One day in late September1 Fuchida had just stretched in the unaccustomed luxury of a few minutes’ rest at the Kagoshima command post when a sailor came to him with the report “Commander Genda has just arrived and would like to see you, sir.” Fuchida jumped up, surprised and gratified, and hastened to greet his friend.
Genda got right down to business. “In case war comes between Japan and the United States, Yamamoto plans to attack Pearl Harbor,” he told Fuchida. His classmate’s eyes widened with astonishment, but Genda gave him no time to digest this chunk of raw meat. “If the plan is approved,” he continued, “you are to be flight leader of the attack force.”
With this, many pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Fuchida. Almost overwhelmed by the unexpected honor as well as the daring concept, he stammered his proud acceptance.
Having broken the news, Genda whisked Fuchida off to Akagi for a staff conference. On the way he explained that while the general outline had been completed, many details remained to be worked out, and he wanted Fuchida to have a hand in perfecting the operational plan.
The afternoon sun sparkled on Ariake Bay as the two airmen boarded Akagi. When they entered Kusaka’s cabin, the tension in the air struck Fuchida with almost physical impact. He saw Nagumo and a sprinkling of his staff crowded around two tables. All the officers looked at Fuchida as if sizing him up, and under this barrage of appraising eyes he grew warm with embarrassment.2
Some of those present already knew Fuchida favorably. Kusaka, who had been skipper of Akagi when Fuchida served his first tour of duty aboard the flagship, considered him “a good airman and a brilliant leader of men.”3 Genda’s fine assistant, Yoshioka, characterized him as “a remarkable character and the best man I ever knew for his ability to get along with other people, his composure and coolness under pressure and fire.”4
Fuchida knew Nagumo, but he had never served under him before. Although fully aware of the admiral’s excellent record and general popularity in the Navy, Fuchida wondered if Nagumo was indeed the ideal leader for the revolutionary First Air Fleet. He knew Nagumo was not an air admiral, and he struck Fuchida as a conservative type.
The flight leader and Kusaka exchanged bows and smiles of mutual esteem. Then the chief of staff motioned Fuchida to approach the tables, one of which held a model of Oahu, the other a mock-up of Pearl Harbor on a larger scale. Kusaka briefed Fuchida on the plan’s background. “We want you to begin the special training for this purpose,” he emphasized.5
Next, Genda launched into a discussion of the torpedo program. He explained that the battleships moored in double rows beside Ford Island, only about 500 meters from the harbor shore. Moreover, on that shore stood high cranes and all the usual paraphernalia of a dockyard area. So far Japan had no torpedo which did not sink into the mud at a greater depth than the forty-foot waters of Pearl Harbor; however, while the technicians worked out a suitable missile, Fuchida could be supervising the flight training.
Privately Fuchida thought that his friend wanted plenty. Who but Genda, he reflected, would evolve a scheme to attack the U.S. Pacific Fleet in a citadel widely touted as impregnable, using a weapon not yet perfected! But he had the utmost respect for his classmate’s farsightedness and daring spirit. Moreover, he had a streak of fatalism in his nature. As he wrote later, he felt “some affinity of destiny that I always found myself taking on the job of putting Genda’s ideas into practice.”6
Nagumo and his staff seemed to want Fuchida’s opinion of the Pearl Harbor plan on the spot, but this was too big a project for a newcomer to express a snap judgment. Nor could Fuchida accept the torpedo scheme without a closer look at all the factors involved, so he asked to see a chart of Pearl Harbor to supplement the model. Yoshioka produced one, and with the actual water-level figures in front of him, Fuchida declared, “This is too shallow for a torpedo attack against the American warships. I suggest that no such strike be planned, for this is not an efficient attack method.” All present thrashed out the matter for some time. Kusaka decided that they must leave the torpedo problem unsettled for the moment. Let Fuchida train his pilots along this line, but with no hint that anything special hung upon it.7
Fuchida next turned his attention to horizontal bombing, his own home ground. “We cannot rely only on torpedoes,” he remarked. “Nor can we expect too much from dive bombing because the missiles are too light to penetrate the heavy armor of a United States battleship. We must work on high-level bombing and train incessantly until our bombardiers are good enough.”
Fuchida knew all too well the difficulties which had almost ruled horizontal bombing out of the picture, but he believed that the torpedo program presented obstacles no less daunting. Even if the Japanese could solve the knotty problems of a workable torpedo and effective bombing technique, he could not imagine that the Americans would neglect the elementary precaution of installing antitorpedo nets around their ships. Genda based his assumption that the harbor would be free of such devices upon an intelligence report dated March 1941. Since then the United States had had ample time to place the nets. Moreover, Fuchida stressed that the American habit of double mooring meant that only the outboard ship would be vulnerable to torpedoes.8 The entire inboard group would escape almost scot-free because the dive bombers could inflict but relatively light damage.
This suggestion was right in line with Genda’s own thinking. He proposed that the high-level bombers fly no lower than 5,000 meters (16,404 feet) to avoid antiaircraft fire. Fuchida believed that 3,000 meters (9,843 feet) would be the minimum altitude from which they could pierce the armor plating on battleships yet permit a high percentage of hits. “The risk is worth running to ensure maximum destruction,” he stated. The dive bombers could take care of the American carriers.9 This argument also meshed with Genda’s plans, and either by happy accident or design—for he knew his Genda—Fuchida had used the phrase “maximum destruction,” the key to his friend’s heart.
From the moment Genda explained his assignment, Fuchida brought a new dimension to the Pearl Harbor picture. Henceforth he and Genda formed a unique team—Genda the creative genius supplying the original ideas, Fuchida the aggressive activist hammering them into reality. Genda’s mind was the rapier—flashing, pointed, flexible, deadly—Fuchida’s, the broadsword—blunt-pointed but sharp-edged, solid, durable.
As the briefing drew to a close, Kusaka turned to Fuchida and charged him solemnly, “Let me repeat—this is the most secret thing of all secrets. I want to take every possible step to keep it even from your flying crews when they train for this mission.”10
Nagumo had said little throughout the discussion, but he never took his eyes off Genda and Fuchida. More than once he broke into the conversation to ask the flight leader, “Is everything going to be OK?” Now he repeated his query. Fuchida answered honestly, “I can’t tell you at this time, sir, because everything depends on our training from now on.”
Fuchida turned back to Kusaka and pondered the chief of staffs words for a moment. Then he asked, “May I tell the group commanders our mission? They will not be able to do their best if they don’t know what they are doing and what their objective is.” After thinking this over seriously, Kusaka replied, “Very well, but not just yet. We will tell them a little bit later.”11 Kusaka still hoped that the Navy would not have to embark upon this reckless venture. Until the day of decision the fewer who knew of the scheme, the better.
The whole question of how best to use Japan’s naval air power deeply concerned Nagumo as well as Kusaka. It also preyed on the minds of Tsukahara and Onishi of the Eleventh Air Fleet.12 Nagumo and Tsukahara were old friends, having been classmates at both Eta Jima and the Naval Staff College. They shared many opinions on the strategy and tactics of sea warfare and now agreed that they and representatives of their staffs should get together to discuss their mutual problems. So in late September Nagumo, Kusaka, Oishi, Genda, Yoshioka, and Ono traveled to Kanoya to represent the First Air Fleet. There Tsukahara, Onishi, Takahashi, and one or two others joined them to present the case of the Eleventh Air Fleet.13
At this place Tsukahara and most of his staff learned about the projected Pearl Harbor attack for the first time. Tsukahara reacted in a markedly negative way to what he considered a wild gamble which would devour ships, planes, and men urgently required for the Southern Operation. But he did not go deeply into the project except as it affected his own air operations.14
In case of war the immediate objective of the Eleventh Air Fleet, operating from Formosan land bases, would be to wipe out the growing air capability of the United States in the Philippines at the earliest possible moment. This was imperative if Japanese landings were to succeed. Tsukahara worried particularly over the lack of adequate fighter cover for his bombers. The Zero could not make the entire run to the target and back because the principal United States airfields lay in the Manila area, which added up to a radius of more than 500 miles.15 What is more, some of these air bases lay out of reach of the bombers on Formosa. Destruction of such bases might have to wait until the invasion got under way, and what might happen in the meantime no man could foresee. The enemy could well launch a hard-hitting counter-offensive or even beat the Japanese to the punch. And Tsukahara had still another mission—a similar operation over Malaya from southern French Indochina.16
Under the circumstances, the Eleventh Air Fleet wanted strong carrier-based support—and the only source would be the First Air Fleet. So Tsukahara put the bite on Nagumo. Would he part with some of his planes to beef up the Eleventh Air Fleet? After some discussion both Nagumo and Kusaka agreed.17
Onishi, who chaired the meeting, had a good deal to say. By this time he had changed course 180 degrees about the Pearl Harbor venture, largely thanks to Kusaka’s persuasion. The latter talked with Onishi many times during September. Onishi first came to listen to Kusaka’s views, then to share them.18 Naturally other considerations entered into Onishi’s altered attitude. As chief of staff of the Eleventh Air Fleet he owed his primary loyalty to the mission of his own organization. To help Yamamoto lay the groundwork for a Pearl Harbor attack—an isolated chore—was one thing; to sponsor the project at the expense of his assigned duties was quite another.
Listening to Onishi, Yoshioka gained the impression that he believed Japan could not win a Pacific war with the United States no matter how it went about it. If Japan confined its push to the southern regions, even including the Philippines, the Americans would be angry, would even fight, but would remain open to negotiations. However, if it attacked Pearl Harbor, that would make the United States “so insanely mad” that any hope for a compromise peace would go up in flames.19
Genda did not think Onishi quite that pessimistic. He recalled Onishi’s saying that the war would certainly be very difficult for Japan. Therefore, if it took the plunge, it must do so with a steely determination; otherwise, the dangers would overcome it.20 Tsukahara likewise entertained grave doubts about the ultimate outcome of the conflict. He did not see how a long war “could terminate successfully for Japan.”21
During the Kanoya meeting Genda held his peace. Obviously all the top brass had ranged itself solidly against the Pearl Harbor project, and Genda had better sense than to waste his strength butting against a brick wall. But behind his mask of silent courtesy he writhed at the prospect of stripping the First Air Fleet to clothe the Eleventh. Such a course, he believed, would gravely jeopardize the Hawaiian operation.22
The conference at Kanoya reinforced the Eleventh Air Fleet’s conviction that it should have substantial carrier-based fighter support in its strikes against the Philippines. The discussions also pointed up sharply the lack of solid endorsement of the Pearl Harbor plan. Largely as a result of this parley, Kusaka and Onishi made up their minds to face Yamamoto directly with their opposition to his hazardous scheme.23 Kusaka therefore requested Nagumo’s permission to speak with Yamamoto. Nagumo gave it readily, for he feared that the plan would turn out to be a costly blunder. During the war games he had suggested that “appropriate recommendations should be made to Yamamoto.”24 Tsukahara authorized Onishi to join Kusaka in this mission.
If the two men felt some inner trepidation as they set forth, who could fault them? Yamamoto towered at the head of the Combined Fleet, an awesome Neptune to be propitiated rather than baited. But Kusaka would have fought the devil with his own pitchfork if necessary for the good of Japan. On this early autumn day25 he needed every ounce of his moral courage. He knew that for months Yamamoto had been dead set on attacking Pearl Harbor.
Kusaka also knew that Yamamoto did not feel the same personal warmth toward him that he did toward Onishi. “Yamamoto liked Onishi very much because he was so frank,” Kusaka explained after the war. “Yamamoto also liked me, but not in the same way. It would be more accurate to say that he admired me—that is, my puritanism, my morality. As for Onishi, Yamamoto liked him rather than admired him. He trusted Onishi implicitly however, and without reservations. But in my case there were certain limitations which Yamamoto imposed.”26
Nevertheless, in this instance Kusaka could pull more weight than Onishi. The latter had only a personal connection with the Pearl Harbor plan, whereas Kusaka had an important official relationship to the operation. It was not the first time he had gone to the flagship “to discuss the inadvisability of the Pearl Harbor attack with Yamamoto.”27 But this occasion bore a special stamp of finality. The war games lay in the past, the political situation was reaching a climax, and the air training had entered a more active phase.
Yamamoto knew about the opposition to his plan, and naturally it displeased and disturbed him. Nonetheless, he received Kusaka and Onishi graciously. Along with Ugaki and several of his staff, Yamamoto listened “almost in silence” as the visitors argued against the terrible gamble.28 Onishi, the last man in the world to look straight into Yamamoto’s sardonic eye and argue against the Pearl Harbor project on the basis of its risks and operational difficulties, dwelt instead on the overriding importance of the southern strategy and the urgent need for carrier support against the Philippines. He also urged consideration of time. The longer the diplomatic crisis dragged out, the more alert the U.S. Navy would become to any possible Japanese move. He feared the time for exploiting the surprise factor to the full had already passed. Moreover, the weather in early winter would be unfavorable.29
Thereupon Yamamoto requested the opinion of his staff officer for air. Sasaki outlined the condition of the enemy’s air force in the Philippines on the basis of information received from the Naval General Staff; from this he deduced that the Eleventh Air Fleet had just about enough tools to do the job.30
Onishi’s manner was mild, more in the nature of one making recommendations than objections, but the atmosphere heated up when Kusaka spoke. In fact, he attacked Yamamoto’s premise “very severely” and in his earnestness overstepped the bounds of Japanese politeness. “You are an amateur naval strategist, and your ideas are not good for Japan,” he told Yamamoto roundly. “This operation is a gamble.”31
“I like games of chance,” Yamamoto retorted angrily. “You have told me that the operation is a gamble, so I shall carry it out!” Then his ready sense of humor came to the rescue, and he continued half in jest, “You always attack me for everything I do and think because my mind runs in speculative channels.32 Don’t talk so much of gambling, though I am very fond of playing cards and shogi.”33
Then he called upon Kuroshima to rebut Kusaka’s and Onishi’s arguments. This the former did with irrepressible gusto.34 Not only did invisible chains of loyalty bind him to Yamamoto, but he also believed almost devoutly in the Pearl Harbor plan. Yamamoto closed the discussion by declaring, “I understand your viewpoint very well, but this operation has my immovable confidence. Without this operation I cannot carry out the overall plan of war in the Pacific.”35
Onishi accepted defeat with good grace, yet Kusaka remained unconvinced.36 That night Onishi stayed aboard to play chess with Yamamoto, but Kusaka preferred to return to Akagi. Being a clever psychologist who knew how best to enlist the loyalty of his subordinates, Yamamoto accompanied Kusaka to the gangplank. Patting him gently on the shoulder, he said, “What you recommended was understandable, but as Commander in Chief I have resolved to carry out the Pearl Harbor attack no matter what the cost. So please do your best to develop the plan from now on.” In a shrewd gesture of faith and confidence, he added, “I will place all the details of the project in your hands.” He also specifically asked Kusaka to relate his wishes to Nagumo.
In the face of such stark sincerity, the trust in Yamamoto’s eyes, and the veiled command in his voice, Kusaka vowed deep within himself to do his best. “Admiral, from now on, I won’t say anything against this plan. I swear to exert my utmost efforts to develop your idea.” With that shining promise in his heart Kusaka returned to Akagi.37