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The key point about the roles of both Harris and LeMay is that they were subordinate officers, not supreme commanders. Each was the servant of a democracy, and of its elaborate military and political hierarchy. The Washington administration was scarcely oblivious of what American bombers were doing to Japan. At a press conference on 30 May, LeMay asserted that a million Japanese had already been killed in fire attacks. The U.S. secretary of war, Henry Stimson, was appalled, saying fiercely that he “did not want to have the U.S. get the reputation for outdoing Hitler in atrocities.” Yet the only outcome was that LeMay was urged to curb his tongue, not his planes. No one suggested that he should change policy. If Churchill, Roosevelt or Truman, together with their respective chiefs of staff, perceived it as morally wrong to slaughter the civilian populations of Germany and Japan, then it was their function to decree otherwise, and if necessary to change the responsible commanders. They did not choose to do this. They acquiesced in, even if they did not enthuse about, what was done to the enemy in the names of their nations. They, rather than LeMay or Harris, must bear historic responsibility.

One of the most remarkable aspects of the Twentieth Air Force’s 1945 campaign was the degree to which LeMay, a mere major-general of thirty-eight, was permitted to run his offensive out of the Marianas almost untrammelled by higher authorities. Washington sometimes interposed tactical advice or instructions—for instance, about the importance of diverting some aircraft from hitting cities to mining Japanese inshore waters—but never about strategic direction.

After Arnold’s fourth serious heart attack of the war in January 1945, he was a sick man. The USAAF was haunted by apprehension that Nimitz might be given control of its operations from the Marianas: “Fear of losing control586 of the B-29s to the navy was paramount,” in the words of the air force official historians. Conrad Crane, among others, has speculated about the possible consequences, had Nimitz or MacArthur been given authority over LeMay. Nimitz would have insisted that much more effort should be devoted to support of naval and ground operations. MacArthur, who perceived himself as a gentleman soldier, was implacably hostile to bombing civilians. In a staff memorandum of June 1945, one of MacArthur’s closest aides, Brig. Bonner Fellers, described American air raids on Japan as “one of the most ruthless587 and barbaric killings of non-combatants in all history.” Whatever the general might have ordered LeMay to do, he would not have permitted him systematically to raze enemy cities.

As it was, however, the Twentieth Air Force pursued its fire-raising campaign until the very last day of the war, with overall campaign losses of only 1.38 percent. Dr. Crane has written: “The course and conduct588 of the air campaign against Japan were primarily a product of one innovative air commander who took advantage of vague direction and a disjointed chain of command to apply his own solutions…Even today, viable alternatives to the fire raids seem unclear.” There is no evidence that Arnold was ever less than wholly satisfied with his young star’s conduct of what he allowed to become LeMay’s private air force.

At the July 1945 Potsdam Conference, which Arnold attended, Stalin proposed a subsequent meeting in Tokyo. The airman delivered a jocular comment: “If our B-29s continue their present tempo, there [will] be nothing left of Tokyo in which to have a meeting.” Arnold asserted proudly in those days: “The war with Japan is over as far as creative work is concerned. The die is cast.” On 15 August 1945 he dispatched a teletype to LeMay congratulating him on his personal contribution to Allied victory: “one of the outstanding personal achievements of this war. You and the men under your command have indeed made clear to the world the full meaning of strategic bombardment. Your imagination, resourcefulness and initiative reflect