Operation KE: The Cactus Air Force and the Japanese Withdrawal from Guadalcanal

ROGER LETOURNEAU

DENNIS LETOURNEAU

THE CACTUS AIR FORCE AND THE

JAPANESE WITHDRAWAL FROM GUADALCANAL

Naval Institute Press · Annapolis, Maryland

This book has been brought to publication with the generous assistance of Marguerite and Gerry Lenfest.

Naval Institute Press

291 Wood Road

Annapolis, MD 21402

© 2012 by Roger Letourneau and Dennis Letourneau

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Letourneau, Roger.

Operation KE : the Cactus Air Force and the Japanese withdrawal from

Guadalcanal / Roger Letourneau and Dennis Letourneau.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-1-61251-179-5 (ebook)

1. Operation KE, 1943. 2. Guadalcanal, Battle of, Solomon Islands, 1942-1943. 3. World War, 1939-1945—Aerial operations. 4. Allied Air Forces in the Solomons. 5. United States. Army Air Forces. Air Force, 13th. I. Letourneau, Dennis. II. Title.

D767.98.L47 2012

940.54’265933—dc23

2012026505

This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12       9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First printing

Sometimes during the course of researching historical subjects there occur rare moments when one can reach out and touch the past. In our case, the past came to life when we were given the opportunity and privilege of meeting and interacting with some of the veterans who actually took part in the events we describe. We are honored to dedicate this story to the following airmen, ground crew, and seamen who participated in the events described herein and with whom we had the pleasure of working :

Tom Classen: 72nd BS(H)

Joe Conrad: VMSB-131

Jeff DeBlanc: VMF-112

Basil Debnekoff: 23rd BS(H)

Jim Feliton: VMF-112

John Irwin: VMO-251

Jack Maas: VMF-112

Allan McCartney: VMO-251, VMF-214

Barney McShane: VMSB-131

Ryoji Ohara: 204th Kokutai

Martin Roush: VMSB-131

Harland Van Ness: VP-44

Pat Weiland: VMO-251

Leighton Wood: PT-124

Miracles are ceased; and therefore we must needs admit the means how things are perfected.

—William Shakespeare, Henry V

CONTENTS

List of Maps and Diagrams

List of Terms, Acronyms, and Abbreviations

Acknowledgments

Introduction

CHAPTER1The Genesis of Operation KE-GO

CHAPTER2Japanese Aircraft and Air-Combat Doctrine

CHAPTER3American Aircraft and Air-Combat Doctrine

CHAPTER4Of Pilots and Preparedness

CHAPTER5Pregame Warm-Ups: Munda and Vila

CHAPTER6Bombarding the Phoenix

CHAPTER7Kickoff!

CHAPTER8Blitzing the Quarterbacks

CHAPTER9Turnovers

CHAPTER 10Pass Interception

CHAPTER 11General Patch’s End Run

CHAPTER 12The Great Escape Begins

CHAPTER 13Night Action and Daytime Pursuit

CHAPTER 14ComAirSol’s Vendetta

CHAPTER 15The Half-Time Show

CHAPTER 16The Final Touchdown

CHAPTER 17Of Men and Machines

CHAPTER 18Good Luck or Good Management?

Notes

Bibliography

Index

MAPS AND DIAGRAMS

DIAGRAM 1Freehand drawing of Munda airstrip as it appeared in early January 1943

DIAGRAM 2Freehand drawing of Vila-Stanmore base and airstrip

MAP 1Tokyo Express KE Supply Run Outbound, 11 January 1943

MAP 2Tokyo Express KE Reinforcement Run Outbound, 15 January 1943

MAP 3Tokyo Express KE Reinforcement Run Outbound, 15 January 1943

MAP 4Tokyo Express Russells Garrison Run Inbound, 28 January 1943

MAP 51st Tokyo Express Evacuation Run Inbound, 1 February 1943

MAP 61st Tokyo Express Evacuation Run Outbound, 2 February 1943

MAP 72nd Tokyo Express Evacuation Run Inbound, 4 February 1943

MAP 82nd Tokyo Express Evacuation Run Inbound, 4 February 1943

MAP 93rd Tokyo Express Evacuation Run Inbound, 7 February 1943

TERMS, ACRONYMS,

AND ABBREVIATIONS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Among the more recent monographs and articles dealing with the Solomon Islands campaign that we read, only two treat Operation KE-GO—the Japanese evacuation operation—in any detail: Richard B. Frank’s Guadalcanal: The Definitive Account of the Landmark Battle and Russell S. Crenshaw Jr.’s South Pacific Destroyer: The Battle for the Solomons from Savo Island to Vella Gulf . Of the two, Frank’s version is the more comprehensive, examining as it does the land, sea, and air aspects of Operation KE-GO in a fully dedicated chapter. Of necessity, this account treats only the more important air engagements in summary fashion in the interest of presenting the overall story from the multiservice perspectives of both the Americans and the Japanese. We have relied primarily upon these two works, supplemented by many others, to flesh out the overall background of the Solomons campaign against which the Guadalcanal-related air and sea actions we describe in depth were fought.

A major reference source for setting the stage in the three background chapters and for the two concluding chapters was Eric M. Bergerud’s Fire in the Sky: The Air War in the South Pacific. While we had written several comprehensive drafts of these chapters before consulting this seminal treatise, we were gratified to see that our observations and arguments, for the most part, were confirmed by Mr. Bergerud, who had examined the entire South Pacific theater using a broader time frame and based his conclusions largely on different documentary source material. We were able to strengthen these chapters with information drawn from his excellent work.

We relied primarily on war diaries and combat reports to put together the narratives of events as accurately as possible—straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Where possible we fleshed out these accounts with other primary and secondary sources to provide the fullest possible description of these happenings.

The research that eventually culminated in the publication of this manuscript began after our return from a trip to the Solomon Islands in 1999; the bulk of it was undertaken between 2000 and 2005. Barry Zerby of the U.S. National Archives diligently located pertinent records. Mark Evans of the Naval Historical Center (since renamed Naval History and Heritage Command) of the U.S. Navy provided guidance and information on the available U.S. Navy records.

In truth, this manuscript would never have been complete without the selfless contributions over the past twelve years of many individuals whose passion for the subject drove them to go the distance for us in locating and unraveling military sources from both sides of the conflict. Allan Alsleben, Rick Dunn, Minoru Kamada, Jim Lansdale, Allyn Nevitt, Luca Ruffato, Henry Sakaida, Justin Taylan, and Ryan Toews provided a wealth of Japanese data and offered stimulating interpretive opinions. Jiro Yoshida and Koji Takaki kindly contributed their translation expertise, as did Junko Postma, who was instrumental in unlocking the information in the Japanese war diaries. Ewan Stevenson graciously shared his extensive research and correspondence on the subject. Our gratitude also goes out to John Cook (44th FS veteran), Charles Darby, George Dooley (VMSB-131 veteran), Doug Drumheller, Peter Flahaven, Bruce Gamble, John Innes, Lt. Col. (Ret.) Greg Johnson, Danny and Kerrie Kennedy of Dive Gizo, Ragnar Ragnarsson, William Sabel, Lt. Col. Douglas Stumpf (VMGR-234), Richard Watson (VPB-44 veteran), and the Operation KE veterans and their families who shared their recollections and supplied various supporting documents, ranging from logbooks and diaries to photographs.

Finally, an expression of gratitude from both husband and son to Bonnie Letourneau—an accomplished graphic designer who not only Photo-shopped the photos used in this book, but also drew the maps and prepared the diagrams for publication.

Roger and Dennis Letourneau

INTRODUCTION

Many are those who have marveled at the rescue by Japanese destroyers of some 10,600 exhausted and emaciated soldiers from certain annihilation or capture on Guadalcanal in early 1943. Some regard the feat as nothing short of a miracle, given that American theater commanders were prepared to contest any imminent enemy activity in the Eastern Solomons. Once the Japanese set in motion Operation KE-GO (or, simply, Operation KE), its six Tokyo Express runs were detected en route and attacked by vigilant U.S. air and naval forces. Yet these missions were successfully carried out although at an acknowledged cost to Dai Nippon Teikoku Kaigun of one destroyer lost and three others damaged. (Actually, some seventeen destroyers were damaged, and double that if counting those that were hit on more than one occasion.) The Japanese also recorded losing around seventy aircraft in KE-related combat. Even then, the Dai Nippon Teikoku Kaigun and Dai Nippon Teikoku Rikugun had braced themselves to pay a far heavier price.

That an evacuation was contemplated at all seems uncharacteristic of the Japanese military. As the war progressed, the U.S. Navy’s tightening grip over the Central Pacific successively cut off defending Japanese island garrisons from the rest of the empire. Since reinforcement or withdrawal was no longer possible, and surrender was not an option, death in battle was deemed preferable, guaranteeing resistance to the last man. Conversely, the fight for Guadalcanal was not a last-ditch effort in the same vein, given the possibility of withdrawal from an untenable situation.

Initially, the Eastern Solomons comprised the outermost defensive shield for Rabaul—the heart of Japan’s military presence in the South Pacific. However, once the Japanese realized that U.S. troops on Guadalcanal could not be dislodged and were actually assuming the offensive, Lt. Gen. Hitoshi Imamura, the Dai Hachi Homen Gun’s commander, sought to redeploy the remaining 12,000 men of the Japanese 17th Army to the Central Solomons. This revised strategy was to stop the Allied advance up the Solomons in the New Georgia group. Given the pitiful physical condition and lack of wherewithal of these troops, both he and Adm. Jinichi Kusaka, who commanded both the Nanto Homen Kantai and the 11th Koku Kantai, believed they could do little to the Americans if they were left to fight to the death on Guadalcanal; these men could better serve the emperor at another time in another place. So, before the window of opportunity slammed shut, imperial GHQ gave the 17th Army a reprieve at the eleventh hour.

Operation KE marked several departures from the features that had characterized the Guadalcanal campaign till then.

First, though the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) sent a potent task force deep into no-man’s-land, the provocation did not bring about a major clash with the U.S. Navy. After an attempt to ambush Adm. Nobutake Kondo’s Advance Force was thwarted by Japanese air power, the U.S. Navy was content to hold sizable task forces in the wings, waiting for any further escalation that might open a window of opportunity for a full-fledged fleet action. This sitzkrieg posture aptly suited the IJN goal of evacuating the 17th Army with as little interference as possible.

Second, in a theater where naval warfare was characterized by major surface actions and air–sea battles dominated by aircraft carriers, all airborne antishipping and base-suppression sorties mounted during Operation KE were flown exclusively by land-based air power, operating entirely from insular airfields—the unsinkable aircraft carriers. KE-related seaborne actions involved only light cruisers, destroyers, and motor torpedo boats.

Third, several kokutai of the Dai Nippon Teikoku Kaigun Kokutai and the Dai Nippon Teikoku Rikugun were assembled into an air armada to do battle with a significantly reinforced, though marginally less numerous, Cactus Air Force for the first time in the Guadalcanal campaign.

Fourth, while both sides still flew lengthy missions between the Western and Eastern Solomons as they strove to neutralize each other’s main air bases, taxing the limit of aircraft ranges and aircrew endurance, the air-combat zone shifted toward the Central Solomons—within comfortable range of major Japanese airbases in Bougainville, virtually on the doorstep of a new forward airstrip in the New Georgia group, and close to a seaplane base on nearby Santa Ysabel. Henceforth, the Japanese could benefit from shorter operating ranges and better utilize their new airstrip at Munda Point. Together, these advantages presented an unprecedented opportunity to protect Operation KE’s Tokyo Express runs by holding American air power temporarily at bay.

Notwithstanding suggestions of the miraculous, when the air–sea engagements surrounding the Japanese withdrawal are analyzed objectively, the course of events suggests that the Fates had less influence on the success of the Guadalcanal evacuation than did military professionalism. The Japanese developed a reasonably sound strategy that not only profited from the closer proximity of the prospective combat zone, but also exploited tactically the strengths and limitations of the tools and methods of war then employed in the South Pacific.

Admittedly, records left by Allied and Japanese airmen regarding their respective roles in intercepting or defending the historic Tokyo Express runs of 10–11, 14–15, and 28–29 January, as well as 1–2, 4–5, and 7–8 February, are incomplete—understandably so. These often terse and fragmentary accounts are the impressions of men reacting to a kaleidoscope of fleeting images in the heat of air combat. Those accounts of the web of ancillary actions woven around Operation KE are frequently found to be no less wanting. Opposing combatants were almost always at variance with one another regarding what actually transpired.

For example, victories claimed by pilots on one side were invariably greater than the losses acknowledged by the other side. Was a given plane destroyed? Shot down? Probably shot down? Damaged? In the absence of gun cameras, individual judgment calls on the part of participating airmen prevailed, and errors abounded on both sides.

Aircraft misidentification was another anomaly. When it arrived in the Solomons, the JAAF Ki-43 Hayabusa fighter was universally mistaken for a new variant of the JNAF’s A6M Zero. Conversely, Japanese pilots often confused Bell’s P-39 Airacobra with Curtis’ P-40 Warhawk, and Grumman’s TBF Avenger was sometimes mixed up at long distance with Grumman’s similarly silhouetted F4F Wildcat. Although the Zero was painted either grey (carrier based) or green (landn based) with a black cowl, observations by U.S. airmen included orange, dune colored, tan, dirty brown, yellow lacquered with a red cowl, and mustard yellow with a rusty-red cowl—usually when describing the Hamps of the 204th Kokutai. Sunlight reflecting off the peculiar light-grey shade of this unit’s planes at different times of the day probably accounts for this nonexistent spectrum of hues.

This having been said, when integrated with other historical records plus a host of secondary treatises, these incomplete and oft-times inaccurate observations—as set down in the combat action reports and war diaries of participating American and Japanese air and naval units—still provide fresh insight into the hitherto fragmented story of the Cactus Air Force and its achievements between mid-December 1942 and mid-February 1943. Distilled from a synthesis of these sources, the following account fleshes out a glaring gap in the historical record by chronicling the air war that was fought over Operation KE—one of World War II’s great escapes.

CHAPTER 1

THE GENESIS OF OPERATION KE-GO

The Solomon Islands were an obscure British colonial backwater until the dramatic sweep of Japanese military might through Southeast Asia and the western reaches of the Pacific unwittingly propelled this malarial archipelago to center stage. Even when a series of calamitous defeats beset them after Pearl Harbor, the Allies brooked no thoughts of acquiescing to Japanese imperialism; a counteroffensive aimed at dismantling the new Southeast Asia Co-prosperity Sphere was inevitable, but who would have guessed it was destined to begin on Guadalcanal?

Adm. Isoroku Yamamoto, the architect of the attack on Pearl Harbor, remained convinced that Hawaii was the main threat to Japan’s newly won empire—an unshakable conviction that spawned his overwrought Operation MI-GO, designed to draw Hawaiian-based U.S. carriers into a decisive naval action by invading Midway Island. Having crippled the U.S. Navy’s surface fleet at Pearl Harbor, Yamamoto believed that destruction of these flattops would leave Hawaii under a perceived threat of invasion and provide Japan with the leverage it needed to force the Americans to accept a truce based on the geopolitical status quo. Admiral Yamamoto duly led his Rengo Kantai to Midway, where a fateful clash on 4 June 1942 saw U.S. naval air power sink four Japanese fleet carriers in exchange for the loss of the Yorktown.

For its part, the Imperial Japanese Navy general staff regarded Australia as the greater threat to Japan because it constituted a strategic base from which the Allies could interdict the flow of natural resources—especially oil from Borneo and the Dutch East Indies. In January 1942 the Japanese established major South Pacific bases at the captured Australian outposts of Rabaul and Kavieng in the Bismarck Archipelago to protect this fragile lifeline. They went on to occupy Bougainville on the edge of the Western Solomons, thereby moving swiftly to sever the seaborne lifeline between Australia and the United States.

In addition, Japan’s plan to secure New Guinea went awry at the Battle of the Coral Sea. Despite the destruction of the U.S. fleet carrier Lexington and heavy damage to her sister Yorktown, which more than offset the loss of the light carrier Shoho and serious damage to the fleet carrier Shokaku, Japanese air groups were badly ravaged for the first time. Deprived of adequate air cover, the Port Moresby invasion fleet had to turn back. The forfeiture of four more carriers and most of their aircrews at Midway compelled the Japanese to attempt, unsuccessfully, the capture of Port Moresby via a land-based assault across the rugged, inhospitable Owen Stanley mountain range.

As a prelude to their Coral Sea operation, the Japanese leaped from Bougainville to clear across the Solomons to seize the modest Australian seaplane base and naval anchorage at Tulagi Harbor in the Florida Islands on 3 May 1942. This move represented the next step toward the seizure of major island groups between New Caledonia and Samoa in Japan’s bid to seal off Australia.

Adm. Ernest King, chief of U.S. Naval Operations, convinced the Allied combined chiefs of staff that a Japanese presence in the Solomons seriously menaced the island continent. To counter this threat the Americans received the blessing of their British and French allies to fortify Samoa and occupy Fiji, the New Hebrides, and New Caledonia. Admiral King and Gen. George Marshall then agreed to restore Allied control over the Eastern Solomons. First, the Americans would move into the nearby Santa Cruz Islands; second, they would retake the Tulagi anchorage and seaplane base. Both sides were now poised for an unanticipated clash in the Solomon Islands.

At this juncture Japanese troops from Tulagi landed on Guadalcanal near Lunga Point on 8 June 1942 and began to build a wharf. Coastwatcher Martin Clemens soon reported that large-scale grass burning was in progress on Lunga Plain to create what looked to be an airstrip. On 4 July U.S. intelligence intercepted enemy messages regarding plans to move a large force of troops to Guadalcanal; Japanese transports began to land engineers, pioneers, laborers, and light construction equipment at Lunga Point two days later. Within two weeks a B-17 reconnaissance flight confirmed that construction of an airstrip was in progress.

From Guadalcanal, Japanese long-range bombers could interdict Allied shipping along the sea-lanes to Australia and stymie any Allied effort to advance upon Japan’s Rabaul bastion through the South Pacific. A joint directive issued by Admiral King and General Marshall on 2 July 1942 cancelled the USN’s upcoming Santa Cruz operation. Instead, Adm. Chester Nimitz was ordered to galvanize his amphibious forces for a major thrust in the Eastern Solomons. Thus was Operation Watchtower conceived as the first phase of a full-scale Allied offensive aimed at removing the threat to Australia and neutralizing Rabaul.

After a week of concentrated air bombardment by B-17Es of the USAAF’s 11th BG(H), followed by a naval barrage on D-day, the first waves of U.S. Marines went ashore unopposed at Guadalcanal and under fire at Tulagi and the adjacent islets of Gavutu-Tanambogo on 7 August 1942—exactly eight months after Pearl Harbor and one day after the Japanese had completed their new airstrip for fighter operations.

Armed with poor intelligence, the Japanese seriously underestimated the strength of the defensive perimeter established by the 1st Marine Division around the captured airstrip. They launched their intended recapture of newly named Henderson Field with an ill-planned counterattack by an understrength battalion of elite troops that was repulsed with staggering losses. Then they concocted a series of complex land–sea–air counter-strokes that misfired because Guadalcanal’s nearly impenetrable rainforest prevented the 17th Army from coordinating its attacks with supporting naval bombardments and air raids. In contrast, Brig. Gen. Archer Vandegrift’s Marines remained on the defensive. Benefitting from interior lines of communication, they whittled down their aggressive and overconfident foe while building up their own strength for an eventual offensive to sweep the Japanese off the island.

Both sides lost heavily in ships, planes, and men in several naval and air–sea battles that accompanied the struggle on Guadalcanal, but the U.S. Navy was able to replace its losses more readily than could its adversary. Japanese naval air and surface-fleet strength grew steadily weaker; by the end of 1942 Japan could no longer sustain its aggressive posture in the Solomons. Inevitably, American land, sea, and air forces went on the offensive.

Under Vandegrift’s successor, Maj. Gen. Alexander Patch, GIs and Marines drove the 17th Army back while carrier and land-based air power, supported by several task forces, choked off the enemy’s supply lines from Rabaul. Wracked by disease, starvation, and battle fatigue, bereft of arms, ammunition, food, and medical supplies, and short of reinforcements to replace losses from combat and illness, Lt. Gen. Harukichi Hyakutake’s valiant soldiers could do little more than fight a stubborn rearguard action as they slowly retreated westward along Guadalcanal’s north coast.

Watching the fortunes of General Hyakutake’s troops deteriorate over months of successive defeats after having fed some 30,000 men into the meat grinder, the Imperial Japanese Army general staff waxed acutely sensitive to incessant prodding from the IJN for the IJA to recapture Henderson Field. Japanese army leaders reacted by criticizing the navy’s inability to keep the emperor’s soldiers adequately supplied and reinforced and went on to chastise the IJN for its failure to choke off the steady buildup of American military might on Guadalcanal.

The JNAF now counted on its newly formed 11th Koku Kantai to wrest control of the air over the Eastern Solomons as the prelude to a new ground offensive; visiting staff officers found the JNAF’s land-based kokutai in Rabaul and Bougainville at substantially less than full strength, however. Vice Adm. Jinichi Kusaka had already felt compelled to divert some of his naval air power to bolster the New Guinea campaign. Reluctantly, it was decided that JAAF units would have to reinforce land-based naval air power in the Solomons. Even then, war games at Rabaul predicted that Guadalcanal-bound convoys of maru would never reach the 17th Army unless the Japanese firmly dominated the airspace above the Slot—something they had yet to do.

Lt. Gen. Hitoshi Imamura had managed to concentrate some 50,000 troops at Rabaul by mid-December 1942. However, after seven out of eleven transports loaded with reinforcements had failed to reach Guadalcanal a month earlier, he was at a loss about how to get even some of these men to General Hyakutake without subjecting them to punishing U.S. air attacks. Frustrated, he reassigned these soldiers to bolster the flagging Japanese campaign in New Guinea; control of this expansive island now surpassed the retention of Guadalcanal as the highest defense priority in the Southeast Area.

Lacking sufficient air cover, the IJN by the end of November was reduced to supplying and reinforcing the Guadalcanal garrison by destroyers, submarines, and air drops alone. Interdiction of Rear Adm. Raizo Tanaka’s Guadalcanal Reinforcement Unit by American planes and PT boats escalated between late-November and mid-December 1942, culminating in the loss of Tanaka’s flagship, the new AA destroyer Teruzuki, and the serious wounding of the admiral himself. Hospitalized in Rabaul, the despondent Tanaka rashly issued a memorandum urging the abandonment of Guadalcanal. Such blatant defeatism was still anathema to imperial GHQ; Admiral Tanaka was summarily banished from the bridge of a warship and posted on shore, where he languished until the war’s end. Rear Adm. Tomiji Koyanagi was appointed to replace him.

Several army delegations from imperial GHQ graphically described the deteriorating condition of the 17th Army in late 1942, expressing grave doubts about its ability to mount yet another offensive. The last fact-finding mission returned to Japan in December with Rabaul’s unvarnished conclusion that time had run out to muster enough resources to turn the tide. The question now was whether to abandon or rescue the remaining 12,000 troops.

Navy planners at imperial GHQ doubted the 17th Army could be evacuated without prohibitive losses in naval surface and air units. Embittered army counterparts charged the navy with flinching at the eleventh hour, insisting that Admiral Yamamoto commit his destroyer flotillas to the primary transport role in lieu of pledging barges and collapsible boats, which the army regarded as little more than a token gesture. A skeptical Yamamoto surmised that perhaps one-third of General Hyakutake’s troops could be saved at the cost of half the destroyers involved; under mounting pressure he had little choice but to accede reluctantly to the evacuation, however.

A recommendation to extricate the remnants of the 17th Army from the Island of Death received the tacit approval of imperial GHQ toward the end of December and the official sanction of Emperor Hirohito on 4 January 1943. Operation KE-GO (or KE) was jointly finalized by the Nanto Homen Kantai, the Dai Hachi Homen Gun, and the Rengo Kantai on 9 January. Nanto Homen Kantai issued its detailed operations plan for KE on 16 January. At last armed with this document, Admiral Kusaka hastened to cooperate with General Imamura to implement the evacuation plan.

Twenty-two destroyers, including replacements, were ultimately assigned to carry out Operation KE; all had previously served with the Guadalcanal Reinforcement Unit. Admiral Kusaka placed them under the command of Rear Adm. Shintaro Hashimoto on 26 January. Nanto Homen Kantai also earmarked the two heavy cruisers Chokai and Kumano, plus the light cruiser Sendai, for retention at Kavieng in New Ireland should the Tokyo Express require support from heavier naval firepower, and removed itself to Faisi from Rabaul on 29 January to oversee the evacuation phase of Operation KE.

The approved plan called for Admiral Hashimoto’s destroyer flotilla to retrieve the 17th Army in three runs spaced over a two-week period, ending no later than 10 February. Landing barges and collapsible boats would be brought in to load the destroyers. The evacuees would be taken to the Shortlands for processing and reassignment.

As they invariably did throughout the war, Japanese planners concocted geographically dispersed, diversionary initiatives to mask the real intention of Operation KE from American intelligence. Moreover, at the beginning of January they changed their ciphers. No longer able to read Japanese codes in depth, U.S. theater commanders were kept on pins and needles by snippets of intelligence reporting (1) increased convoy activity between Truk and New Guinea and Rabaul and between Rabaul and the Solomons; (2) sizable troop and materiel movements to Rabaul; (3) a concentration of Japanese capital warships at Truk; (4) the reinforcement of JNAF Kokutai in Rabaul and Bougainville; and (5) the construction of airstrips in the New Georgia group.

American intelligence had interpreted such developments correctly up till the waning days of 1942; the Japanese military had indeed been preparing for a new offensive in the South Pacific. When this initiative was scrapped and replaced by preparations for the Guadalcanal evacuation operation, the activity associated with the change merely served to perpetuate Allied belief that the perceived buildup was proceeding apace. Ironically, discovery of an upcoming operation called KE-GO in conjunction with these redirected preparations served to reinforce Allied convictions that a renewed offensive in the Solomons was in the offing, thereby successfully masking the true Japanese intent to pull out of Guadalcanal.

CHAPTER 2

JAPANESE AIRCRAFT AND AIR-COMBAT DOCTRINE

Four JNAF fighter kokutai of the 11th Koku Kantai, which had been somewhat beefed up to support both the New Guinea campaign and a renewed Guadalcanal offensive, were now ordered to establish air superiority over the Slot by annihilating U.S. fighter squadrons as a prelude to Operation KE. A hikokitai of scarce carrier-based pilots and planes was detached to lend support to the IJN’s land-based kokutai .

All of these JNAF fighter wings flew the legendary Zero. Guadalcanal’s fighter pilots dueled with three variants of this formidable Mitsubishi adversary: the A6M2 Model 21, initially referred to as a Nagoya Zero (a reference to Mitsubishi’s Nagoya aircraft plant), and later assigned the code name Zeke; the A6M3 Model 32, at first called a Mark II Zero, and later codenamed Hamp; and the A6M3 Model 22, also referred to as a Nagoya Zero and a Zeke.

The 204th Kokutai carried a mixed establishment of sixty Model 21 Zekes and Model 32 Hamps, whereas the 252nd, 253rd, and 582nd Kokutai each had an authorized strength of forty-eight Zeros. The 252nd and 253rd operated a mix of Model 21 Zekes and Model 32 Hamps; the 582nd operated the Model 22 Zeke and the Model 32 Hamp exclusively.

Designed to play a chiefly offensive role, the Zero reached a top speed of nearly three hundred knots. It exhibited maximum agility in medium-speed combat below 25,000 feet, where no Allied fighter could turn inside it. The A6M’s cruising range was phenomenal even without an external drop tank; an auxiliary tank readily allowed it to fly down the Slot from faraway Rabaul to do battle over Guadalcanal. The standard killing power of all three variants resided in a pair of wing-mounted 20-mm cannons supplemented by two cowl-mounted 7.7-mm machine guns.

The fastest and most maneuverable variant was the Model 32 Hamp. Arriving in the South Pacific in September 1942, it incorporated a more-powerful prime mover than the Model 21 Zeke, and its wingtips were squared or clipped to increase its speed. Possessing an operational ceiling higher than the Zeke’s, it could also dive and climb faster, and it rolled better at high speeds. On the down side, the Hamp’s aerobatic agility fell off slightly due to its extra weight and modified wingtips. Its larger, turbo-supercharged aeroengine left less room for fuel, thereby limiting its range to three-quarters’ of the Zeke’s. Initially, the Hamp played a defensive role until the construction of airfields in southern Bougainville enabled it to fly into the Eastern Solomons with enough fuel reserve for extended combat—especially if fitted with a drop tank.

The Model 22 Zeke had the stronger aeroengine, smaller fuel capacity, and shorter range of the Model 32 Hamp, but its overall performance resembled more that of the Model 21 Zeke.

As for the JAAF’s 6th Hiko Shidan, the success of its proposed offensive against Guadalcanal depended on whether escorting Nakajima Ki-43 Hayabusa fighters of the crack 12th Hikodan could shoot down American interceptors in large numbers. The Hayabusa—code name Oscar—was the JAAF’s frontline fighter. Powered by the same aeroengine as the JNAF’s Zero, the smaller and lighter army fighter could climb faster and higher. Its extendable butterfly combat flaps enabled the Oscar to even turn inside a Zero in simulated combat and perform complex aerobatics with ease. Otherwise, the ultralight Oscar found itself outclassed in diving and zooming. Moreover, the Oscar attained a maximum speed under 270 knots and had an inferior cruising range that could be extended, however, by carrying up to two auxiliary fuel tanks, enabling it to reach Guadalcanal from Bougainville with a sufficient reserve for limited combat.

Like the inferior fighters that the Oscar had bested in China, the latest version of the Ki-43 was still woefully underarmed at the time of Operation KE, sporting only a single 7.7-mm machine gun mated to a 12.7-mm machine cannon. But these cowl-mounted weapons were highly accurate over long distances. In the hands of a skilled pilot, the sharp-cornering Oscar was still a dangerous adversary for any Allied fighter pilot foolish enough to tackle one in a close-in dogfight.

The Oscar made its debut in the Solomons with Operation KE; hence, the newcomer was unfamiliar to Guadalcanal’s aviators. Though it was smaller, the Ki-43 closely resembled the Model 21 and Model 22 Zekes in both appearance and performance. Not surprisingly, when they did encounter the nimble Nakajima fighter, American pilots consistently identified it as a variant of its Mitsubishi cousin.

Veteran Zero and Oscar pilots were favored to emerge victorious from any dogfight fought on their terms, even if opposing pilots were of comparable competence. I think an Army P-39 pilot chased one of them [a Zero] around Baraku Island one day—around and around and around and he never did get to shoot the Jap, marveled Maj. Joe Renner, CO of VMO-251. The Jap planes are very maneuverable—jinking and flying up the coves and jumping over the coconut trees and down the other side—the P-39 just couldn’t get on him.

An aggressive samurai ethos, coupled to the superior maneuverability of Japanese fighters, largely molded Tokyo’s air-combat doctrine; the fighter pilot’s tactical lexicon was founded on offensive tactics that had been forged in China. Japanese pilots preferred to engage Chiang Kai-shek’s obsolescent air force in large battles fought at medium speeds to exploit the superior dexterity of their aircraft. In these engagements, the so-called Chungking method prevailed: that is, Japanese pilots were cautioned to engage the enemy only under favorable conditions, such as numerical superiority, surprise, altitude advantage, or an up-sun position.

Until 1943 the basic Japanese air-combat unit remained the shotai—an element or section of three aircraft flying in a vee formation not dissimilar to the British vic. The vees quickly dissolved upon initial contact, each shotai often reforming into line-astern, with the two wingmen trailing the shotai leader in a loose string before breaking up into one-on-one duels.

The shotai rarely flew in a rigid triangle when in a combat zone. The shotai leader maintained a straight, level course while his two wingmen flew well back, executing a mixed horizontal and vertical weaving pattern to protect his and each other’s tails. Thus, large Japanese formations appeared bereft of structure or discipline, with planes diving, zooming, and even looping. But this apparent raggedness was misleading: each extended shotai functioned like a Venus flytrap. If one of its members was bounced by an Allied fighter, the other two would either turn inward to envelop the attacker in a pincer or break outward to fall back on his tail.

In