WE WERE TO FLY OVER A TARGET INDIVIDUALLY AT LOW LEVEL AT NIGHT, BOMBING BY RADAR. THE TARGETS WERE TO BE CONGESTED URBAN AREAS

On March 8 we were called together and told that the 21st Bomber Command was going to embark on a “maximum effort” bombing campaign with a radical switch in tactics. The aircraft were to be stripped and then loaded heavily with incendiary bombs. We were to fly over a target individually at low level at night, bombing by radar. The targets were to be congested urban areas – concentrations of population and industry, not individual installations.

That was stunning news.

THE IDEA WAS TO RELY ON SPEED AND THE DARK OF NIGHT INSTEAD OF THE DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES PROVIDED BY GUNS AND AMMUNITION.

Not having to climb to high altitude would permit larger bomb loads than had been carried up to then. Stripping the planes – throwing out anything of significant weight – would also contribute to a bigger bomb load, but, I think, was intended more to permit greater speed over the target. The idea was to rely on speed and the dark of night instead of the defensive capabilities provided by guns and ammunition.

But details were subordinated to the concept as a whole: area bombing by radar from low altitude at night instead of daytime visual precision bombing from high altitude while flying in formation. There could hardly have been a more complete reversal. Such heterodoxy really was a shock.

Truthfully, we didn’t know what to think of this revolutionary change in tactics. Low level? No ammo? It sounded as though we might be very vulnerable. Over the target individually in the dark? That sounded like one big traffic jam with a high potential for colliding.

At the same time, we realized that, clearly, the results so far of traditional high-altitude bombing had not been at all good. And the weather was so terrible that prospects for much improvement seemed slim.

IN A REFLECTIVE MOMENT, I THOUGHT ABOUT THE BOYS AT THE BOTTOM OF PEARL HARBOR; AND NO RISK SEEMED TOO GREAT. SO, IF THIS WAS THE WAY TO CONTRIBUTE TO WINNING THE WAR, WE HAD TO DO IT. I WAS READY.

Not knowing how others might feel, I kept my inner thoughts and feelings to myself, but I remember some of them very well. However, it’s not easy to express them. First, on a rational level, there was considerable doubt: Trying to use the B-29 in a way so contrary to its designed purpose could be a terrible mistake, with calamitous results. Concern, however, was swept aside by a surge of emotion. I don’t know what it was. Patriotism partly. Dedication. Determination. Duty. All of those and others – whatever it is that causes a person to put devotion to country ahead of personal consequences. In a reflective moment, I thought about the boys at the bottom of Pearl Harbor; and no risk seemed too great. So, if this was the way to contribute to winning the war, we had to do it. I was ready.

I never did understand fully what created that feeling with its subordination of personal risk and fear, but I will always remember being surprised that my true feeling was not more cowardly.

In any case, we didn’t have a lot time to mull it over: There was a briefing set for the next day. Every plane and crew that could go on the mission was scheduled.

ALL BOMB BAY TANKS AND AMMUNITION HAD BEEN REMOVED FROM THE PLANES AND EACH ONE LOADED WITH 32 500-POUND INCENDIARY CLUSTERS.

Briefing was held during the day of March 9 [6BG Mission 10 ]. The target was the Tokyo urban area. All bomb bay tanks and ammunition had been removed from the planes and each one loaded with 32 500-pound incendiary clusters. We were not going to be quite as low as we had pictured – no tree-top-level stuff. We would go over Tokyo at 6,800 feet. The Brains hoped that that big guns – or at least that the heavy stuff would be set for a higher altitude and would be slow to adjust. But we were going to go up-wind and directly over Tokyo harbor, which figured to be heavily defended. Couldn’t we at least go across Tokyo from west to east?

As we walked out of the briefing hall, most of us in a serious and pensive mood; one of the pilots was chanting his version of a post-raid news communique: “The Army announced that American aircraft attacked Tokyo. . .One of our air forces is missing.” A cheerful fellow, that guy. The trouble was that we weren’t so sure but what that actually would be the result: Flying low over Tokyo unarmed might be an easy skeet shoot for them. Maybe this unconventional tactic really would incur an 80% or 90% loss.

I thought I heard someone on the other side of him say, “Don’t worry, everything will be all right.”

“Who said that?” someone asked.

“Not me,” the voice replied. “I was quoting. Those were the words of the captain as the Hindenburg neared Lakehurst.”

It was late in the afternoon when the trucks lined up for us. We got down to the field and took a suspicious look at the Reamatroid as if it were about to betray us sitting there without any armament.

We took off at 1855. The whole flight, almost, was going to be in darkness. En route we passed near Haha Jima, seeing some hot fires burning there. We readied ourselves for we knew not what.

I couldn’t see out front, but for those who could, the coast of Japan came into view as a string of fires. Obviously, some planes, for whatever reasons, had dropped their bombs on various coastal towns southwest of Tokyo. I watched the coastline appear on the radar scope.

We made landfall near the point of Chiba Peninsula at 0130. The I.P. was a jut of land on the eastern side of the peninsula. It wasn’t going to be easy to pinpoint the spot because, when we got close, the image of it on the screen would merge indistinguishably with the “ground clutter” at the center of the scope. So, to figure the turn, I used the sweeping beam of the radar to get a bearing from a point over on Tokyo harbor.

We then headed across the bay toward the center of Tokyo. The power setting was changed. The engines labored harder and the ride began to get rough.

As immune as I was to distractions, I nevertheless realized after a minute that there was an unusual odor: I could smell smoke. I didn’t know it at the time, being fully occupied with the radar, but the guys up front said later that, soon after the I.P., we disappeared into a big column of very black smoke. No one had anticipated that, and anything unexpected immediately seemed threatening. However, it may have been the most fortunate thing that could have happened. The Jap searchlights couldn’t find us in the smoke, and, similarly, their gunners couldn’t aim at us. Luckily, it didn’t affect our radar, and Hudson kept a distinct picture of Tokyo on the scope.

The plane was shaking. I became conscious that I had grasped the table tightly with both hands when I had to let go with one to steady the hood that shielded the radar scope.

As was typical of a radar-bombing run, the actual target area was not our radar aiming point. The target was not necessarily a feature that would show distinctly on radar; and, even if it were, it would be too close to the “ground clutter” at release time. Consequently, we had a bombing procedure that involved catching the exact moment that an identifiable feature was at a certain slant range (distance) on the radar scope, and timing the release from there, using a stop-watch. Hudson and I monitored the radar to apply the procedure, and Charlie prepared to release the bombs on a signal from me, the pilots working all the while to maintain the prescribed heading and speed, which were critical for a timed release.

THE WINGS CREAKED AND GROANED AS THE PLANE BOUNCED UP AND DOWN.

We steeled ourselves and headed toward the aiming point. Strong vibrations shook the scope – and shook everything else too – but the picture stayed clear. The wings creaked and groaned as the plane bounced up and down.

I ventured a peek out the window. Dark. Very dark. A few flashes of diffused light.

I tried to concentrate on the radar scope. Hurry, hurry more, I thought, let’s get this over with. But time almost stood still. However, the plane didn’t. Although I was trying to think only about the radar, I couldn’t keep out some extraneous thoughts – such as wondering how much shaking the plane could take without falling apart.

The plane bounced around some more. It seemed that we had been on this bomb run all day. The scope showed that the drop point was still a million miles ahead – and coming toward us so very, very slowly. Just wait. . .just wait, I kept telling myself.

ALL OF MY INSTINCTS SAID, “DROP THE BOMBS AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.”

In this frightening situation, I had one real lucid thought; if we dropped the bombs right now and turned and fled, who would ever know the difference? With my map in front of me, I was the only one who really knew where we were – that the target was still several miles ahead. All of my instincts said, “Drop the bombs and get the hell out of here.” I wondered how many crews would take the easy way out and do just that. Never having been in such a mortally threatening situation before, I didn’t know myself what I might do, so it was sort of a surprise to me when I rejected the temptation to drop the bombs short of the target.

We were scared, but the bomb release went beautifully. We seemed to have exactly the right course, and we timed the drop precisely as prescribed.

WE WERE BUMPING ALONG SMACK DAB OVER THE MIDDLE OF A HUGE BONFIRE. SEARCHLIGHT BEAMS – DOZENS, MAYBE HUNDREDS, OF THEM – WERE SWINGING EVERY WHICH WAY.

Now we had to get ourselves away from there, and that turned out to be the worst part. The bombs had fallen only a minute or so after we emerged from the pillar of smoke. The smoke had hidden us on the bomb run; but it didn’t do so now. We were bumping along smack dab over the middle of a huge bonfire. Searchlight beams – dozens, maybe hundreds, of them – were swinging every which way. Tracers arched over, under, and around everything. It looked as though we were in the middle of a carnival on the Fourth of July just after the fireworks booth had caught fire. We had made the bomb run at an indicated air speed of 235 mph, in accordance with the radar-bombing procedure, but the needle hit 270 on the break-away.

The vibration was constant. That alone was enough to worry me. I felt sure that the plane wasn’t made to shake THAT much.

I ventured a peek out the window. Bright. Very bright.

It was exactly like someone suddenly turning on a flashlight right in your face. I had looked just as a searchlight had caught us, one of several such times. I pulled back quickly, as though the guy down there operating that light might see my face.

WE COULDN’T SEE THE FIRE OR ANYTHING ELSE BELOW WHEN A SEARCHLIGHT HAD US DIRECTLY IN ITS BEAM; IT WAS BLINDING. WHEN WE COULD SEE, IT LOOKED AS THOUGH THE TOPS OF THE FLAMES WERE JUST BARELY BELOW US.

Surely, the flames and searchlights made us clearly visible to every gunner on the ground. We were like the little picket boat out in the ocean – there was no place for us to hide.

The searchlights that picked us up, fortunately, didn’t hold us for long. The engines roared and huffed and puffed and the plane jerked up and down and forward and sideways some more. Twice there were banging and rattling noises like someone shaking a china closet. The plane shuddered. It was uncertain which was trembling more – the aircraft or me.

When we finally got away from the target area, it was as though we had escaped the clutches of those dreadful bright beams seeking to hold us in their grasp. What a relief! We had survived! That had not by any means been a foregone conclusion.

For a long time after we left the coast, the gunners in the rear said they could still see the glow of the fire.

Daylight came long before we got back. Nearing home we again found ourselves among many returning 29s converging on Saipan and Tinian, but the traffic was no problem. That was one advantage of a night mission – it was light by the time we had to deal with the congestion at home.

We landed at 0950. When we pulled to a stop we got out to look for the holes in the plane. There weren’t any. We could hardly believe it.

Breakfast that morning back in our mess hall tasted especially good. Interestingly, Doc Doering came in and sat down with our crew. Almost everyone hit the sack as soon as possible. But not me. I was too keyed up. I soon regretted that because the word was passed that we were going back – right away. I didn’t expect that. I sort of thought we had done enough for one war.

By afternoon (still March 10) we began to hear reports on the raid. Of first importance, all of the planes of our Group returned. Altogether, some 300 planes had taken part. We figured conservatively that 1,600 tons (!) of bombs were dropped on the primary target – Tokyo. Crewmen were alltalking about the turbulence over the target created by the heat of the huge fire.

Sure enough, we started the next day, March 11, with briefings and other preparations for another mission, this time to Nagoya [6BG Mission 11 ]. We were to bomb visually if possible, even though it would be at night. We would carry ammunition for the tail gun, but the other guns were to be removed altogether. As on the Tokyo mission, we were to fly right over the city’s harbor enroute to the A.P. (aiming point). Major Berry (Erskine G. Berry, squadron operations officer) was to ride with us.

IN ADDITION TO OUR BOMB LOAD, WE WOULD BE CARRYING BOXES OF . . . STRIPS OF TINFOIL THAT WERE TO BE DROPPED IN AN ATTEMPT TO DRAW OFF ENEMY GUN-LAYING RADAR.

In addition to our bomb load, we would be carrying boxes of “window” or “rope,” which were alternate names given to strips of tinfoil that were to be dropped in an attempt to draw off enemy gunlaying radar. If it worked, the Jap radar would lock onto and follow the tinfoil for a while before the gun crewmen realized that they weren’t aiming at an airplane.

Dispensing “rope” was another development related to the switch to low-level night attacks. Darkness left the Jap gunners more dependent on radar for aiming. And below 10,000 feet we were not pressurized and, hence, could open a window or a hatch, which we couldn’t do on highaltitude missions.

On many subsequent missions, “rope” was thrown out – a fistful at a time or reeled out hand-over-hand. Allgor or Bee would drop it out the camera door, or Gleacher would throw it out the left (his right) side window of the tail compartment. For this particular mission, because Gleach had ammunition for his guns and the others didn’t, it would be up to Allgor or Bee to toss out the “rope.”

THE OFFICIAL ASSESSMENT WAS THAT OUR RAID BURNED OUT. . . APPROXIMATELY 15 SQUARE MILES. IT WAS BEING SAID THAT TOP BRASS HAD PROCLAIMED IT THE MOST DEVASTATING RAID THE AAF HAD EVER CARRIED OUT.

In the midst of getting ready for another mission, we took time to look at the reports of the results of our Tokyo raid. Reconnaissance planes must have flown over shortly after we left. Pictures were posted on the bulletin board not much more than 24 hours after our return. The official assessment was that our raid burned out 422,500,000 square feet, or approximately 15 square miles. It was being said that top brass had proclaimed it the most devastating raid the AAF had ever carried out.

We agreed; it certainly was devastating. But it turned out that they were talking about the target, not the air crews.

The raid was a great stimulant to the U.S. pulp-paper industry: Most of the aerial warfare textbooks at the Command and Staff School had to be discarded and new ones printed.

We spent some time exulting over our achievement. We constructed, verbally, a parody of the results of the raid as we pictured it: a city in flames with the residents dropping their plates of fish-heads and rice and fleeing in all directions, running as fast as their short little legs would carry them out of the city and up the 60-degree slope of some imagined near-by mountain, shouting “Hoing-Toing.” We didn’t know what Hoing-Toing was, but it sounded Japanese.

The success of the raid contributed materially to the confidence of those of us who formed the radar-bombing teams – just so long as we didn’t have to drop our bombs down that pickle barrel that bombardiers were always talking about. In fact, bombardiers took something of a ribbing, being told that we did better with a one-dollar stop-watch than they did with their super-secret, super-high-technology, superexpensive Norden bomb sights.

The needling of bombardiers was unjustified, but that didn’t deter anyone. Our camaraderie was a strange thing: If called upon to do so, we would die for our buddies, but darned if we were going to be considerate or show respect or affection of any kind.

Read B-29 Navigator Donald W Kearney’s Firebombing of Tokyo articles below for a first-person, in-cockpit narrative of these harrowing missions. Also read an excerpt from Sgt. Creek’s military memoirs Short Stories of World War II.

Firebombing of Tokyo – March 9, 1945
Most Devastating Bombing Raid in History

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Firebombing of Tokyo – May 23, 1945
First of Two Roughest B-29 Missions

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Firebombing of Tokyo – May 25, 1945
Finishing Tokyo

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Unfortunate Bail Out
by Sgt. John R Creek, 6th Bomb Group Radio Operator

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