its firepower well beyond the small beachhead. The barrage was surprisingly effective, catching thousands of Japanese soldiers without overhead cover. These landings were made with far less confusion that those of X+0 and were far more effective. The depth of the beachhead doubled in just two hours, and by nightfall, it was almost a kilometer. American casualties were far lighter this day. While the Japanese continued to f
ight savagely, they employed generally poor tactics, usually remaining frozen in fixed positions as the invaders maneuvered, enveloped, and destroyed the inexperienced defenders in droves.
That evening, General Takarabe estimated in his report to the Imperial High Command that four to five divisions were now ashore at Ariake and gaining ground. He was doubtful his troops could prevail without immediate reinforcement. Reading Takarabe’s report, the War Council could not believe their good fortune: the nuclear device could now wipe out almost twice the number of invaders than originally planned. The Council decided that 9 November--X+2--would be the day to employ the device.
In the early morning darkness of 9 November, Tokyo Radio broadcasts a weather report containing the words east wind returns.
Major Watanabe, who is monitoring the radio receiver in the cave, immediately wakes Colonel Ozawa with the news. Rousing the sleeping men of their section, they begin the preparations to deploy the nuclear device.
Their plan is simple: release the flatcar’s brakes and let it roll down the gentle incline from the cave to the coastal plain, a distance of just over 2 kilometers. Ideally, they will stop the flatcar on a section of track 1.5 kilometers from the beach, within the device’s optimum blast radius. At this location they will be flanked by thick woods on both sides. If they cannot complete their movement and preparations for detonation in the dark of night, by day the woods will make the device’s detection from the air very difficult and impossible from the ground at the American beachhead.
In actuality, the plan proves anything but simple. Clearing the camouflage from the rail spur takes almost twice as long as planned and previously undetected track damage is found at the junction with the mainline track. Watanabe is prepared for such problems; the damaged section of track is quickly replaced and the brakes on the flatcar released once again. They progress only 200 meters before coming upon a section of track damaged by the latest naval barrage. This, too, is repaired, but it consumes precious time. The sun is rising. The device is still over 2.5 kilometers from the beachhead. It must be moved closer.
East Wind Returns Page 21