The Spiritual Lesson of Midway
Remnant Review
Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the LORD our God (Psalm 20:7).
In every era, men face problems that seem to be insurmountable. Nevertheless, one by one, these problems can be surmounted. The technical problems in life are relatively easy to solve, or have been for the past two centuries. It is the moral ones that offer the serious challenges.
There are times when a nation seems to be unstoppable. At other times, defeat appears inevitable. But appearances can be misleading, especially the appearance of inevitability. Those who are misled by it can suffer disastrous consequences.
I know of no better illustration of this principle than the Battle of Midway. For those who find themselves in the midst of what appears to be a monumental crisis, the story of Midway is worth remembering.
THE TURNING POINT
The Battle of Midway was the turning point of the war in the Pacific. It was fought mainly on June 4, 1942, although follow-up skirmishes, including a submarine's torpedoing of the crippled U.S. aircraft carrier Yorktown, continued until June 6. It remains one of the most astounding battles in naval history, a David and Goliath tale even more remarkable than the defeat of the Spanish Armada by the English in 1588.
What was Midway? A pair of tiny islands in the middle of the Pacific, close to the international dateline. The Japanese hoped to capture this atoll from the Americans and make it the outer defensive boundary of the fleet. They also hoped to lure the American fleet into a suicidal attack after Midway fell.
The Japanese Navy brought a fleet of 88 surface ships to Midway, including four large aircraft carriers. The United States Navy brought a surface fleet of 28 ships, including three carriers. When the battle ended, the Japanese left Midway without its aircraft carriers. The U.S. Navy left with two. From that point on, the Japanese Navy fought a defensive battle for survival. The initiative in the Pacific shifted to the Americans, and never departed.
As in every critical battle in history, Midway's story is the story of personal commitment, risks taken, surprises encountered, and detailed military plans: plans made, plans scrapped, and plans hastily revised. It is the story of remarkable courage on both sides, as most major battles are.
But Midway was marked by two very different kinds of courage: the courage of the warrior who believes that he and his colleagues cannot be beaten, and the courage of the warrior who suspects that he very well may be beaten, but who nevertheless draws deeply on a reservoir of inner strength – or higher strength – to give an account of himself and his cause. The Japanese possessed the first kind; the Americans possessed the second.
After their defeat, the Japanese spoke of “victory disease.” They had been too confident going into the battle. They had assumed that the Americans would do exactly what their war games strategies had supposed they would.
No better example exists of what several historians have called the miracle at Midway than the case of Floyd D. Adkins, who was the machine gunner aboard Ensign William Pitman's SBD “Dauntless” dive bomber. The 175-pound gun had broken loose from its mount during the plane's attack dive and had fallen into his lap. Then the plane came under attack by a Japanese fighter plane. Adkins propped the gun against the fuselage and fired. Down went the attacking plane. Yet when he was back on board the carrier Enterprise, Adkins could not budge the gun from the ship's deck.
NIMITZ VS. YAMAMOTO
The Battle of Midway was a naval battle between two great Admirals, Chester Nimitz and Isoroku Yamamoto. Nimitz had assumed control of the Pacific fleet on December 17, 1941. He retained it until 1945.
Yamamoto had distinguished himself in Japan as a military genius with the initial success of the Pearl Harbor attack of December 7. But Yamamoto's attack plan contained the most important oversight of any battle fought in World War II. He neglected to design his planes' attack tactics in terms of his ultimate strategic goal.
His strategy, quite properly, was to take out the U.S. fleet at Pearl Harbor. But he defined “taking out the U.S. fleet” incorrectly: sunk ships. This proved to be incomparably incorrect. The proper definition should have been this: immobilized ships. Or this: an empty harbor.
The primary target of the attack should have been the fleet's land-based oil supplies, yet these storage tanks were not even part of Yamamoto's plan. Had the planes hit the oil supplies, Admiral Nimitz said afterward, “it would have prolonged the war another two years.” They hit almost none of them. Instead of immobilizing all 75 ships by destroying their fuel and storage facilities, the Japanese sank or severely damaged 18 of them. And not one of them was an aircraft carrier. The Lexington had left Pearl Harbor exactly 48 hours earlier.
That one mistake – losing sight of the most effective means to an end – which no one seemed to recognize at the time, led to the most remarkable turnaround in modern naval history a mere seven months later.
At Midway, Yamamoto had two goals: occupy Midway and lure the American carriers into a trap. He also had a secondary goal: occupy a few worthless Aleutian islands. He divided his fleet. He thought he could achieve all three goals. He achieved only the third, and only temporarily.
Nimitz, in contrast, adopted the strategy of calculated risk. He had to protect his carriers in order to defend Midway. He wanted to destroy the Japanese carriers, if possible, but without his carriers, he could not defend Midway. He had a primary goal: to defend Midway. This allowed him to concentrate his woefully scarce resources effectively.
Yet there were two key resources that he could not measure: the human spirit and the greater Spirit that governs it.
DOWN IN THE DUNGEON
The Battle of Midway was a battle of intelligence: not brainpower but code power. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, a rag-tag group of American code-breakers stationed on Pearl Harbor began the most important attack of the Pacific war: the attack on the Japanese Navy's JN-25 code.
This remarkable group included mathematicians, specialists in the Japanese language, and the band members of the sunk battleship, California. The ex-band members processed IBM punch cards filled with data, 24 hours a day: up to 200 cards per transmission. By May, this task was consuming a staggering 3 million cards per month. These young men had lost their ship, but their work was crucial in winning the crucial naval engagement of the Pacific war. A bunch of young men, armed with punch cards for weapons instead of musical instruments, provided the code-breakers with the data they had to have.
The spiritual lesson of Pearl Harbor is clear, or should be: a defeat is a set-back, but if the war goes on, no defeat is final. A corollary: you rarely know in advance what will be the knock-out weapon in the next phase of the war.
The code-breakers worked in an underground, air-conditioned complex called “the Dungeon.” (It was also known as “Hypo.”) The team was led by Commander Joseph Rochefort. (He is referred to only as "Joe" in the 1976 movie, Midway.)
By the spring of 1942, the Dungeon’s decoding area was steadily filling up with boxes of IBM punch cards and print-outs. Only 40% of the messages could be broken as late as May; only 60% of the messages sent were ever intercepted. Often, only fragments of a message could be translated. It was all bits and pieces: a jumbled puzzle.
There was no cross-filing system; everything had to be recalled by memory, including gaps in the messages that had to be filled in with data from previous messages. Commander Rochefort's brain was the main memory that put all these facts together. On this intuitive system hung the outcome of the battle of Midway.
Meanwhile, the code-breakers in Washington were telling Nimitz a different story about what to expect, and when. Nimitz had to choose between the Dungeon and the experts in Washington. He chose the Dungeon. “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).
In late May, just before the Japanese changed their code, Captain Edwin Layton, the only full-time intelligence officer in the Pacific fleet in 1942 (even more amazing, the Japanese had none), was asked by Nimitz to estimate the place and time of arrival of the Japanese fleet. Using the latest data from Rochefort, Layton identified a specific location and time: 175 miles northwest of Midway on June 4 at around 6 a.m. As Nimitz later said to Layton when the Japanese fleet was spotted by an American reconnaissance plane at 5:55 a.m., 180 miles out, “Well, you were only five minutes, five degrees, and five miles out.”
Washington had estimated June 15.
SURPRISE, SURPRISE!
The element of surprise was basic to both admirals’ strategies. The Japanese did not suspect that their navy's code had been broken. Had they changed it two weeks before they did, the Americans might never have been ready. On June 4, the Americans’ three carriers (two task forces) were in place, hidden 200 miles northeast of Midway, when the Japanese fleet arrived.
Yamamoto knew the risks. His attack depended on surprise. Without that, he was vulnerable. The U.S. carriers were supposed to be elsewhere: in the south seas. Only later were they expected to engage his fleet, after Midway had fallen. But the Americans had used phony transmissions from the south seas to confirm what he wanted to believe: a basic strategy of all intelligence.
He made three tactical errors. First, he planned to send reconnaissance planes to monitor Pearl Harbor. The seaplanes were to be refueled by submarines. But the subs could not do this; an American patrol boat was near the rendezvous area. This should have made him wonder about the safety of his code. It didn't. Yamamoto canceled the reconnaissance flights.
Second, he planned to station subs in the path between Pearl Harbor and Midway, in preparation to engage his fleet. The execution of this plan was delayed by two days. Meanwhile, the American fleet sailed by, undetected: just one more fatal delay.
Third, he decided to accompany his carriers on his battleship, Yamato. But he remained 300 miles west of the four carriers. This, too, proved fatal. In order not to break radio silence after the fleet had sailed, he decided not to alert Admiral Nagumo of recently intercepted radio signals indicating that the U.S. fleet might be in Pearl Harbor. But Nagumo's radio officer had missed them. Thus, it was Nagumo who was surprised at Midway, just as he had surprised the Americans at Pearl Harbor.
BETTER NEVER THAN LATE
On the morning of June 4, at 4 a.m., aviators on the flagship carrier Akagi assembled for the briefing on the 4:30 launch. At that same moment, the Americans on Midway launched 17 reconnaissance planes.
At 4:30 a.m., one Japanese reconnaissance plane was launched from each of three Japanese ships. Nagumo also began to launch the Midway attack force. At that same moment, the Yorktown launched 10 dive bombers to cover the northern arc.
Reconnaissance planes from two other Japanese ships departed more sporadically: 4:35, 4:38, 4:42. But one plane was 30 minutes late. The reason is still obscure, although one widely believed explanation is the failure of a catapult. It took off at 5 a.m. This was the plane assigned to the eastern sector, exactly where the U.S. carriers were waiting. The Enterprise had already launched its attack by the time this late plane arrived where it belonged.
This delay was another nail in the casket of Yamamoto's battle plans. Because of this, Nagumo did not learn until 8 a.m. of the presence of American Task Force 17, led by the carrier Yorktown. It had been heavily damaged in the Battle of the Coral Sea, but had been repaired at Pearl Harbor in a three-day mini-miracle of industry.
Nagumo's scout planes by 8 a.m. had not yet sighted Task Force 16, led by the two carriers Hornet and Enterprise, both under the overall command of Rear Admiral Raymond Spruance. Days earlier, Spruance had replaced “Bull” Halsey, at Halsey’s recommendation, when Halsey came down with a severe skin disorder. So, at 8 a.m., Nagumo believed that he was facing only one carrier, while he had four.
THE BATTLE BEGINS
At 4:30 a.m., the Japanese attack planes began their departure for Midway. Flying time: an estimated two hours.
At 5:55 a.m., a PBY “Catalina” patrol seaplane spotted two Japanese carriers and radioed their location. They were almost exactly where Rochefort and Layton had predicted. At 6 a.m., Midway ordered an attack on the Japanese carriers by four B-26 bombers, six TBF torpedo bombers, and 12 SB2U-3 “Vindicators” – called “Vibrators” by their crews. At 6:15, the second island launched 14 B-17 bombers. At 6:10, the first of 16 SBD-2 "Dauntless" dive bombers took off; at 6:20 the last one took off. This was just in time. At 6:25, Japanese planes began to bomb the atoll's two airfields.
The American bombers had no cover from American fighters, which were kept behind to defend the atoll. Nimitz had ordered these fighters to accompany the bombers, but the order was disobeyed by the naval air station commander on Midway. The bombers flew at different speeds, making it impossible to coordinate the attack. Most of their crews were unskilled. But courage was not in short supply. These men did not know of the presence of the U.S. carriers. They believed that if they crash-landed at sea, they could expect no aid.
These planes arrived at their targets between 7:10 and 8:20 - timing that was to prove crucial for the battle. Timing, not bombing: not one of them scored a hit on the Japanese carriers. And the cost was high. Only 8 of the 16 SBD dive bombers returned to Midway, all heavily damaged. The high-flying B-17's returned, as did the B-26's. Ten of the 12 Vindicators made it back, but only one of the six TBF torpedo planes did. Meanwhile, upon hearing of the air attack on Midway, Spruance moved his launch schedule forward by two hours: from 9 a.m. to 7 a.m. By 7:30, he had sent all of his 67 Dauntless dive bombers and all of his 27 Devastator torpedo planes to attack the Japanese carriers. He knew that the short-range Devastators would probably have to land at Midway after their attack. He held back only 36 fighters to defend his two carriers. It was all or nothing.
Five minutes later, at 7:05, Japanese flight leader Lieutenant Joichi Tomonaga, whose planes were now returning from Midway to their carriers, radioed Nagumo and asked that a second attack be launched. Nagumo decided to arm his anti-carrier torpedo planes with bombs suitable for a land attack. The flight crews began the switch. His decision began a defensive domino effect.
Minutes later, the Midway-launched American attack on the Japanese fleet began. Because of it, Nagumo had to go defensive. This disrupted his plans. Permanently.
At 7:10, U.S. submarine Nautilus spotted anti-aircraft smoke as the attack began. The submarine's skipper, Lieutenant Commander William Brockman, decided to move closer to the action. He headed toward the fleet, and an hour later got close enough to get depth-charged. An hour after that, at 9:18, the Nautilus submerged, just as Nagumo was turning the fleet north. But one carrier stayed behind to deal with the Nautilus, a decision that lost the Battle of Midway within 90 minutes.
At 7:30, as the uncoordinated American attack continued, the late-launched Japanese scout plane spotted Spruance's Number 16 Task Force. Spruance’s planes had already been launched. The scout's report back to Akagi was picked up by Enterprise. But the pilot did not say that he had spotted two carriers, just 10 enemy ships. This oversight was to intensify Nagumo's predicament.
This report arrived at a most inopportune time for Nagumo. Due to a delay in getting it to him, he did not receive it until 7:45. In the hangar area of his carrier, Akagi, were the planes being prepared for the second strike on Midway. Many of them were now equipped with high-explosive, impact-fused bombs. To take out a carrier, they needed armor-piercing bombs and torpedoes. But it would take time to switch back. What now?
His first-wave planes were flying back from Midway. Should he allow them to land on deck or have them ditch? Commander Minoru Genda, his brilliant flight commander, was on board because he had caught pneumonia and could not participate in the raid. He told Nagumo that the returning planes could be refueled and sent out to hit any American ships in one hour. Nagumo decided to allow them to land when they appeared. Meanwhile, he was busy with evading attacks from Midway-based planes.
Then, at 8:20, his late-launched scout plane announced the presence of a U.S. carrier. Immediately thereafter word came: 10 enemy torpedo planes were approaching. These were planes from Hornet. At that point, Nagumo's planes from Midway had begun to arrive. What now? A prudent attack against a carrier required that torpedo planes have fighter cover. Nagumo was prudent. He decided to allow the returning planes to land. He issued another order: switch the land bombs back to torpedoes. The Japanese carriers' decks were now covered with planes and gasoline hoses. Below decks were strewn bombs and torpedoes that had not been put back into their storage area.
At 8:38, Admiral Jack Fletcher of the Yorktown launched 17 Dauntlesses, 16 Devastators, and six Wildcat fighters, retaining half his planes. Why 8:38? Why not 8:15, or 8:50? A hundred and five minutes later, these pilots found themselves in an amazing unplanned and, humanly speaking, uncoordinated rendezvous with destiny.
The returning Japanese planes continued landing until 9:18, one minute after Nagumo ordered the fleet to steam north, to evade any new attacks. If everything went right, the Kaga and the Akagi would be ready to launch torpedo attack bombers against the American carriers at 10:30. The Soryu and the Hiryu would be ready to launch no later than 11. Things, however, did not go right.
THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE
Lieutenant Commander John Waldron led the Hornet’s 10 slow-flying and poorly named TBD Devastator torpedo bombers. "Devastated" was closer to it.
Waldron was an astounding character. He had spent months studying books on Japanese carrier tactics. He had forced his crew to think through every possible Japanese maneuver as if they were Japanese. Waldron was one-eighth Sioux, and he attributed his hunches to this inheritance.
When he arrived at the location of the original sighting, the ships were gone. Nagumo's defensive maneuver northward had been in time. But Waldron was not fazed; he shifted his flight course northward, exactly on target as he soon learned. But the Hornet’s 35 dive bombers never did locate the ships. Neither did its fighters, which had to be ditched at sea. Waldron's final mimeographed message to his squad before they took off ended with this: “If there is only one plane left to make a final run-in, I want that man to go in and get a hit. May God be with us all. . . .”
Waldron began the attack at about 9:50. Only one man in his squad survived, Ensign George Gay, who, though wounded, scrambled out of his ditched plane just before it sank. Waldron had told his men to take everything they could when they got out, so he took his rubber seat cushion. He was able to hide under it, undetected by the Japanese. This saved his life.
Ten minutes behind Waldron were 14 of Enterprise's Devastators. Of these, 10 were lost; they scored not one hit. Only two of Yorktown’s 12 torpedo bombers managed to make it back. Not one torpedo hit its target. Twenty-eight pilots died in that suicidal assault. Out of 41 torpedo planes from the three carriers, only six returned.
It is here that Midway's supreme lesson appears in all its harshness: some men die without seeing their dreams achieved, yet their supreme sacrifice makes possible the fulfillment of those dreams. American torpedo bombers from Midway and from the carriers saw their best efforts fail. Most of them did not live to tell about it. Their planes were poor; their torpedoes missed their mark; and it looked as though all was in vain. But within 30 minutes, their sacrifice was to pay enormous dividends.
“GOING DOWN”
Lieutenant Commander Clarence W. McClusky, leader of the 32 Dauntless dive bombers from the Enterprise, was facing Waldron's problem: he could not find the Japanese carriers. McClusky and the others were running low on fuel. He had only 15 minutes to spare before he had to return. It was about 9:45.
He decided to fly another 35 miles and then turn northwest. How did he know when to turn, or which way? Rationally, he didn't know. Seven minutes later, at 9:55, he spotted the wake of the Arashi, the destroyer that had remained behind to try to sink the Nautilus. He turned north, in the direction the destroyer was headed. Then he sighted all four carriers. McClusky’s colleagues from the Enterprise were 10 minutes behind.
The Japanese fighter planes had been kept busy defending against the doomed low-flying torpedo bombers. Many were now on deck, being refueled, alongside the Japanese torpedo planes that were still being re-fitted: from land bombs to torpedoes. From 15,000 feet, McClusky's Dauntlesses dived at the Akagi and the Kaga. The time was 10:20. The next six minutes turned the war in the Pacific:
10:22: four hits on the flight deck of the Kaga. One bomb crashed through the elevator and exploded in the hanger deck, where the torpedo planes were being refitted.10:22: one hit on the Akagi. It, too, struck the midships elevator and exploded in the hangar, with the same results. It triggered the land bombs that had not been put back in their storage area.
This was not all. At that moment, the dive bombers from the Yorktown appeared. Here was perfect coordination, yet no man had coordinated it.
10:25-28: five hits on the Soryu. Again, one bomb hit in front of the forward elevator and penetrated into the hanger deck, where the planes were being refueled. The fires were intense. Fatal.
Captain Mitsuo Fuchida, who had led the Pearl Harbor attack (and who later became a Christian evangelist), was on the deck of the Akagi, up from sick bay, as was Genda, who was also recovering. Their unwillingness to stay in bed saved both their lives; everyone in the Akagi's sick bay perished. Admiral Nagumo was forced to abandon ship within an hour.
To consummate the turn of events, the submarine Nautilus had survived the attack by the destroyer that had led McClusky to the carriers. That afternoon, she put two torpedoes into the side of the surviving Soryu, sinking her.
THE LOSS OF THE YORKTOWN
The fourth Japanese carrier, Hiryu, had sent out a small force of 18 dive bombers and six fighters. They spotted Yorktown about noon just as she was recovering her dive bombers. The attackers scored three direct hits. She was reported by the Japanese pilots as being ablaze: doomed. Wrong.
The Yorktown did not sink; the fires were controlled. When a pilot returned to Hiryu and reported that another carrier had been sighted, Admiral Yamaguchi sent out 10 bombers and six fighters – all that he had ready. He understood: it was all or nothing. By mistake, they flew straight back to Yorktown, but concluded that it must be the second carrier, since they thought the Yorktown had been sunk. They bombed it again. Admiral Fletcher abandoned ship.
The Yorktown therefore served as the most important decoy of the battle. Meanwhile, Yorktown’s own Dauntless scouts, sent out an hour earlier, spotted Hiyru. Reporting the find, Spruance on Enterprise sent out 24 more Dauntlesses, including 10 of Yorktown's, who had landed there after their own ship had been hit. Even without fighter escorts, the American pilots got through. That doomed the Hiyru.
TOO LATE
Yamamoto raced east toward Midway with two battleship divisions. He still hoped to lure the U.S. fleet into a trap. But Spruance also moved east, away from Midway, as the sun went down, unwilling to take risks associated with a night battle, at which the Japanese were skilled. He had not known that Yamamoto's battleships were close enough to engage him if he sailed toward Japan, but he wisely stayed away. Yamamoto, his strategy in tatters, retreated on June 5.
On June 7, Yorktown sank as a result of two torpedoes fired into her by a Japanese sub the day before.
Japan had sent out a second fleet to capture some barren Aleutians islands, defying the naval rule of concentration of forces: another “might have been.” Worse; one of her Zeros crashed, yet was intact; from this U.S. analysts discovered its weak points: insufficient protective metal around the fuel tanks. It was a highly maneuverable firetrap.
For this Aleutian “victory,” Japan lost her four main carriers, one cruiser, 322 aircraft, and 2,500 men – almost exactly the number of men the U.S. lost at Pearl Harbor. So devastating was this loss that the Japanese government never announced it to the public during the war. Yamamoto's dream of a decisive naval victory had been sunk.
The U.S. carriers lost 47 planes. All of Yorktown’s dive bombers survived, but 16 of McClusky’s group were shot down, while others had to ditch their planes when they ran out of fuel searching for Enterprise.
The Midway-based fighter crews lost 14 of 26 men. The torpedo bomber crews lost 16 of 18 men; the dive bomber crews lost 16 of 32. The planes were replaceable. The crew members paid the ultimate price.
The sea war in the Pacific was not over. Not until the following November, in the final stages of the three-month battle of Guadalcanal, did we finally seize control of the offense. That battle cost each side 24 ships. But it was Midway that had turned the tide. In April 1943, Yamamoto’s plane was shot down as a result of the U.S. Navy's interception and breaking of a Japanese Army message regarding his itinerary.
CONCLUSION
Historian Gordon Prange was right: it was a miracle at Midway. So was Walter Lord: it was an incredible victory. But it is not enough to be amazed at the Battle of Midway. We should also be encouraged. Those doomed torpedo plane crews made possible a great victory, yet they did not live to see it. They left us the spiritual lesson of Midway: the appearance of inevitable defeat can be as much a mirage as the appearance of personal futility. False appearances can paralyze us more than real circumstances.
EPILOGUE
And what of Joe Rochefort, who had made the victory possible? Outraged by his success, the bureaucrats with Washington's rival team had him transferred back. He asked for a sea duty, but he was assigned to command a floating dry dock at San Francisco. Only in April of 1944 did he return to Washington to work on Pacific fleet intelligence. But this has nothing to do with the spiritual lesson of Midway. It is the lesson of every bureaucracy since the Pharaohs.
__________________________
Published on January 17, 1992.
I do not recall what grabbed me about this battle. I read numerous books. I went to Annapolis to use the library at the Naval Academy. I must have been in the region for some business-related reason. I do not recall.
The new movie on Midway is remarkably faithful to the facts of the battle.
The movie does not include this: two smaller carriers were sent to the Aleutian Islands: the battle of Dutch Harbor. The Aleutian attack was also a disaster. The details are remarkable. There were key violations of the military code and military orders. Wikipedia reports.
Tadayoshi Koga, a 19-year-old flight petty officer first class, was launched from the Japanese aircraft carrier Ryujo as part of the June 4 raid. Koga was part of a three-plane section; his wingmen were Chief Petty Officer Makoto Endo and Petty Officer Tsuguo Shikada. Koga and his comrades attacked Dutch Harbor, shooting down an American PBY-5A Catalina flying boat piloted by Bud Mitchell and strafing its survivors in the water, killing Mitchell and all six of his crewmen. In the process, Koga's plane (serial number 4593) was damaged by small arms fire. . . .The fatal shot severed the return oil line, and Koga's plane immediately began trailing oil. Koga reduced speed to keep the engine from seizing for as long as possible.
The plane's landing gear mired in the water and mud, causing the plane to flip upside down and skid to a stop. Although the aircraft survived the landing nearly intact, Petty Officer Koga died instantly on impact, probably from a broken neck or a blunt-force blow to his head. Koga's wingmen, circling above, had orders to destroy any Zeros that crash-landed in enemy territory, but as they did not know if Koga was still alive, they could not bring themselves to strafe his plane. They decided to leave without firing on it.
How important was this? Very.
The Akutan Zero has been described as "a prize almost beyond value to the United States", and "probably one of the greatest prizes of the Pacific War". Japanese historian Masatake Okumiya stated that the acquisition of the Akutan Zero "was no less serious" than the Japanese defeat at the Battle of Midway, and that it "did much to hasten Japan's final defeat".