“America had invested heavily to arrive at this pivotal moment. The United States had spent $3.7 billion to develop the four-engine bombers that lined the crushed coral taxiway on Saipan, making the B-29 the single most expensive weapons system of the war. The exorbitant price tag of Boeing’s aeronautical monster did not account for the casualty toll – 25,000 dead and wounded – exacted by the capture of the Mariana Islands of Saipan, Tinian, and Guam. This prized Pacific real estate placed Tokyo for the first time within range of American bombers…”
- James M. Scott, Black Snow: Curtis LeMay, the Firebombing of Tokyo, and the Road to the Atomic Bomb
In 1943, the United States Army built a mock Japanese-German village at the Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah. The purpose of these miniature towns was to practice the best ways in which to raze a city using incendiary bombs, should America decide to leave behind the practice of precision bombing.
The level of detail that went into the Japanese village was astounding. Houses were surrounded by narrow roads to mimic the congestion of Japanese urban centers. The roof-area percentage likewise tracked the coverage found in places like Tokyo, Yokohama, and Osaka. Instead of utilizing stud-frame construction, as found in typical American houses, the workers applied a more accurate keyed or mortised joint style. Comparable woods were selected to best reflect the moisture content in Japan.
The specifics of this reconstruction extended to the interiors of the houses, which were furnished with futons, hibachi stoves, amado shutters, and straw tatami mats on the floors. As James M. Scott points out in Black Snow, the military even outfitted one bedroom with two single beds pushed together, next to an infant’s cradle.
The reason, of course, is that Army Air Force leadership wanted to know how a Japanese family burned.
***
The decision to rain fire from the sky, the execution of that decision, and its grisly aftermath forms the three-part tale told in Black Snow.
In the first section, Scott takes a looping approach, beginning in Saipan – with American B-29s about to begin their assault – but frequently flashing back to broadly cover the history of bombing in general, and the air war in Europe in particular. He also intersperses the action with biographical sketches of some of the major players, including commanding general of the Army Air Force Henry “Hap” Arnold; General Haywood S. Hansell, who initially led XXI Bomber Command, and advocated for precision attacks rather than incendiaries; and General Curtis LeMay, who took over from Hansell and – essentially on his own authority – changed the rules of the game.
Scott’s handling of LeMay is extremely well done. Devastatingly parodied as General Jack D. Ripper in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, LeMay is one of the most controversial and polarizing soldiers in American history. As head of the postwar Strategic Air Command, he played an important role in developing America’s nuclear deterrence. Later, he nearly ended the world, strongly advocating for bombing and invading Cuba during the Missile Crisis. He then cemented his reputation for questionable doctrine and ethics by advocating – in his memoirs – that America bomb Vietnam back to the Stone Age.
Before all this, LeMay was a hard-luck kid who worked his way through college, joined the Air Corps, and served admirably in Europe, before being given Hansell’s job. LeMay realized that Hansell had failed because precision bombing from high altitude would not work with the weather patterns over Japan. Against fierce opposition – some moral, but mainly tactical – he scrapped high-level raids and decided to strip the Superfortresses of guns and ammunition, pack them with M-69 incendiary devices, and send them in at 5,000 feet.
After some initial test runs, he targeted Tokyo for the big show.
***
Toggling back and forth between Japanese and American perspectives, Scott sets the stage by discussing Tokyo’s woeful preparations for an air raid. The fire department was tiny, their equipment insufficient, the shelters too few (with many only partially-finished), and fire mediation measures far below what proved to be necessary (despite the warning provided by the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923). Scott also gives a sympathetic portrayal of the people living in Tokyo at the time: the hunger, the rationing, the families split apart as children were sent to the countryside, and the gnawing doubts that rose even as Japanese leadership kept the losing tide of war a secret.
The account of the infamous March 10, 1945 fire raid is top notch. While Scott presents some viewpoints from the air, he mostly focuses on the Japanese victims. Moreover, instead of throwing out a bunch of unconnected anecdotes, he tethers the fire-bombing sequence to a smaller number of participants, allowing us to get to know them, before following them through the nightmarish experience of a flaming hurricane. As in his prior books, Scott is uncannily good at finding nasty, pungent recollections that show war as an uncontrollably savage sundering of humanity.
Unsurprisingly, given the context, most people involved, both the bombers and the bombed, fell back on the obvious cliché: It was hell.
***
The final section, after the dramatic peak of the Tokyo inferno – which killed between 80,000 and over 100,000 people – is necessarily a bit of a letdown. At its most heartrending, it remains in Tokyo, as the ash-covered survivors try to collect and bury the dead.
Much of the narrative, though, is given over to a pretty quick recounting of LeMay’s other firebombing raids, and ultimately, the dropping of the twin atomic bombs. There’s nothing inherently wrong with these portions, but they don’t stand out, either. The dawn of nuclear war has been covered in many, many fine books, and Scott’s telling breaks no new ground. If you haven’t read much about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the finale might work better for you.
***
The fire-bombings of Japan received a great deal of contemporary support, both within the American military and the public. In the years since, though, it has become one of the most controversial aspects of the Second World War, along with Hamburg and Dresden, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Two broad discussions have sprung up around the fire bombing campaign, with a great deal of overlap.
First, there is the moral component, which typically breaks down between the utilitarian view that the bombings ultimately saved lives by shortening the war, and the deontological perspective, which holds that burning people in their homes is never justified.
Second, there is the question of strategy, which asks whether bombing – as opposed to a naval blockade or even a negotiated peace – might have worked better.
Interestingly – though not surprisingly, given his past work – Scott does not engage these issues directly. To be sure, they come up within Black Snow, but he does not take a side or set forth any analysis. The only ethical framework that Scott creates is that of the brutal context of war. He shows how the horrific decision to drop fire from the sky came at the end of a long and horrific war that not only blurred the lines of decency, but erased them altogether.
It is axiomatic of war that the innocent are punished with the guilty. Many of the war’s individual perpetrators – the rapists of Nanking and Manila, the death squads in Bataan and Singapore – faced no repercussions for their actions. Sure, some eventually died in combat, in captivity, or from disease. But most probably slipped back into civilian life when hostilities ended. Meanwhile, thousands of noncombatants, including the very old and very young, endured heat and flame and suffocation as punishment for a conflict started and waged by others. Rather than trying to disentangle the threads of blame and justification, Scott does a good job focusing on the people below the bombs, with the empathy to which they are entitled as humans.