But Not in Shame: The Six Months After Pearl Harbor

Prologue

WITH DANGEROUS AND DRAMATIC SUDDENNESS

On December 6, 1941, official Washington circles were waiting for the Tokyo reply to Secretary of State Cordell Hull’s strong note of November 26. It could mean continued uneasy peace—or sudden war between Japan and the United States.

Tension was highest at the Japanese Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue where the following three-part message had just been received from Foreign Minister Shigenori Togo:

1. THE GOVERNMENT HAS DELIBERATED DEEPLY ON THE AMERICAN PROPOSAL OF THE 26TH OF NOVEMBER AND AS A RESULT WE HAVE DRAWN UP A MEMORANDUM FOR THE UNITED STATES CONTAINED IN MY SEPARATE MESSAGE NO. 902B.

2. THIS SEPARATE MESSAGE IS A VERY LONG ONE. I WILL SEND IT IN FOURTEEN PARTS AND I IMAGINE YOU WILL RECEIVE IT TOMORROW. HOWEVER, I AM NOT SURE. THE SITUATION IS EXTREMELY DELICATE, AND WHEN YOU RECEIVE IT I WANT YOU TO PLEASE KEEP IT SECRET FOR THE TIME BEING.

3. CONCERNING THE TIME OF PRESENTING THIS MEMORANDUM TO THE UNITED STATES, I WILL WIRE YOU IN A SEPARATE MESSAGE. HOWEVER, I WANT YOU IN THE MEANTIME TO PUT IT IN NICELY DRAFTED FORM AND MAKE EVERY PREPARATION TO PRESENT IT TO THE AMERICANS JUST AS SOON AS YOU RECEIVE INSTRUCTIONS.

The steps leading to this fateful day began in the late summer of 1940. Germany had overrun Belgium, Holland and France with ridiculous ease and apparently would soon conquer England. On the other side of the world, Japan was bogged down in her seemingly endless undeclared war on China. Only two great powers in the world were at peace, America and Russia.

The U.S. was widely split. The interventionists, led by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, were convinced their country’s future and ultimate safety depended on helping the democracies crush the aggressor nations. Supporting them were the Bundles for Britain group and national minorities whose European relatives had suffered at the hands of Hitler and Mussolini.

Their more numerous anti-war opponents included strange bedfellows: the America Firsters of Charles Lindbergh, Senator Borah and the German-American Bund; the American Peace Mobilization of the American Communist and Labor Parties; and the traditionally isolationist Midwest which, though sympathetic to Great Britain and China, wanted no part of a shooting war.

When Roosevelt, on September 3, traded fifty old destroyers to the beleaguered British for bases, the more rabid isolationists claimed this was merely a stratagem to lead America into war through the back door. The situation worsened on September 27, when Japan formally joined the Axis. A Tripartite Pact was signed, recognizing the leadership of Japan in the establishment of a New Order in Greater East Asia, and Hitler and Mussolini’s New Order in Europe. Each promised to help if one of the others was attacked by a Power at present not involved in the European war or in the Chinese-Japanese conflict.

The pact, by its veiled threat of a two-ocean war, was designed to keep the U.S. neutral. It had the opposite effect. Many Americans hovering indecisively between isolationism and intervention were now forced to agree with Roosevelt that these newly united aggressors were a direct menace to the United States. By March 10, 1941, Roosevelt had gained enough new supporters to pass the Lend-Lease Act. America was at last committed to giving unlimited aid, short of war, to the enemies of the Axis. She was to be the Arsenal of Democracy.

Little more than three months later, on June 22, Hitler shook the world, including his Axis partners, by suddenly invading Russia. This move wrecked the already greatly weakened isolationist movement in the U.S. Instantly the American Peace Mobilization, basically sympathetic to Russia, died, its followers becoming more interventionist than Roosevelt overnight.

The attack also caused a great commotion among Japan’s ruling circles. One group favored an immediate attack on Siberia, but the Army disagreed. Although most of its key moves in the preceding five years had been dominated by fear of the growing strength of Communism, General Hideki Tojo, war minister in the Konoye Cabinet, felt this was a dangerous adventure. He pressed for a drive toward Southeast Asia—the fabulous storehouse of tin, rubber and oil.

While Hitler was amazing the world with his early victories in Russia, Japan suddenly seized Indo-China on July 25, in a bloodless coup. Now there was only one great power at peace—America. And on July 26, she took a bold step up to the very brink of war when Roosevelt, against the advice of the Navy’s planning chief who feared it might lead to early hostilities, froze all Japanese assets in the United States. It was an economic blitzkrieg. At one stroke, the bulk of the flow of oil, the lifeblood of battle, was shut off from Japan.

The reaction there was bitter. Japan was a dynamic country of 74,000,000 people crammed into islands whose total area was less than the size of California. Just as every dynamic country before her she felt she must either expand or deteriorate into a poverty-stricken second-class power. Why, argued her leaders, was America being so self-righteous about the China Incident when the Western world, including herself, had been setting the example of plunder in the Orient for a century?

Spurred by extremists on both sides, relations between the two countries were quickly approaching a dangerous point. The Japanese military leaders felt the negotiations for agreement being discussed in Washington by Ambassador Kichisaburo Nomura and Secretary of State Hull had less than an even chance of success. They insisted that a definite date of war with America be set. Japan’s oil reserves were shrinking dangerously.

To solve this problem, an Imperial Conference was called in Tokyo on September 6. At the beginning of the session, Admiral Osami Nagano, chief of the Naval General Staff, solemnly said, Japan is facing shortages in every field, especially in materials. In a word, Japan is becoming emaciated, while her opponent is growing stronger.

Baron Yoshimichi Hara, president of the Privy Council and a leader of Japanese conservative thought, worriedly asked the High Command to clarify the apparent subordination of diplomacy to preparations for war.

Suddenly Emperor Hirohito, who had been sitting in traditional silence, spoke. He regretted the Army and Navy hadn’t made their attitude fully clear. As the others listened in shocked silence he read an ode written by his grandfather, the Emperor Meiji:

When all the earth’s oceans are one,

Why do the waves seethe and the winds rage?

I have always read and appreciated this poem, and kept in my heart the Emperor Meiji’s spirit of peace. It has been my wish to perpetuate this spirit.

There was a long silence. Nagano rose. I feel trepidation at the Emperor’s censure of the High Command. I assure Your Majesty that the High Command places major importance upon diplomatic negotiations and will appeal to arms only at the last moment.

Then an Outline of National Policy was placed before the Conference: Japan should continue to exhaust diplomatic measures to attain her demands; but if these negotiations dragged on inconclusively, war should be declared on the U.S. and Britain. In other words, hope for peace but prepare for war before the end of 1941. The fuse was lit. Only a diplomatic miracle could snuff it out.

The talks in Washington between Nomura and Hull continued inconclusively for another month. Hull kept insisting that Japan break with the Axis and withdraw troops from China. In desperation the moderates in Japan suggested a compromise—withdrawal of troops over a period of years. The militarists were adamant. Their spokesman, General Tojo, said, We can accept no compromise on principle. After all the sacrifices we have made in China the Army won’t agree to any withdrawals. Army morale would not survive it.

Premier Hidemaro Konoye, a harried man, could no longer control the situation. On October 12, he called his key ministers to an emergency meeting at his home in Tekigaiso. What hopes do you have of bringing war with the United States and Britain to a close once you begin it? he asked General Tojo. America, he pointed out, was obviously superior in resources.

There was no certainty of victory in the war with Russia in 1904, replied Tojo, a dynamic and dedicated samurai warrior. The Premier of Japan should have enough courage to jump off the veranda of the Kiyomizu Temple! Since this Kyoto temple stood at the edge of a cliff, he meant Prince Konoye should have the courage to take a chance.

In four days the ineffectual Konoye resigned. And on October 18 a man of decision was made the new prime minister—Hideki Tojo. The spirit of nationalism never blazed higher. The people of Japan began to believe it was their duty to build a new world based on moral principles. The damage done by Western concepts of individualism and materialism must be undone. It was, they were told over and over again, Japan’s destiny to return Asia to the Asians.

Two weeks later Joseph Grew, U.S. ambassador to Japan, warned Hull of the explosive atmosphere. Because of their emotional character, he wrote, the Japanese might chance an all-out, do-or-die attempt, actually risking national hara-kiri….While national sanity dictates against such action, Japanese sanity cannot be measured by American standards of logic….Action by Japan which might render unavoidable an armed conflict with the United States may come with dangerous and dramatic suddenness.

On November 26, little more than three weeks after getting this letter, Hull handed a note to Admiral Nomura and Saburo Kurusu, a diplomat recently sent to help the ambassador in the delicate negotiations. It was an answer to a note from Tokyo offering to remove troops from Indo-China if the U.S. would unfreeze Japanese assets and hand over a required quantity of oil.

Although Hull offered economic concessions that might well have eventually given Japan everything she needed for national prosperity, he insisted categorically that all troops be withdrawn from China as well as Indo-China.

After reading Hull’s note, the two Japanese were dismayed. When we report your answer to our government, said Kurusu, it will be likely to throw up its hands. After a futile argument with the American, Kurusu said dejectedly, "Your response to our proposal can be interpreted as tantamount to meaning the end. Aren’t you interested in a modus vivendi, a truce?"

We have explored that, said Hull.

Is it because other powers would not agree? asked Kurusu. It was common knowledge in diplomatic circles that China and Great Britain were strongly advising America to take an uncompromising stand with Japan.

I’ve done my best in the way of exploration, said Hull.

The interview was over. The two Japanese returned to their embassy. Nomura knew Tokyo would regard the note as an ultimatum, even though it was by no means that. It would mean the failure of his mission to America.

—

This was the situation on December 6, 1941, as informed circles in Washington awaited Tokyo’s answer to Hull’s ultimatum.

Early that afternoon, while most of the Japanese staff was attending a luncheon party at the Mayflower Hotel, the long-awaited message began to come in on the Tokyo-Washington circuit. Since this, like all other Japanese messages, was obviously being monitored by U.S. agents, it was in the diplomatic Purple Code.

By 3:00 P.M. in another part of Washington, men from the Communications Security Group of the U.S. Division of Naval Intelligence were studying the same message. Theirs was the greatest secret in American military history. Four months previously a team of Army cryptanalysts, led by a retired lieutenant colonel, William F. Friedman, had broken the Purple Code.

PART

1

TIMETABLE FOR CONQUEST

1

Climb Mt. Niitaka

1 At the Japanese Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue, the Tokyo-to-Washington circuit was silent. Thirteen parts of the long message had come in, but the last, the fourteenth, would not arrive until the next morning, December 7. It was now late Saturday afternoon and the decoders decided to quit work although only part-way through the job of deciphering. They figured the note wouldn’t be handed to Secretary Hull until Monday.

First Secretary Katsuzo Okumura was personally typing out the decoded parts. It was too secret for any stenographer. When he finished the copy on hand, he went to the basement to relax. It was a typical dead Saturday afternoon and the subterranean playroom was almost deserted. Two correspondents were playing ping-pong. One of these, Masuo Kato from Domei, laid down his paddle. He wanted to pump the first secretary about the liner, Tatsuta Maru, which had left Yokohama on December 2, and was due to reach Los Angeles on the fourteenth. Most of the small Japanese community expected to sail home on this ship since trouble was sure to come soon.

I’ll bet you a dollar the liner never gets here, said Okumura mysteriously.

They shook hands to seal the bet. Kato ate at a Chinese restaurant near Union Station and then decided to check in at the Domei news agency. While going up to his office in an elevator, an INS reporter said, Did you know the President sent a message to the Emperor appealing for peace?

Detail left

Detail right

Kato thought the American was joking, but a moment later he learned the story was true. He was worried. The situation was even worse than he had suspected. He remembered the strange bet with the first secretary. Then there were the persistent reports all day of Japanese troop convoys heading toward the Gulf of Siam. This could well mean an attack on Singapore.

He typed out a dispatch on the Roosevelt message and sent it to Tokyo.

—

At the Navy Department, the Communications Security Group was much more industrious than the Japanese Embassy decoders that Saturday. It finished deciphering and typing the first thirteen parts of the Tokyo message by 8:30 P.M. The chief, Lieutenant Commander Alwin Kramer, realized this was an important message, for the language was appreciably stronger than earlier notes. It indicated a definite probability that the Japanese were breaking off negotiations.

Kramer began to telephone those who should get copies of the message. I have something important that I believe you should see at once, he told Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox; he also called the head of the Far East Section of the Division of Naval Intelligence, the Director of War Plans Division, the Director of Naval Intelligence, and the White House. One man on his list could not be reached. Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Harold Stark was not at his quarters on Observatory Circle on Massachusetts Avenue.

A copy of the message for the President was placed in a letter pouch and locked. Copies for the other recipients were put in folders and then into a second pouch and locked. A little after 9:00 P.M. Kramer left his office and was driven by his wife to the White House grounds. He walked to the mailroom in the office building near the White House and handed the smaller pouch to the man on duty, Lieutenant Lester Schulz.

Schulz took the pouch in to the White House. Here he got permission to go to the President’s study on the second floor. Roosevelt was sitting at his desk, talking to his chief adviser, Harry Hopkins. Schulz unlocked the pouch and handed a sheaf of clipped papers to the President. It took Roosevelt about ten minutes to read Japan’s detailed reasons why it could not possibly accept Hull’s note of November 26 as a basis of negotiation. He silently handed the papers to his adviser. When Hopkins finished reading, Roosevelt said, This means war.

While Schulz waited they talked of the deployment of Japanese forces. Roosevelt mentioned a radiogram he had sent earlier that day to Emperor Hirohito requesting the withdrawal of troops from Indo-China. A troop convoy was now heading from there to the Gulf of Siam. Where was this invasion force bound?

Since war is undoubtedly going to come at the convenience of the Japanese, said Hopkins, it’s too bad we can’t strike the first blow.

No, we can’t do that, said Roosevelt. We are a democracy and a peaceful people. He raised his voice. But we have a good record. Then he said he was going to call Admiral Betty Stark. He reached for the phone and asked to be connected with the Chief of Naval Operations. The White House operator said the Admiral could be reached at the National Theatre. Roosevelt put the phone down. I’ll call Betty later; I don’t want to cause public alarm by having him paged in a theatre.

The President returned the papers to Schulz, who left the room. It was the most grievous dilemma of Roosevelt’s entire career. The Japanese were about to attack British or Dutch possessions. What should—or could—be done? The British and Dutch were too weak to defend themselves. Without U.S. intervention the Japanese could carve out an empire from the Aleutian Islands to India. But the American people were in no mood for war. The Draft Bill had passed four months previously by the margin of a single vote. He remembered what he’d recently told Churchill when asked to get into the war. If I were to ask Congress to declare war, they might argue about it for three months.

Americans, he was positive, would not go to war to save Singapore or Java or even Australia.

—

Admiral Stark was trying to get some relaxation after months of tension. He was watching The Student Prince. But it made little impression on him. Later he wouldn’t even remember where he’d been on the night of December 6. His mind was still on the Far East crisis. On November 27, although he had not yet read Hull’s strong note of the previous day, he was so sure Japan would strike in retaliation he had sent an unprecedented message to commanders in Hawaii and the Philippines:

THIS DISPATCH IS TO BE CONSIDERED A WAR WARNING. NEGOTIATIONS WITH JAPAN LOOKING TOWARD STABILIZATION OF CONDITIONS IN THE PACIFIC HAVE CEASED. AN AGGRESSIVE MOVE BY JAPAN IS EXPECTED WITHIN THE NEXT FEW DAYS. EXECUTE AN APPROPRIATE DEFENSIVE DEPLOYMENT PREPARATORY TO CARRYING OUT THE TASKS ASSIGNED IN WPL-46 [THE WAR PLAN].

What puzzled him, as well as his opposite number in the Army, General George Marshall, was where the attack would come. The troop convoy nearing the Gulf of Siam suggested Singapore, but it could come in the Philippines or even the Panama Canal. In Hawaii, at least, American defenses were formidable and prepared. In fact, Stark had been so pleased with the Joint Army-Navy Hawaiian Defense Plan for protection of the Pearl Harbor base against a surprise Japanese air attack that he had sent it to all his district commanders as a model.

Just before midnight, Commander Kramer, still chauffeured by his wife, drove up to the Arlington home of Rear Admiral T. S. Wilkinson, Director of Naval Intelligence. The Admiral was entertaining Captain Beardall, Roosevelt’s naval aide, and Major General Sherman Miles, Chief of Army Intelligence. All three read the message. They agreed that it certainly looked as though the Japanese were terminating negotiations.

Kramer, his messenger duties over, now returned the copies of the message to the safe in his office. Then he asked the watch officer if the fourteenth part had come in. When he was told that nothing even looking as if it might be the fourteenth part had been intercepted as yet, the industrious Kramer at last started for home.

It was just before 1:00 A.M., December 7. Many high officials were still awake in Washington, wondering when the Japanese would jump, and where. Not one—Roosevelt, Hull, Stimson, Knox, Marshall or Stark—expected it could be Pearl Harbor.

2 It was then almost 7:30 P.M. , December 6, in Hawaii. Here, as in Washington, there was fear of an early war. One of the main topics of dinner conversation was Roosevelt’s unprecedented appeal to Emperor Hirohito. The Star-Bulletin had two conflicting front-page headlines. One read: JAP PRESS ASKS FOR WAR and the other: NEW PEACE REPORT URGED IN TOKYO . Even if war came, few in the islands had doubt of the issue. Everyone agreed with the United States Senator who, on page ten of the same paper, was quoted as telling an AP reporter that, The United States Navy can defeat the Japanese Navy any place, any time.

Like Marshall and Stark, the Army and Navy commanders of Hawaii were not at all worried about an air attack on Pearl Harbor. Lieutenant General Walter Short, commanding the Hawaiian Department, had received a message from Marshall similar to the war warning Stark had sent Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, commander of the Pacific Fleet. It wasn’t as sharp as the Navy message but it did warn of possible hostile action at any moment. At the same time, Short received another message, this from Army Intelligence.

JAPANESE NEGOTIATIONS HAVE COME TO PRACTICAL STALEMATE. HOSTILITIES MAY ENSUE. SUBVERSIVE ACTIVITIES MAY BE EXPECTED.

To Short this meant one thing: sabotage from Hawaii’s 157,905 Japanese civilians. He reported to Washington that he was alerting the Army for sabotage. And when he got no answer, assumed he had taken all action necessary.

At the moment the general was on the lanai of his home at Fort Shafter holding an emergency meeting with his intelligence officer, Lieutenant Colonel Kendall Fielder, and his counterintelligence officer, Lieutenant Colonel George Bicknell. The latter had just brought the transcript of a telephone conversation monitored by the FBI from a local Japanese dentist to a Tokyo paper, Yomiuri Shimbun. Its editor wondered about things in general in Hawaii: planes, searchlights, weather, even the flowers. In reply to this last question the dentist-correspondent had said the hibiscus and poinsettia were in bloom.

The three officers were puzzled. Was it code? If so, why talk so openly about obvious military objects? Yet, why spend money talking about hibiscus? They had already probed the matter for almost an hour. And all this time the wives of the general and Colonel Fielder were waiting impatiently outside in a car. Short finally said nothing could be done until morning and he and Fielder joined the ladies. They would have to hurry. It was 15 miles to the Schofield Barracks Officers Club, which was putting on a special benefit show that Saturday night.

Most of the high-ranking naval officers were also spending an evening of relaxation. Vice Admiral Fairfax Leary was giving a dinner party at Honolulu’s House Without a Key. Kimmel was there but, as usual, his chief of staff, Vice Admiral W. W. Poco Smith couldn’t get him to relax. Kimmel was a dynamic, energetic man who was only content when working. At 9:30 P.M. Kimmel excused himself, after drinking his customary single cocktail and making the necessary small talk. He wanted to get to bed. Though there was some gossip that he and his Army counterpart, General Short, were not on speaking terms, they had a date to play golf the next morning. It would be one of the rare Sundays Kimmel didn’t spend at his desk. He knew the mighty Pacific Fleet was the keystone of American defenses in the Far East. The responsibility weighed so heavily on him he had left his wife to whom he was devoted on the mainland so he could concentrate completely on work.

Both Kimmel and Short were faced with the same dilemma. Hawaii was not only an outpost but a training command. If they ordered a state of constant alert, men and material would be exhausted. Besides, the warnings from Washington hadn’t specifically stated or implied that an air attack on Pearl Harbor was even a remote possibility. Influenced by this reasoning, both men decided to compromise. Kimmel was prepared for submarine attacks; Short was ready for saboteurs. But the Joint Army-Navy Hawaiian Defense Plan—the one so admired by Admiral Stark—was not in effect on the night of December 6. In fact, normal peacetime liberty had been granted to men and officers that evening.

Nothing but routine and limited air patrols were being planned for the next morning; Army and Navy anti-aircraft batteries protecting Pearl Harbor were lightly manned. Moored at this great base was the principal obstacle of any further Japanese invasion: the Pacific Fleet, 94 ships including 8 battleships and 9 cruisers. Most of the men, except the watch crews, were getting ready for bed. It was just another beautiful but uneventful tropical evening.

The only extraordinary precautions taken that night were at the Army airfields. Planes were bunched together neatly on runways so they could be protected by cordons of guards. Actually there was not the slightest danger from saboteurs. In all Hawaii there was only one Japanese Navy spy, a brusque, hot-tempered, young ensign, Takeo Yoshikawa. Except for one Nisei girl—and her help had proved worthless—the large Japanese community in the islands had refused to cooperate with him. To his surprise they considered themselves loyal Americans. It didn’t make sense to him; many still worshipped at Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines and had contributed generously to the Imperial Army’s relief fund.

Gossiping with American sailors had been just as fruitless. They talked a lot but said nothing. What information he got was by simple, unexciting methods. He walked almost every day through Pearl City to the end of the peninsula and scanned Battleship Row; he swam at every available beach, observing underwater obstructions and noting the tides; and most important, he sat on straw tatami mats with geisha girls—sometimes Shimeka, sometimes Marichyo—in the Shunchoro, a Japanese restaurant located on a hill overlooking Pearl Harbor, and drew diagrams of the ships in the big base. Once he allowed the geishas to persuade him to take them on a sightseeing air tour over Oahu. The pilot never noticed Yoshikawa—dressed in loud aloha shirt and flanked by pretty, excited girls—as he observed atmospheric conditions and took photos of military airfields.

He was getting no outside help at all. Once he had given a Nazi agent using the cover name of Karama (his real name was Bernard Kuehn) a final payment of $17,000 to signal information to Japanese submarines. But as yet the German had not transmitted a single message. All the information sent to Tokyo so far had cost only $600—the amount given Yoshikawa for expenses when he first arrived.

That night, he was working late at the Japanese Consulate in Honolulu. Here he posed as a vice-consul named Tadashi Morimura. Earlier he had radioed Tokyo in diplomatic code that there still were no barrage balloons over Pearl Harbor. Now he was at his desk writing another message in pencil: ENTERPRISE AND LEXINGTON HAVE SAILED FROM PEARL HARBOR.

He buzzed for the radio-room code clerk, gave him the message and then went for a stroll around the Consulate grounds. In the distance he could see a bright haze over Pearl Harbor. He could hear no patrol planes. Though he was restless, he started for home. He wanted to get up in time to hear the Sunday morning broadcast from Radio Tokyo. If the weather forecast, higashi no kaze, ame (east wind, rain), appeared both in the middle and the end of the broadcast, this meant Japanese-American relations were in danger, war was coming.

The Tatsuta Maru, the liner scheduled to land in Los Angeles on December 14, was supposed to be near Honolulu at that moment. But it had suddenly, and without explanation to its passengers, sharply swung off course. It was returning to Japan.

3 The lone-wolf spy in Hawaii had sent the correct information to Tokyo. Both of Kimmel’s carriers were at sea. Task Force Twelve, including the Lexington , was delivering planes to Midway. Task Force Eight—the carrier Enterprise , 3 cruisers and 9 destroyers—was about 500 miles west of Hawaii. Commanded by Vice Admiral William Halsey, Jr. (Bull to the newspapers but Bill to his friends), it had delivered 12 Grumman Wildcats and their Marine fighter pilots to Wake Island three days before and was now heading for home. The Enterprise was a day behind schedule because of bad weather. Many of the men were griping because they’d missed Saturday night in Honolulu. Instead of enjoying themselves in port they were watching a movie about World War I, Sergeant York . Thought of a new war was far from most of their minds, even though Halsey had told the crew, At any time, day or night, we must be ready for instant action.

Up in the sea cabin, Halsey was waiting for a war he knew was about to explode. Admiral Kimmel had impressed on him when he left Pearl Harbor on November 28 how important the planes were for the defense of Wake. And they had to be delivered with absolute secrecy. It was imperative that the Japanese be kept ignorant of the move.

How far do you want me to go? Halsey had asked.

Goddamit, replied Kimmel, use your common sense.

As soon as they were at sea, Halsey issued Battle Order No. 1 putting the Enterprise under war conditions. He ordered warheads placed on torpedoes, all planes armed with bombs or torpedoes, and pilots to sink any shipping or plane sighted.

When his operations officer, Commander William Buracker, saw this order he asked incredulously, Admiral, did you authorize this thing?

Yes.

Goddamit, sir, you can’t start a private war of your own. Who’s going to take the responsibility?

I’ll take it. If anything gets in my way, we’ll shoot first and argue afterwards.

After dinner that same night, Major Paul Putnam, commander of the 12 Grummans, had cornered Halsey. I know I’m on my way to Wake, but what in the hell am I supposed to do when I get there? He only knew that he had been ordered to fly half of Marine Fighting Squadron 211 onto the Enterprise and then proceed to Wake. It had to appear like a routine weekend exercise and most of his men carried only an extra pair of skivvies (shorts) and a toothbrush.

Putnam, your instructions are to do what seems appropriate when you get to Wake. You’re there under my direct and personal orders and will not report for duty to the island commander. Halsey held out his hand. Have a pleasant cruise.

Now, 1500 miles west of the Hawaii-bound Halsey task force, Putnam and his fliers were on Wake Island. Here, because of the international date line, it was already the evening of December 7. The Marine commander had learned that his 12 planes were the only air defense of an extremely important island bastion. Yet he and his men had had only a few hours flying time in the stubby Wildcats.

Also on the island were 70 employees of Pan-American Airways, 1146 civilian construction workers, 69 Navy men, an Army Communication detail of 6, and 388 combat Marines, under Major James Devereux. In addition to the handful of planes, the island’s only other defenses were 6 5-inch guns, 12 3-inch anti-aircraft guns, a few machine guns and Browning automatic rifles—and about 400 rifles.

Major Devereux had been told the mission of his Marines was merely to stand off a minor raid. Today, for the first time in two months, he had given the men a holiday. They fished, swam and gambled. As Devereux walked to his tent to turn in he remembered the previous January when sudden overseas orders had arrived. He had told his brother, Ashton, that he guessed he was bound for some little spitkit of an island. And when Ashton asked what would happen to him, Devereux had said, Your guess is as good as mine—but I’ll probably wind up eating fish and rice.

4 That moment in Manila it was 5:00 P.M. , December 7. It had been a hot, clear day. Here, as in the rest of the Philippines, there was a lively awareness that war was imminent. Only the time of attack was in question. Admiral Thomas Hart, commander of the Asiatic Fleet, insisted it might come any day. General Douglas MacArthur, commander of the United States Armed Forces of the Far East (USAFFE), was hoping hostilities would not start before April, 1942. By this date he had been assured that all necessary reinforcements from the United States would have arrived. MacArthur refused to be panicked, even though strange aircraft had been reported over nearby Clark Field, the main bomber base, four nights in a row.

He also discounted a warning which had come from Master Sergeant Lorenzo Alvarado, a United States secret service agent since 1917. Alvarado, fifteen days before, had attended a secret meeting of the Legionarios Del Trabajo, an underground organization, at the Triangulo Studio on Rizal Street. Shiki Souy, the Japanese owner of the studio, told his fellow conspirators that 100 Japanese ships and many planes were then in Formosa and would soon invade the Philippines.

That night Admiral Hart was more than ever convinced that a crisis was approaching. For months the Asiatic Fleet chief had been telling his commanders that war was on the way. That was why his small fleet—1 heavy cruiser, 1 light cruiser, 13 World War I four-stack destroyers and 29 submarines—was ready for action. Ammunition was in the racks, warheads were on the torpedoes, Manila and Subic Bays were mined, and the fleet was dispersed from Manila Bay to Borneo.

The previous day Vice-Admiral Tom Phillips, commander of the British Far East Fleet, based at Singapore, had conferred in Manila with Hart and MacArthur. The three were worried about the Japanese convoy, sighted off the coast of Indo-China and then lost in fog. Was it heading for a direct attack on Malaya and Singapore or merely landing at Siam?

Although MacArthur agreed that the situation was critical, he said that by April, 1942, he would have a trained army of about 200,000 men and a powerful air force of 256 bombers and 195 pursuit planes. This great strength would assure the defensibility not only of the Philippines but the entire Southeast Pacific area.

Doug, that is just dandy, interposed Hart. But how defensible are we right now? The answer to that was painfully obvious. MacArthur did have about 130,000 men in uniform, but almost 100,000 of these were poorly equipped Philippine Army divisions with only a few months training in close-order drill. Though they were enthusiastic and willing and worshipped MacArthur, they could do little but salute properly. Most had never even fired their ancient Enfield rifles. The Air Force was in worse shape. On paper MacArthur had 277 airplanes, but of these only 35 Flying Fortresses and 107 P-40s were modern combat craft.

After MacArthur left, Phillips—nicknamed Tom Thumb because he was only five feet four, an inch shorter than Napoleon—made one specific request of Hart. He wanted four U.S. destroyers to accompany his fleet on a sortie from Singapore up the east coast of Malaya as a countermove to the threatening Japanese armada. His two great ships, the battle cruiser Repulse and the battleship Prince of Wales, had only four destroyers as escort.

Hart agreed to send four of his own overage destroyers then anchored at Balikpapan. At 6:00 P.M., as everyone stood to leave, a messenger came in with a dispatch for Phillips. It was read aloud. Planes from Singapore had sighted the Japanese convoy off the Siamese coast. Course was 240 degrees.

Admiral, said Hart to Phillips, when did you say you were flying back to Singapore?

I’m taking off tomorrow morning.

If you want to be there when the war starts, I suggest you take off right now.

The following night, December 7, the 27th Bombardment Group—1200 strong but without a single plane—was giving a party at the Manila Hotel in honor of Major General Lewis Brereton, commander of MacArthur’s air force, who had arrived little more than a month before. It was a gala affair long to be remembered by those who attended as being the best entertainment this side of Minsky’s. But the guest of honor’s mind was on war and his sadly inadequate air force. During the party he talked with Rear Admiral William Purnell, Hart’s chief of staff. It’s only a question of days or perhaps hours until the shooting starts, said Purnell. A few minutes later Brigadier General Richard Sutherland, MacArthur’s chief of staff, said the War Department believed hostilities might begin at any time.

Alarmed, Brereton went to a phone and called his own chief of staff, instructing him to put all airfields on combat alert. He was thankful heavy air reinforcements were coming. The Pensacola convoy, now somewhere in the South Pacific, was scheduled to arrive January 4. Its 7 transports carried 52 dive bombers as well as two regiments of artillery and large amounts of badly needed ammunition and supplies. In addition, 30 Flying Fortresses, which would almost double his bomber force, should arrive in a few days. Twelve had already taken off from California and were due to land in Hawaii at dawn.

At Clark Field, 50 air miles to the northwest, 16 Flying Fortresses were lined up ready for flight. Three others were in the hangars being camouflaged or repaired. The flat field, rimmed only by a few trees and waist-high cogon grass, was honeycombed with revetments, foxholes and slit trenches. It looked weird and unworldly in the moonlight.

In one of the nearby wooden barracks, Staff Sergeant Frank Trammell of the 30th Bombardment Squadron was vainly trying to contact his wife, Norma, in San Bernardino, California, by ham radio. Every Sunday night for the past month he had talked with her. It was queer. The air was dead. The only thing he could raise was a city he was forbidden to talk to—Singapore.

—

The 220-square-mile island of Singapore was about 1600 miles to the southwest, almost the same distance and direction as a flight from New York to New Orleans. Connected to the southernmost point of Asia, the Malay Peninsula, by a causeway, it was the keystone of the Allied defense system. If it fell, not only Malaya would be lost but the entire Dutch East Indies, with its oil, tin and rubber.

That night the sky over Singapore was ablaze with the probing fingers of searchlights. Huge 15-inch guns protected the sea approaches. And in the great Naval base—built in twenty years at a cost of 60,000,000 pounds—were moored two of the most powerful war ships afloat, the Repulse and the Prince of Wales.

At every military installation there was a sense of alert excitement. The code word, Raffles, had just been signalled throughout the Malayan Command and all ranks were standing to arms ready for immediate action. British, Australian and Indian soldiers were prepared and confident. Singapore, they felt, was an impregnable fortress.

—

North-northeast of Singapore about 1650 miles was Great Britain’s other fortress in Southeast Asia, Hong Kong. Also an island, it was a few minutes ride by ferry from the mainland of southern China. That Sunday night the Colony of Hong Kong was practically on a war footing. Although ambassadorial telegrams from Tokyo had been extremely moderate lately, Major-General C. M. Maltby, military commander of the Colony, had alerted his 11,319 men.

By midnight, except for its patched regatta of ketches, proas, junks and sampans, the great harbor was almost barren. The previous night pages had gone through the bars and ballrooms of hotels telling all Merchant Navy seamen and officers to report to their ships immediately. Here, word of the Japanese convoy in the Gulf of Siam had meant only one thing: the balloon had gone up. But Hong Kong was ready and confident.

From Washington to Hong Kong it was apparent that Japan might strike within hours. But in many places readiness was only a word. Few were actually prepared for the brutal reality of war. None were aware of a detailed Japanese plan that was already developing that moment step by step.

5 A week earlier the Imperial Conference had convened in Room 1 of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. Present were the military and civil leaders of Japan and the Emperor himself. Everyone realized it was probably the most important meeting ever held in Japan. Out of it would come war or peace. There was a hush as Prime Minister Tojo—an intense, nervous man who every day smoked at least fifty cigarettes and drank a dozen cups of coffee—stood up.

With the permission of the Emperor, I will take charge of the proceedings today. Everything had been done, he said, to adjust diplomatic relations with America but Hull’s note of November 26 was clearly an ultimatum since it demanded withdrawal of troops from China without offering a single concession. Submission to these demands would not only deprive Japan of her authority and forestall her efforts for the successful settlement of the China Incident, but would also jeopardize her very existence. He reviewed the situation and then concluded grimly, Matters have now reached the point where Japan, in order to preserve her Empire, must open hostilities against the United States, Great Britain and the Netherlands.

Admiral Osami Nagano, representing the High Command, then explained the military situation. The Western powers were increasing their strength in the Far East. Soon it would be too late to strike. There was now almost no danger of an attack from Russia because of German successes. The officers and men of the Army and Navy are in high spirits and are burning with desire to serve their Emperor and their country, even at the cost of their lives.

After optimistic reports on the nation’s financial condition and food supply, Baron Yoshimichi Hara, president of the Privy Council, the supreme advisory body to the Emperor, arose. This was the voice of Japanese conservatism and his words were eagerly awaited. "The Japanese Empire can concede nothing further. If she does, the gains obtained from the Sino-Japanese war in 1894 will be completely nullified. It is to be regretted that we are compelled to fight another war after having been engaged in the China Incident for more than four years, but the conclusion of diplomatic negotiations with the United States is hopeless, in spite of everything we have done….

As there is no alternative I am compelled to give my consent to this plan. We must have confidence in our soldiers, be convinced of victory in war and, at the same time, leave no stone unturned to maintain the nation’s unity over a long period.

Tojo assured Hara the Government was ready to call off the war plans at the very last moment if America would negotiate just terms. Then, seeing that there were no dissenting votes, the general said, In closing, I wish to say that the Japanese Empire is now on the threshold of progress or collapse.

All present except the Emperor, who had not uttered a word, signed the documents. Later that day the papers were presented to Emperor Hirohito. For the past three days he had been convening with the Senior Statesmen, former prime ministers, in a desperate effort to avoid war. They had assured him that if Japan bowed to America’s unrealistic and unjust demands she would instantly become a second-rate power. And, feeling that further resistance to the advocates of war would be against the inevitable will of the people, the mild-mannered ruler reluctantly sanctioned the documents.

The next afternoon, December 2, the Imperial Navy Headquarters was told of the Emperor’s decision. At 5:30 P.M. a radio message was sent to the powerful Pearl Harbor Striking Force, 32 ships including 6 carriers, already midway between Japan and Hawaii. It read: CLIMB MT. NIITAKA. It meant: Begin the War.

6 At 3:30 A.M. December 7, American minesweepers and destroyers were patrolling the entrance to Pearl Harbor, unaware that under them were five midget Japanese submarines, each manned by a crew of two. Released from their mother submarines near midnight, they were maneuvering toward the entrance to the harbor.

At 3:42 A.M. the minesweeper Condor was also bound for Pearl Harbor. One thousand yards from the entrance, a lookout shouted. The ship had almost run into some object apparently heading into the harbor.

The Condor, startled and alerted, searched for a few minutes and at 3:58 A.M. sent out a blinker signal to a nearby destroyer, the Ward. A suspicious object west of her sweep area had been sighted, said Condor. She believed it was a submarine.

Lieutenant William Outerbridge, the Ward’s skipper, ordered his ship to general quarters. For half an hour the old four-stacker combed a wide pattern with all topside hands on the lookout. Nothing was seen and at 4:43 A.M. everyone except those on watch went back to bed. Neither Condor nor Ward reported the incident to higher headquarters.

The anti-torpedo net across the entrance to Pearl Harbor slowly began to open at 4:47 A.M. Eleven minutes later the gate was wide open. Soon the minesweeper Crossbill entered. But the gate remained open. Since the Condor was scheduled to follow soon, those operating the net decided it was too much trouble to close it for such a short time. At 5:32 A.M. Condor passed through. Once more the net operators decided to keep the gate open. In forty-five minutes the tug Keosanqua was due to leave Pearl Harbor.

And so the mouth of Pearl Harbor was wide open for the five Japanese submarines. They were only seventy-nine feet long but each carried two full-sized torpedoes.

—

Thirteen minutes after the Condor entered Pearl Harbor, the war in the Pacific started by mistake. According to the grand plan of the Imperial High Command the first blow was to fall on Pearl Harbor at 8:00 A.M. Then Singapore, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Guam and Wake were to be bombed in succession. These were but the first steps in a master plan to conquer all Southeast Asia in six months.

The mistake was the result of overeagerness. The great Japanese convoy which had been seen entering the Gulf of Siam by the Allies two days earlier was carrying troops scheduled to conquer Singapore. A section of this convoy arrived at its destination halfway down the Malay Peninsula too soon. British defense troops on the beaches of Kota Bharu happened to spot these invasion ships and opened fire at 12:45 A.M., Singapore time, with land artillery. The war in the Pacific was on and the first shot ironically had been British.

At that moment it was 1:15 A.M., December 8, in Japan. Aboard his flagship, Nagato, in the Inland Sea, the commander-in-chief of the Combined Fleet, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, would not know for some time that the war had already started accidentally. He had been up all night waiting for word from Vice-Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, commander of the Pearl Harbor Striking Force. Nagumo’s six carriers were presently about 250 miles north and slightly east of their target. In fifteen minutes, 6:00 A.M., December 7, Hawaiian time, the first wave—40 torpedo planes, 51 dive bombers, 49 high-level bombers—would start taking off. And two hours later the first bombs would be dropping on the U.S. Pacific Fleet.

Yamamoto (his first name, Fifty-six, was the age of his father at the admiral’s birth) was not waiting impatiently or nervously. A man of remarkable energy and purpose, his face showed no emotion. Unlike others in his own headquarters and in Tokyo, he was not worried about the Pearl Harbor attack. He had planned it carefully and prepared it efficiently. If Nagumo followed his instructions, he was sure the attack could not fail.

It was ironic that his strategy was being used for he had strongly opposed a war with the United States and Britain, feeling Japan would have no chance of victory. Overruled, he had then devoted his time to proving he was wrong. After study, he concluded that Japan’s only chance was to cripple the Pacific Fleet with a single blow. This would checkmate America’s main strength in the Pacific and, he hoped, dampen her fighting spirit.

There had been sharp opposition to Yamamoto’s plan from his own subordinates as well as the Naval Staff. Not until October 20, when Yamamoto had threatened to resign, was the Pearl Harbor attack finally approved.

Despite his optimism, he still hoped there would be a last-minute cancellation of the Climb Mt. Niitaka order. Admiral Nomura is a very capable man, he had recently told friends. Perhaps he will save the United States-Japan situation. But as time ran out that evening, he realized this was now a forlorn hope.

—

In Tokyo, American Ambassador Joseph C. Grew was just presenting Roosevelt’s personal plea to the Emperor to Foreign Minister Shigenori Togo. It had been held up more than ten hours by the Tokyo Central Telegram Office by order of an officer of the General Staff.

Grew asked Togo to arrange an Imperial audience in spite of the late hour. Togo agreed, and read the message. It recalled the long friendship between Japan and America, suggesting that if Japan would withdraw from Indo-China, no other country would invade that area.

Though this was by no means a new proposal, Togo felt the Emperor should see it. If a last-minute peace were to be arranged, there was no time to lose. Late that afternoon he had sent off the fourteenth and final part of the long reply to Hull’s ultimatum. With it he had also sent Nomura instructions to deliver the entire memorandum at exactly 1:00 P.M., December 7, Washington time, thirty minutes before the Hawaiian raid. The Third Hague Convention had prescribed no minimum time which should elapse between declaration of war and attack and to Togo’s legalistic mind this half-hour warning would prevent the United States from later accusing Japan of a sneak attack.

Togo telephoned Marquis Koichi Kido, lord keeper of the privy seal. An immediate audience with the Emperor was granted, but first a translation of the telegram had to be made.

7 In Washington it was then Sunday morning, December 7. Lieutenant Commander Kramer, though up late the night before delivering messages, was at his office in the Navy Department shortly after 7:30 A.M. He learned the anxiously awaited fourteenth part of the Tokyo message had finally come in at 4:00 A.M. and was almost decoded. In a few minutes Kramer had the message. It was short but its last paragraph was ominous.

THE JAPANESE GOVERNMENT REGRETS TO HAVE TO NOTIFY HEREBY THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT THAT IN VIEW OF THE ATTITUDE OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT IT CANNOT BUT CONSIDER THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO REACH AN AGREEMENT THROUGH FURTHER NEGOTIATIONS.

The entire fourteen parts were assembled, put in folders and once more Kramer began making his delivery rounds.

General Marshall was just then eating breakfast at his home in Virginia. Although copies of the same thirteen-part message delivered to Roosevelt and the Navy officials the