Throughout the flight, the navigator worked harder than any other crew member. Each aircraft was issued with a "flimsy" giving pre-set headings, position points and scheduled timings. To maintain these in darkness required taking celestial fixes, checking drift, peering into the APQ13 radar screen; in daylight, the sun was "shot" by s.e.xtant from the Perspex astrodome. It took sixteen minutes to work out where the aircraft had just been, and good navigators never let up. Iwo Jima below marked the halfway point. Thereafter, an hour out from the target, every man went to his post, donning big, heavy flak jackets. They circled an appointed a.s.sembly point until the entire formation was mustered, aided by identification symbols painted on aircraft tails-squares, circles, triangles-then began the run towards the enemy's country. "Dear Mom," Robert Copeland wrote home,

the thing about combat that is beginning to impress me most is the appreciation I now have for the finer things of life. The love one has for friends, the love and need for a woman and the things one wants to do with this dream girl when this thing is all over. A woman somewhere seems to be the driving force behind all men in combat. You're so scared even 400 miles an hour doesn't seem fast enough. The bomb run is only four or five minutes long, but it seems like hours. The bomb bay doors are only open for one or two minutes, but that seems like an eternity. It's more like a wild horrible nightmare from which it is impossible to awaken, but nevertheless we do make it once more.

The songs which Superfortress crews wrote for themselves reflected the melancholy that afflicted most:

Oh I get that lonesome feelingWhen I hear those engines whineThose B-29s are breaking upThat old gang of mineThere goes Jack, there goes BillDown over Tokyo.We all hope it's home we go,How soon we do not know.

On the bomb run, planes were often buffeted by flak explosions. The worst mission that gunner Fred Arner flew was his crew's ninth. Delayed on the strip by a mechanical problem, they approached the target twenty minutes behind the main force, and fifty miles north of Tokyo found themselves meeting B-29s hurtling past in the opposite direction, "like getting the wrong way onto the beltway." In the nose was a "guest" bombardier, flying the last mission of his tour. He yelled aloud in terror each time a plane approached. There were other hazards. At least one B-29 shot itself down when over-excited gunners fired into their own engines. Attacking a fogged-in Osaka one day, Arner's crew could find only one other plane with which to formate for the bomb run. "At high noon we were over the target, but it could have been Pittsburgh as far as I was concerned. We bombed by radar, using Osaka Castle as our checkpoint." Sometimes they hit thermals which bounced the huge planes violently, throwing everything movable about the fuselage. In Arner's crew, the radar counter-measures man became known as "p.i.s.spot" Smith, after a thermal doused him in the contents of the plane's potty.

When their loads fell away, noses lifted and aircraft surged forward, at least three tons lighter. However, on navigator Philip True's first mission, just after bombing, "a terrible rumble and chatter startled and shook me." Immediately behind his navigator's seat, the four-gun upper turret began firing. True glimpsed j.a.panese fighters, which attacked repeatedly for ten minutes. Then the guns fell silent, and the crew relaxed. They saw the Pacific below again, and settled for the long run home. Their relief was premature. True glimpsed the altimeter. They were down to 12,000 feet, and descending. Peering out at the starboard wing, True perceived two engines dead. Fuel was streaming from a tank ruptured by gunfire. The strain on the surviving port engines was acute. They were losing about a hundred feet a minute. The pilot announced that if their fuel would not hold out to Iwo Jima, they must jump. True was terrified: "The Pacific looked ominous, gray and ugly, swirling with swells and occasional whitecaps."

Yet an hour later, they were still holding 4,000 feet. Soon after, they found themselves approaching Iwo Jima, among a gaggle of other aircraft with problems. "We circled Mount Suribachi, our starboard wing with the two dead engines pointing down, a view that produced in me a feeling of teetering on the edge of a cliff." The landing gear dropped. Then, to their horror, on final approach another B-29 cut recklessly across them. They lurched upwards and circled again. The pilot said: "If we can't get in this time, I'm going to pull up and drop you guys in the ocean. Be ready to go." In heavy cloud and rain, once again they lunged towards the strip, and heard a merciful thump as the wheels touched. They stopped with a few yards of runway to spare, clambered out, and examined the hole in their wing. They were down to their last ten minutes of fuel. A truck carried them through torrential rain to a holding area. True, like hundreds of others who felt that they owed their lives to Iwo, thought of the Marines "who had inched and crawled their way over this eroded hunk of volcanic debris...so that we could land and live." They got back to Tinian late that night, exhausted. Nothing seriously bad happened on any of their eleven subsequent missions.

Those who made it to the Marianas, after another seven hours over the unfriendly ocean, sometimes nursing a damaged plane, b.u.mped heavily onto the runway, taxied in and cut engines. Somebody took out the "honey bucket" for emptying. Crews stretched stiffened limbs, and climbed unsteadily out of the fuselage. Even then, the ordeal was not always over. Ground engineer Bob Mann saw a plane land with bombs still hung up in its bay. Armourers refused to touch the lethal ordnance, saying that their job was to arm aircraft, not disarm them. With infinite care, the plane's bombardier and another crew member unscrewed the fuses.

Crews were given a slug of whiskey before debriefings, from which gunners were quickly excused, because they knew so little. Returning fliers understood that they had achieved only a brief reprieve. Stanley Samuelson wrote in January: "At present, no one knows how many missions we will have to pull. Some fellows will crack, and it is likely to be most anyone." A thin but steady stream of men decided that too much was being demanded of them. "After about ten missions," wrote Joseph Majeski, "our right gunner went to the colonel and said: 'I don't care if you shoot me but I will never set foot in that airplane again.'" The man was stripped of his rank and given a ground a.s.signment. Most aircrew persisted, however, recognising that war service as a flier was less dreadful than as an infantryman. "We knew how rough it was on the ground," said Philip True. Ben Robertson, who started a tour out of Guam in February, decided after gossiping with some Marines about their experience on Iwo Jima that he was better off: "In our situation, it was pretty much556 a case of returning from a mission or not-there usually was not much in between." A steady drain of bomber losses continued. Stanley Samuelson's B-29 went down over j.a.pan on 19 February. "Every day I get to hate this stinking rotten war more," he wrote, the week before he died. Robert Copeland was killed when his plane crashed near Kobe on a mission on 17 March. Just two of his crew survived as prisoners. a case of returning from a mission or not-there usually was not much in between." A steady drain of bomber losses continued. Stanley Samuelson's B-29 went down over j.a.pan on 19 February. "Every day I get to hate this stinking rotten war more," he wrote, the week before he died. Robert Copeland was killed when his plane crashed near Kobe on a mission on 17 March. Just two of his crew survived as prisoners.

HERE, then, was the force which Curtis LeMay inherited in January 1945 from Maj.-Gen. Haywood Hansell, who had led the XXIst Bomber Command for five months. Hansell declined an offer to remain on Guam as LeMay's deputy. He was harshly treated, for his efforts had begun to improve the command's performance. But the ruthless replacement of unsuccessful officers was characteristic of American wartime policy, and by no means mistaken. then, was the force which Curtis LeMay inherited in January 1945 from Maj.-Gen. Haywood Hansell, who had led the XXIst Bomber Command for five months. Hansell declined an offer to remain on Guam as LeMay's deputy. He was harshly treated, for his efforts had begun to improve the command's performance. But the ruthless replacement of unsuccessful officers was characteristic of American wartime policy, and by no means mistaken.

LeMay's initial verdict on his new appointment was even less indulgent than had been his view of the XXth Bomber Command in India. He wrote to Washington: "Maybe the road ahead557 always looks worse than the road behind, but after 10 days here this job looks much tougher than the one I just left...The staff here is practically worthless." He submitted a long list of requests for named officers to join his headquarters. He complained that some unit commanders might be competent aviators, but lacked leadership skills. Robert Ramer, who arrived in the Marianas in January with a replacement crew for the 497th Bomb Group, recorded: "Morale was terrible...Nothing worked always looks worse than the road behind, but after 10 days here this job looks much tougher than the one I just left...The staff here is practically worthless." He submitted a long list of requests for named officers to join his headquarters. He complained that some unit commanders might be competent aviators, but lacked leadership skills. Robert Ramer, who arrived in the Marianas in January with a replacement crew for the 497th Bomb Group, recorded: "Morale was terrible...Nothing worked558." LeMay introduced a stringent training programme, and also threw himself into devising new tactical methods, focusing especially on the use of incendiary bombs. In his first few weeks, the XXth Bomber Command flew eight missions against j.a.pan, including two experimental incendiary attacks. On three of these, not one bomb hit the primary target, though he increased each aircraft's load to three tons by dumping armament and equipment. It was evident to LeMay, though not immediately to his men, that the weak j.a.panese defences were the least of the Americans' problems; that the huge weight of guns fitted to the Superfortresses was almost redundant. An airman wrote laconically: "General LeMay has taken over559 the Bomber Command, and he is going to get us all killed." On 3 March, the new commander wrote to Arnold's chief of staff: "I am working on several very radical methods of employment of the force. As soon as I have run a few tests, I'll submit the plans to you for comment." the Bomber Command, and he is going to get us all killed." On 3 March, the new commander wrote to Arnold's chief of staff: "I am working on several very radical methods of employment of the force. As soon as I have run a few tests, I'll submit the plans to you for comment."

2. Fire-Raising

LONG BEFORE Pearl Harbor, j.a.pan's greatest strategist, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, predicted that when war came, "Tokyo will probably be burnt to the ground." While LeMay seized upon the potential of using incendiary bombs to destroy j.a.panese cities wholesale, he did not invent the concept. Before he had even taken up his post in the Marianas, a USAAF report declared: "vulnerability of j.a.panese cities to fire is still a tempting point for argument...That cities are a valid important military objective is certain...because of the heavy dispersal of industry...within the most congested parts of them." As early as September 1944 Pearl Harbor, j.a.pan's greatest strategist, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, predicted that when war came, "Tokyo will probably be burnt to the ground." While LeMay seized upon the potential of using incendiary bombs to destroy j.a.panese cities wholesale, he did not invent the concept. Before he had even taken up his post in the Marianas, a USAAF report declared: "vulnerability of j.a.panese cities to fire is still a tempting point for argument...That cities are a valid important military objective is certain...because of the heavy dispersal of industry...within the most congested parts of them." As early as September 1944560, at a meeting of the Committee of Operations a.n.a.lysts in Washington, Cmdr. William McGovern of OSS argued strongly for exploiting incendiary attack: "The panic side of the j.a.panese is amazing...[Fire] is one of the great things they are terrified at from childhood." McGovern, like most of his colleagues, was "all in favour of j.a.panese area bombing."

The fire-raisers got their way. The six-pound M-69 incendiary bomb, dropped in cl.u.s.ters packed into cylinders primed to burst open at a predetermined height, contained slow-burning napalm designed to spread on impact. It proved one of the most deadly weapons of the Second World War. Gen. Lauris Norstad, Arnold's chief of staff, wrote to LeMay: "It has become necessary to conduct a test incendiary mission for the purpose of determining the capabilities of our weapons and our tactics against j.a.panese urban industrial areas...This attack does not represent a departure from our primary objective of destroying j.a.panese airpower...it is merely a necessary preparation for the future."

By March 1945, the higher ranks of the USAAF were obsessed with the urgency of being seen to strike a decisive blow with B-29s. "It is air power that this Country561 has has after the War after the War that we must think of, as well as now," a senior USAAF officer wrote to MacArthur's air chief, George Kenney. The airmen sought to justify the huge resources committed to the B-29 programme, to prove the capabilities of independent strategic air power before the navy and army accomplished the defeat of j.a.pan. The USAAF's leadership was almost as traumatised by the failures of the first six months of B-29 operations as had been the RAF in 1941 by the ineffectiveness of its precision-bomber attacks on Germany. The American answer was the same as the British one had been. A USAAF report of 6 December 1944, pre-dating by months LeMay's fire-raising operations, a.s.serted blandly: "To date the Twentieth that we must think of, as well as now," a senior USAAF officer wrote to MacArthur's air chief, George Kenney. The airmen sought to justify the huge resources committed to the B-29 programme, to prove the capabilities of independent strategic air power before the navy and army accomplished the defeat of j.a.pan. The USAAF's leadership was almost as traumatised by the failures of the first six months of B-29 operations as had been the RAF in 1941 by the ineffectiveness of its precision-bomber attacks on Germany. The American answer was the same as the British one had been. A USAAF report of 6 December 1944, pre-dating by months LeMay's fire-raising operations, a.s.serted blandly: "To date the Twentieth562 Air Force has not been capable of effectively bombing small precision targets by radar. Long-range forecasts indicate that weather will get progressively worse over the homeland of j.a.pan until mid-summer...With the present status of radar, in order to get maximum utilization of the forces available, it may be necessary to accept area bombing for a major portion of the effort." Air Force has not been capable of effectively bombing small precision targets by radar. Long-range forecasts indicate that weather will get progressively worse over the homeland of j.a.pan until mid-summer...With the present status of radar, in order to get maximum utilization of the forces available, it may be necessary to accept area bombing for a major portion of the effort."

If striking at cities was the best means of inflicting damage upon the enemy's industrial base with available navigational and bomb-aiming technology, then this was what the XXth Bomber Command would do-and what American aircraft had been doing in Europe for months, albeit maintaining a notional commitment to destroying specified industrial targets. As when Britain's Bomber Command introduced area attack against Germany in 1942, the USAAF's new policy in the spring of 1945 was driven as much by a perception of operational necessity as one of strategic desirability. The transformation of the Pacific bomber offensive was the work of LeMay, but he faced no opposition from the USAAF's chiefs in Washington. They simply wanted results, and were not disposed to quibble about how these were achieved. "Whereas the adoption of nonvisual563 bombing techniques in Europe signified that civilian casualties were a matter of decreasing concern," Conrad Crane has written, "by the time such methods were applied against j.a.pan, civilian casualties were of no concern at all." bombing techniques in Europe signified that civilian casualties were a matter of decreasing concern," Conrad Crane has written, "by the time such methods were applied against j.a.pan, civilian casualties were of no concern at all."

LeMay laconically described his policy: "Bomb and burn 'em till they quit." His most famous-or, in the eyes of critics, most notorious-stroke was the pioneering fire-raising raid on Tokyo, Operation Meetinghouse, launched on the night of 9 March 1945. For the first time he instructed crews to attack at low alt.i.tude, where aiming accuracy was much more readily attained, and strong headwinds could be avoided. Four B-29s were designated as "homing aircraft"-what the RAF called "master bombers"-orbiting the city to direct the 325-strong main force. Crews were a.s.signed loads of between 10,000 and 14,000 pounds, according to experience. LeMay had concluded that j.a.panese fighters were so ineffectual that a ton of defensive armament could be stripped out of each plane. The men briefed for the raid were appalled: "A sort of cold fear gripped the crews564...Many frankly did not expect to return from a raid over that city, at an alt.i.tude of less than 10,000 feet." There was intense anger towards LeMay. "There were a lot of unhappy campers565 when they announced that we were to hit Tokyo-at night-individually and at an alt.i.tude between 6 and 9,000 feet," wrote pilot Robert Ramer. "We thought they had gone mad." LeMay afterwards claimed to have antic.i.p.ated the possibility that his experiment would go disastrously wrong: "We might lose over three hundred aircraft when they announced that we were to hit Tokyo-at night-individually and at an alt.i.tude between 6 and 9,000 feet," wrote pilot Robert Ramer. "We thought they had gone mad." LeMay afterwards claimed to have antic.i.p.ated the possibility that his experiment would go disastrously wrong: "We might lose over three hundred aircraft566 and some 3,000 veteran personnel. It might go down in history as LeMay's Last Brainstorm." and some 3,000 veteran personnel. It might go down in history as LeMay's Last Brainstorm."

Take-offs were staggered between 1736 and 1930. In consequence, later crews saw the flames over Tokyo long before they reached the city. George Beck, a B-29 gunner, recorded in his diary "black, stinking clouds of smoke up to 20,000 feet." All their commander's hopes were fulfilled. "Suddenly, way off at about 2 o'clock, I saw a glow on the horizon like the sun rising or maybe the moon," wrote Robert Ramer. "The whole city of Tokyo567 was below us stretching from wingtip to wingtip, ablaze in one enormous fire with yet more fountains of flame pouring down from the B-29s. The black smoke billowed up thousands of feet causing powerful thermal currents that buffeted our plane severely, bringing with it the horrible smell of burning flesh." Although the j.a.panese claimed to have put 312 single-engined and 105 twin-engined fighters into the air, only forty American crews reported even glimpsing an enemy aircraft. They began bombing at 0100, and the attack continued through the succeeding three hours, unloading 496,000 incendiaries on j.a.pan's capital. By the time the bombers landed back in the Marianas they had been in the air fifteen hours, double the length of an average European sortie. The bellies of many aircraft were coated in soot from the fires of Tokyo. Just twelve bombers were lost, most destroyed by updrafts from the blazing city. Forty-two were damaged by flak, and two more crashed on landing. Unsurprisingly, the least experienced crews accounted for a disproportionate share of casualties. was below us stretching from wingtip to wingtip, ablaze in one enormous fire with yet more fountains of flame pouring down from the B-29s. The black smoke billowed up thousands of feet causing powerful thermal currents that buffeted our plane severely, bringing with it the horrible smell of burning flesh." Although the j.a.panese claimed to have put 312 single-engined and 105 twin-engined fighters into the air, only forty American crews reported even glimpsing an enemy aircraft. They began bombing at 0100, and the attack continued through the succeeding three hours, unloading 496,000 incendiaries on j.a.pan's capital. By the time the bombers landed back in the Marianas they had been in the air fifteen hours, double the length of an average European sortie. The bellies of many aircraft were coated in soot from the fires of Tokyo. Just twelve bombers were lost, most destroyed by updrafts from the blazing city. Forty-two were damaged by flak, and two more crashed on landing. Unsurprisingly, the least experienced crews accounted for a disproportionate share of casualties.

General Arnold wrote to LeMay: "I want you and your people to understand fully my admiration for your fine work...Your recent incendiary missions were brilliantly planned and executed...Under reasonably favourable conditions you should...have the ability to destroy whole industrial cities." Perhaps the most astonishing aspect of the new policy is that it was implemented without reference to the political leadership of the United States. When Secretary of War Henry Stimson expressed belated dismay about media reports of non-discriminatory bombing of j.a.panese cities, Arnold a.s.sured him mendaciously568 that urban areas had become targets only because j.a.panese industry was widely dispersed among the civilian population: "They were trying to keep [civilian casualties] down as much as possible." that urban areas had become targets only because j.a.panese industry was widely dispersed among the civilian population: "They were trying to keep [civilian casualties] down as much as possible."

Stimson professed himself satisfied. He cautioned only that there must be no attacks on the ancient city of Kyoto. The further destruction of j.a.pan and ma.s.s killing of its people was left entirely to the airmen's discretion. There is no doc.u.mentation to suggest that either Roosevelt or Truman was ever consulted about LeMay's campaign. Here was an extreme example of the manner in which the higher direction of America's war was left overwhelmingly in the hands of the service chiefs of staff. Here also was a precedent, establishing the context in which the later dropping of the atomic bombs was carried out-with the acquiescence of the U.S. government rather than by its formal initiative.

Comment about the Tokyo raid in the U.S. press was overwhelmingly favourable. The implausibly named Christian Century Christian Century suggested that the attack had "blasted large cracks in the myth suggested that the attack had "blasted large cracks in the myth569 by which a weak and inoffensive little man had become a conquering G.o.d." Raymond Moley in by which a weak and inoffensive little man had become a conquering G.o.d." Raymond Moley in Newsweek Newsweek expressed the hope that "through intensified bombing expressed the hope that "through intensified bombing570, the panicky streak in the j.a.panese mentality may be set off." No moral doubts were expressed, though many commentators acknowledged that the deliberate destruction of a city represented a new departure for the USAAF. The Twentieth Air Force clung to fig leaves, warning its senior officers: "Guard against anyone stating that this is area bombing." A XXIst Bomber Command report sought to clarify the nature of what had been done to Tokyo: "The object of these attacks was not to not to indiscriminately bomb civilian populations. The object indiscriminately bomb civilian populations. The object was was to destroy the to destroy the industrial and strategic targets industrial and strategic targets concentrated in the urban areas." In a narrow, absurdly literal sense, this was true. The nuance was meaningless, however, to those who lay in the path of the storm. concentrated in the urban areas." In a narrow, absurdly literal sense, this was true. The nuance was meaningless, however, to those who lay in the path of the storm.

The sporadic American air raids which preceded that of 9 March had caused the Tokyo munic.i.p.al authorities to evacuate some 1.7 million people, almost all women and children, from the capital to the countryside. On the night, six million remained in the city. One of these was Haruyo Wada, nine-year-old daughter of a spice wholesaler living in Joto-ku, a densely populated industrial and housing district networked with ca.n.a.ls, near the Arakawa River. In addition to herself and her parents, a sixteen-year-old brother, Soichiro, and a five-year-old sister, Mitsuko, lived in their little two-storey wooden house. By that spring of 1945 they had grown very conscious of the threat of bombing, and nervous about it. j.a.panese knew how readily their houses burned. At school, children seemed to spend more time practicing air-raid drills than studying. Soichiro Wada spent most evenings on firewatching duties.

At a time when many Tokyo people were hungry, the war had hitherto dealt relatively kindly with the Wadas. The family spice business sustained enough friendly connections to keep them fed. Yet at home they slept lightly and uneasily, the family all together in the downstairs living room, ready for flight. Haruyo's father was a kindly man, whom she always felt safe with. He took the bomber peril very seriously. One day he came home and presented each family member with a pair of leather shoes-at that time, luxury items. They were designed to replace the wooden clogs which had become almost universal. "Your feet will not get burned so easily in these," Mr. Wada said gravely.

On the evening of 9 March, Haruyo played in the street as usual with her little friends: the Futami children, Yukio and Yoko, whose father made sake sake flasks; Hisayo Furuhashi, daughter of a decorator; Yuji Imaizumi, whose family were papermakers. Then she was called in to supper. Afterwards, as usual the Wadas sat around the radio for a while, listening to a programme of songs for children. They were in their beds when the air-raid warning sounded. Their father went outside, investigated, and returned to report that all seemed quiet. They relapsed into sleep for a time, then were wakened once more by a rising tumult. Their father slipped out, and returned looking troubled: "Something unusual is happening," he said. "You'd all better get your clothes on." Haruyo sat up "like a clockwork doll." Dressed, they went out into the street, and joined a throng of people already gathered, gazing in fear at the sky, where searchlights probed and flickered uncertainly. Aircraft droned overhead, and there was a reddening horizon in the south. Most disturbing for the fate of Tokyo, a strong north-westerly wind was blowing. No one said much, but Mr. Wada pushed his wife and daughters into the shallow shelter they shared with the Furuhashi family. The boy Soichiro disappeared to his fire-watching post. flasks; Hisayo Furuhashi, daughter of a decorator; Yuji Imaizumi, whose family were papermakers. Then she was called in to supper. Afterwards, as usual the Wadas sat around the radio for a while, listening to a programme of songs for children. They were in their beds when the air-raid warning sounded. Their father went outside, investigated, and returned to report that all seemed quiet. They relapsed into sleep for a time, then were wakened once more by a rising tumult. Their father slipped out, and returned looking troubled: "Something unusual is happening," he said. "You'd all better get your clothes on." Haruyo sat up "like a clockwork doll." Dressed, they went out into the street, and joined a throng of people already gathered, gazing in fear at the sky, where searchlights probed and flickered uncertainly. Aircraft droned overhead, and there was a reddening horizon in the south. Most disturbing for the fate of Tokyo, a strong north-westerly wind was blowing. No one said much, but Mr. Wada pushed his wife and daughters into the shallow shelter they shared with the Furuhashi family. The boy Soichiro disappeared to his fire-watching post.

As the family sat crammed into their hole with the Furuhashis, heat and noise progressively intensified. Beyond the thunder of concussions, ever closer, there were children's screams and a patter of running feet. Haruyo jammed her fingers into her ears, to deaden the terrifying sound of explosions. She felt sick. Then her father put his head in and said: "Come out of there-you'll roast if you stay." Her mother and sister hastened to obey, but Mrs. Furuhashi seized Haruyo's coat and tried to hold her back: "Stay here! Stay!" she cried hysterically. "You'll die out there." The child broke free, and crawled out into the street.

The entire horizon was now deep red. The wind seemed to have risen to the force almost of a typhoon. Blazing embers were hurtling through the air, bouncing like b.a.l.l.s of fire over roofs and people. Clay tiles flew past, glowing fiercely. People were running, running-then burning, burning. Wide-eyed, Haruyo saw mothers in flight, apparently oblivious of the fact that the babies on their backs, the children whose hands they grasped, were on fire. The great flight of people seemed impelled by the gale, rather than by their own limbs. The Wadas seized their daughters tightly, and led them a few yards to a nearby railway embankment. They clambered up onto the tracks, and stood among thousands of others, in temporary safety. Almost all were too stunned to speak, as fire swept through the nearby houses, including their own.

For Yoshiko Hashimoto's family, living in the Sumida district of east Tokyo, until that night awareness of bombing had been slight. They felt no great fear in the face of spasmodic raids from small numbers of planes, which they described sardonically as "our regulars." "There was a strange feeling of detachment until the March raid," said Yoshiko, the twenty-four-year-old mother of a three-month-old baby boy, Hiroshi. "Even if someone quite close by got hit, you never thought it would happen to you." The family's princ.i.p.al concession to air-raid precautions was that they always slept in their clothes, and kept by the beds a furoshiki furoshiki-a cloth square-with a few necessaries for parents and children tied up in it, together with baskets containing some clothes and a little food.

When the bombs began to fall on 9 March, at first only Yoshiko, her mother and the baby took to their shelter. Very quickly, amid the thunder and tumult of explosions, they understood that what was happening was on a scale beyond their experience or imagination. Their father called down to the shelter for the women to come out. He realised that a hole barely three feet below ground offered negligible protection. They emerged into a sea of flame. Yoshiko, clutching her baby, ran with her sister Chieko to the water tank a few yards beyond the house. Showers of incendiaries were falling around them. The sky over the city was a deep, cruel red. They piled their most precious possessions, above all bedding, onto a little cart. The girls' father shouted that they must flee before the approaching flames.

Thousands of people "almost mad with terror" thronged the streets. The Hashimotos had not gone far before they discovered that Chieko, pushing their cart, was falling behind. The little family saw that they were beside a railway. "We've got to go on," cried their father. "The line will be a target for the planes." He and his wife each clutched one of Etsuko's hands. Yoshiko, the baby on her back, tried to keep hold of fourteen-year-old Hisae. However, the child was enc.u.mbered by a cooking pot full of precious rice. In the desperate, pressing throng, the two girls found themselves dashed apart. "Wait for me! Wait for me!" cried Hisae. Then her plaintive voice faded. As the mob surged on towards the Sanno Bridge over the Tate River, Yoshiko lost her sister.

At the riverbank the Hashimoto family paused, desperate to recover their two missing daughters. But now the fires were upon them. A blast of unbearable heat overtook the fugitives. Flames seized baggage, nearby warehouses, then the heads of the terrified fugitives. Yoshiko saw people shrivelled by fire "like dead leaves," others holding up hands that were ablaze. On Yoshiko's back, the baby Hiroshi was screaming. Flaming fragments blew into the child's mouth. "Get him off your back! Get him down!" cried Yoshiko's mother. The girl took the boy in her arms, plucked a glowing ember from his lips, then sought to shield him from the flames and the terrible wall of heat. Her mother took off the hood covering her own head and put it on her daughter's, some of whose hair was already burned away. On the bridge, the panic-stricken crowd fleeing towards f.u.kagawa on the south bank came face to face with another mob seeking to escape fires on their own side. The two ma.s.ses of people collided, creating new scenes of horror. "I watched people die before my eyes. I saw people burning."

"Jump in the river!" Yoshiko's father shouted, shaking her shoulders urgently. "It's your only chance!" She hesitated, from fear for her baby in the icy winter water. "Go on!" cried her mother. "You've got to do it!" Her parents and sister Etsuko stayed on the bank, for her mother could not swim. Yoshiko jumped.

In the Edogawa district, sixteen-year-old Ryoichi Sekine stood with his father and cousin watching the reddening sky in the west, listening to the thunder of bomb explosions, anti-aircraft fire and the rising wind. Ryoichi sought shelter as shrapnel fragments began to fall among them. Then fireb.a.l.l.s were added, blazing embers and fragments that struck houses, held, and spread fire in seconds. The heat was growing. Instinctively, they ducked as a B-29 flew overhead so low that they could see flame reflections flickering on its silver underbelly. So fierce was the gale that it began to blow gravel across the road, checking the progress of anyone attempting to run against it. The fires were gaining ground fast, and it became plain that the Sekines must join the surging mob of fleeing people. Those in the worst case were the old, and mothers with children. Ryoichi's father, with rare presence of mind, gave an improvised banner to his young niece Takako Ohki, telling her to use it to lead all the mothers and old people she could find towards safety. The girl set off, holding aloft her emblem, followed by a column of fugitives.

Mr. Sekine, his son and a friend began a hasty tour of neighbouring houses, to ensure that everyone had got out. By the time they finished their check, not only was the path taken by the mothers and old people blocked by flames, but it had become impossible to stand upright in the gale of smoke. Choking and gasping, the three men crawled westward until they reached an open s.p.a.ce, already burnt out. They saw corpses everywhere, the living frenziedly beating at flames on their own bodies. In the Naka River corpses floated in dense cl.u.s.ters, some obviously killed by flaming debris. The two Sekines struggled on towards a cl.u.s.ter of trees, which they recognised as the approach to the Suwa Shrine. Hundreds of people, dead and alive, lay in the shallow lake nearby. Corpses in the water did nothing to deter the living, in their desperation, from drinking and splashing their own scorched bodies.

Until the moment Yoshiko Hashimoto jumped into the river, she had been almost comatose with fear and the pain of the intense heat. The water revived her. She saw a tangle of lumber, partly ablaze, floating past. Seizing this with one hand, with the other she managed to push her baby onto the flimsy raft. He lay traumatised into silence as they drifted downstream. Even in the river, the heat was overpowering. Yoshiko ducked her head beneath the surface every few moments to cool her skin, and splashed the baby. Others were likewise struggling in the water, and Yoshiko found herself facing a new peril. Desperate men and women seized the timber, rocking and spinning it as they thrashed.

Yoshiko had been drifting perhaps half an hour when she saw a miraculous sight: a boat, rowed by two men. She cried out to them to take her baby, and with her failing strength pushed Hiroshi over the thwart. The rowers took pity on the mother also. She was dragged on board. They found that they could make little progress downriver, because their pa.s.sage was blocked by flaming debris. On sh.o.r.e, they could see only a ring of fire. As the first light of dawn appeared, the boatmen lay on their oars and gazed at the stricken city. They and their two pa.s.sengers were too shocked to speak. They merely wondered at the sight of a sun that looked more like a moon, a sickly yellow disk masked by pillars of smoke which towered over the landscape.

Slowly, very slowly, the heat began to diminish. Everything around Haruyo Wada which was susceptible to fire had succ.u.mbed. The first glimmerings of day appeared. Haruyo crawled out from beneath the cl.u.s.ter of humanity which had sheltered her-and found that all were blackened corpses save one, who took her hand. Providentially, it was her father. He had left his wife and other daughter at the station, and come back to search for her. Before she could even murmur, "Daddy," he said urgently: "Don't move from there," and disappeared again up the track. Minutes afterwards, he returned with her mother and sister. They stood in a scene of total desolation, wisps of white smoke lingering above the ashes, occasionally shot with blue flame as an ember met some vestige of material still unburned.

Haruyo could not grasp what had happened, and kept murmuring to herself: "Where am I? What has happened?" They began the search for her brother. Her parents were badly burned, their eyes almost closed by blisters, so that the children had to lead the way, picking a path between blackened corpses. Haruyo was fascinated by the number of dead mothers and infants; by the sight of one girl whose entire upper body was black and shrivelled, while by some freak her lower limbs were untouched. Five-year-old Mitsuko whimpered quietly, saying again and again: "My leg hurts." They recognised the site of their own home only when Haruyo glimpsed a fragment of much-loved family china. An iron pipe alone protruded aboveground. To their amazement, its tap delivered a feeble trickle of water, with which they sought to wash away the oily blackness which coated their faces and bodies.

Then there was another miracle. They saw a ragged, forlorn figure standing before them. It was the boy Soichiro. He was uninjured. He had crawled into a sewage pipe and lain in its shelter through the hours of destruction, soaking his body in damp filth. Mr. Wada sighed with pa.s.sionate emotion: "We're all together again." In the shelter where, a few hours earlier, Mrs. Furuhashi had tried to hold back Haruyo from flight, they found their neighbours' family heaped, charred corpses. Indeed, every one of Haruyo's street playmates had perished. Among the Futamis, just two adults survived of a family of nine.

After a time, as the flames died, Yoshiko Hashimoto and the two boatmen who had saved her life steered their boat to the riverbank, and ventured ash.o.r.e. They were stunned to behold the emptiness of a great urban landscape denuded of all buildings save a few lonely concrete survivors. The other landmarks were iron safes, standing forlorn amid the ashes of the homes and offices to which they once belonged. The only discernible colour in the scene was a dull, dead brown. Fallen phone and power lines hung like spiders' webs over the debris. Yoshiko was bewildered to perceive how little human life was visible. The great mobs which had thronged the streets during the night had vanished. Only a few lonely figures plodded through the desolation. Her rescuers, the boatmen, set about delivering her and her child, both exhausted and badly burned, to a hospital. They found a cart-or rather, its iron frame and wheels, for all the woodwork was gone. They laid mother and child upon it, and somehow dragged them through the ruins, the pa.s.sengers frequently falling to the ground as Yoshiko lost her feeble purchase on the iron skeleton. Later, when she recovered her wits in hospital, she found that her saviours had vanished. "They saved our lives," she said in wonderment, "but I never knew their names. All I could tell from their talk was that one was a postman, the other a rice-seller."

Ryoichi Sekine, at the Suwa Shrine, was dimly aware that the overhead sound of aircraft was receding. Violent noise made by falling debris persisted, but there was little screaming, because people's breath was too precious. The injured sometimes groaned; that was all. The Sekines lingered perhaps two or three hours before moving. When they dared to rise, they perceived that most of those around them were dead. Ryoichi noted with blank curiosity the phenomenon of flickers of flame rising from corpses, fuelled by their body oils. While it was still dark, the Sekines tried to pick a path towards their home, but found the heat underfoot too great. They lingered awhile longer, then set off. Around dawn they reached the site, a ruin. For the first time, the smoke cleared sufficiently to reveal a glimpse of blue sky. It was around 7 a.m. Their eyes were swollen and bloodshot. They found a few mouthfuls of water to a.s.suage their painful thirst, and some rice in their abandoned shelter, which they shared with grateful neighbours.

With absurd, ironic perversity, father and son said to each other: "Thank goodness we don't need to worry any more about the house burning down." Ryoichi's cousin Takako appeared. She said that the banner she had carried to lead the old people had proved useful for beating out the flames on their bodies. By the sort of fluke that pervades all great tragedies, they found that almost all their own neighbours survived, while in the main street a few yards distant every inhabitant had perished. The Sekines went to live in a temple whose chief priest had been a schoolmate of Ryoichi's, until that too was burned out in the great raid of May 1945. The family was unlucky in its choice of destinations. After quitting the ruins of Tokyo in favour of taking refuge in Osaka, they had to abandon their train en route, when it was strafed and wrecked by American fighters. Mr. Sekine said: "We should have ended this war a long, long time ago."

Two days later, Yoshiko Hashimoto and little Hiroshi made their way to the primary school where her husband's air-raid post had stood, and found him alive, together with her sister Chieko. Etsuko also came. She was hideously burned, but had survived after jumping into the river. Hisae and their parents were never seen again. Yoshiko mused long after: "Who did I blame for it all? The Americans? The j.a.panese had done the same thing to people. It was the war. Mine is the generation which allowed the war. We did nothing to stop it."

The Wada family fled from the remains of their old lives, and found refuge in the mountains of the Nagano Prefecture, with friends who ran a factory making armaments. s.p.a.ce was found in a workers' dormitory for the traumatised refugees. The former spice seller worked on a production line until the end of the war, while his wife took a job in the factory canteen. j.a.pan's foreign minister, Mamoru Shigemitsu, a long-standing opponent of his nation's militarists, wrote later about the profound public bitterness generated by attacks such as that of 9 March: "Most of my mail consisted of571 questions why enemy prisoners, guilty of inhuman conduct, should receive favoured treatment when they burned people to death together with their homes, while those who escaped had nowhere to live and nothing to eat." Shigemitsu described the air attacks as "the most frightful experience questions why enemy prisoners, guilty of inhuman conduct, should receive favoured treatment when they burned people to death together with their homes, while those who escaped had nowhere to live and nothing to eat." Shigemitsu described the air attacks as "the most frightful experience572 the j.a.panese people have ever undergone." Even the j.a.panese military suffered no illusions about the impact of the Tokyo raid on civilian morale. On 15 March, a j.a.panese army general staff circular warned that "elements of the population the j.a.panese people have ever undergone." Even the j.a.panese military suffered no illusions about the impact of the Tokyo raid on civilian morale. On 15 March, a j.a.panese army general staff circular warned that "elements of the population573 have given way to a spirit of unrest. Throughout the homeland there are elements which we shall have to watch carefully, lest they jeopardise the prosecution of the war." Navy pilot Masashiko Ando said: "After the war have given way to a spirit of unrest. Throughout the homeland there are elements which we shall have to watch carefully, lest they jeopardise the prosecution of the war." Navy pilot Masashiko Ando said: "After the war574, people would sometimes say to me: 'It must have been really tough out there, flying combat operations.' But when I had seen the bombed cities of j.a.pan, I said: 'The toughest place to be was Tokyo.' ''

GEORGE B BECK, a B-29 gunner, wrote in his diary after landing back in the Marianas on 10 March: "An unforgettable mission a B-29 gunner, wrote in his diary after landing back in the Marianas on 10 March: "An unforgettable mission575...Squadron CO told us we were starting a new phase of the war in which we were going to burn down j.a.pan's major cities. I took it with a grain of salt-but he was right."

The 9 March 1945 American bomber attack on Tokyo killed around 100,000 people, and rendered a million homeless. Over 10,000 acres of buildings were destroyed-16 square miles, a quarter of the city. A hundred of the capital's 287 fire stations and a similar number of its 250 medical facilities were wiped out. Over the weeks that followed, the XXth Bomber Command launched a succession of further raids, designed to achieve the same result elsewhere. On 11 March, B-29s went to Nagoya, j.a.pan's third-largest city. Here, damage was much reduced by lack of a wind such as fanned the fires of Tokyo. Only two square miles of the city burned. On the thirteenth, Osaka was much more successfully attacked. Three thousand died, eight square miles of buildings were destroyed, half a million people were made homeless, for the loss of two American aircraft and thirteen damaged. On 16 March it was the turn of Kobe, population one million. Three square miles were destroyed, 8,000 people killed, 650,000 made homeless. Three bombers were lost and eleven damaged, all as a result of operational problems rather than enemy action.

After five such missions in a fortnight, a temporary halt to "burn jobs" became necessary. Air and ground crews were exhausted, supplies of incendiaries were running low. Yet the spirits of LeMay's command soared. In just five operations they had inflicted upon j.a.pan eight times the damage done to San Francis...o...b.. the great 1906 earthquake. The enemy's cities had suffered in a few short days a scale of destruction which it had taken years to achieve in Germany, because j.a.panese buildings burned so much more readily. With the benefit of reports from its staff in Tokyo, Soviet naval intelligence reported: "Frequent bombings, particularly night attacks, have made a major impact576 on j.a.panese civilian morale. Exhaustion, sleeplessness and general strain have resulted in large-scale absenteeism which is affecting j.a.panese war production and causing acute anxiety in j.a.pan's ruling circles." on j.a.panese civilian morale. Exhaustion, sleeplessness and general strain have resulted in large-scale absenteeism which is affecting j.a.panese war production and causing acute anxiety in j.a.pan's ruling circles."

The vulnerability of j.a.panese air defences had been laid bare. They lacked good anti-aircraft guns-on 9 March, flak accounted for just three American aircraft. Their radar sets were based on captured 1941-vintage U.S. and British technology, and were highly vulnerable to jamming. Their fighter pilots were poorly trained and ill-equipped either to locate bombers or to destroy them. Pursuing B-29s was a nightmare mission for j.a.panese fliers. Even those who knew their business found high-alt.i.tude engagement with the huge aircraft a gruelling experience. Ten minutes after taking off from the summer heat of Kyushu, Kunio Iwas.h.i.ta noticed ice forming around his oxygen mask. The Zero's machine guns were almost useless against the Superfortress. Iwas.h.i.ta himself scored just one success, on 29 April-a date he always remembered, because it was his wedding anniversary. After making no impression on his American victim with guns, he took up position some three hundred yards behind and just above it, then launched a guided bomb, which exploded beside the American's wing. The j.a.panese pilot followed the spinning wreck all the way down to the sea.

Again and again in the course of the Superfortress campaign, American aircrew expressed bewilderment at the poor showing of j.a.panese fliers, which seemed to accord so little with the enemy's general conduct in the last months of the war. "It was easy to see that the Nip pilots577 were plenty scared of us," wrote a U.S. flier as early as January 1945, "for out of thirty fighters spotted only ten attacked." Weather caused far greater difficulties for the B-29s than anything the enemy did. j.a.panese defences accounted for an average of just two American aircraft per attack. When American POW Mel Rosen saw the first bombers over his camp, "they looked like they were on a Sunday ride." " were plenty scared of us," wrote a U.S. flier as early as January 1945, "for out of thirty fighters spotted only ten attacked." Weather caused far greater difficulties for the B-29s than anything the enemy did. j.a.panese defences accounted for an average of just two American aircraft per attack. When American POW Mel Rosen saw the first bombers over his camp, "they looked like they were on a Sunday ride." "B-nijuuku! B-nijuuku!"-"B-29! B-29!"-cried the j.a.panese guards in anger, fear and bewilderment.

The B-29s' technical problems were progressively solved, aided by the dramatic diminution of engine strain at the lower operating alt.i.tudes mandated by LeMay. Propellers bit more effectively into the thicker air, enabling bomb loads to be doubled. Tremendous efforts were made to strengthen air-sea rescue. Up to fourteen "life guard" submarines were routinely deployed between Iwo Jima and j.a.pan. By late summer, 2,400 U.S. personnel were committed to air-sea rescue, and were achieving dramatic results. If a B-29 landed successfully on the sea, it floated for ten to fifteen minutes. Of rescued crews, 45 percent were picked up in less than five hours, 36 percent in five to twenty-four; 13 percent in one to three days; 6 percent in three to seven days.

And if survivors, instead of drifting at sea, found themselves on one of the Pacific's uninhabited islands, they could turn to the wryly named Castaway's Baedeker Castaway's Baedeker in their survival kits, which described how to make the most of the least promising circ.u.mstances. Just under half of those who tried to ditch got home sooner or later. Air-sea rescue teams displayed extraordinary courage, persistence and determination. The only B-29 crews denied sympathy were a few who chose to land in the sea because, almost incredibly, they found this ordeal less terrifying than completing a mission. in their survival kits, which described how to make the most of the least promising circ.u.mstances. Just under half of those who tried to ditch got home sooner or later. Air-sea rescue teams displayed extraordinary courage, persistence and determination. The only B-29 crews denied sympathy were a few who chose to land in the sea because, almost incredibly, they found this ordeal less terrifying than completing a mission.

Bombing j.a.pan never became a routine a.s.signment. For instance, on the night of 4 June 1945, when crews of the 9th Bomb Group were told at briefing that they would be attacking Kobe next morning at 14,000 feet, a storm of furious protest erupted: "Mess kits were banged578 on the wooden benches and all around me crew members were yelling, booing and shaking their heads," wrote a navigator. The twenty-nine-year-old group commander, Col. Henry Huglin, suppressed the uproar only by explaining that the attack height was dictated by a thick overcast to 16,000, and that it could be raised if the skies cleared over j.a.pan. Yet back in the huts, some veteran crews were still predicting gloomily: "They'll be out waving flags and yelling 'Banzai.'" In the event, the mission proved relatively uneventful, but the apprehension was real enough. That same month, LeMay called for a special effort to curb the incidence of aircrew refusing flying duty. Up to 1 June, eighteen men from the XXth Bomber Command and sixty-nine from the XXIst had been relieved of operations for "anxiety reactions," and this was deemed too many. on the wooden benches and all around me crew members were yelling, booing and shaking their heads," wrote a navigator. The twenty-nine-year-old group commander, Col. Henry Huglin, suppressed the uproar only by explaining that the attack height was dictated by a thick overcast to 16,000, and that it could be raised if the skies cleared over j.a.pan. Yet back in the huts, some veteran crews were still predicting gloomily: "They'll be out waving flags and yelling 'Banzai.'" In the event, the mission proved relatively uneventful, but the apprehension was real enough. That same month, LeMay called for a special effort to curb the incidence of aircrew refusing flying duty. Up to 1 June, eighteen men from the XXth Bomber Command and sixty-nine from the XXIst had been relieved of operations for "anxiety reactions," and this was deemed too many.

Facilities on the Marianas slowly improved, to make their 100,000 USAAF campers less uncomfortable. With a hundred B-29s a month arriving from the factories, the Twentieth Air Force was now poised to impose a steady rhythm of pain and destruction upon the land of the enemy. Accuracy improved dramatically. Between January and June 1945 the number of bombs landing within a thousand feet of their aiming points rose from 12 percent to 40 percent. LeMay said: "The only thing the j.a.ps have to look forward to is the total destruction of their industries." Arnold wrote to him on 21 March, praising the Tokyo raid as "brilliantly planned and executed." So heady was the climate of euphoria within the air force and outside it, fed by ma.s.sive publicity in the U.S., that LeMay felt obliged to calm the frenzy, telling correspondents: "The destruction of j.a.pan's industry by air blows alone is impossible." This prompted a rebuke from Arnold's chief of staff, Lauris Norstad: "Personally I have no quarrel579 with that thesis...But there is a War Department policy, stemming from last year's orgy of predictions that the war would end before Christmas, which prohibits predictions or speculations of any kind by General Officers." LeMay was warned to abstain in future from public forecasting, either positive or negative. with that thesis...But there is a War Department policy, stemming from last year's orgy of predictions that the war would end before Christmas, which prohibits predictions or speculations of any kind by General Officers." LeMay was warned to abstain in future from public forecasting, either positive or negative.

Yet the general had achieved an ascendancy which he sustained for the rest of the war. Enthusiasm was boundless for what his command had begun to do to j.a.pan, and for the l.u.s.tre which its deeds were deemed to have brought upon the air force. "Mission Number 40, the incendiary attack against Tokyo...on the night of 910 March is probably one of the most important ever flown by the Army Air Forces," a.s.serted a post-war USAAF report. "Never before or since580 has so much destruction resulted from any single bombardment mission...it pointed the way to revolutionary new tactics." Air force chiefs hastened to endorse LeMay's attacks. "More than ever I am convinced of the importance of the bombs dropped on j.a.pan between now and say, three months after the fall of Germany," Norstad wrote to him from Arnold's office on 3 April, following the issue of a new urban target list: has so much destruction resulted from any single bombardment mission...it pointed the way to revolutionary new tactics." Air force chiefs hastened to endorse LeMay's attacks. "More than ever I am convinced of the importance of the bombs dropped on j.a.pan between now and say, three months after the fall of Germany," Norstad wrote to him from Arnold's office on 3 April, following the issue of a new urban target list:

This period will certainly be j.a.pan's hour of decision...Results of the incendiary attacks have been tremendous. The first areas a.s.signed were selected on the basis of a compromise between industrial importance and susceptibility to fire. With a greater respect we now have for our fire-making ability and the greater weight we are able to lay down, these new areas which have just been sent to you represent more nearly the top industrial areas. They also appear to be most susceptible to fire attack...If we are successful in destroying these areas in a reasonable time, we can only guess what the effect will be upon the j.a.panese. Certainly their war-making ability will have been seriously curtailed. Possibly they may lose their taste for more war. I am convinced that the XXIst Bomber Command, more than any other service or weapon, is in a position to do something decisive...You and your command have the respect, admiration and unqualified confidence of this headquarters. Keep up the good work.

Today, when many people in the West as well as in j.a.pan recoil from the horrors inflicted by the 1945 bomber offensive, Norstad's words evoke a chill which is intensified by LeMay's post-war rationalisation of what his command did: "We were going after military targets581. No point in slaughtering civilians for the mere sake of slaughter...All you had to do was visit one of those targets after we'd roasted it, and see the ruins of a mult.i.tude of tiny houses, with a drill press sticking up through the wreckage...The entire population got into the act and worked to make those airplanes or munitions of war...men, women, and children. We knew we were going to kill a lot of women and kids when we burned that town. Had to be done." As for the aircrew, few were troubled by the carnage they wreaked upon j.a.pan. "I don't think we thought much582 about it," said Lt. Philip True. "At briefings, we were told we were bombing industrial areas, and that a lot of sub-a.s.sembly was located in surrounding residential areas. I don't think anybody enjoyed it. It was just a job that had to be done. By the time it was over I was ready to go back to school." True was indeed almost a schoolkid-as were they all. Some post-war critics have adopted the absurdly unrealistic view that aircrew should have refused to partic.i.p.ate in firebombing. In truth, if the destruction of j.a.pan's cities and ma.s.sacre of its civilians were deemed inappropriate objectives for the USAAF, the onus rested squarely upon the media and the political leadership of the U.S.A. to demand that the campaign be prosecuted differently. They never did so. about it," said Lt. Philip True. "At briefings, we were told we were bombing industrial areas, and that a lot of sub-a.s.sembly was located in surrounding residential areas. I don't think anybody enjoyed it. It was just a job that had to be done. By the time it was over I was ready to go back to school." True was indeed almost a schoolkid-as were they all. Some post-war critics have adopted the absurdly unrealistic view that aircrew should have refused to partic.i.p.ate in firebombing. In truth, if the destruction of j.a.pan's cities and ma.s.sacre of its civilians were deemed inappropriate objectives for the USAAF, the onus rested squarely upon the media and the political leadership of the U.S.A. to demand that the campaign be prosecuted differently. They never did so.

After 1945, neither LeMay personally nor the air force as an inst.i.tution welcomed the overwhelming evidence that j.a.panese industry was already being strangled to death by the American naval blockade when B-29 bombs began to fall upon it; that aerial bombardment in the last five months of war contributed little towards the destruction of j.a.pan's war-making powers, though much towards punishing the j.a.panese people for their nation's aggression, if this was an appropriate occupation for the USAAF. As so often in the Second World War, especially in Asia, a campaign evolved out of synchronisation with the pace of events elsewhere, having missed a decisive place in the context of the struggle. If U.S. bombers had been able to strike hard at j.a.pan in 1942 or 1943, even 1944, they might have achieved a dramatic impact upon j.a.pan's industrial capability. As it was, however, by the time the Twentieth Air Force achieved the strength and competence to inflict major damage on the industrial cities of the enemy, j.a.pan's war-making powers were in terminal decline from blockade.

Intelligence was a cardinal weakness of the B-29 campaign. Astonishingly little was known about the j.a.panese economy, industry, its choke points and weaknesses. In Albert Speer's anxiety to please his captors in May 1945, the n.a.z.i armaments minister explained to American interrogators how they might bomb j.a.pan more effectively than they had Germany. He stressed the importance of attacking the transport net, together with basic industries such as chemicals and steel: "It is much easier583 to dam up a river near the source than near the delta." When the war ended, LeMay was indeed preparing a great a.s.sault on j.a.panese transport links, though there is no evidence that he took his cue from Speer. to dam up a river near the source than near the delta." When the war ended, LeMay was indeed preparing a great a.s.sault on j.a.panese transport links, though there is no evidence that he took his cue from Speer.

The U.S. Navy pressed relentlessly for air force a.s.sistance in tightening its blockade, calling for the B-29s to be diverted from attacking cities to laying mines in j.a.pan's home waters. As in Europe, the airmen resisted any "distraction" from their independent strategic mission. Only grudgingly were some of LeMay's aircraft committed to mining at the end of March, prompted by fear that otherwise the navy would demand its own force of long-range aircraft. Some nine hundred mines were laid in Operation Starvation. Its impact was dramatic. The j.a.panese were as short of minesweepers as they were of everything else. The Shimonoseki Waterway was closed to shipping for a fortnight, prompting a 50 percent fall in imports. This crisis eventually induced the j.a.panese naval command to order supply ships to brave the channel, which caused a spate of sinkings. In all, B-29s dropped 12,000 sea mines, which accounted for 63 percent of all j.a.panese shipping losses during the period of their partic.i.p.ation. Had LeMay's force been instructed to spend the rest of the war tightening the blockade, it would almost certainly have made a more useful contribution than by continuing the incineration of cities.

But it was not. In April, LeMay's men attempted some daylight raids on aircraft factories, which provoked heavy air battles. One formation was met by 233 j.a.panese fighters. Yet American losses from all causes remained between 1.3 and 1.6 percent, low by European standards. The B-29s returned to firebombing. On 13 April 352 aircraft attacked the "Tokyo a.r.s.enal area," as briefers designated the capital. A further 13.2 square miles of the city were burnt out, for the loss of eight aircraft. A week later, bombers attacked airfields on Kyushu, to a.s.sist the Okinawa campaign. Crews resented the diversion from their "real" task. Bombing was insufficiently accurate to make much impact on runways. For April as a whole, LeMay's planes d