Once the long metal hoses that had fueled the planes were finally stowed away, the Armorers would begin to arrive, pushing their lethal charges on long metal carts. The weapons had already been manhandled up out of the magazines on the deeper levels of the ship, lifted by combinations of small cranes and simple block & tackle arrangements. The large carts at work this morning would carry the four Type 91 Torpedoes, weighing all of 850 kilograms. The mother planes were all fueled and waiting to receive their dark children, and the next ten minutes would see the long torpedoes wheeled through the densely packed hangar to the correct plane, and then mounted under the watchful eyes of the Sebichos. Other crews worked the belts of MG ammo into the nose guns of the Zeroes, and lugged out the sixty round canisters for their 20mm wing cannons.
The war in the Pacific was all about firing those MG rounds through the wings, fuselage, engine, canopy, or pilot of an enemy plane before it could do the same to you, and lancing those long deadly torpedoes through the hulls of enemy ships. It was just another way of hurling stones, some small, some quite big, at the other guy. The stones of the Paleolithic era became spears, then arrows, before they were eventually mated with gunpowder to become bullets. Yet it was still one tribe out after another, only this time the stones would be lifted and hurled at the enemy under the wings of all these noisome aircraft.
All this was happening in the aft hangar aboard the carrier Tosa, where the B5N and B6N torpedo bombers would always be stored. Their neatly folded wings made them more compact, and allowed them to use the smaller aft elevator. Armed and fueled however, they would soon unfold those wings to become four tons of flying death, and the ordnance crews would now turn them over to the plane handlers and elevator crews to be lifted to the flight deck.
The Zeroes used the center elevator amidships, and many were already up on the deck and spotted in one of the three long rows for this mission. They were re-tethered to the deck with wheel chocks in place, waiting for the next act in the long morning drama. The four B6N’s would be the last to take off, so they were aft. When completed, the spot would see three rows of four Zeroes, and one B6N behind each row. The last Torpedo bomber was the plane to be flown by the mission leader.
Usually Lt. Kikuchi Rokuro would prefer to take off before all the other planes assigned to his strike mission, but this time things were different. It was even unusual to combine a fighter sweep with long range recon like this, or for the squadron leader to go out this soon, when he should be briefing and planning his strike mission instead. But Rokuro had wanted to “see for himself” before the real business of the day got started, and a battle was engaged. Were the Americans really where that seaplane said they were? Had they moved? If so, where did they go, and what might they intend? A great deal was riding on the answer to all those questions, for virtually every seaworthy carrier in the Japanese Navy was now within 50 nautical miles of Admiral Hara’s task force, where Tosa was sailing smartly behind the flagship Taiho, which was about 1000 meters ahead.
One heavy Shotai of B6N’s, with three heavy Shotai of A6M2 Zeroes in attendance, would be ready for takeoff by 04:30, about 40 minutes after the service crews first arrived on the hangar deck. Rokuro knew that, even as Tosa was turning into the wind, a destroyer was taking station off her bow, a little under a thousand meters ahead.
Just in case one of the grease monkeys did not do his job, he thought. If a plane failed to get aloft and found itself in the sea, the destroyer crews would go “dragonfly fishing” for the pilot. It was an ignominious fate to be hauled out of the sea like that, and one that Rokuro had never suffered, but the ritual was still a necessary precaution. A strike pilot was a most valuable commodity.
They were all up on deck now, gloves pulled tight, scarfs flowing in the wind, ear muffs being adjusted as they lined up on the flight deck. There they would wait until the Flight Deck Hikocho shouted the order to run to their planes. It was like the offensive squad running to replace the defense in a football game, as the flight deck crews would retreat when the pilots and other crewmen arrived. Soon they would all be settled into the cockpits, the Zero pilots alone, but two extra flight crewmen riding in each B6N, a radio man and rear gunner. Sometimes they would give the 7.7mm Type 92 MG a quick inspection to make certain the crews had mounted the ammo belts correctly. If that weapon jammed at a crucial moment, it could mean the life of the plane, and everyone in it was at stake.
The signal was given to start the engines, and crewmen stood ready with fire extinguishers—another necessary precaution, for special high octane fuel would be used to ignite the engine and get it to turn over. Soon the cough of the fighter engines was heard in the still morning air, and the planes sputtered to life one by one, the props revving up to a wild thrum. The engines would be warmed up while a designated flight deck officer listened to them. Called Uta no-rida, the “Song Leader,” he was always a man chosen from the ranks of the Sebichos on the hangar deck, for he would listen for any abnormality in the song of those engines as they all spun up to higher revolutions. Better to catch a misfiring engine now, before the plane and pilot were in the air.
Everything was checked and double checked: flaps and struts, oil pressure, hydraulics, fuel response when the engines were feathered and revved up again. It was a full fifteen minutes of mechanical calisthenics on the flight deck. The plane would then rev up to full military power for a long minute to make certain everything was in working order. The pilots were watching their engine gauges and temperature closely for any sign of abnormality, but mostly, their minds were already on the mission ahead. After receiving the certifying nod of the Song Leader, a pilot would turn his eyes skyward, noting the cloud height and formation, the wind speed over the deck as indicated by the cone flags and wind socks.
Once the Song Leader waved his hand to signal his choir was in tune, the actual launch operation would be ready to begin. It was only a matter of receiving final orders from the Air Officer, then the planes would be untethered, with the wheel chocks still left in place as each one made final preparations for takeoff. A different kind of song leader would now take over, the Shohikocho, who would make a last visual inspection of each plane spotted for the mission.
Then the deck lights would come on to mark the bow and stern ends of the flight deck, and light the way forward. Soon the wind sock was pointed dead aft as Tosa ran into the morning breeze. She would work up to 24 knots, and as the Shohikocho saluted each plane to signal it had passed his inspection, the pilot would visibly raise his hand so Rokuro could see they were all ready. Normally he would be in front, and turn on his wing lights when all was in readiness, but not this time. He turned them on for the Shohikocho to see that the planes were all reporting ready, and only then would that man signal the deck crews to remove the wheel chocks.
Lieutenant Saburo Shindo had come to Tosa from the Akagi, and he would be privileged to take off first. As his plane raced down the flight deck, all service crews waved their caps after him, with shouts of good luck on their lips. Then, one by one, the other pilots would follow, all the Zeroes getting off before the first of the torpedo planes lumbered after them. Rokuro was the last man up that day, finding the entire formation waiting for him. He maneuvered his plane into position behind the Shotai of three other B6N’s, and watched the Zeroes climb to gain elevation. The overtures were concluded, an hour of perfectly choreographed theater, and now the play was about to begin.