As Roosevelt faced the microphones of his nation’s radio networks on September 11, he was furious about the German submarine attack on September 4 against the U.S. destroyer Greer, about 175 miles southwest of Iceland, and did not care who knew it. No one could doubt that this complex man loved his country’s ships, that a blow at the United States Navy hit him where he lived. The President thundered his warning loud and clear: “From now on, if German or Italian vessels of war enter the waters the protection of which is necessary for American defense, they do so at then own peril.
“The orders which I have given as Commander in Chief of the United States Army and Navy are to carry out that policy—at once.”1
Reaction to the President’s historic pronouncement differed, yet few doubted that he had declared war in the Atlantic in all but name. The Greer affair and Roosevelt’s bold address focused national attention on the showdown with Hitler. The Battle of the Atlantic, the fighting in North Africa, and the titanic struggle raging in Russia all blazed in American headlines.2 By contrast, a few complacent articles and editorials on Japan and the Pacific peered modestly from the inner pages. Both officially and unofficially the United States played down the threat of a Far Eastern war at the very time that the Japanese Navy was conducting war games preparing to deliver devastating blows against the ABCD powers.
Of course, many in Washington realized that they had to deal with a global problem; therefore, they could not and did not neglect the Pacific. But at this time attention centered on the Philippines, not on Hawaii. As we have seen, by the late summer of 1941 certain factors had caused the Army and Navy to reexamine the long-held premise that the Philippines could not be defended. One was Hitler’s monumental blunder in attacking the Soviet Union. This new phase of the war not only eased pressure in western Europe but also slipped the leash from Japan in Asia.
Then, too, in recalling MacArthur to active duty as commander of USAFFE, Washington signaled a dynamic approach to Philippine defense. MacArthur was the last man to don his uniform again only to assume passively the role of champion of a lost cause.
Above all, the rise of military aviation culminating by 1941 in an excellent, workable long-range bomber—the B-17—had added a new dimension to all military planning. A large air armada might seal off the South China Sea, and with its long-range capability the B-17 could easily overfly advance Japanese positions.
Stimson’s enthusiasm for the Flying Fortress knew no bounds. He was disgusted when on September 12 he discovered that, at the urging of Ambassador Constantin Oumansky and two visiting Russian airmen of high rank, Roosevelt, “intrigued with the romance of the thing,” had promised the delegation five Flying Fortresses “to fly back in a picturesque gesture over Germany. . . .”
The secretary of war bitterly lamented his loss because five bombers could make no substantial contribution to Russian victory but were vital in the Philippines. Stimson, who not only loved his B-17s but as a former high commissioner took a special interest in the Philippines, explained his thinking to the Cabinet. Roosevelt appeared contrite, “but the thing was done and it shows the results of private administration—that he should receive these people and make a promise without consulting his Air Force or the Chief of Staff,” or Stimson for that matter, before going ahead.3 Roosevelt’s habit of being carried away and scattering largess without consultation probably contributed to the Cabinet’s coolness to the idea of a Roosevelt-Konoye meeting.
The new, positive approach to Philippine defense constituted less a change of policy than an acknowledgment of current conditions. “Policy” implies a deliberate choice, and the United States never wrote off the Philippines from any lack of concern but rather from the logistical inability to hold them. Nevertheless, both then and later, many believed that the newly activated gestures toward protecting the commonwealth represented wishful thinking rather than realistic appraisal and that the matériel being poured into the Philippines should have gone to Hawaii.4
Marshall, however, believed that as of roughly the end of August, Hawaii’s defenders “were reasonably prepared in meeting the requirements they had stated. . . . We had equipped, so far as we thought it possible to equip and instructed, so far as we thought it was necessary to instruct, the garrison in the Hawaiian Islands. We were now engaged in trying to do for General MacArthur that what sic he so urgently required.”5
Here was a major change in orientation, once more calling for a thorough reexamination of Kimmel’s mission and posture. The decision to dispatch approximately a quarter of the Pacific Fleet strength to the Atlantic in the spring had been based in part upon the availability of Flying Fortresses for the defense of Hawaii.* But now these aircraft were going to the Philippines, leaving only a token number on Oahu. Small wonder that Roosevelt’s broadcast of September 11 prompted Kimmel to write to Stark the next day for clarification and to place on record a few ideas of his own:
We all listened to the President’s speech with great interest. With that and King’s operation orders, of which we have copies, the situation in the Atlantic is fairly clear. But what about the Pacific? . . .
This uncertainty, coupled with current rumors of U.S.-Japanese rapprochement and the absence of any specific reference to the Pacific in the President’s speech, leaves me in some doubt as to just what my situation out here is. Specific questions that arise are:
(a) What orders to shoot should be issued for areas other than Atlantic and Southwest Pacific sub-areas? . . .
(b) Along the same lines, but more specifically related to the Japanese situation, is what to do about submarine contacts off Pearl Harbor and the vicinity. As you know, our present orders are to trail all contacts, but not to bomb unless . . . in the defensive sea area. Should we now bomb contacts, without waiting to be attacked?
Having tossed these troublesome questions into Stark’s lap, Kimmel attacked his main problem: the position of his command in the world picture
The emphasis, in the President’s speech, on the Atlantic also brings up the question of a possible further weakening of this Fleet. A strong Pacific Fleet is unquestionably a deterrent to Japan—a weaker one may be an invitation. I cannot escape the conclusion that the maintenance of the “status quo” out here is almost entirely a matter of the strength of this Fleet. It must [not] be reduced, and, in the event of actual hostilities, must be increased if we are to undertake a bold offensive.6
Thus, Kimmel once again made it crystal clear that he did not think of his ships as designed to protect the Hawaiian Islands or anything else, except as such protection would accrue from victory at sea. To Kimmel, the U.S. Pacific Fleet was the instrument of “a bold offensive,” which he would initiate promptly once war with Japan began. He therefore requested specific, heavy reinforcements, suggesting that the movement of the battleships North Carolina and Washington “to the Pacific, now, would have a tremendous effect on Japan and would remove any impression that all [Kimmel’s italics] our thoughts are on the Atlantic. . . .”7
At this point Kimmel’s logic shot wide of the mark because the day for deterrents, if it ever existed, had long passed. Japan was going to invade the southern regions come hell, high water, or American battleships. In fact, the presence at Pearl Harbor of two additional battlewagons would have made such enthusiastic airmen as Genda fairly smack their lips in anticipation.
The CinCUS ended his letter with one more plea to remember his area: “Until we can keep a force here strong enough to meet the Japanese Fleet we are not secure in the Pacific—and the Pacific is still very much a part of the world situation. . . .”8
The press showed no sign of sharing Kimmel’s concern. According to Honolulu newspapers, the Japanese were “displaying marked prudence” because their “army and navy stuck out their necks to dangerously vulnerable lengths. Particularly the navy.”9 Germany’s mounting troubles in Russia gave “evidence enough that the Peace of the Pacific is less likely to be violated now” than in 1940, when Hitler’s successes “were at their peak.”10 The mainland, too, was optimistic. “No one doubts that the British and American naval forces now in the Far East could easily destroy the Japanese navy,” claimed the Atlanta Constitution.11
Such complacent attitudes no doubt bothered Kimmel when, on Thursday, September 18, he addressed a chamber of commerce luncheon held in Honolulu’s Royal Hawaiian Hotel. His audience contained such heavy guns as Governor Joseph B. Poindexter and other civilian leaders, with Short and Martin, Pye and Halsey. With the bare minimum of the usual courtesies, Kimmel launched into a hard-hitting speech over radio station KGBM.
“My job is not to formulate national policy, but to bring our fleet, particularly the Pacific Fleet, to the very highest state of efficiency.” Having thus clarified his position, Kimmel emphasized: “Even more than their fellow Americans on the mainland, the people of Hawaii will be intimately concerned with any war that may come. By virtue of their geographical position they may even be exposed to the physical hazards of war.”
He charged that “Hawaii has led a soft life” and was “somewhat unwilling to face the realities of the present.” He gave his audience a glimpse of his naval thinking. “We of the Pacific fleet now based in this area are not here merely to aid in the defense of this American outpost. . . . If war should unfortunately be forced upon us, the duty of the fleet will be to deny vital sea areas to the enemy. . . . Sooner or later, however, the units must return to a base for fuel, provisions, repairs, essential relaxation.”
The CinCUS then ran up a storm warning: “The officers and men whom I command know that I am intolerant of half measures. They know that I do not take the will for the deed. They expect me to speak bluntly. Let me be equally candid with you!” With that he proceeded to tell the Hawaiians that they had fallen short and sidestepped some of their responsibilities. They had “taken an attitude of ‘mañana’ about highly important matters connected with the current emergency. . . .”
It took a goodly measure of courage and conviction for a military man in 1941 to say such things to a group of distinguished leaders in beautiful, easygoing Hawaii. Kimmel switched to the subject of espionage and subversion. “Each one of you must guard against directly or indirectly aiding foreign agents”; at the same time, just and honest as always, he warned against the danger inherent in “witch hunts” and against anyone’s “being unduly apprehensive or suspicious” of his neighbor.
Kimmel ended with a plea for unity and sacrifice: “The more we collectively prepare in peace the less we collectively suffer in war.”12
A shadow hangs over Kimmel’s brave, pertinent words. When the unexpected happened, it was not the civilian Hawaiians who were caught with their anchors down. To his dying day Kimmel never understood why, in his case, his fellow countrymen could not “take the will for the deed.”
On September 11, the day of Roosevelt’s Greer address, a note of genuine cheer rang through a memorandum which Miles sent to Marshall. Emperor Hirohito had assumed direct command of Army Headquarters and had publicly thanked his Cabinet. Snatching with pathetic eagerness at any sign that the United States might avoid embroilment in the Pacific, the G-2 added optimistically, “Barring a massacre of the conservatives by the militarists, an event deemed unlikely in view of the Emperor’s action, it is probable that Japan will find a peaceful way out of one of the greatest crises in her history and seek a means to realign her foreign policy in an anti-Axis direction.”13
Across the United States speculation on the meaning of the Emperor’s move ran rife. Practically everyone agreed that he had done a brave thing in assuming personal control of the home armies, but what did it all mean?14 The Honolulu Advertiser put little faith in this action. “The fact that Hirohito has taken control of the Japanese military . . . signifies nothing. The Japanese military will be controlled as long and as far as it deems good policy and tactics, no farther. The fiction of the Emperor’s supremacy will vanish as suddenly as has the fiction of air superiority over sea power.”15
If anyone in the Hawaiian defense establishment relaxed because of the Japanese reorganization, which occurred the very day the war games opened at the Naval Staff College in Tokyo, no evidence of it appears in the official correspondence of the time. On the tenth we find Short pleading with the War Department for bombproof aircraft repair facilities, “vital to the continued functioning of the Hawaiian Air Force during an attack on Oahu.”16
The subject of air raids also bothered Stark’s office, as witness a letter dispatched on September 16 to the chief of ordnance. The CNO asked for research toward “a lighter anti-torpedo net . . . which can be laid and removed in harbors in a short time for temporary use, and which will give good if not perfect protection for torpedoes fired from planes.”17
On Oahu Martin still prepared U.S. forces for a potential Japanese attack. On September 20 he sent Short a timely memorandum containing a plan for joint exercises over the suggested period November 17–22, to “continue until enemy carrier-based aircraft have attacked Oahu and have theoretically destroyed the Hawaiian Air Force and Navy and Marine units present thereat. . . .” This most unpleasant prospect shows what Martin thought might happen if the Japanese launched a successful air attack on Oahu. The date span is very intriguing because Sunday, November 16, and Sunday, November 23, happened to be the days the Japanese at that very time were considering for delivery of their surprise package.
Martin had a double purpose in mind—first, to discover whether his bomber command could find and destroy the enemy far out at sea where it counted; and secondly, to see whether U.S. carriers, playing the role of Japanese, could sneak up on their objective successfully. He planned a full-scale maneuver, utilizing the new temporary aircraft warning system radar sites. Unlike the umpires at the Tokyo war games, Martin did not want to make matters easy for his team, as witness his final paragraph:
7. It is strongly recommended that no effort be made to “can” or to stereotype any part of this exercise. It is urged that the carriers in approaching Oahu use all tactics of concealment and evasion that they would use in actual war conditions. . . . The striking force to be used against the carriers will consist of every bombardment airplane and patrol plane that has the range to reach the objective.18
While Martin was planning his exercise, in Washington Stark watched the international scene bleakly. On the twenty-second he wrote at length to Hart in Manila with an information copy to Kimmel: “So far as the Atlantic is concerned, we are all but, if not actually, in it. . . .” He went on in this vein for another three paragraphs. Then he observed skeptically: “Mr. Hull has not yet given up hope of a satisfactory settlement of our differences with Japan. Chances of such a settlement are, in my judgment, very slight. Admiral Nomura is working hard on his home government and, while he appears to be making some [Stark’s italics] progress, I am still from Missouri.”19
But at the highest governmental level, attention centered on the Atlantic. None knew better than Roosevelt and Stimson how important that area and how thin the bulkhead between the United States and actual war with Germany were. They differed appreciably, however, in their attitudes toward the future. As an appointed rather than elected official Stimson had less concern with popular opinion than did Roosevelt, who was always sensitive to the pulse of the electorate. Stimson wanted the United States to enter the war. He was not a bloodthirsty man, but the current ambiguous situation offended his basic honesty. He preferred that his country acknowledge the realities of the moment and cease dodging behind semantics. He also believed that “getting into the frank position of war would help production very much and would help the psychology of the people. . . .”20
On September 23 Stark answered some of the queries Kimmel had posed on September 12:
The existing orders, that is not to bomb suspected submarines except in the defensive sea areas, are appropriate. If conclusive, and I repeat conclusive, evidence is obtained that Japanese submarines are actually in or near United States territory, then a strong warning and a threat of hostile action against such submarines would appear to be our next step. Keep us informed.
We have no intention of further reducing the Pacific Fleet except that prescribed in Rainbow 5. . . . The existing force in the Pacific is all that can be spared for the task assigned your fleet, and new construction will not make itself felt until next year.
Stark then outlined certain British reinforcements planned for the period from late December to early in 1942. “These . . . ought to make the task of the Japanese in moving southward considerably more difficult. It should make Japan think twice before taking action, if she has taken no action by that time.”21 That last phrase contained the bitter core of the problem. British reinforcements due in late December could not hinder Japanese forces moving in early December.
Stark blasted Kimmel’s hopes of acquiring North Carolina and Washington, neither as yet completed. The need for them was “far greater in the Atlantic than in the Pacific.” He added hopefully, “I believe that, in all probability, the Pacific Fleet can operate successfully and effectively even though decidedly weaker than the entire Japanese Fleet, which certainly can be concentrated in one area only with the greatest difficulty.”22 Stark would find out soon enough just how rapidly and capably the potential enemy could concentrate in several areas simultaneously.
The CNO’s postscripts often contain some of the most interesting thoughts in his correspondence. He tacked one such on his letter to Kimmel:
I have held this letter up pending a talk with Mr. Hull who has asked me to hold it very secret. I may sum it up by saying that conversations with the Japs have practically reached an impasse [Stark’s italics]. As I see it we can get nowhere towards a settlement and peace in the Far East until and unless there is some agreement between Japan and China—and just now that seems remote. . . .
Stark still did not dispatch his letter. On September 29 he added a second postscript:
Admiral Nomura came in to see me this morning. We talked for about an hour. He usually comes in when he begins to feel near the end of his rope; there is not much to spare at the end now. . . . Conversations without results cannot last forever. If they fall through, and it looks like they might, the situation could only grow more tense. I have again talked to Mr. Hull and I think he will make one more try . . . if there is anything of moment I will, of course, hasten to let you know.23
The current pressures on Nomura were quite enough to drive him frantic, let alone into his friend’s company. On the twenty-sixth he received a message from Toyoda which revealed that his chief suspected Nomura of tampering with Tokyo’s instructions: “. . . I can easily see that, concerning the negotiations, Your Honor’s views are not infrequently at variance with mine . . . this is a very serious matter and I am proceeding cautiously and deliberately. Therefore, I wish to caution you again not to add or detract a jot or tittle on your own without first getting in contact with me. . . .”24
Not content with having sent Nomura on a virtually impossible mission, the Foreign Office now wanted to clap him into a diplomatic straitjacket, almost as if fearing he might succeed in spite of its efforts. Never had flexibility been more essential than at this time when Toyoda denied it to Nomura.
The first anniversary of the Tripartite Pact loomed ominously for Konoye and Toyoda. Konoye very much wanted the best of both worlds—a return to a profitable economic relationship with the United States along with maintenance of firm ties with the Axis. Toyoda fretted over what he considered “the lack of concern” Nomura demonstrated regarding the anniversary. To this Grew expressed quite natural surprise that Toyoda “had not conveyed to the Japanese Ambassador in Washington his own concern on this point.”25 It is possible that in his distaste for the Tripartite Pact, Nomura may have underestimated pro-Axis sentiment in Japan. On August 28 he had told Hull “that with regard to Japan’s relations with the Axis there should be no difficulties, as the Japanese regarded their adherence to the Axis as merely nominal and as he could not conceive of his people being prepared to go to war with the United States for the sake of Germany.”26
The shadow of the swastika and fasces hung over Toyoda. His message to Nomura of September 28 exudes urgency. He had informed Grew, he reported, that “I wished again to emphasize that the first anniversary of the conclusion of the Tripartite Alliance is the turning point and that this occasion is all the more grave . . . for the last few days a movement to strengthen the Axis has been afoot, and the popular psychology is being adverted toward this end.” He hastened to add, “This does not mean at all that the power of the present government has dwindled or that the advocates of anti-Americanism have strengthened their position.”27 If not, what did he mean? Probably not even Toyoda himself could have clarified his thinking at this stage.
On September 29 Iguchi sent a lengthy message to Taro Terasaki, chief of the Foreign Office’s American Bureau, giving his views concerning progress of the discussions. Father Drought had advised him: “Japanese government circles feel that there is absolutely no reason why the United States should not accept the most recent proposals. The fact that she has not done so, must be due to interference from some Washington source, Walsh cables.”
It is difficult to understand how Bishop Walsh could possibly read the Japanese proposals and wonder why Washington did not rush to accept them. Either his Japanese friends were being less than candid with him, or he was of a naïveté to make one afraid, as the French say. Iguchi, who knew his business, stated flatly that “it is exceedingly unlikely that the United States had any intention of backing down from those established stands.”28
Even Toyoda admitted in his message to Nomura of September 28 that the presence of “one influential admiral and one general” in the proposed Konoye entourage had “made the United States suspect that a hostile military was holding the whip hand over us.” But he added, “Well, the integrity of Premier Konoye and of the present government ought to be a hundred per cent reliable, and the American Ambassador must have sufficiently advised his government on the trustworthiness of Prince Konoye.”29
Grew had done exactly that. But what with several thousand miles between them and the potent Konoye charm, and only the cold record before them, Hull and his advisers had long since formed their own idea of the premier’s “trustworthiness.”