Part 11 (1/2)

Throughout the flight, the navigator worked harder than any other crew member. Each aircraft was issued with a ”flimsy” giving pre-set headings, position points and scheduled timings. To maintain these in darkness required taking celestial fixes, checking drift, peering into the APQ13 radar screen; in daylight, the sun was ”shot” by s.e.xtant from the Perspex astrodome. It took sixteen minutes to work out where the aircraft had just been, and good navigators never let up. Iwo Jima below marked the halfway point. Thereafter, an hour out from the target, every man went to his post, donning big, heavy flak jackets. They circled an appointed a.s.sembly point until the entire formation was mustered, aided by identification symbols painted on aircraft tails-squares, circles, triangles-then began the run towards the enemy's country. ”Dear Mom,” Robert Copeland wrote home,

the thing about combat that is beginning to impress me most is the appreciation I now have for the finer things of life. The love one has for friends, the love and need for a woman and the things one wants to do with this dream girl when this thing is all over. A woman somewhere seems to be the driving force behind all men in combat. You're so scared even 400 miles an hour doesn't seem fast enough. The bomb run is only four or five minutes long, but it seems like hours. The bomb bay doors are only open for one or two minutes, but that seems like an eternity. It's more like a wild horrible nightmare from which it is impossible to awaken, but nevertheless we do make it once more.

The songs which Superfortress crews wrote for themselves reflected the melancholy that afflicted most:

Oh I get that lonesome feelingWhen I hear those engines whineThose B-29s are breaking upThat old gang of mineThere goes Jack, there goes BillDown over Tokyo.We all hope it's home we go,How soon we do not know.

On the bomb run, planes were often buffeted by flak explosions. The worst mission that gunner Fred Arner flew was his crew's ninth. Delayed on the strip by a mechanical problem, they approached the target twenty minutes behind the main force, and fifty miles north of Tokyo found themselves meeting B-29s hurtling past in the opposite direction, ”like getting the wrong way onto the beltway.” In the nose was a ”guest” bombardier, flying the last mission of his tour. He yelled aloud in terror each time a plane approached. There were other hazards. At least one B-29 shot itself down when over-excited gunners fired into their own engines. Attacking a fogged-in Osaka one day, Arner's crew could find only one other plane with which to formate for the bomb run. ”At high noon we were over the target, but it could have been Pittsburgh as far as I was concerned. We bombed by radar, using Osaka Castle as our checkpoint.” Sometimes they hit thermals which bounced the huge planes violently, throwing everything movable about the fuselage. In Arner's crew, the radar counter-measures man became known as ”p.i.s.spot” Smith, after a thermal doused him in the contents of the plane's potty.

When their loads fell away, noses lifted and aircraft surged forward, at least three tons lighter. However, on navigator Philip True's first mission, just after bombing, ”a terrible rumble and chatter startled and shook me.” Immediately behind his navigator's seat, the four-gun upper turret began firing. True glimpsed j.a.panese fighters, which attacked repeatedly for ten minutes. Then the guns fell silent, and the crew relaxed. They saw the Pacific below again, and settled for the long run home. Their relief was premature. True glimpsed the altimeter. They were down to 12,000 feet, and descending. Peering out at the starboard wing, True perceived two engines dead. Fuel was streaming from a tank ruptured by gunfire. The strain on the surviving port engines was acute. They were losing about a hundred feet a minute. The pilot announced that if their fuel would not hold out to Iwo Jima, they must jump. True was terrified: ”The Pacific looked ominous, gray and ugly, swirling with swells and occasional whitecaps.”

Yet an hour later, they were still holding 4,000 feet. Soon after, they found themselves approaching Iwo Jima, among a gaggle of other aircraft with problems. ”We circled Mount Suribachi, our starboard wing with the two dead engines pointing down, a view that produced in me a feeling of teetering on the edge of a cliff.” The landing gear dropped. Then, to their horror, on final approach another B-29 cut recklessly across them. They lurched upwards and circled again. The pilot said: ”If we can't get in this time, I'm going to pull up and drop you guys in the ocean. Be ready to go.” In heavy cloud and rain, once again they lunged towards the strip, and heard a merciful thump as the wheels touched. They stopped with a few yards of runway to spare, clambered out, and examined the hole in their wing. They were down to their last ten minutes of fuel. A truck carried them through torrential rain to a holding area. True, like hundreds of others who felt that they owed their lives to Iwo, thought of the Marines ”who had inched and crawled their way over this eroded hunk of volcanic debris...so that we could land and live.” They got back to Tinian late that night, exhausted. Nothing seriously bad happened on any of their eleven subsequent missions.

Those who made it to the Marianas, after another seven hours over the unfriendly ocean, sometimes nursing a damaged plane, b.u.mped heavily onto the runway, taxied in and cut engines. Somebody took out the ”honey bucket” for emptying. Crews stretched stiffened limbs, and climbed unsteadily out of the fuselage. Even then, the ordeal was not always over. Ground engineer Bob Mann saw a plane land with bombs still hung up in its bay. Armourers refused to touch the lethal ordnance, saying that their job was to arm aircraft, not disarm them. With infinite care, the plane's bombardier and another crew member unscrewed the fuses.

Crews were given a slug of whiskey before debriefings, from which gunners were quickly excused, because they knew so little. Returning fliers understood that they had achieved only a brief reprieve. Stanley Samuelson wrote in January: ”At present, no one knows how many missions we will have to pull. Some fellows will crack, and it is likely to be most anyone.” A thin but steady stream of men decided that too much was being demanded of them. ”After about ten missions,” wrote Joseph Majeski, ”our right gunner went to the colonel and said: 'I don't care if you shoot me but I will never set foot in that airplane again.'” The man was stripped of his rank and given a ground a.s.signment. Most aircrew persisted, however, recognising that war service as a flier was less dreadful than as an infantryman. ”We knew how rough it was on the ground,” said Philip True. Ben Robertson, who started a tour out of Guam in February, decided after gossiping with some Marines about their experience on Iwo Jima that he was better off: ”In our situation, it was pretty much556 a case of returning from a mission or not-there usually was not much in between.” A steady drain of bomber losses continued. Stanley Samuelson's B-29 went down over j.a.pan on 19 February. ”Every day I get to hate this stinking rotten war more,” he wrote, the week before he died. Robert Copeland was killed when his plane crashed near Kobe on a mission on 17 March. Just two of his crew survived as prisoners. a case of returning from a mission or not-there usually was not much in between.” A steady drain of bomber losses continued. Stanley Samuelson's B-29 went down over j.a.pan on 19 February. ”Every day I get to hate this stinking rotten war more,” he wrote, the week before he died. Robert Copeland was killed when his plane crashed near Kobe on a mission on 17 March. Just two of his crew survived as prisoners.

HERE, then, was the force which Curtis LeMay inherited in January 1945 from Maj.-Gen. Haywood Hansell, who had led the XXIst Bomber Command for five months. Hansell declined an offer to remain on Guam as LeMay's deputy. He was harshly treated, for his efforts had begun to improve the command's performance. But the ruthless replacement of unsuccessful officers was characteristic of American wartime policy, and by no means mistaken. then, was the force which Curtis LeMay inherited in January 1945 from Maj.-Gen. Haywood Hansell, who had led the XXIst Bomber Command for five months. Hansell declined an offer to remain on Guam as LeMay's deputy. He was harshly treated, for his efforts had begun to improve the command's performance. But the ruthless replacement of unsuccessful officers was characteristic of American wartime policy, and by no means mistaken.

LeMay's initial verdict on his new appointment was even less indulgent than had been his view of the XXth Bomber Command in India. He wrote to Was.h.i.+ngton: ”Maybe the road ahead557 always looks worse than the road behind, but after 10 days here this job looks much tougher than the one I just left...The staff here is practically worthless.” He submitted a long list of requests for named officers to join his headquarters. He complained that some unit commanders might be competent aviators, but lacked leaders.h.i.+p skills. Robert Ramer, who arrived in the Marianas in January with a replacement crew for the 497th Bomb Group, recorded: ”Morale was terrible...Nothing worked always looks worse than the road behind, but after 10 days here this job looks much tougher than the one I just left...The staff here is practically worthless.” He submitted a long list of requests for named officers to join his headquarters. He complained that some unit commanders might be competent aviators, but lacked leaders.h.i.+p skills. Robert Ramer, who arrived in the Marianas in January with a replacement crew for the 497th Bomb Group, recorded: ”Morale was terrible...Nothing worked558.” LeMay introduced a stringent training programme, and also threw himself into devising new tactical methods, focusing especially on the use of incendiary bombs. In his first few weeks, the XXth Bomber Command flew eight missions against j.a.pan, including two experimental incendiary attacks. On three of these, not one bomb hit the primary target, though he increased each aircraft's load to three tons by dumping armament and equipment. It was evident to LeMay, though not immediately to his men, that the weak j.a.panese defences were the least of the Americans' problems; that the huge weight of guns fitted to the Superfortresses was almost redundant. An airman wrote laconically: ”General LeMay has taken over559 the Bomber Command, and he is going to get us all killed.” On 3 March, the new commander wrote to Arnold's chief of staff: ”I am working on several very radical methods of employment of the force. As soon as I have run a few tests, I'll submit the plans to you for comment.” the Bomber Command, and he is going to get us all killed.” On 3 March, the new commander wrote to Arnold's chief of staff: ”I am working on several very radical methods of employment of the force. As soon as I have run a few tests, I'll submit the plans to you for comment.”

2. Fire-Raising

LONG BEFORE Pearl Harbor, j.a.pan's greatest strategist, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, predicted that when war came, ”Tokyo will probably be burnt to the ground.” While LeMay seized upon the potential of using incendiary bombs to destroy j.a.panese cities wholesale, he did not invent the concept. Before he had even taken up his post in the Marianas, a USAAF report declared: ”vulnerability of j.a.panese cities to fire is still a tempting point for argument...That cities are a valid important military objective is certain...because of the heavy dispersal of industry...within the most congested parts of them.” As early as September 1944 Pearl Harbor, j.a.pan's greatest strategist, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, predicted that when war came, ”Tokyo will probably be burnt to the ground.” While LeMay seized upon the potential of using incendiary bombs to destroy j.a.panese cities wholesale, he did not invent the concept. Before he had even taken up his post in the Marianas, a USAAF report declared: ”vulnerability of j.a.panese cities to fire is still a tempting point for argument...That cities are a valid important military objective is certain...because of the heavy dispersal of industry...within the most congested parts of them.” As early as September 1944560, at a meeting of the Committee of Operations a.n.a.lysts in Was.h.i.+ngton, Cmdr. William McGovern of OSS argued strongly for exploiting incendiary attack: ”The panic side of the j.a.panese is amazing...[Fire] is one of the great things they are terrified at from childhood.” McGovern, like most of his colleagues, was ”all in favour of j.a.panese area bombing.”

The fire-raisers got their way. The six-pound M-69 incendiary bomb, dropped in cl.u.s.ters packed into cylinders primed to burst open at a predetermined height, contained slow-burning napalm designed to spread on impact. It proved one of the most deadly weapons of the Second World War. Gen. Lauris Norstad, Arnold's chief of staff, wrote to LeMay: ”It has become necessary to conduct a test incendiary mission for the purpose of determining the capabilities of our weapons and our tactics against j.a.panese urban industrial areas...This attack does not represent a departure from our primary objective of destroying j.a.panese airpower...it is merely a necessary preparation for the future.”

By March 1945, the higher ranks of the USAAF were obsessed with the urgency of being seen to strike a decisive blow with B-29s. ”It is air power that this Country561 has has after the War after the War that we must think of, as well as now,” a senior USAAF officer wrote to MacArthur's air chief, George Kenney. The airmen sought to justify the huge resources committed to the B-29 programme, to prove the capabilities of independent strategic air power before the navy and army accomplished the defeat of j.a.pan. The USAAF's leaders.h.i.+p was almost as traumatised by the failures of the first six months of B-29 operations as had been the RAF in 1941 by the ineffectiveness of its precision-bomber attacks on Germany. The American answer was the same as the British one had been. A USAAF report of 6 December 1944, pre-dating by months LeMay's fire-raising operations, a.s.serted blandly: ”To date the Twentieth that we must think of, as well as now,” a senior USAAF officer wrote to MacArthur's air chief, George Kenney. The airmen sought to justify the huge resources committed to the B-29 programme, to prove the capabilities of independent strategic air power before the navy and army accomplished the defeat of j.a.pan. The USAAF's leaders.h.i.+p was almost as traumatised by the failures of the first six months of B-29 operations as had been the RAF in 1941 by the ineffectiveness of its precision-bomber attacks on Germany. The American answer was the same as the British one had been. A USAAF report of 6 December 1944, pre-dating by months LeMay's fire-raising operations, a.s.serted blandly: ”To date the Twentieth562 Air Force has not been capable of effectively bombing small precision targets by radar. Long-range forecasts indicate that weather will get progressively worse over the homeland of j.a.pan until mid-summer...With the present status of radar, in order to get maximum utilization of the forces available, it may be necessary to accept area bombing for a major portion of the effort.” Air Force has not been capable of effectively bombing small precision targets by radar. Long-range forecasts indicate that weather will get progressively worse over the homeland of j.a.pan until mid-summer...With the present status of radar, in order to get maximum utilization of the forces available, it may be necessary to accept area bombing for a major portion of the effort.”

If striking at cities was the best means of inflicting damage upon the enemy's industrial base with available navigational and bomb-aiming technology, then this was what the XXth Bomber Command would do-and what American aircraft had been doing in Europe for months, albeit maintaining a notional commitment to destroying specified industrial targets. As when Britain's Bomber Command introduced area attack against Germany in 1942, the USAAF's new policy in the spring of 1945 was driven as much by a perception of operational necessity as one of strategic desirability. The transformation of the Pacific bomber offensive was the work of LeMay, but he faced no opposition from the USAAF's chiefs in Was.h.i.+ngton. They simply wanted results, and were not disposed to quibble about how these were achieved. ”Whereas the adoption of nonvisual563 bombing techniques in Europe signified that civilian casualties were a matter of decreasing concern,” Conrad Crane has written, ”by the time such methods were applied against j.a.pan, civilian casualties were of no concern at all.” bombing techniques in Europe signified that civilian casualties were a matter of decreasing concern,” Conrad Crane has written, ”by the time such methods were applied against j.a.pan, civilian casualties were of no concern at all.”

LeMay laconically described his policy: ”Bomb and burn 'em till they quit.” His most famous-or, in the eyes of critics, most notorious-stroke was the pioneering fire-raising raid on Tokyo, Operation Meetinghouse, launched on the night of 9 March 1945. For the first time he instructed crews to attack at low alt.i.tude, where aiming accuracy was much more readily attained, and strong headwinds could be avoided. Four B-29s were designated as ”homing aircraft”-what the RAF called ”master bombers”-orbiting the city to direct the 325-strong main force. Crews were a.s.signed loads of between 10,000 and 14,000 pounds, according to experience. LeMay had concluded that j.a.panese fighters were so ineffectual that a ton of defensive armament could be stripped out of each plane. The men briefed for the raid were appalled: ”A sort of cold fear gripped the crews564...Many frankly did not expect to return from a raid over that city, at an alt.i.tude of less than 10,000 feet.” There was intense anger towards LeMay. ”There were a lot of unhappy campers565 when they announced that we were to hit Tokyo-at night-individually and at an alt.i.tude between 6 and 9,000 feet,” wrote pilot Robert Ramer. ”We thought they had gone mad.” LeMay afterwards claimed to have antic.i.p.ated the possibility that his experiment would go disastrously wrong: ”We might lose over three hundred aircraft when they announced that we were to hit Tokyo-at night-individually and at an alt.i.tude between 6 and 9,000 feet,” wrote pilot Robert Ramer. ”We thought they had gone mad.” LeMay afterwards claimed to have antic.i.p.ated the possibility that his experiment would go disastrously wrong: ”We might lose over three hundred aircraft566 and some 3,000 veteran personnel. It might go down in history as LeMay's Last Brainstorm.” and some 3,000 veteran personnel. It might go down in history as LeMay's Last Brainstorm.”

Take-offs were staggered between 1736 and 1930. In consequence, later crews saw the flames over Tokyo long before they reached the city. George Beck, a B-29 gunner, recorded in his diary ”black, stinking clouds of smoke up to 20,000 feet.” All their commander's hopes were fulfilled. ”Suddenly, way off at about 2 o'clock, I saw a glow on the horizon like the sun rising or maybe the moon,” wrote Robert Ramer. ”The whole city of Tokyo567 was below us stretching from wingtip to wingtip, ablaze in one enormous fire with yet more fountains of flame pouring down from the B-29s. The black smoke billowed up thousands of feet causing powerful thermal currents that buffeted our plane severely, bringing with it the horrible smell of burning flesh.” Although the j.a.panese claimed to have put 312 single-engined and 105 twin-engined fighters into the air, only forty American crews reported even glimpsing an enemy aircraft. They began bombing at 0100, and the attack continued through the succeeding three hours, unloading 496,000 incendiaries on j.a.pan's capital. By the time the bombers landed back in the Marianas they had been in the air fifteen hours, double the length of an average European sortie. The bellies of many aircraft were coated in soot from the fires of Tokyo. Just twelve bombers were lost, most destroyed by updrafts from the blazing city. Forty-two were damaged by flak, and two more crashed on landing. Unsurprisingly, the least experienced crews accounted for a disproportionate share of casualties. was below us stretching from wingtip to wingtip, ablaze in one enormous fire with yet more fountains of flame pouring down from the B-29s. The black smoke billowed up thousands of feet causing powerful thermal currents that buffeted our plane severely, bringing with it the horrible smell of burning flesh.” Although the j.a.panese claimed to have put 312 single-engined and 105 twin-engined fighters into the air, only forty American crews reported even glimpsing an enemy aircraft. They began bombing at 0100, and the attack continued through the succeeding three hours, unloading 496,000 incendiaries on j.a.pan's capital. By the time the bombers landed back in the Marianas they had been in the air fifteen hours, double the length of an average European sortie. The bellies of many aircraft were coated in soot from the fires of Tokyo. Just twelve bombers were lost, most destroyed by updrafts from the blazing city. Forty-two were damaged by flak, and two more crashed on landing. Unsurprisingly, the least experienced crews accounted for a disproportionate share of casualties.

General Arnold wrote to LeMay: ”I want you and your people to understand fully my admiration for your fine work...Your recent incendiary missions were brilliantly planned and executed...Under reasonably favourable conditions you should...have the ability to destroy whole industrial cities.” Perhaps the most astonis.h.i.+ng aspect of the new policy is that it was implemented without reference to the political leaders.h.i.+p of the United States. When Secretary of War Henry Stimson expressed belated dismay about media reports of non-discriminatory bombing of j.a.panese cities, Arnold a.s.sured him mendaciously568 that urban areas had become targets only because j.a.panese industry was widely dispersed among the civilian population: ”They were trying to keep [civilian casualties] down as much as possible.” that urban areas had become targets only because j.a.panese industry was widely dispersed among the civilian population: ”They were trying to keep [civilian casualties] down as much as possible.”

Stimson professed himself satisfied. He cautioned only that there must be no attacks on the ancient city of Kyoto. The further destruction of j.a.pan and ma.s.s killing of its people was left entirely to the airmen's discretion. There is no doc.u.mentation to suggest that either Roosevelt or Truman was ever consulted about LeMay's campaign. Here was an extreme example of the manner in which the higher direction of America's war was left overwhelmingly in the hands of the service chiefs of staff. Here also was a precedent, establis.h.i.+ng the context in which the later dropping of the atomic bombs was carried out-with the acquiescence of the U.S. government rather than by its formal initiative.

Comment about the Tokyo raid in the U.S. press was overwhelmingly favourable. The implausibly named Christian Century Christian Century suggested that the attack had ”blasted large cracks in the myth suggested that the attack had ”blasted large cracks in the myth569 by which a weak and inoffensive little man had become a conquering G.o.d.” Raymond Moley in by which a weak and inoffensive little man had become a conquering G.o.d.” Raymond Moley in Newsweek Newsweek expressed the hope that ”through intensified bombing expressed the hope that ”through intensified bombing570, the panicky streak in the j.a.panese mentality may be set off.” No moral doubts were expressed, though many commentators acknowledged that the deliberate destruction of a city represented a new departure for the USAAF. The Twentieth Air Force clung to fig leaves, warning its senior officers: ”Guard against anyone stating that this is area bombing.” A XXIst Bomber Command report sought to clarify the nature of what had been done to Tokyo: ”The object of these attacks was not to not to indiscriminately bomb civilian populations. The object indiscriminately bomb civilian populations. The object was was to destroy the to destroy the industrial and strategic targets industrial and strategic targets concentrated in the urban areas.” In a narrow, absurdly literal sense, this was true. The nuance was meaningless, however, to those who lay in the path of the storm. concentrated in the urban areas.” In a narrow, absurdly literal sense, this was true. The nuance was meaningless, however, to those who lay in the path of the storm.

The sporadic American air raids which preceded that of 9 March had caused the Tokyo munic.i.p.al authorities to evacuate some 1.7 million people, almost all women and children, from the capital to the countryside. On the night, six million remained in the city. One of these was Haruyo Wada, nine-year-old daughter of a spice wholesaler living in Joto-ku, a densely populated industrial and housing district networked with ca.n.a.ls, near the Arakawa River. In addition to herself and her parents, a sixteen-year-old brother, Soichiro, and a five-year-old sister, Mitsuko, lived in their little two-storey wooden house. By that spring of 1945 they had grown very conscious of the threat of bombing, and nervous about it. j.a.panese knew how readily their houses burned. At school, children seemed to spend more time practicing air-raid drills than studying. Soichiro Wada spent most evenings on firewatching duties.

At a time when many Tokyo people were hungry, the war had hitherto dealt relatively kindly with the Wadas. The family spice business sustained enough friendly connections to keep them fed. Yet at home they slept lightly and uneasily, the family all together in the downstairs living room, ready for flight. Haruyo's father was a kindly man, whom she always felt safe with. He took the bomber peril very seriously. One day he came home and presented each family member with a pair of leather shoes-at that time, luxury items. They were designed to replace the wooden clogs which had become almost universal. ”Your feet will not get burned so easily in these,” Mr. Wada said gravely.

On the evening of 9 March, Haruyo played in the street as usual with her little friends: the Futami children, Yukio and Yoko, whose father made sake sake flasks; Hisayo Furuhas.h.i.+, daughter of a decorator; Yuji Imaizumi, whose family were papermakers. Then she was called in to supper. Afterwards, as usual the Wadas sat around the radio for a while, listening to a programme of songs for children. They were in their beds when the air-raid warning sounded. Their father went outside, investigated, and returned to report that all seemed quiet. They relapsed into sleep for a time, then were wakened once more by a rising tumult. Their father slipped out, and returned looking troubled: ”Something unusual is happening,” he said. ”You'd all better get your clothes on.” Haruyo sat up ”like a clockwork doll.” Dressed, they went out into the street, and joined a throng of people already gathered, gazing in fear at the sky, where searchlights probed and flickered uncertainly. Aircraft droned overhead, and there was a reddening horizon in the south. Most disturbing for the fate of Tokyo, a strong north-westerly wind was blowing. No one said much, but Mr. Wada pushed his wife and daughters into the shallow shelter they shared with the Furuhas.h.i.+ family. The boy Soichiro disappeared to his fire-watching post. flasks; Hisayo Furuhas.h.i.+, daughter of a decorator; Yuji Imaizumi, whose family were papermakers. Then she was called in to supper. Afterwards, as usual the Wadas sat around the radio for a while, listening to a programme of songs for children. They were in their beds when the air-raid warning sounded. Their father went outside, investigated, and returned to report that all seemed quiet. They relapsed into sleep for a time, then were wakened once more by a rising tumult. Their father slipped out, and returned looking troubled: ”Something unusual is happening,” he said. ”You'd all better get your clothes on.” Haruyo sat up ”like a clockwork doll.” Dressed, they went out into the street, and joined a throng of people already gathered, gazing in fear at the sky, where searchlights probed and flickered uncertainly. Aircraft droned overhead, and there was a reddening horizon in the south. Most disturbing for the fate of Tokyo, a strong north-westerly wind was blowing. No one said much, but Mr. Wada pushed his wife and daughters into the shallow shelter they shared with the Furuhas.h.i.+ family. The boy Soichiro disappeared to his fire-watching post.

As the family sat crammed into their hole with the Furuhas.h.i.+s, heat and noise progressively intensified. Beyond the thunder of concussions, ever closer, there were children's screams and a patter of running feet. Haruyo jammed her fingers into her ears, to deaden the terrifying sound of explosions. She felt sick. Then her father put his head in and said: ”Come out of there-you'll roast if you stay.” Her mother and sister hastened to obey, but Mrs. Furuhas.h.i.+ seized Haruyo's coat and tried to hold her back: ”Stay here! Stay!” she cried hysterically. ”You'll die out there.” The child broke free, and crawled out into the street.

The entire horizon was now deep red. The wind seemed to have risen to the force almost of a typhoon. Blazing embers were hurtling through the air, bouncing like b.a.l.l.s of fire over roofs and people. Clay tiles flew past, glowing fiercely. People were running, running-then burning, burning. Wide-eyed, Haruyo saw mothers in flight, apparently oblivious of the fact that the babies on their backs, the children whose hands they grasped, were on fire. The great flight of people seemed impelled by the gale, rather than by their own limbs. The Wadas seized their daughters tightly, and led them a few yards to a nearby railway embankment. They clambered up onto the tracks, and stood among thousands of others, in temporary safety. Almost all were too stunned to speak, as fire swept through the nearby houses, including their own.

For Yos.h.i.+ko Has.h.i.+moto's family, living in the Sumida district of east Tokyo, until that night awareness of bombing had been slight. They felt no great fear in the face of spasmodic raids from small numbers of planes, which they described sardonically as ”our regulars.” ”There was a strange feeling of detachment until the March raid,” said Yos.h.i.+ko, the twenty-four-year-old mother of a three-month-old baby boy, Hiros.h.i.+. ”Even if someone quite close by got hit, you never thought it would happen to you.” The family's princ.i.p.al concession to air-raid precautions was that they always slept in their clothes, and kept by the beds a furos.h.i.+ki furos.h.i.+ki-a cloth square-with a few necessaries for parents and children tied up in it, together with baskets containing some clothes and a little food.

When the bombs began to fall on 9 March, at first only Yos.h.i.+ko, her mother and the baby took to their shelter. Very quickly, amid the thunder and tumult of explosions, they understood that what was happening was on a scale beyond their experience or imagination. Their father called down to the shelter for the women to come out. He realised that a hole barely three feet below ground offered negligible protection. They emerged into a sea of flame. Yos.h.i.+ko, clutching her baby, ran with her sister Chieko to the water tank a few yards beyond the house. Showers of incendiaries were falling around them. The sky over the city was a deep, cruel red. They piled their most precious possessions, above all bedding, onto a little cart. The girls' father shouted that they must flee before the approaching flames.

Thousands of people ”almost mad with terror” thronged the streets. The Has.h.i.+motos had not gone far before they discovered that Chieko, pus.h.i.+ng their cart, was falling behind. The little family saw that they were beside a railway. ”We've got to go on,” cried their father. ”The line will be a target for the planes.” He and his wife each clutched one of Etsuko's hands. Yos.h.i.+ko, the baby on her back, tried to keep hold of fourteen-year-old Hisae. However, the child was enc.u.mbered by a cooking pot full of precious rice. In the desperate, pressing throng, the two girls found themselves dashed apart. ”Wait for me! Wait for me!” cried Hisae. Then her plaintive voice faded. As the mob surged on towards the Sanno Bridge over the Tate River, Yos.h.i.+ko lost her sister.

At the riverbank the Has.h.i.+moto family paused, desperate to recover their two missing daughters. But now the fires were upon them. A blast of unbearable heat overtook the fugitives. Flames seized baggage, nearby warehouses, then the heads of the terrified fugitives. Yos.h.i.+ko saw people shrivelled by fire ”like dead leaves,” others holding up hands that were ablaze. On Yos.h.i.+ko's back, the baby Hiros.h.i.+ was screaming. Flaming fragments blew into the child's mouth. ”Get him off your back! Get him down!” cried Yos.h.i.+ko's mother. The girl took the boy in her arms, plucked a glowing ember from his lips, then sought to s.h.i.+eld him from the flames and the terrible wall of heat. Her mother took off the hood covering her own head and put it on her daughter's, some of whose hair was already burned away. On the bridge, the panic-stricken crowd fleeing towards f.u.kagawa on the south bank came face to face with another mob seeking to escape fires on their own side. The two ma.s.ses of people collided, creating new scenes of horror. ”I watched people die before my eyes. I saw people burning.”