Struggle Pacific, page 7
part #3 of Pacific Alternate Series
A one-year contract to live and work in China, flying, repairing, and making airplanes. The pay was as much as $750 a month with 30 days off a year. Housing was included, and they got an extra $100 a month for food. On top of that, there was an additional $350 for every Japanese airplane they destroyed -- no limit—a very hefty sum in 1942.
They were considered heroes by the Chinese people since they were well trained and piloted excellent machines. Wherever they went, the Nationalist forces knew that there wouldn’t be Japanese planes attacking them. Their reputation was such that many imperial pilots just avoided them.
Facing chronic shortages of fuel, parts, and pilots, this small company of air fighters nevertheless scored victory after victory over the far larger and better-equipped Japanese air force. They flew supplies, provided air cover for the Burma Road before it fell, and were now involved in the fight for Kunming. Ultimately, they would give their all to protect the Chinese capital of Chungking. Surprise, mobility, precision flying, and unorthodox tactics enabled the Tigers to outwit the Japanese and inflict considerable damage on their air and ground forces.
The Tigers lacked many resources. Despite being located in areas with malaria and cholera, they had limited medical support. Pilots found the food disgusting. The slow mail from home and lack of women hurt morale.
A normal American air squadron had more than one hundred support people, while the Flying Tigers only had 45 maintenance personnel. Nonetheless, the elite pilots were officially credited with 247 enemy aircraft destroyed to that point of the war in September 1942, including 229 in the air. Ten of the pilots had so far been killed in action, captured, or disappeared on combat missions. Two died of wounds sustained in bombing raids, and six died in accidents or disease.
The Flying Tigers' kill ratio was superior to that of contemporary Allied air groups in Australia, India, and elsewhere in the Pacific theater. Their success was all the more remarkable since they were outnumbered by Japanese fighters in almost all their engagements. The P-40s were superior to the Japanese Air Force Ki-27 and Ki-43 outdated fighters, but the group's kill ratio against modern Zeros was still superior to their Nipponese counterparts.
They weren’t numerous (thirty Warhawks in total), but they were deadly as hell to their enemies. The Flying Tigers had transferred their base from Kunming to Chungking following the Imperial Army’s approach. They were a bit further away from the action, but it could not be helped; their airfield would have been overrun if they’d stayed in the besieged city.
They flew missions after missions to support the Nationalist forces battling it out with the 18th and 33rd Imperial Divisions in Kunming. In their own way, they contributed mightily to the battle that was unfolding at the beginning of September and, in a broader sense, were China’s very best in the air.
General Stilwell headquarters
The defense of Kunming, September 4th, 1942
At the outbreak of World War II (March 1942), General Joseph W. Stilwell (or “Vinegar Joe” because of his vitriolic temper) became General Chiang Kai-Shek’s chief of staff. He was placed in command of the Chinese 5th and 6th armies in the defenses of Southern China.
With a relationship poisoned by history, ill will, and conflicting strategic goals, the British and Nationalist Chinese allies were at loggerheads. China nonetheless needed a trained general to head its forces, and none fit the bill within its own armed forces. Roosevelt ordered Marshall to send a high-ranking general to China to be a buffer between the two and keep China in the war.
Stilwell, who had served three tours of duty in China, was the U.S. Army’s foremost expert on the area – not only fluent in Mandarin, he could curse a blue streak in several Chinese dialects.
As part of his command, he’d also commanded the forces that were brushed away by the Japanese 15th army in Bruma and at the Nu River.
The man was sitting in his lavish Chinese office in Generalissimo Shek’s official government building, the magnificent Mingliang Palace. The place had a history all right and was as old as over a thousand years. As he looked at the intricate (but dusty) tapestry, Chinese symbols carved on the walls, and green-tiled floor, its beautiful aspects reminded the American general of one sad fact. China could not stop the Japanese forces because it was weak, disorganized, and outfought.
The Chiang Kai-Shek government, known as the Nationalists, was so corrupt that Stilwell despaired of being able to stop the current Japanese offensive. It would indeed take a miracle for the 5th and 6th armies to destroy the Imperial forces. It was peculiar since the Chinese were five times superior quantitatively to the Japanese.
But numbers were not everything in war. The Chinese lacked heavy weapons and tanks. Also, they only had the Flying Tigers in terms of a real air force. And Shek’s government was so corrupt and ineffective that it was maddening.
He sat up from his chair to move to his other desk, where a staff officer had just brought in an operational map. Things would look dicey for a while, but he believed his forces had a chance, regardless of their other difficulties. The ground in the area was rugged, so he could organize a real defense in a spot where the Japanese Army's superior firepower could be somewhat negated.
While the battle for Kunming still raged, Stilwell knew he had to plan for its aftermath, for there were almost no chances of pushing the enemy back. But on the road to Chungking resided several choke points on the rugged roads. The area was ringed by mountains, so the general started to plan for the future. He also wrote down a few more requests to the Generalissimo for more troops. But he wasn’t certain his call would be answered. The Chinese leader had a peculiar way of managing a country, government, and war. Somethings Stilwell just didn’t understand.
67th Division command
Port Moresby, September 5th, 1942
General Harukichi Hyakutake was trying to read the report in his bunker. Another loud blast was heard just outside, shaking the ground like a major earthquake. A bunch of earth fell on the paper in his hands as he sat in a chair facing his oil-lit desk.
The 67th Division’s HQ was a dreary place. It had been dug in the difficult, rugged ground and had taken a long time. It was not as deep as it should have been since the men encountered bedrock after a few meters of digging. But at least it was something.
The rest of the men were a lot more exposed than the general, cowering in their trenches, so he figured that his predicament wasn’t so bad. Sort of. He inwardly despaired since he could not show his sentiments to the men around him. They all looked tired, worn, and with low morale.
After their last failed assault, he had no choice but to put his forces on the defensive, lacking ammunition (slowly coming through the Kokoda track) and the men needing some rest. There was also a new, very big problem to contend with. The battleship Washington was towering above the town in the harbor. It had been sunk alright but to a shallow depth and was still operational. The great ship had single-handedly broken several Imperial Army assaults and was responsible for Port Moresby’s continued resistance to date.
Several airstrikes had tried to destroy it, but it had been to no avail. The Imperial air force gutted it even more, but its damned guns continued to be operational. Understanding that they now had the trump card in the struggle, the Allies had concentrated all their flak guns near or around the ship. They also patrolled the air above it heavily and at all times. Every attack on Washington was paid for in blood by the pilots from Lae and Rabaul.
The General scratched his head, as he didn’t know how he would be able to do any good without something major happening. His forces were not strong enough, and he still needed some supplies.
“General,” said a young red-faced lieutenant, bowing deeply as a sign of respect to his commanding officer. “Yes, lieutenant, what is it,” answered Hyakutake wearily. The young man extended his hand, staying in his bowed down position. It was a telegram.
The 67th commander picked it up and started to read. As he read, a large smile began to appear along with his worn-down facial expression that had betrayed despair and discouragement just moments ago.
His eyes lit up in sudden energy that he didn’t know he still had. “Commander Kajime,” he called loudly to his own chief of staff. “Yes, sir,” the man walked up to him. He had been near in the bunker, overseeing some paperwork or problem. “Get all the officers here for a conference at 1600,” said the general, handing the piece of paper to Kajime. The young colonel’s face also changed from worry to happiness in seconds. He looked up at his commander. Hyakutake gave the man one of his rare smiles: “Yes, colonel. It's true; the fleet is coming back to the rescue.” “Sir, this is great news!” “Indeed, Kajime. The fleet arrives within ten days. Get the men together; we want them ready. We're going in, and this time Port Moresby will fall.”
Washington D.C.
White House meeting, September 6th, 1942
The United States of America had been humiliated by Japan with the loss of the Hawaiian Islands. Further losses to its prestige had happened after that, with the catastrophic results in the Philippines and the Dutch East Indies. MacArthur barely contained the IJN in Australia.
Admiral Nimitz had not yet been able to challenge the Combined Fleet in Pearl Harbor in any serious way. And to compound the disastrous situation, the city of Seattle and the Boeing factories had been wrecked. President Roosevelt knew, deep down, that his country would prevail because it was infinitely more powerful than Japan, but in the meantime, many people in the USA had lost heart. Some politicians were even starting to have defeatists talks. The President did not understand these sentiments because he did not have them. It was simply not in him to give up on a fight.
Nonetheless, his job as a leader was to inspire, and as such, he needed something bold done to the Japs. Something that would electrify the nation. President Roosevelt had pressed his advisors for a military win to raise morale and support for the inevitable two-front war to prevent the national mood from deteriorating further.
He'd insisted they “find ways and means of carrying the war home to Japan proper, in the form of a bombing raid, the real meaning of war.” His advisor had come back sometime later with a plan. And today was their presentation. As he awaited the moment of the meeting, he looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, deep in thoughts. “It better be damned good,” he said softly to himself. No one heard him, of course, because he was in the Oval Office of the White House, and it was soundproof.
A knock on the door was heard, and a second later, his secretary opened it and peered her head inside. “Mr. President, your two o clock appointment people are here. “Yes, please let them in,” said Roosevelt with a smile.
And in were the people that he’d expected would be there in such a meeting. Admiral King, head of the Navy. Marshall, head of the Army and overall commander-in-chief. But the third man he didn’t know. Marshall was quick to take the helm as he strode into the room. “Mr. President, thank you for having us,” he said, gesturing to the man Roosevelt didn’t know. May I introduce you to Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle of the United States Air Force,” finished Marshall, letting the officer advance toward the President. “Mr. President, I am honored,” answered Doolittle as he walked over to the American leader’s desk to shake his hand. “Grab a chair, General,” said Roosevelt because only two chairs were in front of his desk. He turned back toward King and Marshall. “Well, that’s a surprise; I didn’t know we had a guest in our daily meeting today,” finished Franklin Delano, with surprise in his voice.
Ernest King did not miss his opportunity to be a little abrasive when he could. “Well, Mr. President, that’s because we have worked on your little scheme of bombing Japan.” “Did you, now,” said Roosevelt in a barely audible and annoyed voice.
Marshall quickly took the initiative back to avoid another verbal match between King and his leader. “Mr. President. After your request to attack Tokyo, we have tasked General Doolittle to develop a plan on how to make it work. So, we are here today to present the plan and get your approval.” “Well, then, be my guest, General Doolittle,” finished the President with a smile.
“Mr. President,” started the General in a steady and confident voice, we have found a way to make your Tokyo bombing wish a reality.” He handed out a top-secret branded folder to each man in the meeting. Roosevelt opened it with great interest. “We can bomb the Japanese capital from the Island of Attu in Alaska.” The President’s eyes lifted up from the folder for a moment, locked into Doolittle’s eyes for a long moment. “Really,” answered the American leader. “The B17s effective range is 3750 miles, while Tokyo sits at 1994 miles from the Island. We’ve worked the numbers. It's possible to make it, but we would have to carry a small bomb load and attach tons of additional gas tanks. Not ideal.” “Continue,” said Franklin Delano, intrigued.
“But we can make it to occupied China without any difficulty. We have been in contact with the Chiang Kai-Shek government, and they assure us that they would be able to pick up our aviators at any given point in China or even occupied China.” Roosevelt looked skeptical but tried to keep an open mind. “Ernest, can this really work?” “Yes, Mr. President. I ran thru the numbers myself.” “General Marshall” “I agree with King and Doolittle, sir. We can make it work. Of course, there isn’t any guarantee that the pilots will get out of the adventure alive, but it goes along with the type of mission. It will be a volunteer-only operation.”
Doolittle had developed a bold plan to launch 48 B-17s from Attu and 240 brave men to step forward for a secret, volunteer, high-risk mission. An airfield needed to be built, but that was not a problem; the Island was large and desolate, so much preparatory work wouldn’t be necessary. A second airfield also needed to be built along the way on another of the Aleutian Islands to get some shorter-range planes and even as a waypoint for the B-17s. The operation was sent for the month of October, the last window of potential good weather for the year.
A few minutes later, the meeting was adjourned, and the military leader left a very happy President behind them.
State of U.S. Pacific Fleet
To mid-September 1942
After the battle of the Pacific, where he tried to intervene during the Japanese attack on Seattle, Nimitz had a damaged fleet. He could not attack again before getting his capital ships repaired.
By mid-September 1942, the repairs were well underway, and he also received some reinforcements. His three aircraft carriers were back to full operational status after the Wasp, and the Yorktown had to spend some time in drydocks to patch up the torpedo damage they received during the fight with the Japs. The time in the drydock had also been used well, and the ship reported as feeling like new. The Hornet was undamaged, so it just stayed near San Diego and patrolled or trained with its planes. No big units (main fleet carriers) had been built or commissioned during this time. However, two small escort carriers joined the fleet from the Seattle-Tacoma shipyards. The Nassau and the Copahee. They each had a little over 30 planes but were a welcome addition to the carrier force.
Nimitz battleship forces had been seriously damaged during the fight in the Pacific. California had its conning tower and some armor belt damage, which was almost repaired by mid-September. The ship was already seaworthy and battle-ready, but Nimitz was ok with the naval shipyard in Los Angeles putting the finishing touches to have a new boat. The Maryland had also been damaged (waterline and bow), but it was now back in the operational fleet after time under the welders in San Diego Harbor. West Virginia was still under repairs and wouldn’t be ready for the planned American Operation by the end of September. It had lost two main gun turrets and several secondary guns. The ship had been sailed to the east coast and would not return until later in the fall.
The other three battleships in the U.S. Pacific Fleet were the South Dakota, Tennessee, and the Colorado, unscathed in the battle earlier.
The rest of the surface strength was composed of three cruisers (Atlanta, San Juan, and Wichita), twenty-five destroyers, and ten light cruisers. Some reinforcements were planned to arrive soon (Nimitz hoped before they would sail for his Hawaii operation), but Admiral King had not yet taken his decision if the ships would go to the Atlantic or the Pacific.
The fleet that the American Admiral had for the next battle was pretty much the same as the one he’d had earlier. Many new units were scheduled to arrive eventually, but that was not before 1943, and the bulk would arrive in 1944.
Seattle, overlooking the wrecked Being factory
James D. Doolittle, September 1942
The rain was falling hard on the small hill the several hundred men had been gathered. The men all stood at attention, towering over the burnt wreckage below. There were 240 of them. They all had been ordered to Seattle by special order of a certain General James D. Doolittle, and nothing more was provided in terms of details. The General was about to ask them to volunteer for a mission he couldn’t tell them where, how, or why. He’d handpicked each and every one of them through reports and recommendations from their superiors. They were all good pilots. Fighter pilots, bomber pilots, and superb machine gunners. Co-pilots, navigators. He needed 240 and had called 240 of them to the city where the Japanese had destroyed so much. They needed to be volunteers because it would be almost a suicide mission from which many would not return. So certain he was that they would all volunteer that he didn’t call more than the needed 240.
In the pelting rain, he was facing them, with the destroyed Seattle factory behind him. “You men have been brought here, at the very place where our enemy struck our hearts, to watch the destruction the merciless Japanese forces can bring to bear on our country. Will you stand idle and watch,” he yelled to the top of his lung, stopping to get his answer. “No, sir,” they shouted back.
