What I’m Reading: Flyboys

Awhile back, a friend from TCBC suggested that I might enjoy reading Flags of Our Fathers, James Bradley’s book on the WWII battle for Iwo Jima and the timeless picture that was taken during its first few days. I read it, and I thoroughly enjoyed it (if you can “enjoy” something describing the brutality of war). When I returned the book to him, he mentioned that Bradley had followed Flags up with a book called Flyboys (a book which Mark Perry also recommended to me). I took Flyboys with me on vacation, and I finished it in less than two days. It is exceptional. I think I could become a WWII book junkie.

Flyboys is about 8 men who were captured on the isle of Chichi Jima, the hub of Japan’s radio communications in the Pacific. It tells of their brutal treatment at the hands of their captors, who killed all of them, torturing and even eating some. It also tells the remarkable story of a 9th pilot who was shot down near Chichi Jima, parachuted into the waters below, and was almost captured by the Japanese. Instead, he was protected by American planes which prevented Japanese soldiers from retrieving him for over 3 hours until a submarine was able to surface and rescue him. The fortunate pilot’s name? George H. W. Bush.

The story of Flyboys is far bigger than 8 or 9 men, however.

It’s also about the power of flight. Early on, the book chronicles the efforts of Billy Mitchell following WWI to convince American politicians and military brass that the future of warfare was “the third dimension”—fighting in the air, not just on the land and sea. Though he didn’t live to see his prophecies come to pass, his cause was ultimately picked up by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. It’s a good thing, because the battle for the Pacific was won in the air.

It’s also about the Japanese mindset that refused to consider the possibility of defeat or surrender. Due to a mixture of religious superstition, political elitism, psychological denial and military folly, the Japanese were determined to continue the war regardless of the cost. The cavalier spirit with which they sacrificed their own people is astonishing to consider, and in many ways is analogous to the mindset of Muslim extremists of our day. The book gives a great look into the culture and thinking of the Japanese leaders and soldiers of the early and mid-20th century.

Primarily, I think, it’s about the heinous cost of war. It was troubling to read, especially because it bumped up against some of my previous understanding of the war and America’s part in it. I was surprised to read what victory required. And frankly, I was surprised to discover my own lack of objectivity regarding issues surrounding the war. Bradley, a son of one of the six flag raisers immortalized by the picture from Iwo Jima, raises some penetrating questions about the provincialism behind our understanding of the war. For example…

• Why was it so appalling for Japan to expand its borders into China, when America, Britain, France and other European nations had done the same throughout their histories?
• Why was Japan’s killing of Chinese civilians considered uncivilized and barbaric, when America’s dropping napalm on Chinese cities and burning them to the ground was considered necessary and heroic?
• Why was Japan’s killing of defenseless soldiers different from America’s?

By posing these questions, I’m not trying to denigrate what “the Greatest Generation” accomplished. I’m awed by them. I’m awed by soldiers who knew they’d die running onto a beach or up a hill, yet went anyway. That’s remarkable to me. I’m awed that the American press and public—which 60 years later has no stomach for a war, despite a similar provocation—was willing to endure so much loss in order to gain a complete victory. Nor do I doubt the justice of the war, or the fact that our decisive actions saved millions of lives. I’m just learning that some aspects of the war were not as black-and-white as I’ve previously thought. Essentially, what one nation sees as necessary violence is almost certainly viewed by the opposing nation as gratuitous violence. As a battle-tried flyboy told Bradley, “I guess it just matters what side you’re on.” (p. 333)

As for the air war and the bombing of Japanese cities, I had understood the necessity of using the atomic bomb. Bradley doesn’t bat an eye about it. He suggests that those who argue that it was immoral don’t understand anything about WWII or Japan’s mindset at the time. The atomic bomb saved millions of American and Japanese lives, for a land invasion would have been absolutely gruesome. In fact, Bradley even quotes a Japanese soldier who says the same thing: America did the right thing.

But what I hadn‘t known was the pervasive firebombing we inflicted on Japanese cities. Though our use of the atomic bomb gets most of the attention, the number of people killed by napalm bombing far outdistanced the number killed at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That portion of the book (ch. 16-17) is hard to read. Again, our cause was just, and we had to do whatever necessary to win a war against a demented and unrelenting foe. But it was terrible nonetheless—worse than I had understood prior to reading the book. Bradley gives this astounding “sampling” of statistics from a 1945 army air force report which described the extent of the napalm bombing of Japanese cities (alongside American cities of similar size for the sake of comparison):

• Kawasaki (like Portland): 35% burned
• Shimizu (like San Jose): 42%
• Hiratsuka (like Battle Creek): 46%
• Toyohashi (like Tulsa): 67%
• Hammatsu (like Hartford): 60%
• Kofu (like South Bend): 78%
• Hitachi (like Little Rock): 72%
• Tokyo (like New York): 40%
• Yokohama (like Cleveland): 57%
• Chibna (like Savannah): 41%
• Nagoya (like Los Angeles): 40%
• Gifu (like Des Moines): 69%
• Takahatsu (like Knoxville): 67%
• Himeji (like Peoria): 49%
• Kobe (like Baltimore): 55%
• Osaka (like Chicago): 35%
• Shimonoseki (like San Diego): 37%
• Moji (like Spokane): 24%
• Nagaoka (like Madison): 55%

Unbelievable.

Here’s another thing that interested me about the two books: It seems that Bradley is unsettled regarding the ethics of releasing disturbing information about the fate of soldiers to their families. In Flyboys, he seems to be critical of the government’s choice not to notify the 8 men’s families of the details of their deaths. He seems to believe that they had a right to know, a right withheld by the government:

“For over two generations, the truth about their demise was kept secret. The U.S. government decided the facts were so horrible that the families were never told. Over the decades, relatives of the airmen wrote letters and even traveled to Washington, D.C., in search of the truth. Well-meaning bureaucrats turned them away with vague cover stories.” (p. 5)

On the other hand, in Flags of Our Fathers, Bradley recounts his father’s discovery of the remains of a good friend, “Iggy,” who had been captured by the Japanese at Iwo Jima and brutally tortured before his death. He says that a number of years after the war his dad looked up Iggy’s mom and set up a meeting with her. He doesn’t know exactly what his dad told her, he says, but he’s certain that he didn’t tell her the truth. He seems to commend his dad for protecting her from such terrible, unnecessary details and the grief they would bring a grieving mother.

What’s the difference, I wonder? Maybe it’s just perspective. When government leaders withhold tragic details, it’s bureaucracy. When my dad does it, it’s sympathy. Interesting. Isn’t that the way we view the world?

On another note, I enjoyed reading this note home from Grady York, one of the young men killed at Chichi Jima:

“Some boys the other night tried to get me to go into a bar with them. They said your Mother isn’t here. And I said to myself if you’re a Christian you are one anywhere and anytime. That sounded kinda funny. It seemed like if you didn’t see me it would be alright. But I know a lot better than that.” (p. 160)

For all of its harrowing details of the fierceness of the War for the Pacific, there is much in the book that is inspiring. The story of Bush’s rescue is one such event, not only because of who he is, but because of what it revealed about our country. Years later, President Bush met one of the Japanese soldiers that watched his rescue from the cliffs of Chichi Jima. He told President Bush that what had amazed him and his fellow soldiers (who were well aware that the common soldier was of no consequence to the Japanese leadership, which abandoned hundreds of thousands of them during the war and insisted on their suicides rather than their capture) was the fact that America would go through the trouble of sending a huge submarine to protect the life of one pilot.

As I indicated earlier, Bradley’s books both captivated me. Both were hard to put down. I’ll be doing more reading on WWII in the future, and I’d be glad to hear your recommendations. There’s something profitable about being reminded of the terribleness of war, the sinfulness of the human heart, and the price paid that we might enjoy our freedom.