Whirlwind - Barrett Tillman [36]
Aside from the enormous size of the job, the greatest tribute to the Seabees’ “Can Do” motto was that, with one exception, every field was completed on schedule or earlier, none in more than fifty-three days. West Field’s second runway took twenty days longer because the plans were altered partway into the project, doubling the size of the job.
Early on, some Easterners insisted that Tinian’s shape resembled Manhattan. (Only vaguely; at thirty-nine square miles, Tinian was 70 percent larger and nowhere as skinny.) A New Yorker—Captain Paul Halloran, skipper of the 6th Seabee Brigade—christened the main north–south road Broadway; an east–west thoroughfare became 42nd Street; and others were Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive. Before long the north end of the island was being called the Bronx while the southern portion was the Battery. (“The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down.”) Those familiar names might have eased a bit of homesickness among construction crews, but the best they could do for Central Park was a bomb dump in the middle of the island.
When the Tinian complex was completed in May 1945, North Field had four bomber runways while West Field had two more. But that was only part of the job. Before all six runways were finished, the construction crews produced eleven miles of taxiways and hardstands for some 450 Superfortresses. That did not include the roads, housing, and storage facilities that a modern air force required.
About 15,000 Seabees had produced the world’s largest airport but the chore was ongoing. When the first B-29 took off from North Field in January 1945, some Seabees expected to move to other islands. But the enormous facility required regular maintenance, and several battalions remained on the islands for the rest of the war.
Regardless of their duty, for island-bound soldiers and sailors, morale often turned on mail. Any contact with home was avidly received, but there were hitches. Officers could censor their own mail while enlisted men and noncoms had to submit correspondence for security review. Clashes were inevitable. In just one instance a thirty-three-year-old sergeant had been rebuked by a twenty-two-year-old lieutenant for the steamy contents of a graphically composed love letter. Said a squadron mate, “The lieutenant was infuriated and offended because the sergeant had gone into lengthy, minute, explicit, meticulous, specific and exquisite detail.” When the ninety-day wonder demanded an explanation, the sergeant asked, “Why not? She’s my wife!” The letter was forwarded as written.
Targeting
With B-29s in range of Honshu, the main island, Japan belatedly began dispersing its industry much as Germany had done. With major factories in Tokyo, Nagoya, and Ota, the centralized nature of Japan’s aviation industry invited attack, as Nakajima built 37 percent of the country’s combat aircraft, trailed by Mitsubishi’s with 23 percent. Nobody else was close.
Meanwhile, in November 1944 American targeting priorities had been established by the Joint Chiefs of Staff: four principal aircraft engine factories, then five airframe manufacturers and assembly plants. Secondary and “last resort” targets included major ports followed by thirteen urban-industrial areas. By concentrating first upon the aircraft industry, American planners expected to defeat enemy airpower in its nest—a prerequisite for the expected invasion.
Looking back, Commander Masatake Okumiya said, “The Americans chose their targets wisely, for [Tokyo and Nagoya] were the most critical centers of the entire nation. Nagoya was Japan’s aircraft manufacturing center, one great factory at Daiko-cho alone produced 40 percent of all our aircraft engines, and the sprawling plant at Ohe-machi assembled 25 percent of our aircraft. Tokyo, of course, was our military and political center. The incessant raids rapidly disorganized internal functions, and government activities practically reached a standstill.