The Final Storm (3 page)

In the Pacific, the Americans seem to be falling into the exact kind of strategy the Japanese are now hoping for: a piecemeal, grinding assault against a vast scattering of Japanese island outposts. With sea and air power decidedly in their favor, the Americans believe that overwhelming bombardment
of Japanese positions will allow the Marines and army ground troops an advantage in sweeping ashore in so many of these crucial outposts, where airfields and deepwater anchorages await.

The Japanese have purposely expanded their empire into lands where precious war materials, especially oil, rubber, and metal ores, can be ferried to factories in Japan. Cutting those supply lines becomes a priority, mostly for MacArthur, who knows that the Japanese have established large and powerful bases all around resource-rich New Guinea. MacArthur continues his drive up toward the Japanese forces, which results in several sharp engagements, including the Battle of Bougainville, costly for both American and Australian troops.

By this time, it is apparent that a competition has developed between MacArthur and Nimitz, most of that energy coming from MacArthur, who has as his primary goal the liberation of the Philippines. Despite strategic considerations that seem to point more to mainland Japan as the most desired goal, MacArthur insists that his efforts be directed at recapturing the nation to whom he has pledged his
return
. MacArthur has significant popular appeal, especially with the troops in his command, and in Washington not even the chiefs of staff are willing to back him down. Thus the two-prong strategy of the Americans begins to resemble something more like a race.

While the complex strategies and vicious campaigns continue, one particular disaster befalls the Japanese. Code intercepts reveal to American intelligence that Admiral Yamamoto will be traveling a certain route at a certain time through the area approaching Bougainville. In response, American fighters rise to intercept the Japanese admiral and his escorts. They are successful. On April 18, 1943, Yamamoto’s plane is shot down, and Japan loses arguably its greatest military planner of the war.

While MacArthur’s forces press the fight through the Solomons, still close to New Guinea, Admiral Nimitz aims his spear on a more direct trajectory toward Japan. In November 1943, the next major assault in the chain occurs at an island atoll called Tarawa. Led by General Holland “Howlin’ Mad” Smith, two Marine divisions struggle mightily to erase the Japanese positions, which are assumed to have been badly chewed up by heavy naval gunfire. Instead the Marines wade ashore only to find themselves in one of the most costly fights of the Pacific campaign. One more experience awaits them as well. Facing certain defeat, enormous numbers of Japanese soldiers engage in banzai attacks, hordes of men throwing
themselves en masse into the Marine positions. The cost in human life is staggering, and the Americans begin to realize that the Japanese are very different indeed. Young Marines embroiled in pitched battles suddenly confront the bizarre, screaming waves of enemy troops pouring into Marine positions with murderous intent yet also an astonishing eagerness to die. When faced with utter defeat, the Japanese choose suicide over surrender, seeking a kind of honor that few Americans can understand.

In the United States, the casualties absorbed on Tarawa are made public: more than a thousand Marines dead, with twice that many wounded. Whether or not the American public fully appreciates the kind of enemy they are fighting, they are rudely awakened to the kind of sacrifice the Marines are being asked to make.

In early 1944, the fights continue, with MacArthur jamming his troops through the Admiralty Islands close to New Guinea, while Nimitz’s carriers and warships support the Marines in the Marshall Islands, primarily on the atoll of Kwajalein. By February 1944, Nimitz pushes farther toward the next great chain of islands, the Carolines. There the Japanese maintain one of the most fortified bases in the entire Pacific, the island of Truk. Over time, superior American air and sea power obliterates the Japanese fleet in Truk Lagoon and destroys more than three hundred Japanese aircraft.

In June 1944, the greatest amphibious invasion of all time is coming to fruition a world away, on the beaches at Normandy. Though the American newspapers focus almost exclusively on what General Dwight Eisenhower’s forces must accomplish, Admiral Nimitz is engaging in a Pacific campaign that will rival Normandy in its significance. The last great chain of islands that secure the waters far from Japan are the Marianas, and while Eisenhower’s army and airborne troops slug their way through the French countryside, Nimitz launches assaults on the island of Saipan, a two-week campaign that claims 14,000 American casualties, two-thirds of them Marines. Less than two weeks after Saipan is secured, Nimitz orders the start of an assault on Guam, to recapture the American island lost so early in the war. At nearly the same time, the Marines and soldiers on Saipan press onward, a short few miles to the island of Tinian. While the fight for Tinian proves not nearly as costly as Saipan, Guam is another matter altogether, with a loss of 8,000 American casualties.

By September 1944, the Normandy campaign draws to a close, and Allied commanders are well aware that Germany’s defeat is only a matter
of time. In the Pacific, both MacArthur and Nimitz are accomplishing victories as well, but for MacArthur the big plum still awaits: the Philippines. For Nimitz, the island hopping continues, the next target a fortified Japanese outpost in the Palau Islands, called Peleliu. Protected by underground fortifications, the Japanese have strengthened their position on Peleliu to one of invincibility. But the Americans proceed as they always have and bombard the island with enormous firepower. On September 15, expecting a stroll on the beach, Marines advance onto Peleliu only to learn that the Japanese are still waiting for them, protected from the navy’s shelling by a network of underground hiding places. The fight that follows lasts more than two months and becomes one of the most vicious of the entire war. The First Marine Division alone suffers more than 6,000 casualties.

Despite the extraordinary cost to the Americans who continue their drive toward the enemy’s homeland, that drive produces results, including the resignation of the humiliated Hideki Tojo.

With the Mariana Islands now in American hands, long-range B-29 bombers can make strikes directly onto mainland Japan, and begin to do so with perfect regularity. It is a symbol that few Japanese can misinterpret. But the airfields are not adequate for the sheer volume of planes the American forces know they must use to bring Japan down. Closer to Japan lies another atoll, Iwo Jima, where the Japanese have already constructed an airfield the Americans know they must have. The value of Iwo Jima lies in its closer proximity to Japan and the fact that American bombers have demonstrated a woeful record of mechanical failures, which have sent hundreds of crewmen into the sea. What the Americans do not know is that the 20,000 Japanese troops burrowed into the small chunk of volcanic rock have learned the lessons from Peleliu and Saipan. Dug into a thousand or more caves and supported by an enormous battery of heavy artillery, the Japanese await the inevitable invasion with perfect calm. The island is small enough, barely four miles long, that Japanese defenses spread like a fine spiderweb through the entire island.

On February 19, 1945, more than 60,000 Marines and soldiers make their landing, only to confront a firestorm that pins them to their beaches. The ensuing fight lasts six weeks, ending on March 26. The losses to both sides are staggering. On Iwo Jima the Japanese once again demonstrate that few will readily accept surrender. Of the 20,000 troops who defend the island, fewer than three hundred are taken prisoner. But the fight to the death has accomplished what the Japanese now seem to prefer. The
Americans suffer 26,000 casualties, more than a third of their force. The numbers are so appalling that American newsmen are not given the figures, so that the American people will not learn of the astounding cost of the fight for several months.

With the losses so astoundingly high, the Americans know they cannot sustain many more fights like Peleliu and Iwo Jima. Though MacArthur sticks to his guns and drives into the Philippines, Admiral Nimitz and the strategists in Washington understand what the generals in Europe have learned as well. Waging a
safer
fight from the air will not be enough to win the war. But the airfields close to Japan are crucial, and the islands are essential for basing troops for the eventual invasion of Japan. The maps show plainly that one more island lies in their way. Far larger than Iwo Jima, with deepwater shipping and a dozen airfields, the island is in fact a country, occupied by some quarter million natives, along with their Japanese overseers, estimated to number close to 150,000. This fight will be the first where American troops will strike at a place many Japanese consider their own soil. It is called Okinawa.

E
AST
C
HINA
S
EA
, N
ORTH OF
F
ORMOSA
F
EBRUARY
21, 1945

T
he boredom was overwhelming. Even in the darkness, with a low warm breeze, he felt the restlessness, held the sharp stare at what should be the horizon. It was hidden, of course, black water meeting black sky, no hint of the dawn still several hours away. They had patrolled these waters for more than two weeks, some calling it an adventure, the eagerness the crew felt to be back on the search for the scattered Japanese supply ships. Two months before, they had been assigned to
rescue patrol
, close to mainland Japan, a vigilant search for downed American pilots, or even the Japanese. But enemy pilots were very few now, the Japanese air force so depleted, or more likely, so wary of the superiority of their enemy that they seemed to avoid dogfights with the American fighters completely. He hadn’t paid much attention to that kind of talk, the newsy communications that filtered down through the chain of command. He was much happier thinking about the American pilots they had rescued, his crew cheerfully hauling aboard coughing breathless men, soaked and shivering, desperately happy to be alive. It was a genuine thrill to rescue a pilot, every sailor feeling that special pride, more so if the man happened to be from a carrier, a naval pilot, and so, one of their own. The pilots were more than
just grateful, and in their momentary euphoria they made loud promises of lavish gifts, nights on the town for everyone aboard the sub. The promises usually included a rendezvous in Honolulu or even San Francisco, talk that every crewman enjoyed. The job had been made worthwhile by the beaming gratitude of the men they had saved. It didn’t hurt either that as the rescued pilots were returned to their aircraft carriers, they were often
exchanged f
or tubs of ice cream, a luxury few submarines carried on their own.

The pilots of the newer American fighters had found that their planes were considerably more agile, and significantly more armored than the legendary Zero, and so the fights grew increasingly one-sided. After long months of terrific casualties among its pilots, Japan seemed to pull the Zeroes out of the sky, holding them back for some purpose no one thought much about. Now the rescues were usually B-29 crews, more likely the result of some mechanical failure in the air than the direct result of combat. Though the B-29 was the largest and most modern bomber of the war, the plane could be a curse to fly. The B-29 had chronic problems with the engines: overheating, flameouts, which might be just as deadly as an accurate strike of an enemy anti-aircraft gun.

The sub rolled slightly to the side, riding a crossing swell, the captain caught off guard, a slight stumble against the steel of the bulkhead. All right, stay awake. But the empty seas were intoxicating, dreamlike, and he thought of the hard bunk down below. Not yet. After dawn you can catch a few winks, but right now your job is up here.

He never fully trusted the instincts of his younger officers, though he knew that his exec, Fred Gordon, was a good man, would likely have his own boat one day, and maybe sooner than the captain preferred. Combat losses to the submarine crews weren’t catastrophic, not compared to many of the aircrews above them. Many of the men simply rotated out after several months at sea, fatigue playing a huge part in their decreasing efficiency. But there were combat losses, and the officers who came from Annapolis seemed to feel that far more deeply than their crews. He thought of the
Tang
, sunk a few months before, could see the face of Ed Beaumont. Never thought you’d be the one, Eddie. Lucky in love, lucky in poker, and your fish gets sunk by your own damn torpedo. Happens I guess, and by God you took a few Jap bastards with you. Something to be said for that, I suppose.

The
Tang
had gone down in the midst of a chaotic fight in October
the year before, after plowing straight through a Japanese convoy. Her skipper, Dick O’Kane, had already gained a reputation for pure audacity and brilliant success, having sunk nearly two dozen Japanese ships. But on that one night, after causing havoc among a Japanese merchant fleet, the
Tang
had been struck by one of her own torpedoes, some kind of malfunction that sent the torpedo on a circular course. It was a horrific dose of irony to a crew that had poured so much devastation into their enemy.

They say the skipper survived, he thought. Didn’t know O’Kane too well, but Eddie loved him. Scuttlebutt says O’Kane will probably get a Medal of Honor, but I doubt it matters much now. Sure as hell doesn’t matter to the men who went down with the damn ship.

The communications intercepts indicated that at least a dozen of the
Tang
’s crewmen had survived and were being held in Japan. From all he had heard, his friend Beaumont was not among them. So what’s worse, he thought. If it’s up to me, I’d rather have a lung full of water than some Jap bastard beating the crap out of me every five minutes. That’s gonna be the best day of this damn war, the day we can spring our boys from the Jap POW camps. It’ll happen, sooner or later. He slapped the steel beside him. How much more can those bastards throw at us? No ships out here, no convoys anymore. The Japs have gotta feed their people, and every piece of their army needs gasoline and oil, and whatever else it takes to keep going. That’s my job, isn’t it? Send that stuff to the bottom. Hell, here I am, a boatload of torpedoes, and a crew full of piss and vinegar. He stared hard into the darkness. So where the hell are
you
?