THEY MISSED. Pearl Harbor and Great Expectations

At 7:40 am the first wave of 183 warplanes spotted the white water breakers at Kahuka Point (above). As they banked south at 6,000 feet, 39 year old Commander Mitsuo Fuchida slid back the center canopy of his torpedo bomber. And as they passed seaward of Waimea Bay, he raised his binoculars.

Twenty miles up the central valley of Oahu he could see the Army air base at Wheeler airfield. Thirty-five miles beyond were the three lobes of the naval base at Pearl Harbor. No American planes moved in the sky. The Pacific Fleet remained chained to its anchors. 

Ten minutes later the long anticipated war between the United States and Japan, began. But what screwed up 40 years of careful planning on both sides was a bunch of irrational human beings. And you can't plan for that.

In 1901 the rational Rear Admiral Raymond Perry Rodgers  (above) drew up plans for an American war with Japan. Labeled War Plan Orange, it called for the American Pacific Fleet to sail west to relieve the U.S. colony in the Philippines, and then turn north to fight a decisive battle with the dreadnoughts of the Imperial Japanese Navy. With minor modifications that remained the basic war plan until 1941, and was mirrored by Japanese planning. 

Entering the 20th century, the Japanese elite were desperate to keep the Americans from scavenging their nation as the Europeans had devoured China.  In 1910 Japan annexed Korea, so it's rice fields could feed the growing Japanese population. 

They conquered Manchuria in 1931, to gain coal, iron, zinc and copper for Japanese industry.

And they invaded China in 1937, seeking even more resources to stabilize their own Imperial system. The one natural resource which kept Japan from total independence was oil, 90% of which they had to buy from the United States. As a hedge, the Imperial government had carefully amassed a 2 year stockpile.

By April of 1940,  Prime Minster, 50 year old Prince Fumimaro Konoye (above, front), started looking for an escape hatch from the morass of the China war he had sought. He opened talks with the American government. But from within his own cabinet a war hawk emerged, 52 year old General Hideki Tojo (second row, second from the left) 

The General (above)  argued that, “... If we yield to America's demands, it will destroy the fruits of the China incident. Manchukuo (Japanese Manchuria) will be endangered and our control of Korea undermined.” As the most elite of the elite, Emperor Hirohito was sympathetic to Tojo.

Then, early in July of 1941 the Japanese occupied the rubber plantations in French Indochina. Outraged, President Franklin Roosevelt froze all Japanese funds in American banks. The President and his senior advisers then secretly slipped off to Newfoundland to meet with Winston Churchill to talk about the war raging in Europe. 

So everybody above Assistant Secretary of State Dean Acheson (above), was abruptly out of the loop. Because of this brief and sudden power vacuum, the 38 year old antifascist autocratic who headed the little known Foreign Funds Control Committee, found his hand wrapped around the Japanese throat.

Late in July Acheson squeezed. His committee ruled that Japan could not use frozen funds to pay for the $50 million of petroleum they had contracted to buy, enough oil to keep them independent into 1943. The American oil companies screamed at the lost revenue, but after returning from the Atlantic Conference the Roosevelt administration feared rescinding the order would “send the wrong message” to Japan. 

Acheson himself had no concerns about backing Japan into a corner because, as he wrote later, “...no rational Japanese could believe that an attack on us could result in anything but disaster for his country." 

The power Acheson had such faith in was the American Pacific fleet, 9 battleships (above the USS Arizona) , 3 aircraft carriers, 20 cruisers, 50 destroyers and 33 submarines. In May of 1940, this powerful force had been transferred to Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii, to send a message.

The lagoon's original name was “Wai Momi”, meaning Waters of Pearl. Over the previous half century the U.S. Navy had dredged it to an average depth of 30 feet, built piers, dry docks, maintenance yards, barracks, warehouses and air fields. 

In 1924 construction began on what would become 60 large above ground oil tanks (above), which could hold 4.5 million barrels of fuel for the Pacific Fleet. 

In addition there were some 30,000 U.S. Army troops stationed at Henderson Barracks, and Army fighters and bombers at Hickham Field in the center of Oahu.

Oddly, the individual who objected the most to basing the fleet at Pearl Harbor was the Commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, 64 year old Admiral James Otto Richardson (above, center). 

What worried Richardson was the vulnerability of the fleet, in particular those above ground oil tanks. A single strafing run,  firing incendiary shells, could set afire the entire 4 million barrels, leaving the fleet stranded and easy prey to Japanese battleships and submarines.

Richardson (above) had spent most of 1940 convincing Congress to put the fleet's vulnerable Oahu oil stockpile 100 feet safely below the volcanic rocks of the Red Hills, 3 1/2 miles east of the harbor. But the crews did not start drilling into the basalt until late December of 1940. Even working around the clock the 250 million gallons of oil would not start filling the 20 steel lined underground tanks for another three years. Until then, Richardson wanted the fleet to return to San Diego. The Roosevelt Administration felt that would be an open invitation to Japanese aggression, and decided to fire Richardson.

About the same time Richardson's head hit the chopping block, 57 year old commander of the Japanese Combined Fleet, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto (above), began planning a preemptive attack on Pearl Harbor. He did this own his own, and the first time he presented his proposal to the Naval General Staff , they rejected it. 

Typical was the opposition of 57 year old arthritic Vice Admiral Chūichi Nagumo. Even though he had no experience in aviation, he had just been just been promoted to command Japan's Kido Butai (mobile strike force), their aircraft carriers. Nagumo insisted he had the “utmost respect” for Yamamoto, but cautioned, “...the most brilliant man can occasionally make a mistake.”

On 1 February, 1941, 58 year old Admiral Husband Edward Kimmel was named the new Chief in Command of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. He shared many of Richardson's concerns about the fleet's new base. But remembering the fate of his predecessor, Kimmel subdued his warnings, and 2 weeks after assuming command, he assured his bosses, “I feel that a surprise attack (submarine, air, or combined) on Pearl Harbor is a possibility, and we are taking immediate practical steps to minimize the damage inflicted and to ensure that the attacking force will pay.”

But Kimmel's only effective warning of such an attack would come from Consolidated PBY Catalina patrol planes, which could search up to 800 miles out of Pearl. However the strain of long flights on aircraft and crews, and the limited number of planes at hand meant Kimmel could only search the most probable approaches. 

U.S. Army Air Force had been promised B-17 heavy bombers (above), which could match the Catalina for search range. However, on the eve of every delivery, the numbers were reduced or completely diverted to other demands. As of May, there were only 17 B-17's in Hawaii. Several of those were soon transferred to Manila, in the Philippines, and none were assigned search duties.

In August of 1941, after the American embargo had begun, Yamamoto (above) submitted a revised plan, using almost 500 planes on six aircraft carriers – almost half of the 15 carriers Japan had built. The General Staff rejected it again.  To be clear, Yamamoto did not expect a surprise attack to yield direct victory. as he warned a friend and political ally. He wrote, "Should hostilities once break out between Japan and the United States, it is not enough that we take Guam and the Philippines, nor even Hawaii and San Francisco. To make victory certain, we would have to march into Washington and dictate the terms of peace in the White House." 

But because of the embargo and the China war, the Japanese navy was down to a six months supply of oil. Yamamoto argued that Nagumo had to either use his carriers or lose them, So on 25 September the nervous Nagumo began training his pilots for the attack. The naval critics were pacified that at least the precious carriers were under the direct command of the cautious Nagomo. Surely he would prevent the Yamamoto from unduly risking them. On 16 October, 1941, the Emperor asked General Hideki Tojo to serve as Prime Minister, and he formed a war cabinet.

On Saturday, 1 November, the Japanese Combined Fleet changed their radio codes. At the same time all ships in the Kido Butai - 6 aircraft carriers, 2 battleships, 2 Cruisers, 11 destroyers, one fleet oiler and 7 supply ships - went silent, and were replaced by simulated broadcasts, which convinced the listening Americans the Japanese carriers remained at anchor in Hiroshima and Saeki bays. Then at dawn on Sunday, 16 November, and under strict radio silence, the Kido Butai set sail for the Kuriles Islands, 1,000 miles to the north. On that same day 20 full sized and 6 midget submarines left Kwajalein atoll, also bound for Hawaiian waters.

On Friday, 21 November, , the strike force dropped anchor in the lonely volcano lined Hitokappu Bay, Iturup Island. That same day Emperor Hirohito gave his final approval for the attack. Only if the Americans lifted the oil embargo and gave Japan a free hand in Asia, could a war now be averted. The Americans still expected Japan to react to their economic pressure short of war. As one historian has put it, they had underestimated “...the incredibly high risks...” the Japanese elite would take to dominate Asia. “It was a matter of life and death for them.”

On Sunday, 23 November, Vice Admiral Nagumo was ordered to “....proceed to the Hawaiian Area with utmost secrecy and, at the outset of the war...launch a resolute surprise attack on and deal a fatal blow to the enemy fleet in the Hawaiian Area...the Task Force will (then) immediately withdraw...” 

As the Fleet steamed east toward war through stormy seas at 14 knots, Vice Admiral Nagumo mused to his Chief of Staff, “ If I had only been more firm and refused. Now we've left home waters...” But it was too late for second thoughts.

On Saturday, 6 December, 1941, Nagumo ordered the attack fleet to changed course to 180 degrees and increase speed to 20 knots.  After a voyage of almost 2,500 miles, dawn on Sunday, 7 December, 1941, found the Kido Butai just 230 miles northwest of Oahu Island. 

At 6:10 am local time, they launched the first wave of attack aircraft.

The first bombs and torpedoes fell on Pearl Harbor, Wheeler Field and Schofield barracks at 7:55 am, local time. 

At 9:45 am the second wave of Japanese planes turned for home. 

In those 110 minutes 2,043 U.S. military personnel were killed – half when the USS Arizona's magazine exploded – and 1,143 were wounded. 

Five battleships were sunk or run aground. Another 13 cruisers, destroyers and service ships were damaged to varying degrees. 

Out of 402 American aircraft on Oahu,188 were destroyed and 159 damaged. 

The cost to the Japanese attack force of 414 planes was 29 aircraft shot down, 9 in the first wave and 20 in the second, or 8% of the attacking force. 

Another 111 planes were damage but returned to their carrier. A total of 20 of those planes never flew again.

Commander Mitsuo Fuchida returned to the Kido Butai flagship, the aircraft carrier Akagi, just before noon, local time. He was one of the last to land, having circled over Pearl Harbor to observe the entire assault. Immediately upon landing, presumably after relieving his bladder in the head, he reported to Vice Admiral Nagumo on the bridge. He detailed the damage he had seen to the American ships, and then began to suggest further attacks for a third wave, including the vulnerable oil storage tanks and the dry dock repair facilities. Despite some accounts which suggest a confrontation, there is no persuasive evidence such a discussion took place. Even before Fuchida had landed, Nagumo and his staff had decided to turn the carriers back north and "....immediately withdraw...”.

There were good reasons for Nagumo's decision, None of the Kido Butai were equipped with radar, meaning at any moment American aircraft might appear without warning. Intercepted radio traffic hinted that perhaps 50 American land based bombers were still operational. Also, the ocean might be filled with American submarines. 

Did the carriers even have the weaponry capable of damaging the concrete dry docks? The fuel tanks were easy targets, but the Kido Butai could only put 150 aircraft into a third strike. And losses had doubled between the first and second wave attacks. If they doubled again a third wave could expect to lose between 30 and 40 aircraft. And a third wave would have to land on the carriers after dark, something Japanese pilots were not trained for.

And finally there was also this - Nagumo had never believed in the attack. Having avoided his greatest fears, and turning back before achieving Yamamoto's greatest hopes, Nagumo had at least preserved six of Japan's fragile aircraft carriers. But it would prove to be a Pyrrhic victory. 

Expanding a war because of oil, the Japanese had left 4 ½ million barrels on Oahu. That fuel would power the U.S. Navy through the launching of Doolittle Raid on Tokyo, and the battle at Midway, where 4 Japanese carriers would be sunk. Refusal to knock out those vulnerable above ground tanks proved that although the Japanese had started the war because of oil, they never recognized its strategic role in the war.

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THERE'S A WAR ON!

I find it instructive that the citizens of Halifax, Nova Scotia (above)  have never obsessed over how the disaster of 6 December, 1917 could have happened to them.  They have asked the obvious questions, but from day one, they have been willing to accept that they would never know the whole truth. In part this was because so many of those responsible were already dead, and in part because it was a time and a place where obsessions could not be tolerated. There was a war on, as the saying goes, and that explained the unexplainable, as you would know if you have ever considered the full implications of that phrase; “There’s a war on.”

Halifax exists because it is one of the largest, best protected ice free harbors in the world, a gift of the Sackville River. The Sackville rises in the center of “New Scotland” near Mt. Unijacke and meanders its way for 25 miles south eastward, spilling from one lake to another until it reaches the head of The Bedford Basin.

Here the Slackville disappears into a drowned river valley, a protected anchorage four miles long by two miles wide. At its southern end is “The Narrows”, which closes to a little less than a mile wide channel. In 1917 the town of Halifax, home to 50,000, rose on the steep hills along the west side of the Narrows, while the suburb of Dartmouth, with a population of 6,500, occupied the east shore.And beyond the bottleneck of The Narrows was Halifax Harbor, which opened directly to the North Atlantic. The salt water here is warmed by the nearby Gulf Stream Current, and the Great Circle commercial route is just one hour sailing time out to sea. That combination, the harbor and the nearby Great Circle Route, made Halifax a convenient place to rest and load coal before challenging the North Atlantic, or to recover after a harrowing voyage to the new world. And during World War One the Bedford Basin was the logical place for allied convoys to form up in safety, far from prying enemy eyes.

Early on the morning of Thursday, 6 December, 1917 there were some fifteen cargo ships crowded into the Basin and several Royal Navy warships in Halifax harbor.

But atypical of all of these ships was the Steam Ship Monte Blanc; 3,121 tons, 320 feet long, and inbound for Bedford Basin. At any other time she would have been a pariah, and expected to unload her cargo outside the port, on the safety of McNab's Island. But there was a war on.

The SS Mont Blanc was just out of New York carrying 2,300 tons of the explosive trinitrophenol (TNP), 200 tons of trintritoluene (TNT), 10 tons of gun cotton and 300,000 rounds of small arms ammunition. In addition she had 36 tons of the high octane Bezol fuel piled about her decks in 50 gallon drums. In short the ship was a floating bomb. And as the Monte Blanc approached The Narrows she found herself head-on to the outbound 5,043 ton, 430 foot long Norwegian SS IMO, running ballast, outbound for New York to load humanitarian supplies for German occupied Belgium.

As the two ships approached they each signaled by ship's horns their intention to maintain course and speed. Then without warning the Mount Blanc turned to the right, as if moving to dock at a pier on the Halifax shore. Seeing this, the Imo (below) desperately reversed her engines, intending to slow and give the Mount Blanc room. But the reverse spin on Imo’s propeller pulled her into the center of The Narrows, and directly into the path of the looming Monte Blanc.

It was 8:45 A.M., local time. The towns of Halifax and Dartmouth were just starting their work days. Large crowds stopped to watch as the two ships sounded their horns in alarm and drew inexorably together. Workers at the new rail yards up the harbor were drawn to the excitement. Everyone in town, it seemed, stopped what they were doing to witness the drama unfolding.

As if in slow motion the two ships struck. The Imo’s prow sliced into the starboard bow of the Monte Blanc. Benzol drums were thrown about Monte Blanc’s deck, spilling the corrosive fuel. Mont Blanc’s cargo hold was penetrated. For a long moment the two ships hung there in the middle of The Narrows. Then, as the Imo backed away, the scrapping of crumpled metal against torn metal, threw sparks. A fire quickly broke out aboard the Monte Blanc, ignited or fed by the Benzol, sending grey smoke skyward. Within 10 minutes the Mont Blanc’s forty man crew had been forced to take to  their life boats. Once there they shouted a warning for the Imo’s crew about their volatile cargo. But none of the Imo's crew spoke French. The drifting burning hulk now brushed past Halifax’s pier six, setting it afire as she passed.

The Canadian Navy tug and mine sweeper "Stella Maris" (above) joined the Imo in attempting to throw water on the fires, and the "Stella Maris" also sent a boat crew to attempt to take the abandoned and burning wreak under tow.

Meanwhile the Box 83 alarm at the Halifax Fire Department sent men and equipment racing toward the harbor and the burning dock. They arrived there just after 9:00 a.m., forcing their way through the growing crowd along the shore, all drawn there by the spectacular show.  Almost no one in the harbor knew what the cargo of  the Monte  Blanc was.

But even now a few sensed the impending disaster. Mr. P. Vince Coleman, a dispatcher for the Inter-Colonial Railway yards (above)  just a few hundred yards inshore from the piers, not only saw the accident, but knew of the Monte Blanc’s deadly cargo as well. He and other workers in the yards ran for their lives. But then Coleman remembered that a train loaded with 300 passengers from Saint John’s was due to arrive in a few moments. He ran back to his post and tapped out the following message on the telegraph key, “Stop trains. Munitions ship on fire. Approaching pier six. Goodbye.” Every operator up and down the line heard that message. Then, precisely at 9:04:35 the line went dead.

In that instant, in a single white hot flash, the 3,000 ton Mont Blanc was converted into shrapnel - jagged sections of iron weighing from slivers to half a ton. They were ripped from the hull and sent spinning away at supersonic speeds. Part of the Mont Blanc’s anchor landed two and a half miles away.

At the center of the blast the temperature exceeded 9,000 degrees Fahrenheit, instantly converting the 40 degree sea water in The Narrows to steam. First a high pressure shock wave raced through the air at 500 feet a second, flattening everything within 4 square miles. Then a fireball took just 20 seconds to rise a mile into the air, where an enterprising photographer snapped a picture (above) from thirteen miles away.

Then a tidal wave 36 feet high swept back and forth across The Narrows, sweeping away everything onshore in its path and dragging it into the water. . An entire Innuit village of 22 families on the Dartmourth shore was drowned by the wave. Windows were shattered 10 miles away.  Buildings shook 78 miles distant. And the explosion was heard in Cape Breton, 225 miles to the east. Out of the tug Stella Maris’ crew of 24, only five survived. On board the Imo, the captain, the harbor pilot and five crew members were killed. The 430 foot long Imo was thrown against the Dartmouth shore like a toy in a bathtub (below), her bottom ripped out. Every other ship in Halifax harbor suffered causalities and damage.

Of the ten firemen who had just arrived at the dock, nine were killed, including the Fire Chief and Deputy Chief. The sole survivor, engine driver Billy Wells, wrote, “The first thing I recalled after the explosion was standing quite a distance from the fire engine…the explosion had blown off all my clothes as well as the muscles from my right arm.”

At least 2,000 people had been killed outright, and 9,000 wounded, not counting the Innuit dead. (Native peoples, quite simply, did not count., in 1917).  More than 1,000 of those who witnessed the explosion were blinded by flying glass and slivers of wood and steel. Nova Scotia lost more of her citizens in that one instant than were killed serving in her army and navy units in all four years of World War One.

Slowly rescuers began to move into the devastated square mile, removing the dead, comforting the wounded and searching for survivors in the rubble of their homes and businesses. Then, as darkness began to fall that night, “…almost as if Fate, unconvinced the exploding chemicals…had struck a death blow to Halifax, was now calling upon nature to administer the coup de grace…”. It began to snow.

The worst blizzard in ten years buried the shocked port in several feet of snow and condemned untold injured to death by freezing.

Every year, the city of Halifax donates a Christmas tree to the city of Boston, as thanks for the assistance which was rushed to them in the weeks after the explosion. And every year, on December 6th, from 8:50 a.m. to 9:25 a.m., there is a memorial service held  in Halifax to remember the victims of the largest man made explosion on earth ... which was superseded only by the first atomic bomb test in 1945, when there was another world war going on.

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