Located in the Fleet Headquarters building at the submarine base opposite Ford Island, Kimmel’s second-floor office reflected the man. Measuring about eighteen by fifteen feet, it was incredibly neat and spare, its furnishings few and unpretentious. A desk of average size rested a short distance from the northwest corner of the room. According to Fleet legend, one could back into Kimmel’s office in total darkness and find every book, chair, or pencil exactly in its appointed place.
Even before he became CinCUS, Kimmel told Stark that he planned to move his staff ashore.1 The very day he assumed command, he established Soc McMorris and his War Plans Office at the submarine base, where they would have room to work on their charts. But Kimmel soon found that the subsequent comings and goings between Pennsylvania and the shore offices, much of it pertaining to secret matters, interfered with training aboard the battleship.2 Moreover, the heavy volume of headquarters traffic from Pennsylvania would jeopardize communications security.3 Therefore, he decided that he could run the Fleet more efficiently from shore. Kimmel realized that this would be a drastic break with tradition for which he could incur considerable criticism. But after weighing all the pros and cons, some six weeks after taking over he moved bag and baggage into offices at the submarine base.4
In making this move, Kimmel showed himself more farsighted and realistic than Yamamoto. Although Pennsylvania remained his seaborne headquarters in maneuvers, the battlewagon was now stripped of its administrative impedimenta and ready for action. In contrast, Yamamoto kept Nagato tethered to Japanese ports, and when the 63,700-ton Yamato came down the ways, he transferred his flag to her. As a result, what was potentially the greatest warship ever constructed never engaged in actual combat under his command and remained in effect a floating hotel and office building.
The problem that worried Kimmel most of all was his lack of tools to do the big job expected of him. On May 26, shortly after his lost ships disappeared over the horizon, he sent off to Stark an eleven-page memorandum full of punch, soundly reasoned and well written. If by some quirk of fate every other document written by Kimmel should be destroyed, future historians could reconstruct the man’s character and mentality from this one letter.
His first thrust pierced the grave question of stabilizing “Personnel.” In essence the trouble was this: The Bureau of Navigation planned to utilize trained men from the existing Fleet units to man newly constructed ships at a ratio of 72 percent from the Pacific Fleet and 28 percent from the Atlantic Fleet. In other words, Washington was using the Pacific Fleet as a mine, not only of ships but of skilled manpower. Kimmel protested vigorously: “Unless a readjustment is made in these figures to correspond to the recent readjustment in the relative strengths of these Fleets, the Pacific Fleet will be seriously stripped of experienced men. . . .”5
“Aviation” caught the next barrage. Scarcely any aspect of it satisfied Kimmel. Neither the number of experienced pilots nor the quantity and quality of assigned aircraft, their armament, and spare parts pleased him. He followed with a broadside at “Material,” of which he needed plenty. “Our ability to correct these deficiencies,” he wrote pointedly, “is limited by two factors (1) aid to Great Britain, and (2) rapid expansion of the Army. . . . As the situation appears now, the Navy may be called on for active operations in contact with well equipped opposing forces, yet is prevented from obtaining vitally necessary needs by the magnitude of the needs of Britain and the Army. . . .”6 Obviously Kimmel did not underestimate the Japanese. He opened his “Operations” section with another salvo:
With the recent detachment of many of the most modern and effective units, the adequacy and suitability of the forces remaining to accomplish the tasks to which they may be assigned is sic very doubtful.
In the Pacific, our potential enemy is far away and hard to get at . . . and has a system of defense . . . that requires landing operations, supported by sea forces, against organized land positions supported by land-based air. This is the hardest kind of opposition to overcome. . . . It also requires a preponderance of light force and carrier strength, in which we are woefully deficient in the Pacific. Our present strength is in battleships—which come into play only after we have reduced the intervening organized positions. . . .7
Here is the voice of a man who appreciated the worth of the naval air arm and did not rely upon the battleship as the ultimate weapon. Furthermore, he had sized up Japanese thinking as practiced in the Naval General Staff: “The Japanese are not going to expose their main fleet until they are either forced to do so by our obtaining a position close enough to threaten their vital interests or it is advantageous for them to do so. . . .” He pointed out that under the current war plan the Pacific Fleet, perhaps justifiably, was “so reduced in light force and carrier strength that its capabilities for offensive operations of a decisive nature are severely crippled. . . .”8 It is important to understand that when Kimmel and others of the American high brass spoke of an offensive war plan or of the Fleet’s taking offensive action, they meant this in connection with a war already declared. No responsible member of the United States government or armed forces thought of starting a Pacific war by attacking Japan. In this context Kimmel chafed at being deprived of the tools of the offensive.
The same psychology lay behind his worry over the anchorage. “The defense of the Fleet base at Pearl Harbor is a matter of considerable concern.” He urged that the Navy press the Army to increase its matériel on a priority basis. Furthermore:
The naval forces available to the Commandant are meager to the point of non-existence. A Fleet base is a place of rest, recreation and resustenance sic and must afford protection of the Fleet at anchor and during entrance and egress independent of the units of the Fleet. If units of the Fleet must be employed for its own defense, in its base, its freedom of action for offensive operations is seriously curtailed. . . . 9
Kimmel next bombarded “National Policy.” Here the CinCUS concluded:
. . . our national policies and diplomatic and military moves to implement them, are not fully coordinated. No policy, today, is any better than the force available to support it. While this is well recognized in principle, it is, apparently, lost sight of in practice. We retained the Fleet in Hawaii, last summer, as a diplomatic gesture, but almost simultaneously detached heavy cruisers to the Atlantic. . . .
He offered a solution: “The military branches of the government should be told, by the diplomatic branch, what effect it is desired to produce and their judgment as to the means available and the manner of its accomplishment should be accorded predominant weight.”10 Then Kimmel trained his sights on a painful subject—“Information”:
The Commander in Chief . . . is, as a rule, not informed as to the policy . . . reflected in current events and naval movements and, as a result, is unable to evaluate the possible effect upon his own situation. He is not even sure of what force will be available to him and has little voice in matters radically affecting his ability to carry out his assigned tasks. . . .
It is realized that, on occasion, the rapid developments in the international picture, both diplomatic and military, and, perhaps, even the lack of knowledge of the military authorities themselves, may militate against the furnishing of timely information, but certainly the present situation is susceptible to marked improvement. . . .
Kimmel had put his finger on a crucial point: Washington could not inform him of matters of which it knew nothing. He suggested that because of the “factor of distance and time,” he should be “guided by broad policy and objectives rather than by categorical instructions.” This is rather ironical, for when disaster struck, he would complain bitterly because Washington had not, in fact, given him “categorical instructions.”11
Last, Kimmel fired off a few shots at “Public Opinion.” To his thinking, “. . . the current mental and moral preparation of our people, as reflected in the newspapers and magazines, is utterly wrong. To back into a war, unsupported or only half-heartedly supported by public opinion is to court losing it.”12
In Washington the lack of just such decisive leadership as Kimmel looked and hoped for continued to prey upon Stimson’s mind. He observed on May 23 that “the President shows evidence of waiting for the accidental shot of some irresponsible captain on either side to be the occasion of his going to war.”13 This waiting around for someone to take Roosevelt off the hook distressed the straitlaced secretary of war, who thought the President “ought to be considering the deep principles which underlie the issue. . . .”14
Morosely knocking a croquet ball around the grounds at Woodley, Stimson’s Washington home, Hull seemed “quite discontented” and, “as usual, was pessimistic,” so he could give Stimson little help. That evening, May 25, Knox joined the other two of the “Big Three” in reviewing the revised draft of the President’s speech scheduled for the next night. This edition of Roosevelt’s remarks pleased Stimson because it indicated that his chief intended to announce the removal of the Fleet to the Atlantic.15
In his fireside chat of May 27 Roosevelt proclaimed a state of “unlimited national emergency.”16 To the general public no doubt the President’s speech sounded forceful enough. But a number of his advisers felt a sense of letdown. Stimson was disappointed that Roosevelt had softened his speech from the hard-hitting draft he, Hull, and Knox had read. “Thank God he can’t stop the Fleet which is on its way,” he wrote in his diary. “The last recession had been done under the behest of Hull. . . .”17
By now Stark had decided that enough was enough and resisted the continual urgings that Roosevelt siphon off still more strength from the Pacific to the Atlantic. To ensure that Kimmel understood the full picture and also, possibly, to add a strong voice to his own, Stark summoned the CinCUS to Washington. Kimmel was more than happy to consult “face to face with the Navy leaders there.” So, taking McMorris with him, he set out for the mainland.18 On June 13 Knox entertained Stark, Kimmel, and King at lunch, during which King discoursed at length about his Fleet’s activities in the Atlantic.19 Later Kimmel had a long, amicable discussion with the CNO. In its course he freely discussed all the difficulties confronting him, covering in essence the contents of his memorandum of May 26.20
Kimmel also spoke to Stark about the weaknesses of Pearl Harbor. The “congestion of ships, fuel oil storage, and repair facilities” invited “attack, particularly from the air.” Then, too, the “single entrance channel,” which all ships had to use, “exposed them to submarine attack” and presented the constant danger of blockage. “In case of attack by air or otherwise with the fleet in port,” he emphasized, “it would take at least three hours to complete a sortie.” All things considered, he believed “the only real answer was for the Fleet not to be in Pearl Harbor when the attack came.”21
Nevertheless, he did not suggest that the Fleet move back to the West Coast. First, he accepted Roosevelt’s command decision. Secondly, he thought in terms of offensive operations. If his country called on him to lead its Navy in war against Japan, Kimmel proposed to sail forth to engage Yamamoto and waste no time about it. For aggressive action against Japan, the closer he was to Tokyo, the better. His objections to Pearl Harbor were operational, whereas Richardson’s had been almost entirely logistical.
The high point of Kimmel’s trip was the appointment which, at Stark’s suggestion, he sought and received with the President.22 Their meeting took place at the White House on Monday, June 9, from 1425 to 1550. Their paths had crossed only briefly and infrequently; nor did the admiral now take to the President, although the meeting went smoothly enough. A plain man, Kimmel rather distrusted an overabundance of charm. Moreover, Roosevelt showered “Yeses” and “That’s rights” and Kimmel disliked thoughtless agreement.
Roosevelt confided in Kimmel that Hull and others “were carrying on informal talks with certain Japanese (unidentified) and others concerned (also unnamed) looking forward to a peaceful Pacific ‘for a hundred years.’” Obviously Roosevelt was referring to the Walsh-Drought discussions.* Listening carefully, Kimmel had the impression that “a considerable amount of wishful thinking was involved.”
Roosevelt asked Kimmel what he thought of “further reducing the Pacific fleet by three battleships,” adding that Knox had told him “six battleships could raid Japanese communications and defend Hawaii.” Roosevelt continued: “Betty [Stark] thinks three battleships is enough to defend Hawaii” and he “supposed the other three would do a lot of raiding.”
At this point Kimmel exploded, “That’s crazy!” Roosevelt chimed in, “It sounds silly to me. I told Knox that it was silly.” Kimmel asserted that “higher authority than himself” would resolve the question, but that he “was convinced that such further reduction would be an invitation for Japan to come into the war.”
“That’s right,” Roosevelt observed.
After a little more conversation Kimmel asked for North Carolina and Washington, now that Japan had more battleships in the Pacific than the United States. He “pointed out that his capabilities for offensive operations in the Pacific had been greatly reduced by the recent detachments and that the addition of the battleships in question would aid in restoring the balance.”
Kimmel “was left with the definite impression that the President had no intention of transferring any more battleships from the Pacific. . . .” This was a great relief to the admiral because he believed that “Once the fleet was placed there [at Pearl Harbor], for the assumed purpose of exerting a deterrent effect upon Japan, it was not maintaining a consistent policy thereafter to weaken the fleet, visibly and plainly, by diversion of powerful units to the Atlantic.”23
Although they discussed other matters, Roosevelt showed a distinct gift for sliding away from a subject. Toward the end of the discussion the admiral “brought to the President’s attention a clear picture of the existing situation at Pearl Harbor, defense arrangements, oil storage, need for aviation development, lack of patrol craft, radar, etc.”24 He also discussed the weaknesses of Pearl Harbor as a fleet base with the President as he had with Stark.25 Then, well satisfied with his day’s work, Kimmel left the White House.
It is unfortunate that someone in the Navy Department did not take advantage of Kimmel’s visit to Washington to brief him on Magic, especially because his belief that he was not getting enough information was one of the principal reasons for his visit to the capital. A close reading of his memorandum of May 26 should have dispelled any lingering illusions, such as Turner claimed to have entertained, that Kimmel had access to all the Magic traffic. No communications security would have been involved with Kimmel right on the spot.
Stark evidently believed that he had fulfilled his duty to Kimmel when on a virtual weekly basis he wrote him extensive letters, which included much information gleaned from Magic. But Washington was so preoccupied with the exchanges between the Foreign Ministry and Nomura that it shunted aside the traffic between the same ministry and its consulate in Honolulu wherein lay so many hints to which Kimmel, as well as Short, was entitled.
Kimmel may have turned the tide in keeping the remainder of the Fleet in the Pacific. Stimson, for one, had been under the impression that another quarter of Kimmel’s ships “would come over at once.” Later Roosevelt assured him that he “must have misunderstood . . . that it had never been contemplated to move another section of the battleships. . . .”26 In this he was less than candid because he had asked for Kimmel’s opinion on that point.
With all these crosscurrents in the air, it is no wonder that despite his victory in Washington, Kimmel never lost his fear that someday a hand would reach out to snatch more of his ships. The loss of Yorktown alone had deprived him of a third of his carrier strength, and with the cruisers and destroyers went a large measure of the Pacific Fleet’s mobility. The shortage of fuel weighed on Kimmel ceaselessly and dictated the use of his task forces. Canceling out three oilers chained the Fleet even more tightly to Pearl Harbor than before. The fuel problem was so critical that Pye doubted whether the transfers actually made all that difference because the logistical situation was such that “the Fleet could not have operated more than 2,500 miles from Honolulu no matter what its strength.”27
In attempting to please everyone and avoid criticism, the President had scattered his shots. He had not gone far enough to satisfy the Atlantic faction, and he had weakened the Pacific Fleet to the point where it would not be able to perform its offensive mission in case war should break out in Asia. Understandably some of Kimmel’s staff officers could not help feeling that Washington had written them off as expendable. When the destroyers pulled away from Pennsylvania bearing their secret orders to the battleships Mississippi, Idaho, and New Mexico, Smith looked at DeLany and said grimly, “The kiss of death!”28