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Loss Of Yamamoto

Isoroku Yamamoto, who, as he had promised, "ran wild" in the Pacific "the first six months" after the initiation of the Hawaii Operation. His time began running out at Midway and ended over the jungles of the Solomon Islands.

The Battle of Midway was over. A great mantle of secrecy descended upon the outcome of the Battle of Midway in Japan. Only the mildly successful, though inconsequential, Aleutian Operation was mentioned in the newspapers. Nothing was said of the Midway encounter itself and all references to it were deleted from diaries and official reports. The wounded were even held incommunicado and brought into naval hospitals after nightfall. Captain Mitsuo Fuchida, who had led the aerial attack upon Pearl Harbor and was prevented from leading the attack upon Midway by illness, was taken wounded from the Akagi, and tells of his stealthy evacuation from a hospital ship "... after dark ... on a covered stretcher and carried through the rear entrance [of the hospital at the Yokosuka Naval Base]. My room was in complete isolation. No nurses or medical corps men were allowed in and I could not communicate with the world outside. All the wounded from Midway were treated like this. It was like being a prisoner of war among your own people."

Yamamoto too went into isolation. He had led the Imperial fleet of Japan into its first major naval defeat in three hundred years. Four of Japan's finest carriers had been sent to the bottom of the Pacific - 3500 Japanese seamen (among them about 100 first-line, irreplaceable pilots) died, ten times the number (307) of Americans lost. More than 300 aircraft were lost (the total number based on the carriers, plus some which were being ferried to be based on Midway as soon as it was under Japanese domination); American aircraft losses numbered 147. The course of the Pacific war was completely changed at Midway.

As the Japanese fleet sped out of the range of Spruance's planes, the latter called for a halt of the pursuit. After several days of intense fighting he knew the pilots must be near nervous and physical exhaustion; his ships were running dangerously low on fuel and they were approaching dangerous waters. They had destroyed about half of Japan's carrier strength, but little of the remainder of the surface fleet. Wisely Spruance ordered a return to port.

Yamamoto, ill with severe stomach cramps, remained in his cabin unable to eat anything except gruel for several days. In the wake of the retreating Yamato, the Nagara too sped toward safer waters. Aboard the cruiser was Admiral Nagumo, dispirited, broken, a man without a ship - the man who had led the Pearl Harbor attack had failed at Midway. Though he returned to sea, Nagumo was a depleted man and did not find peace until July 6, 1944, when he committed suicide on an island named Saipan. His body was never found.

Yamamoto recovered from his mysterious illness and regained his powers sufficiently to press for the occupation of Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands. This was Japan's southernmost conquest. After hard and painful fighting it was taken back by the Americans - the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere was gradually, and bloodily, shrinking. But despite these setbacks, the Japanese continued to revere Yamamoto and to respect his leadership. The very presence of the man in a distant outpost - and no matter how primitive the outpost, the man was invariably immaculate, composed, dedicated - inspired all who saw him.

So it was that following the fall of Guadalcanal Yamamoto planned to fly to Rabaul, New Britain, headquarters of the Seventeenth Army - which had fought at Guadalcanal - and then to proceed eastward to inspect naval bases near Bougainville in the Solomon Islands. Bougainville was the northernmost of the Solomon group and still held by the Japanese; Guadalcanal, the southernmost island, lay about four hundred miles away. According to the planned schedule, Yamamoto, in company with several officers including his chief of staff, Vice-Admiral Matome Ugaki, would leave the main naval base at Truk, spend an evening at Rabaul, and then leave for Kahili airdrome, on the southern tip of Bougainville, arriving at precisely 9:45 A.M.

As before, all preparations for this "secret" move were known by American cryptologists within hours after the coded messages were sent to the Japanese forward bases alerting them of Yamamoto's impending inspection. Word was flashed to Washington; Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox immediately issued orders to intercept Yamamoto's party and "destroy it at all costs." The loss of Yamamoto would tell heavily upon the Japanese and upon the future development of the war. Along with the order arrived a most meticulous itinerary indicating Yamamoto's exact position during his entire tour. Admiral William Halsey, commanding the southern Pacific, assigned the mission to Rear Admiral Marc A. Mitscher, COMAIRSOLS (Commander Air Solomons), who turned it over to Major John W. Mitchell of the Air Force's 339th Fighter Squadron.

A total of eighteen Lockheed P-38s (Lightnings) were to take part in the mission. Mitchell would lead the sixteen-plane cover section and Captain Thomas G. Lanphier the four-plane attack unit. It was decided that the best means of carrying out the mission was to intercept Yamamoto as he came into the Kahili airdrome. It was not without hazards, for the Kahili-Buin area swarmed with Zeros (or Zekes, as the newer models were called). Only the P-38 had the range - a round trip of nearly a thousand miles - taking into consideration the circuitous route which would be necessary to escape detection. Navigational as well as flying skill was essential to the mission.

Mitchell's timetable was carefully geared into that of the punctual Yamamoto's. At exactly seven twenty-five in the morning of April 18, 1943, Mitchell led his planes off the runway of Henderson Field, Guadalcanal. The field was named for Major Lofton R. Henderson, who had died in the Battle of Midway. Two of the eighteen P-38s were forced to turn back almost immediately; one had malfunctioning auxiliary fuel tanks and the other blew a tire during the take-off run. These two planes cut Lanphier's attack section in half, leaving himself and Lieutenant Rex T. Barber (of the 70th Fighter Squadron) to carry out the attack. Mitchell then assigned Captain Besby Holmes and Lieutenant Raymond Hine to join the attack section.

The sixteen P-38s flew for two hours and nine minutes, about 30 feet above the Pacific, a distance of 435 miles, dodging small islands which might be harboring enemy coast watchers. At 9:35 A.M., if all had gone well, they would meet Yamamoto about 35 miles west of Kahili. All through the flight absolute radio silence was observed; Mitchell's navigation was superlative. As the time drew near the hazy mountains of Bougainville appeared out of the sea. The P-38s swung inland. It was nine thirtythree.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the voice of Captain Douglas S. Canning in the cover section. "Bogey. Ten o'clock high!" About five miles distant Lanphier made out a flight of two Mitsubishi (Betty) bombers, escorted by six Zekes. This was one hitch: they had hoped to have gained altitude before attacking. Now they had to climb, which placed them at a disadvantage. All aircraft released their belly tanks in preparation for the attack. Besby Holmes of the attack section, however, could not drop his tank. Raymond Hine stayed with him for protection - with auxiliary tanks the P-38 lost speed and could not maneuver properly in an air battle. Lanphier and Barber, at full throttle, roared in on the Japanese formation. Mitchell's top cover climbed to be on the lookout for possible Zero reinforcements.

The Japanese suddenly became aware of the P-38s; the two Bettys dived for the jungle and three of the Zeros turned upon Lanphier's plane. The Lightning was by this time on a level with the lead Betty and met the assault of the lead Zero head on. Both pilots exchanged wasted shots and then, more calmly, Lanphier took careful aim and the Zero spun into the jungle burning and minus a wing. The other two Zeros flashed by the P-38 as Lanphier made a sharp turn away. He was next aware of the shadow of one of the Bettys moving rapidly over the treetops.

Lanphier lunged the P-38 into a full power dive, then realized he would overshoot the bomber. By this time the duo of Zeros had whipped around to attack him again. To Lanphier it seemed that all were on a collision course, with all four aircraft destined to meet at an imaginary point over the jungle. He maintained his course, however, eyes upon the Mitsubishi, racing in almost at right angles to the Betty's flight path. When it came into his sights he pushed the gun release button. In an instant the right engine of the Betty burst into flame; seconds later the entire wing was ablaze. The two Zero pilots, seeing that the Betty was doomed, no longer considered suicide. They pulled up sharply and away from Lanphier's Lightning.

The stricken Betty, dripping flame, suddenly lost its wing and crashed into the jungle. The ball of fire erupted into a savage explosion and only thick black smoke and red flame remained of the Betty. The other Mitsubishi, carrying Ugaki, was attacked by Barber, who pursued it over the jungle toward the sea. Ugaki had observed the crash of his chief's Betty and knew that within minutes he too must share Yamamoto's fate. Barber's gun's decimated the crew, spattered the interior of the plane with bits and pieces of metal, killing the passengers also. A cannon hit in the right wing crippled the Betty so that the pilot brought it into the water at full speed. Only three men, one of them the injured Ugaki, survived the attack. With the aid of Mitchell's top cover, the Zeros, which attempted to avenge the attack, were driven off. Holmes, having finally dropped his tanks, shot a Zero off Barber's tail.

Lanphier and Barber raced from the vicinity of the crashed bombers by hedgehopping, dodging, and skidding. Of the sixteen aircraft which participated in the mission, only one, Lieutenant Raymond K. Hine's, failed to return. He had assisted Holmes in driving the Zeros away from Barber's P-38. (Although Lanphier was credited at the time with the victory over the Betty carrying Yamamoto, this victory was questioned by Barber, who thought he had shot down the critical Betty. Holmes also claimed a Betty, the one which fell into the sea, and thought that the bomber which fell into the jungle had been shot down by Barber. Lanphier, however, also claimed a Betty which fell into the jungle. Unless there was a third Betty, which the Japanese claim there was not, the victory claims cannot be clarified.)

Whatever the dispute over the honors of having assassinated Admiral Yamamoto - honors which should be shared by all pilots who participated in the remarkably executed raid - there is no doubting that his loss was grievous to the Japanese. Their most gifted strategist was gone - and there was no one of equal stature to replace him. The one man who might have, Yamaguchi, had, in an excess of vainglory, chosen to go down with the Hiryu at Midway.

Yamamoto was succeeded by Admiral Mineichi Koga (who died within a year in an air accident), but the Japanese fleet had long since stopped "running wild." After Midway, a battle in which not one surface ship exchanged a shot with another, and yet which was the most decisive naval battle of the Second World War, the doom which Yamamoto had predicted for Japan should the war be prolonged was inevitable. After Midway, also, Yamamoto spoke of his own death, which he predicted with a curious wistfulness. Shortly before the interception near Kahili, Yamamoto composed a poem, a sequel to one he had written on the day of the Pearl Harbor attack. In the earlier quatrain he expressed contempt for the world's opinion of the brilliant attack he had engineered; even his own life was insignificant except as "the sword of my Emperor." In his final poem, translated by John Deane Potter, Yamamoto rhapsodized: I am still the sword, Of my Emperor, I will not be sheathed, Until I die. The sword of the Emperor had been sheathed at Midway by a small band of courageous men in their Buffalos, Vindicators, Marauders, Wildcats, and Dauntlesses. No one knew that better than the wise Yamamoto.

Edward Jablonski. : From Pearl Harbor to the Allied assault on occupied Europe. Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City, New York. 1971.

Yamamoto The Man Who Planned the Attack on Pearl Harbor. Hoyt. An exhaustively researched biography of the Japanese Naval genius and war hero Isoroku Yamamoto, "the Architect of the Pacific War." Drawing on a wealth of sources, the author demonstrates both his flair for dramatic battle accounts and his penetrating eye for personal and political motivation. It's a thorough and engaging portrait of the dauntless admiral that provides a revealing new view of WWII.

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