The Twilight Warriors Part 1

The twilight warriors.

The deadliest naval battle of World War II and the men who fought it.

by Robert Gandt.

PROLOGUE

ALAMEDA NAVAL AIR STATION, CALIFORNIA

FEBRUARY 19, 1945 1945

It was late, nearly ten o'clock, but the party was going strong. You could hear them singing a hundred yards down the street from the officers' club.

I wanted wiiiingstill I got the G.o.dd.a.m.n things,Now I don't want 'em anymoooore...

Getting plastered before deployment was a ritual in the wartime Navy, and the pilots of Bomber Fighting 10 were no exception. It was the night before their departure aboard the aircraft carrier USS Intrepid Intrepid. The entire squadron had suited up in their dress blues and mustered in the club for their farewell bash.

The party began like most such occasions. p.r.o.nouncements were made, senior officers recognized, lost comrades toasted. The liquor flowed, and then came the singing. It was a form of therapy. For the new pilots, the booze, bravado, and macho lyrics masked their anxieties about what lay ahead. For the veterans, the singing and the camaraderie brought rea.s.surance. Most knew in their secret hearts that they'd been lucky. They'd lived through this much of the war. There were no guarantees they'd make it through the next round.

Leaning against the bar and clutching his drink, Ensign Roy "Eric" Erickson bellowed out the verses of the song. Erickson was a gangly twenty-two-year-old from Lincoln, Nebraska. He was one of the new pilots in the squadron. They called themselves "Tail End Charlies." They flew at the tail end of formations, stood at the tail end of chow lines, and now were catching the tail end of the war. They'd spent the past year and a half training to be fighter pilots. Their greatest fear, they liked to boast, was that the war would be over before they got there.

The Tail End Charlies were seeing a new side to the squadron skipper, Lt. Cmdr. Wilmer Rawie. Rawie liked to drink, and now that he'd had a few he was leading his boys in his favorite drinking song, "I Wanted Wings."

They taught me how to fly,And they sent me here to die,I've had a belly full of waaarrrr...

Rawie had gotten a brief tour of combat duty in 1942, flying off the Enterprise Enterprise in the early Pacific skirmishes. But then he was relegated to two tedious years as an instructor back in Florida. Finally, in the twilight of the war, he'd gotten a squadron command. Now Will Rawie was playing catch-up. in the early Pacific skirmishes. But then he was relegated to two tedious years as an instructor back in Florida. Finally, in the twilight of the war, he'd gotten a squadron command. Now Will Rawie was playing catch-up.

But I'll take the dames,While the rest go down in flames,I've no desi-ire to be buuurrrned...

Watching from across the room was the CAG-air group commander-Cmdr. John Hyland. A dozen years older than most of his pilots, Hyland wore the bemused expression of a father chaperoning teenagers. The only one near his age was Rawie, who had begun his commissioned career after a stint as an enlisted man. Hyland had seen lots of these parties, and he had nothing against them. It was a tradition. Let the boys get s.h.i.+t-faced, herd them back to the s.h.i.+p, then get on with the war.

Though most of his pilots didn't know it, Hyland was also playing catch-up. When the war began, he was on a patrol wing staff in the Philippines. Since then he had served in a succession of Was.h.i.+ngton staff jobs. Now Johnny Hyland, who had never flown fighters in combat, was another twilight warrior.

The singing grew louder.

Air combat's called romance,But you take an awful chance,I'm no fighter, I have learrrned...

By the time they closed the bar a few minutes before midnight, the party had gotten rowdy. A drunk pilot had to be subdued after demonstrating how to smash the mirrors behind the bar. Another stuck his fist through a plaster wall. One of the junior officers nearly drowned when he pa.s.sed out over the toilet. Several had to be hauled nearly comatose back to the s.h.i.+p and loaded aboard like cordwood.

The Intrepid Intrepid's departure the next morning was a hazy, indistinct memory for most of the Tail End Charlies. As the s.h.i.+p entered the heaving ocean, the hangovers magnified to bouts of barfing. Eric Erickson, who had never been aboard a vessel larger than a canoe, stayed sick for three days.

After a week of provisioning and training in Hawaii, Intrepid Intrepid was under way for the western Pacific. In the smoke-filled ready room of Bomber Fighting 10, the pilots learned for the first time where they were going. The intelligence officer stuck a chart on the bulkhead. It was a map of southern j.a.pan and the Ryukyu island chain. was under way for the western Pacific. In the smoke-filled ready room of Bomber Fighting 10, the pilots learned for the first time where they were going. The intelligence officer stuck a chart on the bulkhead. It was a map of southern j.a.pan and the Ryukyu island chain.

The Tail End Charlies stared at the map. The men knew some of the place names-s.h.i.+koku, Kyushu, Okinawa. Until then that was all they'd been, just names. Now reality was setting in. Those places on the map-the ones with the hard-to-p.r.o.nounce names-were where they would see their first combat.

But there was more. What none of them yet knew-not the pilots or the intelligence officers or the flag officers planning the operation-was that the island in the middle of the chain, the one called Okinawa, was where the Imperial j.a.panese Navy would make its last stand.

Kamikaze crashes into USS Intrepid Intrepid, November 25, 1944. ( (INTREPID SEA, AIR & s.p.a.cE MUSEUM SEA, AIR & s.p.a.cE MUSEUM)

PART ONE

THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR WHEN REACHING A STALEMATE, WIN WITH A TECHNIQUE THE ENEMY DOES NOT EXPECT.

-MIYAMOTO MUSAs.h.i.+, LEGENDARY J j.a.pANESE SWORDSMAN AND MILITARY STRATEGIST (15841645)

MY ONLY HOPE IS THAT THE J j.a.pS DON'T QUIT BEFORE WE HAVE A CHANCE TO WIPE THEM OUT.

-ADM. JOHN S. McCAIN

1

THE NEXT ISLAND THE NEXT ISLAND

SAIPAN

JUNE 17, 1944

The flies were everywhere. Vice Adm. Raymond Spruance maintained his stone-faced silence as he waved the insects away from the table. They were large and black, and entire squadrons of them were swarming into the wardroom of Spruance's flags.h.i.+p, the cruiser Indianapolis Indianapolis.

Indianapolis was anch.o.r.ed in the lagoon on the eastern sh.o.r.e of Saipan. The heavy tropical air was seeping like a dank cloud through the s.p.a.ces of the non-air-conditioned wars.h.i.+p. Spruance's guests were his two immediate bosses, chief of naval operations Adm. Ernest King and the commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet, Adm. Chester Nimitz. Dinner had been served early in the hope that an ocean breeze might still be wafting through the portholes of the wardroom. was anch.o.r.ed in the lagoon on the eastern sh.o.r.e of Saipan. The heavy tropical air was seeping like a dank cloud through the s.p.a.ces of the non-air-conditioned wars.h.i.+p. Spruance's guests were his two immediate bosses, chief of naval operations Adm. Ernest King and the commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet, Adm. Chester Nimitz. Dinner had been served early in the hope that an ocean breeze might still be wafting through the portholes of the wardroom.

Instead of a breeze, they got these d.a.m.ned flies. Splotches of perspiration were staining the admirals' starched khakis as they waved at the insects. King and Nimitz had just completed a Pacific inspection tour. They had stopped to confer with Spruance, whose Fifth Fleet had just won a resounding victory at the Battle of the Philippine Sea. Joining them in the wardroom was Vice Adm. Richmond K. Turner, who had commanded the amphibious landings on Saipan.

In keeping with wardroom tradition, the admirals were avoiding high-level military discussions at dinner. They were also avoiding the subject of the black flies and where they came from. King and Nimitz had taken a tour of Saipan that afternoon. Most of the island's thirty thousand j.a.panese defenders and twenty-two thousand civilians were dead, and their decomposing bodies had been moldering in the tropical heat for nearly a week. Saipan and the adjoining lagoon where Indianapolis Indianapolis was anch.o.r.ed were swarming with flies. was anch.o.r.ed were swarming with flies.

Eager to be done with dinner and the flies, the admirals evacuated the wardroom and returned to the business of war. Spruance was aware that his actions in the recent Battle of the Philippine Sea had come under heavy criticism. Instead of dispatching Vice Adm. Marc Mitscher's Fast Carrier Force in an all-out attack on the j.a.panese task force, he had held them back to cover the landings on Saipan. By the end of the engagement, the air strength of the Imperial j.a.panese Navy had been crushed-six hundred aircraft destroyed and three carriers sunk-but in the view of many senior officers, it wasn't enough. Spruance had allowed the j.a.panese to escape with most of their fleet intact.

It wasn't the first time Raymond Spruance had been accused of excessive caution, nor would it be the last. At the 1942 Battle of Midway, after his dive-bombers had sunk four j.a.panese carriers, Spruance chose not to press his advantage and pursue the remainder of Adm. Isoruku Yamamoto's fleet after nightfall. The remnants of the j.a.panese force survived to fight another day.

If Spruance was worried about his boss's judgment, he could relax. The Navy's senior officer put the subject to rest. "You did a d.a.m.n good job there," he said. "No matter what other people tell you, your decision was correct." Coming from the hard-boiled Ernest King, it amounted to high praise.

Few officers could have been more different in style and temperament than King and Spruance. Ernest King was tall, arrogant, fond of hard liquor and loose women. He was also a notorious bully who ruled the Navy with an iron fist. By contrast, Raymond Spruance was a cerebral, mild-mannered officer whose demeanor seldom changed. He was an oddity in the 1940s Navy, an officer who neither drank nor smoked, and in a generation that disdained exercise, he was a fitness fanatic. If his fellow officers didn't warm up to Ray Spruance's personality, they never doubted his brilliance. Even the arrogant King acknowledged that Spruance was the smartest officer in the Navy-though King put himself second.

It was precisely because Spruance was so well regarded that King was aboard Indianapolis Indianapolis this evening, the flies notwithstanding. The conquest of the Marianas was complete. The decision had already been made that the island of Luzon in the Philippines was next. But then what? King wanted to know what Spruance thought should be the next objective in the ultimate conquest of j.a.pan. this evening, the flies notwithstanding. The conquest of the Marianas was complete. The decision had already been made that the island of Luzon in the Philippines was next. But then what? King wanted to know what Spruance thought should be the next objective in the ultimate conquest of j.a.pan.

Spruance answered without hesitation. "Okinawa."

King's eyebrows rose. So did Nimitz's. It wasn't what they'd expected to hear. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, including King, were on record as favoring an invasion of Formosa. Why Okinawa?

In his usual low-key monotone, Spruance laid out his case. Formosa was a heavily fortified, mountainous island that would take months to capture. Bypa.s.sing Formosa and seizing Okinawa was the quickest way to strangle j.a.pan.

As a prelude to an Okinawa invasion, Spruance thought they first should take Iwo Jima, a volcanic island with an airfield that was within bomber range of Okinawa and j.a.pan. After they'd captured Okinawa, they would be in position to blockade all s.h.i.+pping in the East China Sea. j.a.pan would be cut off. It might preclude a b.l.o.o.d.y invasion of j.a.pan itself.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the flag compartment. King was dubious. So was Nimitz. Bypa.s.s Formosa?

The admirals peered at the map on the bulkhead. Okinawa nestled like a protected pendant in the middle of the Ryukyu island chain, dangerously close to the j.a.panese mainland. Even if Spruance was right, an invasion of Okinawa would be a h.e.l.l of a battle. The j.a.panese would fight back with every weapon they had left.

Daylight was fading over Mabalacat airfield, 50 miles from Manila, when the black limousine pulled up. The officers standing outside the command post snapped to attention. The fluttering yellow pennant on the front of the vehicle indicated an officer of flag rank. In unison they saluted the short, stocky figure that emerged from the back of the limousine.

Vice Adm. Takijiro Ohnis.h.i.+ looked older than his fifty-three years. He had the gnarled, deeply lined face of a man who had spent years at sea. Ohnis.h.i.+ was a complex man, known for his bluntness and coa.r.s.e manners as well as for his sensitivity. A product of his generation, he was an example of the cla.s.sic samurai-a warrior capable of horrific deeds who could also shed tears at the sight of a falling petal. Like many of his peers, Ohnis.h.i.+ was a poet who rendered in lyrical verse his deepest feelings about war and death.

This day, October 19, 1944, was Ohnis.h.i.+'s first visit to Mabalacat. Gazing around, he saw that the place was a mess. The airfield was part of the sprawling complex of the formerly U.S.-owned Clark Air Base, and for the past few weeks American carrier-based planes had been bombing on a daily schedule. Now, in the waning light, Ohnis.h.i.+ saw ground crewmen scurrying to conceal the surviving fighters in revetments, readying them for the next morning's missions.

Ohnis.h.i.+ had arrived in the Philippines only two days before to take command of the First Air Fleet. The battle-the real real battle-for the Philippines was about to begin. A powerful American invasion fleet was moving into the Leyte Gulf. Within a few days, U.S. troops would be swarming ash.o.r.e. battle-for the Philippines was about to begin. A powerful American invasion fleet was moving into the Leyte Gulf. Within a few days, U.S. troops would be swarming ash.o.r.e.

In response, the j.a.panese high command had devised a complex counterthrust called Sho-1. The plan called for coordinated attacks from the west by three separate heavy surface fleets and a decoying action by a carrier group in the northeast to draw away the American carrier task force. Sho Sho meant "victory," and it reflected the delusional thinking of the high command. Any victory in the coming battle would result more from divine intervention than from j.a.panese execution. meant "victory," and it reflected the delusional thinking of the high command. Any victory in the coming battle would result more from divine intervention than from j.a.panese execution.

Sho-1 contained a fatal flaw. The battles.h.i.+ps and cruisers of the j.a.panese fleet had only their own guns to fend off U.S. planes. Ohnis.h.i.+'s air fleet in the Philippines would be unable to provide any significant air cover for the Sho operation. His squadrons had been decimated in almost daily attacks from U.S. forces, and the total inventory now amounted to fewer than a hundred fighters. He'd been promised reinforcements from the Second Air Fleet in Formosa, but Ohnis.h.i.+ knew that was a pipe dream. The Formosa squadrons had just endured their own mauling, losing more than five hundred airplanes in three days of attacks by American carrier-based planes.

Knowing all this, it was hard for Admiral Ohnis.h.i.+ not to be discouraged. His meager air forces-his conventional conventional air forces-had no chance of turning back the American carrier fleet. But now, in the twilight of j.a.pan's dominion in the Pacific, Ohnis.h.i.+'s thoughts had turned to something unconventional. air forces-had no chance of turning back the American carrier fleet. But now, in the twilight of j.a.pan's dominion in the Pacific, Ohnis.h.i.+'s thoughts had turned to something unconventional.

j.a.pan had one remaining potent weapon, and it was as ancient as the j.a.panese culture. What Ohnis.h.i.+ had in mind was a Special Attack Corps-a dedicated unit of airmen who would crash their bomb-laden airplanes into American s.h.i.+ps.

The desperate strategy had a name-tokko. It was interchangeable with kamikaze kamikaze and meant "divine wind." According to legend, the name came from the wind G.o.d, who in the thirteenth century had sent a typhoon to destroy the invasion fleet of Kublai Khan. The divine wind had saved j.a.pan. and meant "divine wind." According to legend, the name came from the wind G.o.d, who in the thirteenth century had sent a typhoon to destroy the invasion fleet of Kublai Khan. The divine wind had saved j.a.pan.

Tokko was an echo of the ancient j.a.panese code of was an echo of the ancient j.a.panese code of bus.h.i.+do- bus.h.i.+do-the way of the samurai. Already embedded in the j.a.panese military ethos was the idea that a warrior, especially one already wounded, was willing to sacrifice his life for the emperor. But the decision to die was expected to come in the heat of battle when all else had failed. Deploying entire Special Attack units-tokkotai-on predetermined suicide missions was something new. And controversial.

To Ohnis.h.i.+, it amounted to making the best of an impossible situation. The cream of j.a.pan's experienced pilots had already been killed in combat. Most of the remaining young airmen were insufficiently trained and lacked superior aircraft and weapons. They faced almost certain annihilation in the coming weeks. The tokko tokko missions would allow them an honorable death while dealing a powerful blow to the enemy. Before Ohnis.h.i.+ departed Tokyo, he had obtained the blessing of the minister of the navy for a Special Attack Force. missions would allow them an honorable death while dealing a powerful blow to the enemy. Before Ohnis.h.i.+ departed Tokyo, he had obtained the blessing of the minister of the navy for a Special Attack Force.

What Ohnis.h.i.+ still didn't know was how the pilots would respond. The admiral kept an impa.s.sive face while he presented the idea to the squadron commanders of the 201st Air Group, the officers who would direct the tokko tokko missions. missions.

The officers stared back, showing no expression. Seconds ticked past. Finally the air group executive officer broke the silence. He asked a staff officer how effective a plane carrying a standard 250-kilogram (551-pound) bomb might be if it crashed into a carrier's flight deck. The officer answered that the chances of scoring a hit were greater than by conventional bombing.

No one was surprised. Conventional bombing against the American fleet had produced dismal results. Still, no one seemed happy about Ohnis.h.i.+'s tokko tokko proposal. The executive officer asked for a few minutes to consider. He then went to his room and discussed the proposal with other pilots. proposal. The executive officer asked for a few minutes to consider. He then went to his room and discussed the proposal with other pilots.

Finally he returned. The pilots, he reported, were enthusiastic about a Special Attack Unit. The executive officer asked only that he be allowed to organize the new unit.

A feeling of relief swept over Ohnis.h.i.+. The hard part was over. He had his first cadre of tokko tokko warriors. A divine wind might still save j.a.pan. warriors. A divine wind might still save j.a.pan.

2

TAIL END CHARLIES TAIL END CHARLIES PASCO NAVAL AIR STATION, WAs.h.i.+NGTON WAs.h.i.+NGTON

SEPTEMBER 1, 1943

Eric Erickson could feel the parachute thumping the back of his legs as he walked across the flight line. It was still a new feeling, and he liked it. This was the day he would make his first solo flight in the Stearman N2S biplane, the trainer the Navy cadets called the "Yellow Peril."

Flying was the only thing the cadets liked about Pasco. The remote base was enclosed with a galvanized wire fence. There was nothing there but a few two-story barracks for the cadets and for the enlisted men who worked on the yellow-painted Stearmans. The town of Pasco had no bars, no entertainment, and, worst of all, no available women. The closest real town was Yakima, a two-hour bus ride away, but the cadets had learned that Yakima wasn't much of an improvement over Pasco.

They were there to learn to fly, and that's what most-but not all-did at Pasco. Was.h.i.+ng out of the program meant an end to the cadet's status as an officer candidate. Washouts went back to the fleet as seamen second cla.s.s, the next-to-lowest enlisted rating in the Navy.

Back in Nebraska, Erickson had been an aspiring artist. He was the son of hardworking parents who traced their roots to Sweden. His father was a foreman for the Iowa Nebraska Light and Power Company, a veteran of World War I, and deeply suspicious of anyone who didn't earn a living by physical labor. That one of his sons actually wanted to paint pictures paint pictures for a living disturbed him. for a living disturbed him.

The war changed everything. Erickson was studying art in a California academy when the wave of patriotic fervor swept America after the attack on Pearl Harbor. By the summer of 1943 he was marching with his fellow cadets on the parade ground of the Navy's Preflight School in northern California.

Erickson was a tall, skinny kid, six foot two and 160 pounds, lithe and agile enough to handle the strenuous physical training program. His previous college work gave him a leg up on the engineering and mathematics cla.s.ses.

Then came flight training. The former art student seemed an unlikely candidate to be a Navy fighter pilot. On every every training flight, he became violently airsick. Each time they went aloft, he'd have to lean out and vomit over the side of the little Aeronca training plane. Erickson's cla.s.smates gave him a nickname: "Bucket." His job after every flight was to wash down the barf-stained fuselage of the Aeronca. training flight, he became violently airsick. Each time they went aloft, he'd have to lean out and vomit over the side of the little Aeronca training plane. Erickson's cla.s.smates gave him a nickname: "Bucket." His job after every flight was to wash down the barf-stained fuselage of the Aeronca.