Christmas morning, 1941. A steady rain pelted down from clouds hanging low over Pearl Harbor. To the northeast, a four-engine flying boat appeared bringing the newly appointed Commander-in- Chief of the U. S. Pacific Fleet, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz.
Through the haze, Nimitz could make out alongside Ford Island the sides, hulls, and crazily jutting tops of American battleships and other vessels sunk by Japanese carrier aircraft less than three weeks before. Hardly had his plane touched down in East Loch and come to a stop, when an admiral’s barge drew up alongside. Nimitz, in civilian clothes, stepped down into the barge and shook hands with Captains William W. Smith and Harold C. Train, chiefs of staff respectively to Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, who had been commander-in-chief at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, and to Vice Admiral William S. Pye, Kimmel’s temporary relief.
Admiral Nimitz, who had been out of touch with events since leaving Washington, at once inquired about the relief force that had been sent out to rescue the Marines under attack on Wake Island. When Smith told him that the force had been recalled, Nimitz remained silent for some time.
“When you get back to your office,” he said at length to Smith, “call Washington and report my arrival.” After a few moments he spoke again: “This is a terrible sight, seeing all these ships down.”
At the submarine base wharf, which the barge presently came alongside, Captain Train escorted Nimitz to the official car in which Admiral Pye was waiting to conduct him to his quarters on Makalapa Hill.
In conferences during the next few days, Nimitz was relieved to find 31 no defeatism among the officers at Pearl Harbor. Their mood was rather one of chagrin, defiance, and cold anger.
Since the attack on the Fleet, Guam had fallen, and Thailand had been overrun. In Malaya, the Japanese were threatening Singapore.
In the Gulf of Siam, Japanese aircraft had sunk HM battleship Prince of Wales and HM battle cruiser Repulse. On Luzon, enemy planes had wiped out American air power and smashed the Cavite Naval Base. Even now Japanese invading forces were advancing on Manila. From the Marshalls the Japanese had penetrated into the Gilberts, whence they menaced the Ellices and Samoa.
At Wake Island, the Marines had held out for two weeks, thrusting a Japanese assault back into the sea. On 14 December, in one of his last acts as commander-in-chief, Admiral Kimmel had sent out the Wake relief force, including the carrier Saratoga (CV-3). Heavy seas had so delayed refueling of the force that it was still 600 miles from Wake when the Japanese resumed the assault, this time supported by planes from carriers returning to Japan from the Pearl Harbor strike. Admiral Pye, commander-in-chief pro tem, had thereupon recalled the relief force rather than risk further losses. After a gallant but hopeless defense, Wake had surrendered two days before Nimitz’ arrival at Pearl.
Still, though the Japanese had sunk or damaged all the battleships at Pearl Harbor and killed 2,400 men, they had hit no carriers, for none had been in the harbor at the time of the attack. They had not, moreover, hit the tank farms, which contained fuel that could not have been replaced for months, nor had they severely damaged the repair facilities— facilities that would have most of the battered ships back in operation when they were most needed.
In some respects no less important, the attack had settled for the U. S. Navy the question of whether the carrier was a capital ship or a mere auxiliary. With the sinking of the batdeships at Pearl Harbor, the big carriers— Saratoga (CV-3), Lexington, (CV-2), Enterprise (CV-6), Torktown (CV-5), Wasp (CV-7), and Hornet (CV-8)—perforce became the queens of the Fleet. They were too swift in any event to have operated efficiently with the old, slow batdeships that the Japanese had sunk. When the new fast battleships, North Carolina (BB- 55), Washington (BB-56), South Dakota (BB-57) and the rest, arrived in the Pacific, they would at once be integrated into the carrier screens. The sinking of the old battleships, though costly in lives, had freed many trained men as cadres around which new fighting teams could be formed for service in carrier and amphibious forces.
On the last day of 1941, Nimitz assumed command of the Pacific Fleet. Standing on the wharf at the submarine base, he spoke a few preliminary words. Then, as he opened his orders, he stepped across the wharf and read them from the deck of the submarine Grayling (SS-209), partly, no doubt, because the new commander-in-chief was an old submariner but also because few other decks were then available at Pearl Harbor.
Shortly afterward, Admiral Nimitz called together the officers of Admiral Kimmel’s staff. As they filed into the room, they found the Admiral seated at a desk. His shoulders, they noted, were broad, his grey eyes penetrating; his light blond hair was just turning white. Except for his air of authority, there was nothing unusual about him. He had no salient features, no peculiarity of manner.
The Admiral’s speech was quiet and courteous. He was apparently a man not easily ruffled. He had about him an air of serenity. Obviously confident, he inspired increased confidence in the men before him. He needed the benefit of their experience, he told them. “There will be no changes,” he said. “I have complete confidence in you men. We’ve taken a terrific wallop, but I have no doubts as to the ultimate outcome.”
The officers who left that meeting had a renewed spring in their step. Under the new leadership, they were ready and eager to tackle the job, to take the first steps on the long road back.
In the 13th century, the Germans expanded into the Duchy of Prussia on the Baltic Sea. Here in the valley of the River Niemen they encountered Slavs, who called the Germans Niemiez—their name for the river. Germanicized into Nimitz, the name was adopted by a fighting clan descended from the Teutonic knights.
A noble Nimitz served under the Swedish monarch Gustavus Adolphus and fell with him in the Battle of Lutzen, 1632. His son and grandson, both Ernst Freiherr von Nimitz, also served in the Swedish army, the former attaining the rank of major general. Karl Gustav, eldest son of the younger Ernst, was a tax collector in Hanover. Unable to meet the social demands of his inherited rank, he dropped the title freiherr and with it the von before his family name. Karl Gustav’s grandson, Karl Heinrich Nimitz, by profession a supercargo in the German merchant marine, in 1843 emigrated to South Carolina to escape the harsh economic and political situation in Germany.
Karl Heinrich’s youngest son and namesake, who anglicized his name to Charles Henry, was an adventuresome young man who had served in a merchantman at 14 and never lost his love of the sea. Desiring to strike out on his own, Charles Henry left South Carolina at the age of 20, joining a German group planning to establish a colony in Texas, which had recently been annexed to the United States. Here on the Pedernales River they founded the town of Fredericksburg, named in honor of Prince Frederick of Prussia.
After being employed in several capacities, including service with the Texas Rangers, Charles Henry, known generally as “Captain Nimitz,” built the steamboat-shaped Nimitz Hotel, which became a Texas landmark. One of his 12 children, Chester Bernard, in March 1884 married Anna Henke, a local beauty; he died five months later. The following February, Anna gave birth to Chester Bernard’s son, Chester William, the future fleet admiral.
For six years Anna and her litde son lived at the Nimitz Hotel. Chester then and later was close to Captain Nimitz. The boy listened wide-eyed while the old gentleman recounted stories of his youthful experiences in the merchant marine. “The sea—like life itself —is a stern taskmaster,” Captain Nimitz once said. “The best way to get along with either is to learn all you can, then do your best and don’t worry—especially about things over which you have no control.”
In 1890, Anna married William Nimitz, younger brother of her first husband. To Chester, William was truly his father, and he always thought of the offspring of his mother’s second marriage, Otto and Dora, as his own brother and sister.
Chester’s stepfather was assistant manager of the small St. Charles Hotel in Kerrville, not far from Fredericksburg. Here Anna took charge of the kitchen, and Chester and his half-brother did odd jobs. At school, where because of his extreme blondness he was nicknamed “Cottonhead,” Chester received good grades. But, in view of his family’s poverty, he had no prospect of pursuing his studies past high school. In 1900, when he was 15 years old, he made vague plans to seek employment as a surveyor’s helper as a means of learning a trade.
That summer, however, occurred an event that changed the whole direction of Chester’s life. Battery K, Third Field Artillery, from Fort Sam Houston, came to camp in the brown hills close to Kerrville for training and gunnery practice. On their way to join Battery K, Second Lieutenants William M. Cruikshank and William I. Westervelt, both West Point graduates, stopped at the St. Charles Hotel. Chester was fascinated by their military bearing and their dashing new Army uniforms.
Fired with a sudden ambition to become an army officer, Chester applied to Congressman James L. Slayden to take the West Point examination. He was informed that all the congressman’s appointments for the Military Academy were filled. “But,” said Slayden, “I have an opening for the U. S. Naval Academy. Are you interested?”
Chester had never heard of the Naval Academy, but he swallowed his disappointment and determined to seize this opportunity to get an education. With the help of his mother, his stepfather, his high school principal, and a devoted teacher, Miss Susan Moore, he applied himself to algebra, geometry, history, geography, and grammar.
This was a rough period for Chester. He regularly arose at 3:00 a.m. and studied until 5:30. Then began his first stint as janitor and general handyman for the hotel—lighting fires, attending stoves, and calling early risers. After breakfast he went to school and remained until 4: 00 p.m., when he resumed his janitorial duties, attending the lawn, raking leaves, splitting kindling, filling wood boxes, and tending a dozen stoves and fireplaces. After supper, he took his turn as desk clerk until 10:00 p.m., when he retired to his lodging, a cot set up in the ladies’ parlor of the St. Charles Hotel.
At the local Naval Academy examination, held in April 1901, Chester won out over all competitors. Congressman Slayden accompanied him to Annapolis in July. Here Chester entered the Werntz Preparatory School for two months of further preparations for the late August national examinations, which he easily passed. On 7 September 1901, he was sworn in at the Naval Academy as a Naval Cadet, as the young student-officers were then called.
The years Chester Nimitz spent at the Naval Academy were happy and successful. He participated in crew and became a stroke. In his first class year he wore three stripes as Commander, 8th Company. In late 1904, the Holland, then the Navy’s only commissioned submarine, based at the Naval Academy', and Nimitz was among the midshipmen who made their first submergence in it.
Cadet Nimitz was a fun-loving, gregarious young man who relished nothing so much as a roughhouse or a party with lots of good talk. In his first class year he moved into the first completed wing of Bancroft Hall, and he and his roommate had the happiness to discover that they could reach the roof of the unfinished building. Here, concealed from below, they and their friends held some fine beer parties, taking particular delight in heaving empty' bottles over the side onto a heap of building stones and then watching the guards dash madly about endeavoring to discover the source of the falling glass.
The cadet who wrote up Cadet Nimitz for the Lucky Bag, the Naval Academy yearbook, was perceptive beyond his years in selecting a line from Wordsworth to characterize him: “A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays and confident tomorrows,” and adding further: “Possesses that calm and steady-going Dutch way that gets to the bottom of things.”
That Cadet Nimitz was not all fun and laughter is demonstrated by his embarrassed reaction to the notorious Sampson-Schley controversy, in which two leading naval officers of the Spanish-American War publicly questioned each other’s military records, each claiming to be the victor in the naval Battle of Santiago. “I decided then,” Nimitz said long afterward, “that if ever I reached a position of high command, I would do my best to stifle any such family controversies before they reached the attention of the public.” This resolve may be the root of Nimitz’ later almost obsessive discretion. It doubtless played a significant part in his refusal to write his biography or to permit it to be written during his lifetime.
Because of the pressing need of junior officers in an expanding Fleet, Nimitz’ class at the Naval Academy was graduated ahead of schedule, on 30 January 1905, with Nimitz standing seventh from the top in a class of 114. After graduation, Midshipman Nimitz headed for San Francisco for a cruise to the Orient in the USS Ohio, designated to serve as flagship on joining the Asiatic Fleet.
The following summer, when the Ohio was in Japanese waters, Nimitz was one of six midshipmen detailed to attend a garden party given by the Emperor to honor the Japanese Army and Navy for their victory in the recently concluded Russo-Japanese War. Toward the end of the party, the midshipmen, seated at a table near the exit, observed Admiral Heihachiro Togo, nemesis of the Russian Fleet, about to depart. They hurriedly elected Nimitz to intercept the Admiral and invite him to their table. Togo smilingly accepted, came over and shook hands all around, sipped the captured Russian champagne being served, and chatted briefly in English. The victorious old sea dog made a deep impression on Nimitz. In 1934, while again serving in the Far East, Nimitz would attend Togo’s public and also his family funeral.
In 1906, Nimitz, having completed the two years at sea then required, was commissioned ensign. He also received his first command, an ex-Spanish gunboat, the Panay—not to be confused with the gunboat of the same name later sunk by the Japanese. He simultaneously served as commander of a tiny naval base at Polloc, Mindanao, in the Philippines, to which the Panay was attached. There were 31 men on board the gunboat and 22 Marines at the base. An isolated command, it provided Ensign Nimitz with a feeling of high adventure. There was no radio or mail, and no supplies reached them. The Marines and sailors maintained themselves by hunting and fishing. One seaman at length remarked that he “couldn’t look a duck in the beak again.”
This idyl came to a sudden end when President Theodore Roosevelt called the Japanese ambassador to the White House and said, “If your country wants war, we’ll give it to you.” The war scare shook the Asiatic Fleet into frantic activity that reached all the way to Polloc. The Paney was summoned to the big naval base at Cavite, where the commandant ordered Ensign Nimitz immediately, without time to change his white uniform or pick up his gear, to assume command of the USS Decatur (DD-5), an old rustbucket of a destroyer, long out of commission. He was to get her into drydock at Olongapo, 60 miles away, in 48 hours.
Nimitz, still superb in whites and sword, arrived aboard the Decatur, which was swinging at a buoy, to be greeted by a couple of Filipino watchmen. There were no provisions aboard and no water or fuel. The engines and boilers were cluttered with junk.
A crew began to arrive, but no means for fitting out the ship. In his extremity, Nimitz cannily turned to some warrant officers at Cavite with whom he had played poker when the Panay was being readied for service. They promised to do what they could. Soon, bargeloads of equipment, coal, and water began to arrive at the Decatur. By laboring night and day, Nimitz and his scratch crew finally got steam in one boiler but had no time to test the engines.
Nimitz had planned to back away from the buoy, but when he rang up quarter speed astern, the destroyer moved forward. When he ordered full speed astern, she darted forward like a frightened jackrabbit. The engine telegraphs had been hooked up in reverse.
In due course, Nimitz got the Decatur safely to Olongapo, but his troubles with the old destroyer were not over. One dark night some time later in poorly charted Batangas harbor, while she was proceeding at dead slow, the leadsman suddenly shouted: “We’re not moving, sir!” It was soon apparent that the Decatur was aground on a mudbank. Attempts to back her down were fruitless. Here was a situation that could easily wreck a young officer’s career.
Nimitz now displayed that quality of imperturbability for which he later became noted. “On that black night somewhere in the Philippines,” he later said, “the advice of my grandfather, returned to me: ‘Don’t worry about things over which you have no control.’ So I set up a cot on deck and went to sleep.”
Not long after daylight a small steamer appeared, heaved a line to the Decatur, and pulled her off. There followed an investigation and Nimitz stood court-martial and was convicted, but he got off with a letter of reprimand for “hazarding a ship of the U. S. Navy.”
Returning to the United States, Nimitz requested battleship duty, then considered the glamour assignment of the Fleet. Instead, he was ordered to submarines, which were in those days, as he said, “a cross between a Jules Verne fantasy and a humpbacked whale.” Nimitz was disappointed, but characteristically he threw himself wholeheartedly into his new assignment, commanding successively the USS Plunger, Snapper, Narwhal, and Skipjack, and making himself an expert in undersea warfare and diesel engines. In 1912, while commanding the Skipjack, Nimitz leapt overboard to rescue a seaman who had fallen in and could not swim. For this, he was awarded a Red Cross Life Saving Medal, which he thereafter always wore when in uniform.
“I also had the good sense and good fortune about this time,” he afterward wrote, “to marry Catherine Vance Freeman, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Richard R. Freeman of Wollaston, Massachusetts.” It proved a thoroughly congenial union. Catherine, besides beauty and charm, possessed the stamina and the intellect to keep up with her fast- moving husband, and shared with him also his love of sports and classical music; whenever his duties permitted, they were to be seen at baseball and football games or at concerts.
Over the years she bore him four children: Catherine Vance, who married James T. Lay of the Naval Academy class of 1931; Chester, Jr., who graduated from the Academy in 1936 and during World War II made his name in submarines, particularly as skipper of the Haddo (SS-255); Anne Elizabeth (Nancy), a Russian expert with the RAND Corporation; and Mary Manson, who, sent to a convent school during the busy days of World War II, adopted the Catholic faith and became Sister M. Aquinas, who is now teaching biology at the Dominican Convent at San Rafael, California.
In the summer of 1913, the Navy sent Nimitz to Europe to complete his education in diesels. He visited plants in Germany and Belgium, storing quantities of data in his capacious memory. On his return, he supervised the building of the diesel engines for the Navy tanker Maumee (AO-2), later serving as her executive officer and engineer.
With the entry of the United States into World War I, Nimitz was ordered to the staff—and later became chief of staff—of Admiral Samuel S. Robison, Commander Submarine Force U. S. Atlantic Fleet. In his new capacity he found relations between British and American officers breaking down under the stiff weight of protocol. This, he decided, was an outdated way of doing things. He believed that the British would respond to simple friendliness and good performance and drilled this point of view into his junior officers and men. The idea worked, and Nimitz quickly established amicable teamwork between the allied commands in his area of operations.
Following World War I, Nimitz served a tour of duty in the Navy Department, with additional duty as Senior Member, Board of Submarine Design, then went to sea as executive officer of the USS South Carolina. He next commanded the USS Chicago, after which he received a year of instruction at the Naval War College, then returned to the staff of Admiral Robison, now Commander Battle Fleet and later Commander-in-Chief, United States Fleet. For Nimitz, Robison was an ideal commander, whose performance he consciously imitated.
Commander Nimitz seems to have been a bit startled in 1926 to be ordered to the University of California as that school’s first Professor of Naval Science. Here he was to test a new idea: making naval officers out of college students. Some of Nimitz’ friends predicted that this “school-teaching duty” would be the end of the line for his career, but Nimitz cheerfully accepted the assignment and gave it all his energy. In his three years at Berkeley, he implemented the Naval Reserve Officers’ Training Corps program that was to provide many outstanding officers for the Navy, a program that has been duplicated in 52 colleges and universities across the nation. Nimitz also developed in himself a deep interest in education and an abiding loyalty for the University of California.
In 1930, when Nimitz was commanding Submarine Division 20, he wrote in his Naval Academy class book:
In looking backward at various phases of my life, I find it difficult to pick out any one activity as having been more attractive to me than any other. I have enjoyed every one of my assignments and believe that it has been so because of my making it a point to become as deeply immersed and as interested in each activity as it was possible for me to become. My life in the Navy has been very happy and I know of no profession for which I would forsake my present one. . . . My wife, my children, my profession as a naval officer, and good health combine to make me a happy man.
Nimitz next commanded the USS Augusta (CA-3l), flagship of the Asiatic Fleet, and then served three years as Assistant Chief of the Bureau of Navigation—as the Bureau of Naval Personnel was then called. The latter duty suited Nimitz well, for his acquaintance was wide and discriminating. Ever alert to the needs of the Navy, he had filed away in his memory the special competences of each officer he had come to know.
It was during these years that Nimitz improved his skill at judging character and his ability to communicate clearly, simply, and directly to every sort of person with whom he had business or social intercourse. He further developed the decisiveness and the poise and serenity for which he was already noted. His manner was ever courteous except in the case of a sloppy performance. Then he could fix the culprit with steely grey eyes and make even the strongest of men wince with his measured words.
By no means all business, Nimitz was a genuinely friendly man, capable of deep affection. Except where official requirements or press of duties forbade, he liked to write letters in longhand in his clear, flowing script, never forgetting to add a message to his correspondent’s family and, where applicable, including a warm greeting from Mrs. Nimitz.
Following his duty in the Bureau of Navigation, Captain Nimitz served as Commander Cruiser Division Two and then as Commander Battleship Division One, Battle Force. As always, he gave his duties everything he had, developing a reputation for efficiency that marked him for the highest levels of naval command.
In June 1939, Nimitz, now rear admiral, was appointed Chief of the Bureau of Navigation. He chafed a little at the confinement of desk and office, but worked off his excess energy by frequently walking home several miles after work with his good friend Captain Willis A. Lee. Each was alert for amusing stories with which to top the other during their long walks.
On the afternoon of Sunday, 7 December 1941, Nimitz was at home settling down to listen to a radio concert by Artur Rodzinski and the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, when the program was interrupted by an announcement that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. He leaped from his chair and telephoned his assistant, Captain John F. Shafroth, who soon arrived, and the two officers immediately proceeded to the Navy Building.
At the Bureau, Nimitz found that the War Plans he needed to consult were in a safe with a time lock that would not open until Monday morning. He therefore went to the office of the Chief of Naval Operations to consult the War Plans there. From here he was called into the first of a series of conferences with Navy Secretary Frank Knox, Undersecretary James Forrestal, Assistant Secretary Ralph Bard, Chief of Naval Operations Harold Stark, and others. Among these men, Nimitz was a rather junior admiral, but his knowledge of the Navy’s officers and their capabilities proved invaluable at the conferences. Moreover, from the first meeting, the members had come to respect Nimitz’ suggestions and to trust his judgment.
Shortly after the attack, Knox made a quick trip out to Pearl Harbor to size up the situation for himself. On his return, he reassembled the council and stated his conviction that a new commander must be sent there. Then, turning to Nimitz, he asked, “How soon can you get ready to travel? You’re going to take command of the Pacific Fleet.”
Nimitz was startled. Nothing of the sort had occurred to him. After all, there were 28 flag officers senior to him. He did not relish relieving his old friend Admiral Kimmel. Besides, he had been hoping for a sea-going command.
Nimitz requested that, if Kimmel must be relieved, the Pacific Fleet be turned over to Admiral Pye instead of him. When that request was refused he asked for his orders. In line with the habits of a lifetime, he prepared to accept his new assignment and give it his best.
There were several more days of discussions and arrangements, with Admiral Ernest J. King of the Atlantic Fleet participating. Nimitz attended these conferences and also carried on the burgeoning duties of his own Bureau. He was sleeping little and eating almost nothing.
As a safety measure, Admiral Nimitz was sent to San Francisco by train and, to avoid speculation, he wore civilian clothes and traveled as “Mr. Wainwright.” He was to be accompanied only by Lieutenant La Marr, whose assignment was to look after the Admiral, seeing that he got enough sleep and plenty to eat and, if possible, diverting his mind briefly from the stern duties ahead.
As it turned out, it was the Admiral who diverted the Lieutenant, for as soon as Nimitz boarded the train, he shucked his responsibilities, bounced back, enjoyed himself, told jokes, made bad puns, and tried unsuccessfully to teach La Marr cribbage. But La Marr could not forget that he had in his briefcase the first full report of the Pearl Harbor damage, which he had been instructed to keep from the Admiral for a couple of days.
Once the train had left Chicago, La Marr finally turned the report over to Nimitz, who at once became grave and devoted a large part of his time to studying and analyzing it. “It could have happened to anyone,” he muttered once or twice. At San Francisco, he shook hands with La Marr, who returned to his duties at the Bureau of Navigation, while the Admiral set out by plane for Pearl Harbor and the greatest challenge of his career.
On assuming command of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Nimitz had four immediate objectives: to restore morale; to divert Japanese strength away from the East Indies; to safeguard U. S. communications to Hawaii, Midway, and Australia; and to hold the line against further Japanese expansion in the Pacific. As Nimitz saw it, all these objectives might be obtained through offensive operations. In the circumstances, that could only mean carrier raids on Japanese bases.
When, in early January 1942, Nimitz put the matter before his force commanders and other officers at Pearl Harbor, several of whom until recently had been his seniors, many opposed the raids as too risky, a sure way to lose what was left of the Pacific Fleet. However, Vice Admiral William F. Halsey not only endorsed the idea but volunteered to carry out a strike against the Marshall Islands, the Japanese stronghold in the Central Pacific—a courageous reaction that permanently endeared him to his commander-in-chief.
On 1 February, Halsey’s Enterprise force bombed the Marshalls while Rear Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher’s Yorktown force raided the nearby Gilberts. Halsey next struck Wake and then Marcus, the latter only a thousand miles from Japan, while Fletcher’s Yorktown force joined the Lexington force, under Vice Admiral Wilson Brown, for an air attack on Japan’s newly seized bases at Lae and Salamaua on the north coast of New Guinea. In mid-April, the Hornet, with 16 long-range Army B-25s lashed to her flight deck, joined the Enterprise under Halsey’s command and, approaching Japan, launched the bombers for attacks on Tokyo and other Japanese cities.
The raids, though not extremely destructive, electrified the American public and armed forces, superbly achieving Nimitz’ aim of raising morale. His seniors in Washington now awarded him an additional title, Commander in Chief Pacific Ocean Areas (CinCPOA), which gave him authority over all U. S. and allied military and naval forces in the Pacific theater, except those in General Douglas MacArthur’s Southwest Pacific Area.
The Japanese, undeterred, proceeded with their conquests—the East Indies, Singapore, Burma, the north coast of New Guinea, the Bismarcks, the upper Solomons. Bataan had fallen, followed by the infamous Death March to prison camp of the Filipino and American defenders. Corregidor must soon surrender and, with it, the rest of the Philippines. Japan had thus attained access to ample East Indian oil for its war machine and set up a defense perimeter of air bases around its newly won empire.
These rapid, relatively cheap conquests emboldened the Japanese to plan further advances—into the Aleutians and Midway to complete their perimeter, and southeastward into New Caledonia, Fiji, and Samoa to establish bases for interception of shipping from the United States to Australia. To clear their flank for the southeastward advance, they prepared to make a seaborne assault on Port Moresby, the Australian base on the New Guinea south coast whence Allied bombers could reach the key Japanese base at Rabaul in the Bismarcks.
Now for the first time Nimitz was able to make use of his ultra-secret weapon, American possession through cryptanalysis of the main Japanese code. Decrypted radio intercepts having made him aware of the impending assault on Port Moresby, he alerted Fletcher’s Yorktown force in the South Pacific and sent the Lexington force, now under Rear Admiral Aubrey Fitch, to join it in the Coral Sea. As soon as the Enterprise and Hornet forces returned from their raid on Japan, he dispatched these southward also, but they were not to arrive in time to see action.
In the Battle of the Coral Sea (4-8 May 1942), aircraft from the Yorktown and the Lexington searched out the Port Moresby occupation group in the Solomon Sea and sank the light carrier Shoho, obliging the rest of the group to turn back for lack of air cover. Meanwhile, two Japanese fleet carriers, the Shokaku and Zuikaku, detached from the force that had raided Pearl Harbor, had swung around eastward of the Solomons to entrap the American carriers. On the morning of the 8th, the opposing carrier forces located each other and launched simultaneous attacks in which the Shokaku, the Yorktown, and the Lexington were heavily damaged and many planes were shot down. On board the Lexington, ruptured fuel lines released gasoline vapors which at length exploded, setting off such uncontrollable fires that the carrier had to be abandoned and then sunk by her accompanying destroyers.
The Japanese could proclaim themselves the tactical victors, for their losses were somewhat lighter than the American. But the Americans were clearly the strategic victors. For the first time the Japanese advance had been stopped and turned back. More important, damage to the Shokaku and heavy loss of aviators from the Zuikaku would keep these big carriers out of action for some time. Thus, at a critical moment, the six-carrier Japanese striking force lost a third of its air power.
Nimitz had little time to congratulate himself on the results of the Coral Sea battle, for evidence was piling up that the whole Japanese fleet was about to attack Midway and the Aleutians. This was an appalling situation, for the Japanese navy was immensely more powerful than American naval forces in the Pacific.
Nimitz could find no use for six slow old battleships at San Francisco, two of which had been at Pearl Harbor. He would have to depend on carrier forces, submarines, and land-based air. The Wasp was still in the Atlantic. The Saratoga, torpedoed in January, was now repaired but a screen had not yet been assembled for her. That left only the Enterprise, the Hornet, and the damaged Yorktown. These Nimitz ordered up from the South Pacific at top speed.
Decrypted intercepts of Japanese radio communications revealed a strange deconcentration of Japanese naval power. In fact, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, Commander-in- Chief, Japanese Combined Fleet, had his forces divided all over the western Pacific. His main objective in assaulting Midway was to draw out the U. S. Pacific Fleet for destruction, completing the job of his carrier raid on Pearl Harbor six months earlier. Knowing that the available American carriers were all in the South Pacific, he counted on surprise to enable him to mass his forces before these or any other American ships could reach the Midway area. Nimitz, with the advantage of information based on the broken Japanese code, was determined to turn the Japanese deconcentration to American advantage.
Halsey’s Enterprise-Hornet force arrived at Pearl Harbor from the south on 26 May, but Halsey himself was ill with a nervous rash from months of tension and had to be hospitalized. Now Nimitz’ knowledge of American naval officers and their capabilities stood him in good stead. Without hesitation he turned the command over to Rear Admiral Raymond A. Spruance, Halsey’s cruiser commander. Spruance had had no experience in commanding carriers, but Nimitz relied on his reputation for intelligence, decisiveness, and good judgment. He carefully briefed Spruance and his staff and sent the Enterprise-Hornet forces to cruise northeast of Midway, on the flank of the approach he expected the Japanese carrier striking force would make through a region of murky weather.
The battered Yorktown had arrived at Pearl Harbor on the 27th. In a round-the-clock effort, she was sufficiently repaired to sortie on the 30th. The following day, Japanese submarines took station west of Pearl Harbor to report and attack the forces that had already passed through those waters.
In the afternoon of 2 June, the Yorktown force made rendezvous with the Enterprise- Hornet force 350 miles northeast of Midway, and Admiral Fletcher, as senior officer present, assumed the tactical fleet command. Since the impending battle would also involve sub-surface forces and Midway-based aircraft, Admiral Nimitz retained the over-all tactical command in his own hands.
Though the American carrier forces were under radio silence, Nimitz and his staff were kept well informed of all operations and fleet movements by aircraft, especially scout planes from Midway, and by submarine contacts. Nevertheless, the following days were among the most trying of the war for Nimitz. He knew that he had sent a David out to do battle with a Goliath, and that defeat of his carrier forces would leave Pearl Harbor and all other Allied bases in the Pacific open to attack by the Japanese fleet.
On the morning of 3 June, reports came in to Pearl Harbor that carrier aircraft had raided Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians, and that scout planes had sighted a large enemy force approaching Midway from the southwest. Nimitz, concluding that the first was a diversion and that the second was merely an occupation force, was gratified that the Amer- can carriers, adhering to his instructions, had not been drawn out of position by either of the reports.
Early on the 4th, Nimitz had his judgment confirmed by scouting PBYs. The Japanese carrier force was coming from under the cloud cover northwest of Midway and had launched an air attack against the island. The Japanese battleship force had not been seen and indeed was not at any time to be sighted by the Americans because, as Nimitz had reason to believe, it was several hundred miles away to the west.
For the next few hours only bad news came into Pearl Harbor. The air attack on Midway caused widespread damage and destroyed most of the fighter planes based there. Counterattacking bombers and torpedo planes from Midway were mostly shot down without achieving any apparent damage to the Japanese carrier force. Torpedo planes from the American carriers attacked with similar results.
Then at 1020 came the attack that changed the whole course of the war.
Dive bombers from the Hornet and the Enterprise had missed the Japanese carrier force, which had turned northeast to attack the American carriers. The Hornet bombers turned toward Midway and so missed the battle, while the Enterprise bombers flew a square and approached the Japanese force from the southwest. At the same time the Yorktown bombers, launched later, had headed directly for the Japanese carriers and were approaching from the opposite direction. By an amazing coincidence, the two American air groups dived simultaneously without either being aware of the other’s presence.
The American dive bombers caught the Japanese carriers in the most vulnerable condition possible. Their planes were being refueled for an attack on the American carriers, sighted shortly before. The planes had discarded bombs for torpedoes, and the bombs had not yet been returned to the magazines. The disastrous American torpedo-plane attack, just concluded, had drawn Zeke fighters and the attention of Japanese anti-aircraft gunners down to the surface. Nobody was looking up when the American bombers went into their dive.
Bombs ripped the decks of the carriers Kaga, Akagi, and Soryu, starting lethal fires and explosions in all three. The fourth Japanese carrier, the Hiryu, made a temporary escape to the north, but that afternoon bombers from the Enterprise found her also and with four direct hits set her fatally ablaze.
During the Hiryu's brief reprieve, her bombers and torpedo planes had followed the American planes back to their carriers, and the torpedo planes so damaged Fletcher’s flagship, the Yorktown, that she took a dangerous list and was abandoned, whereupon Fletcher, shifting to a cruiser, turned the tactical command of the carriers over to Spruance in the Enterprise.
That night Spruance pulled back to the east, a move sharply criticized by some of Nimitz’ staff. But, by his move, Spruance had frustrated an attempt by Yamamoto to retrieve the situation by a night attack with surface forces. At 0255, these forces having made no contact, Yamamoto with a heavy heart ordered a general retreat.
Through 5 June, Spruance unsuccessfully pursued the fleeing Japanese. On the 6th, his aviators succeeded in overtaking two collision- damaged Japanese cruisers, sinking one and heavily damaging the other. Then Spruance turned back east, again barely avoiding a night battle.
Once more Spruance had left himself open to criticism as being overcautious, but Nimitz, noting how precisely he had carried out his specific instructions regarding calculated risk, marked him for future important responsibilities. He would call Spruance to Pearl Harbor to serve as his chief of staff and to prepare him to assume command of a greater Pacific fleet, not yet off the ways in American shipyards.
The Japanese got in the last blow in the Battle of Midway. On 6 June, while the heavily listing Yorktown was under tow, a submarine fired a spread of torpedoes that sank a destroyer alongside and so further damaged the carrier that she sank the next morning.
To Chester Nimitz the victory of Midway was the high point of his career. Though its full significance would not be apparent for months, it was obvious that the tide had turned. The Japanese preponderance of power had been cut down; something like equality had been attained. No longer would the United States and its allies in the Pacific theater be forced into continuous retreat. For them a shift to the offensive had now become possible.
Outside his office, Admiral Nimitz had a pistol range set up, and adjacent to his living quarters a half mile away he laid out a horseshoe court. These he frequently visited to work off tension, especially at critical periods of the war. But the range and the horseshoe court also had a psychological purpose. He often invited journalists and other officers to join him at both places. “If the Old Man can give his attention to this sort of thing,” they would say, “matters can’t be too bad.”
Most mornings Nimitz met with his staff, often opening the meetings or relaxing a tense discussion with a humorous story, of which he had a great store.
Over his desk he had three questions tacked up which he expected his subordinates to be prepared to answer about any problem:
1. Is the proposed operation likely to succeed?
2. What might be the consequences of failure?
3. Is it in the realm of practicability of material and supplies?
When major operations were being planned, the senior officers involved sat with Nimitz and his staff, together with any other officers in the area whose opinions Nimitz wanted to hear. In all such meetings he acted like a chairman of the board, guiding and being guided by others in reaching a meeting of minds. This does not mean that the war was being run like a town meeting. At his conferences Nimitz made the final decisions, sometimes despite plenty of contrary advice, but first he heard the advice and weighed it carefully. He knew that World War II was far too complex for any one man in any theater to do all the high-level thinking, keeping his council to himself and at last handing down Napoleonic decisions.
Plans made at Pearl Harbor were submitted to the Joint Chiefs of Staff at Washington, who would subject them to scrutiny and, if in agreement, issue a general directive which left Nimitz and his subordinates ample leeway for carrying out details. As the war wore on, the Joint Chiefs tended less and less to intervene in decisions made in the Pacific theater.
From time to time Admiral Nimitz met with Admiral King, now Commander-in- Chief, U. S. Fleet, and Chief of Naval Operations. Both chiefs and members of their staffs flew to these Cominch-CinCPac meetings, usually held on the West Coast. They were often exhausting experiences for Nimitz. Flying, which he disliked, tired him, and the conferences were long and wearing, with King demanding more and still more facts and figures. Yet, the meetings were vital for maintaining co-ordination between Washington and Pearl Harbor, and at them originated some of the most pregnant ideas of the war in the Pacific.
Nimitz was in fact the link and buffer between the imperious, often caustic King and his own strong-minded subordinates in the Pacific theater. These were men of firm convictions which they seldom hesitated to express in emphatic terms. Not for nothing did the press rechristen three of them “Bull” Halsey, “Terrible” Turner, and “Howling Mad” Smith. Nimitz molded these men into one of the finest fighting teams in history, all the while remaining patient and unruffled, like the calm at the eye of the storm.
Eleven o’clock most mornings was visiting hour at Nimitz’ headquarters. Commanders of ships or forces reaching Pearl Harbor were expected to make a call. “Glad to have you with us,” Nimitz would say, then motion the visitor to a chair and begin asking penetrating questions. In fact, almost anyone with something to say could gain admittance to the Admiral. “Some of the best help and advice I’ve had,” said he, “comes from junior officers and enlisted men.”
Many evenings Nimitz had guests in for dinner at his living quarters, which he shared with Spruance, once he had joined his staff, and the fleet medical officer, Captain Elphege Alfred M. Gendreau. Included frequently were officers newly arrived from the United States or from forward operations, or civilians at Pearl Harbor on official business.
At the table, serious talk, with Nimitz contributing and also listening carefully, was mingled with laughter. After dinner Captain Gendreau usually suggested a walk. When the party returned to Nimitz’ quarters, there were handshakes and good nights at the door, and the visitors departed.
Before going to bed, Nimitz relaxed by reading or listening to his fine collection of records. A rapid reader, he usually finished a book at one sitting. He read everything that could help him better understand the Japanese character. Among other books he particularly valued Douglas Southall Freeman’s biography of Robert E. Lee. Like Lee, Nimitz picked good men and sent them to do a job with as little interference as possible. Nimitz was never present at a battle or an amphibious assault. His presence, he knew, would have an inhibiting effect upon his subordinates. They would feel that he was looking over their shoulders and might hesitate to act without first receiving assent.
As a result of their victory at Midway, the Americans prepared, with the help of New Zealand and Australian forces, to seize the initiative. Their objective was the Japanese base at Rabaul, which was within bombing range of the Australian base at Port Moresby. Forces under General MacArthur would advance on Rabaul via New Guinea and New Britain; those under Admiral Nimitz, via the Solomon Islands. To facilitate conduct of the Solomons campaign, Admiral King established in the South Pacific Area a separate command subordinate to Nimitz’ Pacific Ocean Areas. As Commander South Pacific Area and South Pacific Forces, he named Vice Admiral Robert L. Ghormley, an officer of respected intellect and solid achievements.
The Solomons campaign began at dawn, 7 August 1942, when an expeditionary force commanded by Vice Admiral Fletcher landed the 1st Marine Division on Guadalcanal and nearby islets. The Japanese, taken by surprise, counterattacked with planes out of Rabaul but achieved little destruction. They then pulled a surprise of their own in the Battle of Savo Island. An hour after midnight on 9 August, a Japanese force of seven cruisers from Rabaul entered the sound north of Guadalcanal undetected and ran through the Allied amphibious support forces, firing guns and torpedoes. Suffering only minor damage, the Japanese retired, leaving behind one Australian and three American heavy cruisers in a sinking condition.
The Navy was stunned. The loss of three scarce heavy cruisers, with another damaged, and a thousand men boded ill for the campaign. Admiral Nimitz was shocked at the bad news, but he is reported only to have said, “Well, that’s not so good. Now we must get busy and revise our plans.” There was some talk of a court-martial for Rear Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner, commander of the amphibious forces, and possibly others, but Nimitz concurred with an investigating commission appointed by the Secretary of the Navy that the blame for the Allied defeat was too evenly distributed for any particular officers to be held responsible.
Toward the end of August, in the carrier Battle of the Eastern Solomons, the Enterprise was heavily damaged, but the Americans forced the Japanese fleet to retire by sinking a light carrier and shooting down 90 planes. In the next few weeks in the southern approaches to Guadalcanal, submarines damaged the Wasp, the Saratoga, and the battleship North Carolina. The Wasp, afire, had to be sunk by a destroyer. The other two ships were out of action for months.
By October, there were nearly as many Japanese troops on Guadalcanal as there were American soldiers and Marines. Japanese aerial bombs and battleship and cruiser fire had destroyed most of the planes on the island and were making the airfield unusable. Capture of the field appeared imminent. Allied morale in the area plunged, and confidence was further undermanned by inter-command bickering that Ghormley seemed unable to check. There was even talk of abandoning Guadalcanal to the Japanese.
By this time Admiral Halsey, cured of his dermatitis, had returned to Pearl Harbor. Alerted by Nimitz to be ready to assume command of the carrier forces in the South Pacific, he left by seaplane to look over his new area of operations and meet the men he would work with. In his absence, Nimitz held a staff meeting to discuss what to do about the worsening situation in the South Pacific. As Halsey’s plane came to a stop in Noumea Harbor, a whaleboat came alongside, and Admiral Ghormley’s flag lieutenant handed Halsey a dispatch from Nimitz: YOU WILL TAKE COMMAND OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC AREA AND SOUTH PACIFIC FORCES IMMEDIATELY.
Ghormley, understandably distressed at what amounted to public humiliation, on arrival at Pearl Harbor called on Admiral Nimitz for an explanation.
“Bob,” said Nimitz, “I had to pick from the whole Navy the man best fitted to handle that situation. Were you that man?”
“No,” said Ghormley. “If you put it that way, I guess I wasn’t.”
Not long afterward Nimitz secured Ghormley’s appointment as Commandant 14th Naval District, in part at least to have him close at hand for consultation.
Halsey, exuding confidence and aggressiveness, tough as the situation required, quickly succeeded in restoring morale and good command relations in the South Pacific Area, although perhaps he was a little too daring in sending his two carrier groups north of the Solomon chain to tackle the most powerful battleship-carrier force the Japanese had assembled since the Battle of Midway. In the ensuing Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands, the Hornet was sunk and the Enterprise was again seriously damaged, leaving not a single serviceable American carrier in the whole Pacific.
The struggle for Guadalcanal reached a climax in November with a series of air and sea actions, including night surface slugging matches, which together are known as the Battle of Guadalcanal. When it was over, the Americans had lost two cruisers and five destroyers; the Japanese, two battleships, a cruiser, a destroyer, and nearly a dozen transports. The Japanese now wrote off Guadalcanal, merely holding on until they had built airfields in the Central Solomons. In January 1943, they evacuated the remnant of their half-starved Guadalcanal garrison.
When Halsey’s South Pacific forces began advancing up the Solomons chain, they entered General MacArthur’s Southwest Pacific Area and so came under the General’s strategic control, though Nimitz continued to provide Halsey with ships, aircraft, and men. During the advance on Rabaul, the Americans, in several hot night battles involving cruisers and destroyers, with the aid of their newly developed CIC, gradually gained the ascendancy. By early 1944, Halsey and MacArthur had surrounded Rabaul and, with the help of carrier groups loaned by Nimitz, bombed the base into impotence. The Japanese, in their desperate defense, had expended their land-based aircraft and even stripped their Truk-based carriers of planes. Thus at another critical moment in the war the Japanese Combined Fleet was paralyzed for want of air power.
While by means of limited offensives, American, New Zealand, and Australian forces were clearing the Japanese out of the Solomons-eastern New Guinea area, and American and Canadian forces were ousting them from footholds in the Aleutians, Admiral Nimitz was assembling forces for an all-out offensive in the Central Pacific. His objective was to punch a hole straight across the center through Japan’s island empire. MacArthur would continue his advance via New Guinea and the Philippines, but this roundabout route would be too long to bring the war against Japan itself. Over such a distance not enough shipping would be available to keep the attacking forces supplied.
In the spring of 1943, new fast carriers had begun arriving at Pearl Harbor together with newly completed support vessels of every type. These Nimitz organized into task forces and sent them out to raid enemy bases—Marcus, Tarawa, Wake, Rabaul. The carriers would spearhead a great new Fifth Fleet, which Nimitz appointed Spruance to command. “The Admiral thinks it’s all right to send Raymond out now,” remarked an officer at Cincpac headquarters. “He’s got him to the point where they think and talk just alike.” Rear Admiral Charles H. McMorris now became Nimitz’ chief of staff.
The Central Pacific drive was originally to open with an invasion of the Marshalls, but Nimitz convinced the Joint Chiefs that the Gilberts should first be seized. Once the Gilberts were captured with support from aircraft based on the Ellices and other nearby islands, land-based air from the Gilberts could support the invasion of the Marshalls. Nimitz was not yet sure that the carriers alone could provide adequate air support for amphibious assault on a major enemy base.
In the Gilberts assault, which began 20 November 1943, speed was deemed essential, for the Americans, unaware that the Japanese fleet had been rendered helpless by the loss of carrier planes and pilots, expected it to sortie and give battle. The four days it took the 2nd Marine Division to conquer Tarawa, Japanese headquarters and strong point in the Gilberts, cost 3,000 casualties, including more than a thousand killed. The armed services and the American public were shocked at such heavy losses in so brief a period, but Nimitz and his commanders knew that the conquest of the Gilberts provided as valuable a jumping off place as the conquest of Guadalcanal, which had taken six months and cost far more American lives.
Original plans for the invasion of the Marshalls called for simultaneous landings on Maloelap and Wotje, the atolls nearest Pearl Harbor, and Kwajalein, the Japanese headquarters at the center of the archipelago. After the shock of Tarawa, Marine Major General Holland M. Smith, expeditionary troop commander, urged that the Marshalls be captured in two steps, Wotje and Maloelap to be captured first and developed into bases to support a later assault on Kwajalein. Spruance and Turner, commander of the amphibious force, were in hearty agreement with this suggestion. Nimitz startled them all by proposing instead that they bypass the outer islands altogether and attack Kwajalein alone. Spruance, supported by Smith and Turner, protested that this would leave strong enemy positions athwart their line of communications and that the Japanese could launch air attacks from the outer islands against the Americans on Kwajalein.
Plans were still unsettled when in the second week of December Admiral Nimitz called a conference of all the major commanders of the forthcoming expedition. They once more threshed over the question of whether they should go directly to Kwajalein or first seize the outer islands. At length Nimitz asked each commander his opinion.
To Spruance: “Raymond, what do you think now?”
“Outer islands.”
“Kelly?”
“Outer islands.”
“Holland?”
“Outer islands.”
And so on around the room. The commanders unanimously recommended an initial assault on the outer islands. When the poll was completed, there were a few moments of silence. Then Admiral Nimitz said quietly, “Well, gentlemen, our next target will be Kwajalein.”
As it turned out, the Japanese commander in the Marshalls had estimated that the Americans would do what Nimitz’ subordinates wanted to do. Hence, he had strengthened the outer islands at the expense of Kwajalein. When the American assault came, Kwajalein was no pushover, but because Spruance was not obliged to commit his reserves, he pushed on with them and promptly captured Eniwetok also. The outer islands proved no menace after all, for American air power, at first from the carriers and then from the Gilberts and Kwajalein, easily kept them pounded down.
Convinced now that the carriers could support major assaults without the assistance of land-based air, Admiral Nimitz next planned a 1,000-mile leap to Saipan in the Marianas. The Saipan operation, which would see soldiers fighting shoulder-to- shoulder with Marines, required many meetings with Army and Navy commanders in close and sometimes heated conference. At one such meeting, in which agreement seemed impossible to achieve, Nimitz cleared the atmosphere with a little story.
“This all reminds me,” said he, “of the first amphibious operation—conducted by Noah. When they were unloading from the Ark, he saw a pair of cats come out followed by six kittens. ‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘Ha, ha,’ said the tabby cat, ‘and all the time you thought we were fighting.’”
The invasion of Saipan in June, 1944, at last brought out the Japanese carrier fleet, with new planes but inadequately trained pilots. On 19-20 June, it fought the Battle of the Philippine Sea with Spruance’s carrier force, Task Force 58, which was covering the Saipan beachhead. Spruance refused to permit TF 58 to leave its covering position until the enemy was put to flight, for which he was again widely criticized as being too cautious. Nimitz, however, gave Spruance his complete support, and most military analysts have since agreed with them.
Had TF 58 advanced and attacked, a segment of the enemy fleet, at least theoretically, might have maneuvered between it and the beachhead. The American planes, moreover, would have had to pass through the heavy anti-aircraft fire of an advance Japanese force and then fly a hundred miles farther before reaching the enemy fleet carriers. As it was, the Japanese planes attacked TF 58 and were mostly shot down in the “Marianas Turkey Shoot.” Meanwhile American submarines sank two of the big enemy carriers, after penetrating their screen, which had been weakened to provide the advance force. The next day, TF 58 planes overtook the Japanese fleet, which had taken to flight, and sank a third aircraft carrier.
Two innovations of the war in the Pacific proved vital to maintaining the strategic momentum of the Central Pacific drive. One was the mobile service squadrons that moved with the Fleet—ammunitions ships, tenders, repair ships, floating dry docks. These could enter the relatively calm lagoon of any atoll and convert it into a naval base. The other was the system of alternating fleet commands. After Saipan and nearby Tinian and Guam had been taken by the Americans, Spruance, Turner, and Smith returned to Pearl Harbor to rest and plan further operations, while Admiral Halsey and his subordinate commanders replaced them in the Fifth Fleet, which thereupon changed its name to Third Fleet.
Shortly after assuming the fleet command, Halsey raided the central Philippines with carrier planes and discovered the defenses there to be so weak that he advocated invading at Leyte instead of at Mindanao to the south. When Nimitz and MacArthur concurred, the Joint Chiefs ordered the change of plan. As soon as feasible, Nimitz turned over his available invasion troops to MacArthur and loaned his amphibious and support forces to the small Seventh Fleet, “MacArthur’s Navy,” thereby stripping the Third Fleet virtually down to Task Force 38, the new title for Task Force 58.
On 20 October 1944, the much enlarged Seventh Fleet, under Vice Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid, MacArthur’s admiral, began putting troops ashore in Leyte Gulf, while Halsey’s Third Fleet maneuvered to the east in distant support. Here for the first time the two fleets, with no over-all commander closer then the Joint Chiefs in Washington, operated in close co-operation against a major objective. Halsey had seen to it that a release clause was inserted into his own orders: “In case opportunity for destruction of major portion of the enemy fleet offer or can be created, such destruction becomes the primary task.”
The Leyte invasion started the Japanese fleet in motion, thereby setting the stage for the great Battle for Leyte Gulf. By 24 October, two Japanese surface forces were threading their way through the Philippines—a Southern Force heading for Surigao Strait south of Leyte Gulf, and a more powerful Center Force heading for San Bernardino Strait, north of the Gulf. Through the day Halsey’s carrier planes hammered at the Center Force, temporarily forcing it into retreat.
In mid-afternoon, Halsey radioed to his fleet a battle plan whereby four battleships and other surface vessels would withdraw from TF 38 “when directed by me” and form TF 34 to cover San Bernardino Strait. Later Halsey learned from scout planes that to the north was a third Japanese force, the Northern Force, including carriers. There were in the Northern Force altogether only 17 vessels, but of this fact Halsey was unaware. On learning that there were enemy carriers nearby, he cancelled all other objectives and headed his entire available fleet, 65 ships, north in hot pursuit.
Kinkaid, having intercepted Halsey’s battle plan, thought that TF 34 had been formed and was off San Bernardino Strait. He therefore felt free to send all his gunnery vessels down into Surigao Strait, where that night they repulsed the Japanese Southern Force, inflicting heavy losses. To Halsey he reported the battle by radio, adding: is TF 34 GUADING SAN BERNARDINO STRAIT? At dawn he was dumbfounded to receive in reply: NEGATIVE. TF 34 IS WITH CARRIER GROUPS NOW ENGAGING ENEMY CARRIER FORCE.
Halsey was in fact in TF 34 himself, far to the north, forging out ahead of his carrier groups to finish off ships crippled by his carrier planes. He was thus doing exactly what the Japanese wanted him to do. The enemy carriers he was chasing were harmless. They had been stripped of planes in the Battle of the Philippine Sea and had not yet trained aviators to replace those lost. They had in fact been sent down from Japan as decoys to lure Halsey away so that the Southern and Center forces could converge without impediment on Leyte Gulf and smash the amphibious shipping there. The decoy force was not expected to survive.
During the night the Center Force had passed unchallenged through San Bernardino Strait. A little after sunrise, northeast of the entrance to Leyte Gulf it encountered and attacked a tiny Seventh Fleet escort carrier unit. There now flashed a whole series of radio messages between Kinkaid and Halsey, the former demanding help, once in plain English, explaining that his gunnery vessels after their night battle were too low in ammunition to take on the Center Force. Halsey’s Third Fleet, TF 34 and all, forged on to the north.
At Pearl Harbor all the Halsey-Kinkaid messages were being intercepted. Admiral Nimitz, watching the progress of the battle on the operations chart, was, as he later said, “on pins and needles.” It was not clear to him whether Halsey had sent TF 34 back south or was retaining it with the carriers. CinCPac Assistant Chief of Staff Commodore B. L. Austin suggested that he inquire of Halsey by radio. At first Nimitz declined, not wishing to interfere with the commander on the scene. At length he authorized a message merely asking the location of TF 34, whereupon Austin dictated to a yeoman: “Where is (repeat where is) Task Force Thirty-four?”, addressing the message to Admiral Halsey for action and, routinely, to Admirals King and Kinkaid for information. At the communications center an ensign communicator added padding, phrases at both ends of the message, from which it was separated by double letters —a precaution to increase the difficulty of cryptanalysis.
The message was received on board the New Jersey, Halsey’s flagship, at about 1000. When it had been deciphered on the electric ciphering machine, a communicator examined the strip. He easily recognized the opening padding, TURKEY TROTS TO WATER, for what it was and tore it off, but the closing padding, THE WORLD WONDERS, looked so much like part of the message that he left it on and sent the strip by pneumatic tube to flag country. The message placed in Halsey’s hands read as follows: FROM CINPAC [Nimitz] ACTION COM THIRD FLEET [Halsey] INFO CO- MINCH [King]CTF SEVENTY SEVEN [Kinkaid] X WHERE IS RPT WHERE IS TASK FORCE THIRTY FOUR RR THE WORLD WONDERS.
Halsey was enraged. To him the message, with its seemingly taunting ending, appeared to be an insult—which King and Kinkaid were called on to witness. At 1115 he ordered TF 34 to change course from due north to due south, attaching a carrier group from TF 38 as he passed it on the opposite course. When he arrived off San Bernardino Strait a little after midnight, the Center Force had already passed back through it. Almost miraculously, from the American point of view, it had broken off action with the little escort carrier unit that morning and had presently retired the way it had come.
Despite Halsey’s 300-mile run to the north and then back to the south at the height of the Battle for Leyte Gulf, the battle was a great American victory. The Japanese fleet had been reduced to impotence. There would be no more stand-up naval battles in World War II.
Captain Ralph Parker, head of Nimitz’ Analytical Section, in writing up the CinCPac report of the battle for submission to the Commander in Chief U. S. Fleet, criticized Halsey’s maneuvers. Before signing the report, Nimitz sent it back with a note written on it. “What are you trying to do, Parker, start another Sampson-Schley controversy? Tone this down. I’ll leave it to you.”
The Third Fleet continued to support MacArthur’s operations in the Philippines— the conquest of Leyte, the capture of Mindoro, the invasion of Luzon. During these operations, the Pacific Fleet amphibious forces came under increasingly heavy attack by kamikazes, which inflicted severe damage with heavy loss of life.
After the invasion of Luzon, Admiral Nimitz requested the return of his Pacific Fleet units for use in forthcoming operations against Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and Japan. Admiral Kinkaid was understandably loath, in view of his commitments, to see his Seventh Fleet reduced to its former starveling proportions. The situation might have led to acrimony, but in an exchange of restrained and courteous dispatches, Admiral Nimitz and General MacArthur reached an agreement that was workable, if not entirely satisfactory for either.
On 25 January 1945, the Third Fleet steamed into Ulithi lagoon, where Admiral Halsey was relieved by Admiral Spruance, and Third Fleet again became Fifth Fleet. For the Iwo Jima operation, Nimitz, recently promoted to fleet admiral, shifted from Pearl Harbor to new headquarters on Guam.
Preceding the assault on Iwo Jima in mid- February, Spruance led TF 58 to the shores of Japan and gave the Tokyo area the first naval bombing since the miniature raid from Halsey’s carriers in early 1942. The Iwo assault, carried out by three Marine Corps divisions, proved far more costly in casualties than Admiral Nimitz and his subordinates had anticipated. No amount of aerial photography could have revealed all the concealed gun positions or the intricate tunneling by means of which the defenders were prepared to sell their island dearly. The conquest of Iwo, however, was worth almost any cost, for it provided airfields where Marianas-based B-29s could refuel and whence fighters could take off to accompany the long-range bombers over Japan.
When Winston Churchill proposed sending the British carrier fleet to the Pacific to participate in the final defeat of Japan, Nimitz was dismayed. With American ships reaching the Pacific from European waters, where they were no longer needed, and new construction coming off the ways, the CinCPac command had its hands full supplying and servicing its own ships. Nimitz, nevertheless, found a way to handle the problem, and integrated the British fleet into the Okinawa operation.
The landing on Okinawa on 1 April proved unexpectedly swift and easy. The Americans did not know that this was because the Japanese had decided that defending the beaches under naval gunfire was futile and prohibitively costly. On Okinawa the defenders holed up in the hills and let the invaders come to them. Meanwhile, Japan-based kamikazes struck viciously and in large numbers, doing fearful damage in TF 58, which was obliged to remain nearby in order to protect communications to the island, and among the small vessels maneuvering on early-warning picket stations around the island.
When military operations on Okinawa appeared bogging down, Nimitz arrived for a personal inspection. Lieutenant General Simon Bolivar Buckner, U. S. Army, received Nimitz politely but pointed out that this was ground, implying that military operations on Okinawa were strictly Army business. “Yes,” said Nimitz, “but ground though it may be, I’m losing a ship and a half a day. So if this line isn’t moving within five days, we’ll get someone here to move it so we can all get out from under these stupid air attacks.”
The line got moving, and on 21 June, Okinawa was declared secured. By that time, B-29s from the Marianas were burning out the hearts of Japanese cities. Not long afterward, Halsey, leading the combined British and American fleets, began parading up and down Japan’s east coast, bombing almost at will. In the first days of August 1945, the Soviet Union declared war on Japan and invaded Korea, and B-29s dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Nimitz had been informed of the plan to use atomic bombs, but otherwise had no connection with it, for the Marianas-based B-29s comprised the one command in the Pacific Ocean Areas over which he had no authority. On 14 August, the Japanese Cabinet accepted the Potsdam Proclamation. The next day Nimitz ordered Halsey to “cease fire.”
On 2 September 1945, in Tokyo Bay, a few minutes after 0800, Fleet Admiral Nimitz came aboard the battleship Missouri (BB-63), and his personal flag was broken at the mainmast. Half an hour later, General of the Army MacArthur came aboard, whereupon his personal flag was broken alongside that of Nimitz. In the presence of military and naval leaders of all the Allied powers, the Japanese Foreign Minister and the Chief of Staff of the Japanese Army signed the instrument of surrender. General MacArthur then signed for the Allied powers. At 0912, Admiral Nimitz signed for the United States.
Shortly afterward, Admiral Nimitz visited the United States. In Washington, D. C., 5 October 1945 was officially designated “Nimitz Day.” Admiral and Mrs. Nimitz rode in parade, and President Truman presented Nimitz with a gold star in lieu of the third Distinguished Service Medal. Such ceremonies the Admiral found rather trying. He made it plain that he accepted the honors only as the representative of the men and women who had served with him in the Pacific.
While in Washington, Nimitz called on Secretary of the Navy James V. Forrestal to pay his respects. The conversation came around to Nimitz’ future. Forrestal offered to put the Admiral at the head of the General Board or release him into an “advisory,” semi-retired status. Nimitz startled the Secretary by refusing both offers, saying that he preferred a tour as Chief of Naval Operations.
“But,” protested Forrestal, “you should now step out of the limelight, while your fame is greatest. As CNO you risk your laurels.”
Secretary Forrestal was in fact reluctant to have Nimitz as CNO because they had disagreed concerning the merits of certain officers. Moreover, Nimitz, while wholeheartedly supporting the idea of civilian control of the military, had stated his opinion that Forrestal had given authority to civilians, “his Wall Street friends,” that should be wielded only by officers. When Nimitz insisted on a tour as CNO, however, Forrestal could not very well refuse him.
“All right,” said the Secretary grudgingly, “but it can only be for two years, no more.”
“That suits me exactly,” replied Nimitz. “I think the CNO’s term should be limited to two years.”
On 24 November 1945 at Pearl Harbor on the deck of the submarine Menhaden (SS-377), Fleet Admiral Nimitz relinquished his duties as CinCPac and CinCPOA to Admiral Spruance. Of Admiral Nimitz, Admiral Spruance long afterward wrote: “Nimitz is a very great man, and I consider myself most fortunate to have had the privilege to know him as well as I do, and to have served under his command. His personality, character, and ability are those that any young man could emulate and make no mistake.”
Nimitz’ success in war and in dealing with men was the product of his extraordinary balance. He wielded authority with a sure hand but without austerity or arrogance. His perfect integrity was untinged with harshness. He demanded the best from those who served under him but never failed to give credit where credit was due. He was courteous and considerate without leaving any doubt who was running the show. He was serene and unruffled and at the same time vigorous and hardworking. He took his responsibilities with deadly seriousness, yet never lost his sense of humor. He grew with his responsibilities, but even when he commanded 2,500,000 men, he retained his simplicity and common touch.
He surrounded himself with the ablest men he could find and sought their advice, but he made his own decisions. He was a keen strategist who never forgot that he was dealing with human beings, on both sides of the conflict. He was aggressive in war without hate, audacious while never failing to weigh the risks.
On 15 December 1945, Fleet Admiral Nimitz relieved Fleet Admiral King as Chief of Naval Operations. As it turned out, Nimitz and Forrestal proved a most effective team in solving the problems of swift demobilization and of keeping the unification of the services within bounds. Nimitz did not oppose the concept of a single Department of Defense. After all, he had seen the advantages, indeed the necessity, of unified command in his own Pacific Ocean Areas. What he did oppose was the appointment of a single chief of staff for all the services, with the Air Force controlling all aircraft, the Army controlling all troops, and the Navy controlling nothing but ships and sailors. In the end what was achieved was separate services under a National Military Establishment, with each service so balanced in capability as to co-ordinate effectively with the others. Under this concept, the Department of the Navy retained its carrier aviation, its shore-based reconnaissance wing, and a Marine Corps of limited size.
During Nimitz’ tenure as CNO occurred the court-martial of Captain Charles B. McVay, the commanding officer of the USS Indianapolis, (CA-35), sunk by a Japanese submarine in the last days of World War II with the loss of 880 men. McVay was found guilty, but in recognition of his good record, his sentence was remitted.
Concerned over the conviction, Secretary Forrestal called Nimitz to his office and asked what it would do to the captain’s career? “Has there ever been a court-martialed officer in the history of the U. S. Navy who was later promoted to flag rank?”
Nimitz chuckled. “You’re looking at one right here,” he replied.
On being relieved as CNO in December 1947, Nimitz might have retired and gone into business. His name, his reputation, his demonstrated capacity for large-scale administration would have made him welcome on the board of almost any corporation in the United States. He eschewed the opportunity to earn a fortune, however, choosing instead to exercise his fleet admiral’s privilege of remaining in the Navy for life. He took up residence in San Francisco, near the Pacific Ocean where he had spent much of his career, serving in an advisory capacity as Special Assistant to the Secretary of the Navy in the Western Sea Frontier.
In 1948, the inter-service debate, which had been quiescent since the conclusion of the unification battle, broke out again. Air Force leaders charged that the Navy, in requesting appropriations for new, larger carriers and for carrier planes big enough to carry atomic bombs, was attempting to move into their own field of strategic bombing. Navy leaders countered with charges that the Air Forces’ B-36 bomber was incapable of pressing home an attack. Louis Johnson, who had succeeded Forrestal as Secretary of Defense, sided with the Air Force and cancelled the 60,000-ton carrier United States (CVA-58), then under construction. Tempers flared, even within the Navy Department, where officers considered that the new Secretary of the Navy, Francis P. Matthews, was not acting in their interests. To Admiral Nimitz the controversy and the resulting publicity were deeply distressing. But when Congress launched an investigation into the matter and his opinion was asked, he submitted a paper, specifying that it first be shown to Secretary Matthews.
In 1949, India and Pakistan agreed to a plebiscite in Kashmir. In March, the Secretary General of the United Nations, Trygve Lie, nominated Fleet Admiral Nimitz to administer it. When it appeared that the plebiscite would be postponed indefinitely, Nimitz asked to be relieved, stating that if India and Pakistan would come to terms, he would resume his duties. As alternative duty he accepted an assignment as roving “good-will ambassador” for the United Nations, explaining from scores of speakers’ platforms the main issues with which the world organization was confronted.
The additional salary Admiral Nimitz received while serving the United Nations enabled him to buy a home in Berkeley, California. By no means a mansion, it was comfortable, with plenty of room for his books and a small study where he surrounded himself with mementos of the Pacific War. The house was on a high hill, and from picture windows in the living and dining rooms one could look out across San Francisco Bay and through the Golden Gate. Outside his breakfast room window Nimitz rigged a feeding tray for birds so that during breakfast there was much cheerful fluttering on the far side of the sill.
Not far away was the Berkeley campus of the University of California, which Nimitz served for eight years as regent. Frequently the Admiral and Mrs. Nimitz would stroll over and have a meal with the students in the cafeteria.
The Nimitzes enjoyed walking in a park in the hills back of Berkeley. Along one favorite path, they sometimes scattered seeds of their favorite flowers. Eventually the city authorities marked the trail with a small arch bearing the words: The Nimitz Way. Admiral and Mrs. Nimitz involved themselves in community affairs, among other projects helping raise funds for the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra.
The Nimitz home became a mecca for Navy men and friends of the Navy. The Admiral had so many visitors, official and unofficial, that he was obliged to schedule his time. But he enjoyed the visits. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to talk Navy and reminisce about his career. He occasionally wrote an article or made a speech, but generally avoided public utterances on the subject of World War II lest he inadvertently stir up controversy.
In 1956, Admiral Nimitz found a means of expressing some of his opinions about naval warfare and even about the conduct of World War II without specifically writing a memoir. Some of the U. S. Naval Academy faculty, this writer included, were preparing to write Sea Power: A Naval History, to be used as a textbook at the Academy and in the NROTC. At the suggestion of Rear Admiral E. M. Eller, Director of Naval History, Admiral Nimitz was asked to supervise our project. To our surprise, he readily consented. In our first conference, in California, the Admiral laid down certain guidelines.
“Officers understandably resent having their operations publicly criticized by civilians,” said Nimitz. “My suggestion to you is this: give all the facts, as accurately, objectively, and fairly as you can, but don’t draw conclusions. Let the reader do that. Let the facts speak for themselves.” Never once during the writing of the book did Admiral Nimitz suggest suppressing a single fact.
Sea Power: A Naval History appeared in the summer of 1960, in time for use in classes that fall. It has since been translated as a whole or in part, into six languages.
To Admiral Nimitz’ astonishment, the Pacific War section appeared in Japanese with the title of Nimitz’ Great Sea War. When the Japanese version was about to be published, the publisher asked Nimitz to write a special foreword for it. Nimitz did so, specifying that any pay due him for the work be donated to the fund for restoring the “Togo Shrine,” Admiral Togo’s war-damaged home in Tokyo.
Nimitz’ Great Sea War received highly favorable reviews, which tended mostly to be eulogies of Nimitz. One in the Asahi Shinbun of 7 January 1963 contains these rather astonishing words:
It appears that [Nimitz’] excellent ability of command and leadership played an even more important role in the issue of the war than the ever-widening gap in the numerical and material strength between Japan and the United States. . . . The Japanese Navy had two major weak points from the very beginning. One of them was lack of efficient command. . . . [The other] was the easy-to-de- cipher code used by the Japanese Navy. . . .
At length, with passing years, the upkeep of their home in Berkeley became something of a burden for Admiral and Mrs. Nimitz, for they had only part-time help. Accordingly, when cancellation of the Western Sea Frontier command left Quarters One vacant at the naval station on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay, it was offered to them for a residence, and they gladly accepted. Here, with the comfort of an elevator and servants, the Admiral continued to have visitors, to give official council when called upon, and to take a stand on all issues. He steadfastly refused, however, to write his memoirs or to have his biography written.
In October 1963, Admiral Nimitz had a bad fall and spent five weeks in the hospital. Though he regained his good spirits, he never fully recovered, and he aged rapidly.
In January 1966, the Admiral suffered a stroke and was taken to the hospital on Treasure Island. Complications, including pneumonia, followed, and he died on 20 February 1966, a few days before his 81st birthday. At his request he was buried without the pomp of a state funeral at Golden Gate National Cemetery beside the Pacific, among thousands of men who had served with him.