April 3, 1945: Honolulu, HI:
James Slocum woke up in a sweat. It was warm in Honolulu, but that wasn't the reason. James had been sleeping badly for weeks, and that was the cause for his being in Hawaii in the first place. Once the sun was up, he decided to get out of the quarters the Army had arranged for him and walk around town. Maybe it would help clear his head was his thinking.
Two days earlier his CO had told him in no uncertain terms, to "go get his head on straight" by getting away from the war for ten days. So James found himself in the unfamiliar position of passenger on an aircraft - in this case an USAAF C-54 Skymaster, flying from Saipan to Midway, and then after refueling, on to Honolulu.
The cause of James' insomnia was deemed to be "battle fatigue" by the army doctors on Saipan. The stress of flying missions over Japan was provided as the cause. For James and the other veterans of the Eighth Air Force's campaign against Germany, Japan was a whole other ballgame, and exacerbated by the fact that the B-29 itself was an entirely new breed of bomber when compared to the trusty and tough old B-17 most of the pilots, James included, loved. The B-29 flew so high that it was - theoretically - immune to both flak and enemy fighters who couldn't get up there. But the pilots quickly discovered that the winds over Japan were a major issue, making the trusty Norden bombsights that had been so useful in Europe, almost useless over Japan.
So it was proposed that the B-29s go in low, which brought the plane within range of the flak and fighters defending Japan. To counter this, the B-29s could go in at night where the darkness would help (some) against those threats. But the brass - Hap Arnold and his on-site proxy, Twentieth Air Force commander Major General Curtis LeMay - didn't like that idea. Then someone showed the brass a new incendiary gel - they called it napalm - that stuck to anything it landed on and burned for a long time. Arnold had thoroughly tested napalm, and devised a new strategy. Standard doctrine held that the best way to flatten a city by bombing were high explosives followed by incendiaries. But napalm didn't need a high-explosive to lead the way - it destroyed everything it touched. And the Air Force knew that Japanese homes were largely constructed of paper, bamboo and wood.
On the night of March 9-10 the B-29s from Saipan & nearby Guam put Arnold & LeMay's vision to work. 350 bombers flew to Tokyo, arriving over the city at midnight, flying low. The Saipan bombers each carried six-and-a-half tons of incendiary bombs while the Guam aircraft which had to fly further, had four-and-a-half tons each, and dropped them on a 12-mile square of the city selected precisely because LeMay's intelligence staff believed it was the most combustible. Fed by 30-mph winds the resulting firestorm was catastrophic.
James and the Clouting Claudia were near the end of the bomber streams and flying at 5200 feet, buffeted by winds that bounced the big plane around like a toy. When the bomb bay doors opened, smoke and soot from the raging fires below came into the plane. James was relieved when the bombs were released and he was able to turn away from the conflagration around him. When they landed on Saipan and exited, James saw that his silver bomber was covered in soot and his crew all smelled of smoke. The crew chief asked what had happened to his plane. James grimly told him that "she'd flown through hell itself."
That was when the insomnia began. The docs said it was accumulated stress: 25 missions over Europe, a stint as an IG inspector in Sicily and Italy, the work on the B-29 program in Kansas with Arnold and the USAAF brass breathing down their necks and now... the raid that the intelligence guys estimated might have killed 100,000 Japanese, most of them civilians... all of it had finally gotten to him. James had never been comfortable dropping bombs on "regular folks" as he called them. Telling himself it was all to end the war sooner... rang hollow at times. This was the worst of those times.
James spent the day walking around Honolulu, which was bustling due to all the military in and around the city. He had decided to meet his sister, Agnes McCullough, a WAVES officer serving as a Naval Intelligence analyst who was working at the Naval base at Pearl Harbor. As they sat down for dinner at a quaint restaurant, the siblings greeted each other warmly, grateful for this rare opportunity to spend time together.
Over a delicious meal, the conversation drifted towards their experiences during the war. James, feeling the heavy burden on his shoulders, decided to confide in Agnes. Leaning in closer, he spoke in a hushed tone about his doubts regarding his role in the war. He recounted the events of Operation Meetinghouse, the devastating firebombing of Tokyo, and the impact it had on the civilian population.
Agnes listened intently, her gaze fixed on James as he described the destruction and the suffering caused by the raid. She had a complicated relationship with the war, her bitterness towards the Japanese stemming from the loss of her husband during the attack on Pearl Harbor. She had held onto that pain and anger, finding solace in the belief that the Japanese deserved what they were experiencing.
Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Agnes responded with a mixture of conviction and vulnerability. "James, I understand your doubts, but we're fighting a war. The Japanese need to be beaten into submission," she said firmly. "Only the horrors of war will convince them to surrender."
James paused, his eyes reflecting the weight of his inner conflict. "But Agnes, what about the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire? What about the lives shattered, the suffering inflicted? Is following orders always the right thing to do?"
His words hung in the air, and Agnes found herself grappling with the complexity of his questions. She had no immediate answer, realizing the truth in James' words. Her desire for revenge had clouded her judgment, overshadowing her inherent decency and compassion.
A soft smile played on James' lips as he reached across the table, gently squeezing Agnes' hand. "You're a good person, Agnes. I know the pain you carry, but it shouldn't consume you entirely. We must strive to find the balance between justice and humanity."
Agnes looked at her brother, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and contemplation. "You're right, James. I suppose I've allowed my pain to blind me at times. Thank you for reminding me of who I truly am."
They shared a moment of understanding, the bonds of siblinghood strengthened by their shared struggles and differing perspectives. Agnes chuckled, breaking the solemnity. "You know, James, no matter how old you get, you'll always be my little brother."
James laughed, shaking his head. "Agnes, I'm hardly younger than you."
She grinned mischievously. "Oh, but younger is younger, dear brother, and that's all that matters."
In that instant, their worries and uncertainties were momentarily set aside, replaced by the warmth of familial love and the realization that even in the midst of turmoil, they could find solace and understanding in each other's company.
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James Slocum & Agnes McCullough in Honolulu, April 1945