Whirlwind - Barrett Tillman [47]
By month’s end Hansell was gone. Ironically, he was replaced at a time when he was making progress: placing greater emphasis on crew training; improving weather information; and eliminating unnecessary aircraft weight. In establishing a school for lead crews, he had taken a page from LeMay’s European Theater book, but the concept also had proven itself in China. Nonetheless, Haywood Hansell sidled from airpower’s center stage and faded from history’s front lines. Subsequently he commanded a training wing in New Mexico and finished the war with Air Transport Command in Washington. He was medically retired in 1946, but was recalled during the Korean War and finished his career as a major general. Nevertheless, it is safe to say that his greatest contribution was achieved in that sweltering Alabama summer of 1941 when he and four colleagues wrote the AAF’s plan for fighting World War II.
“If You Don’t Succeed . . .”
Officially, Curtis LeMay’s professional neck was on the chopping block amid some professional choppers. Later he paraphrased a message from Norstad: “If you don’t succeed, you will be fired. . . . If you don’t get results it will mean eventually a mass amphibious invasion of Japan, to cost probably a half a million more American lives.”
However, to LeMay’s ears Norstad’s threat probably rang as hollow as an empty fuel drum. It was far from clear who might replace LeMay were he fired. Apart from his unexcelled background, no one had his experience operating the B-29 in combat, let alone duplicating his results in the CBI. With Wolfe and Hansell already sidelined, Arnold would have to reach far down the roster to summon another field captain, and nobody came close to LeMay’s winning record.
Because it is inconceivable that Norstad’s message was delivered without his chief’s approval, it bespoke Arnold’s desperation. He had staked not only his own reputation and the AAF’s biggest program upon the Superfortress, but also his cherished vision: an independent air force in the future.
Norstad was correct about one thing. Though he surely exaggerated the likely toll of American dead, an invasion of Japan could only be averted by massive violence applied from the air. Even then it was uncertain that Tokyo would capitulate under the weight of B-29 bombs, but no other option applied. Therefore, thirty-eight-year-old Curtis LeMay accepted the enormous burden upon his shoulders, shrugged off the threat, and got on with the war.
However, it was a two-front war and the opposition included the U.S. Navy. When LeMay obtained back-channel information on the host service’s priorities, he found XXI Bomber Command somewhere on the fifth page, after tennis courts, interisland boating docks, and the fleet recreation center. Perhaps uncharitably, he inferred that Admiral Chester Nimitz, commanding the Pacific Theater, believed that B-29s bombing Japan did nothing to enhance the Navy’s public image.
In January the command grew with arrival of the 314th Wing on Guam. The commander was Brigadier General Thomas S. Power, an intelligent, competent officer almost totally lacking in people skills. At age thirty-nine he was well experienced, having flown B-24s in the Mediterranean Theater before standing up the 314th. He would become one of LeMay’s most trusted subordinates.
In the eleven weeks before LeMay took over, the command had logged seventeen missions, averaging one a week to Japan. Of the 950 sorties, 170 (18 percent) had failed to bomb a primary, secondary, or alternate target, and no target had been destroyed. It was a wasted effort that LeMay could not abide. Regardless of the threat hanging over him from Washington, he was determined to find a better way. True